The Tawny Man Series Books 2 and 3: The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate. Robin Hobb
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I read, the more I realized that what we had was not the Skill-library, but only the remaining fragments of it. We had the scrolls that spoke of the duties of instructors, and the scrolls that delineated the most sophisticated uses of the Skill. There must have been other scrolls, ones that spoke of the basics and how a Skill-user could build his abilities and control to the level demanded for the most advanced purposes. But we did not have those ones. El alone knew what had become of them. The bits and pieces of Skill-knowledge that I had glimpsed had convinced me that the magic offered abilities almost on a footing with the powers of the gods. With the Skill, one could injure or heal, blind or enlighten, encourage or crush. I did not think I was wise enough to wield such authority, let alone decide who should inherit it. The more Chade read, the more eager and avid he became for the magic that had been denied to him by his illegitimate birth. He frightened me, often, with his enthusiasm for all the Skill seemed to offer. It frightened me in a different way that he insisted on venturing into the magic alone. That he had lately said nothing made me hope he had had no success.
Yet I dared not hope that left the decision in my hands. I could refuse, I could flee, but even without me, Chade would pursue the magic. His will was strong, as was his desire for the Skill. He would try to teach, not only himself but also Dutiful and Thick. And Nettle, I realized. Because Chade saw the Skill not as dangerous, but as desirable. He felt he was entitled to it. He was a Farseer, and the Farseer magic was rightfully his; but his birthright had been denied him, because he was a bastard Farseer. Just as my daughter was.
I suddenly put my finger on a sore that had festered in me for years. The Farseer magic. That was what the Skill was. Supposedly, the Farseers had a ‘right’ to this magic. And with that assumption went the notions that a Farseer had the wisdom to deploy such a magic within the world. Chade, born on the wrong side of the sheets, had been judged unworthy and callously denied any education in the Skill. Perhaps he had never had any talent for it; perhaps it had withered away, unnourished. But the unfairness of being denied the opportunity still ate at the old man, after all these years. I was certain that his thwarted ambition was behind his consuming desire to restore the Skill to use. Did he see me as depriving Nettle in the same way he had been denied? I looked at him. Had not Verity and Chade and Patience intervened for me, I might be as he was.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Chade said softly.
‘I’m thinking,’ I replied.
He frowned. ‘Fitz. It is the Queen’s command. Not a request to think about. An order to obey.’
Not a request to think about. In my youth, there had been so many things that I hadn’t thought about. I’d simply done my duty. But I had been a boy then. Now I was a man. And I teetered, not between duty and not duty, but between right and wrong. I took a step back from the question. Was it right to teach another generation the Skill and preserve it in our world? Was it right to let that knowledge fail and pass beyond humanity’s reach? If there would always be some who could not have it, was it more righteous to deny it to all? Was the guarded possession of magic like the hoarding of wealth, or was it simply a talent one did or did not have, like the ability to shoot a bow well or sing each note of a song perfectly?
I felt besieged by the questions whirling in my head. In my heart, another question clamoured at me. Was there no way to preserve Nettle from this? For I could not bear it. I could not bear to see all I had sacrificed made useless as the secrets of her birth and of my survival were suddenly revealed to those most vulnerable to them. I could refuse to teach the Skill, but that would not preserve her peace. I could steal her from her home and flee, but then I would have been every bit as destructive as what I feared.
When Kettle had taught me the Stone game, I had had a sudden shift in perception one day. The wolf had been with me then. I had seen the little stones set in their places on the crossing lines of the gamecloth not as a fixed situation but as only one point in a spreading flow of possibilities. I could not win Chade’s game by saying ‘no’. But what if I said ‘yes’?
You always chose to be bound by who you are. Now choose to be freed by who you are.
I caught my breath as that thought floated unbidden into my mind. Nighteyes? I reached after it but it was as sourceless as the wind. I was not sure if the Skill had carried the thought to me from some other person, or if the conviction had welled from some place deep within me. Whence ever it had come, it rang with truth. I handled the conviction delicately, fearing it might cut me. So I was bound by who I was. I was a Farseer. But in a strange, detached way that freed me.
‘I want a promise,’ I said slowly.
Chade sensed the sea change in me. Carefully, he set down his wine glass. ‘You want a promise?’
‘It always went both ways between King Shrewd and me. I was his. And in exchange for that, he provided for me and saw that I was taught. He provided for me very well, something that I have only realized the fullness of since I have been a man. I would ask a similar promise now.’
Chade knit his brows at me. ‘Are you lacking anything? Well, I know your present quarters leave much to be desired, but as I have told you, this chamber may be modified however you please to suit your needs. Your present mount seems a good one, but if you prefer a better horse, I could arrange …’
‘Nettle,’ I said quietly.
‘You wish Nettle provided for? It could most easily be done if we brought her here, to be educated and offered the opportunity to meet young men of good position and –’
‘No. I do not wish her provided for. I wish for her to be left alone.’
He shook his head slowly. ‘Fitz, Fitz. You know I cannot give you that. The Queen commands that she be brought here and taught.’
‘I don’t ask it of you. I ask it of my queen. If I agree to become her Skillmaster, then she must agree to let me teach in my own way, whom I choose, in secret. And she must promise to leave my daughter in peace. Forever.’
A terrible expression crossed his face. His eyes lit with the wild hope that I would step into the role of Skillmaster. But the price I had set upon it made him quail. ‘You would ask a promise of your queen? Do you not think you presume too much?’
I set my jaw. ‘Perhaps. But perhaps for a long time, the Farseers have presumed too much of me.’
He took in a long breath through his nose. I knew he bottled his anger with his hope. His words were icily formal. ‘I shall present your proposal to Her Majesty and relay to you her reply.’
‘Please,’ I replied in a low and courteous voice.
He rose stiffly and without another word to me he departed. I realized in that silence that his anger went deeper than I had supposed. It took me a moment to put my finger on it. I was not as he was, neither as a Farseer nor as an assassin. I was not sure that made me a better man. I longed to let him leave just then, but I knew there were other matters we had to discuss.
‘Chade. Before you go, there is something else I must tell you. I think we’ve had a spy in our secret corridors.’
He set his anger aside, almost visibly drawing himself back from it. As he turned, I lifted the bowl to reveal the rat. ‘The ferret killed this last night. I felt someone grieve for its death. I think this was the Wit-beast of someone within Buckkeep. It could be the same one I encountered on the road the night before the Prince’s betrothal.’
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