The Tawny Man 1 - Fool's Errand Read online

  "It's excellent, when I'm in enough pain to choke it down. Come down from there." I set my hands to her waist and lifted her easily, though the old scar on my back gave a twinge as I set her on the floor. "Sit. I'll make the tea. Tell me about Springfest."

  So she did, while I clattered out my few cups, cut slices from my last loaf, and put the rabbit stew to warm. Her tales of Buckkeep were the kind I had become accustomed to hearing from her: she spoke of minstrels who had performed well or badly, gossiped of lords and ladies I had never known, and condemned or praised food from various nobles' tables where she had guested. She told each tale wittily, making me laugh or shake my head as it called for, with nary a pang of the pain that Chade had wakened in me. I supposed it was because he had spoken of the folk we had both known and loved, and told his stories from that intimate perspective. It was not Buckkeep itself or city life that I pined for, but my childhood days and the friends I had known. In that I was safe; it was impossible to return to that time. Only a few of those folk even knew that I still lived, and that was as I wished it to be. I said as much to Starling: "Sometimes your tales tug at my heart and make me wish I could return to Buckkeep. But that is a world closed to me now."

  She frowned at me. "I don't see why."

  I laughed aloud. "You don't think anyone would be surprised to see me alive?"

  She cocked her head and stared at me frankly. "I think there would be few, even of your old friends, who would recognize you. Most recall you as an unscarred youth. The broken nose, the slash down your face, even the white in your hair might alone be disguise enough. Then, you dressed as a prince's son; now you wear the garb of a peasant. Then, you moved with a warrior's grace. Now, well, in the mornings or on a cold day, you move with an old man's caution." She shook her head with regret as she added, "You have taken no care for your appearance, nor have the years been kind to you. You could add five or even ten years to your age, and no one would question it."

  This blunt appraisal from my lover stung. "Well, that's good to know," I replied wryly. I took the kettle from the fire, not wanting to meet her eyes just then.

  She mistook my words and tone. "Yes. And when you add in that people see what they expect to see, and they do not expect to see you alive ... I think you could venture it. Are you considering a return to Buckkeep, then?"

  "No." I heard the shortness of the word, but could think of nothing to add to it. It did not seem to bother her.

  "A pity. You miss so much, living alone like this." She launched immediately into an account of the Springfest dancing. Despite my soured mood, I had to smile at her account of Chade beseeched to dance by a young admirer of sixteen summers. She was right. I would have loved to have been there.

  As I prepared food for all of us, I found my mind straying to the old torment of "what if." What if I had been able to return to Buckkeep with my Queen and Starling? What if I had come home to Molly and our child? And always, no matter how I twisted the pretense, it ended in disaster. If I had returned to Buckkeep, alive when all believed me executed for practicing the Wit, I would have brought only division at a time when Kettricken was trying to reunify the land. There would have been a faction who would have favored me over her, for bastard though I was, I was a Farseer by blood while she reigned only by virtue of marriage. A stronger faction would have been in favor of executing me again, and more thoroughly.

  And if I had gone back to Molly and the child, returned to carry her off to be mine? I suppose I could have, if I had no care for anyone but myself. She and Burrich had both given me up for dead. The woman who had been my wife in all but name, and the man who had raised me and been my friend had turned to one another. He had kept a roof over Molly's head, and seen that she was fed and warm while my child grew within her. With his own hands, he had delivered my bastard. Together they had kept Nettle from Regal's men. Burrich had claimed both woman and child as his own, not only to protect them, but to love them. I could have gone back to them, to make them both faithless in their own eyes. could have made their bond a shameful thing. Burrich would have left Molly and Nettle to me. His harsh sense of honor would not have allowed him to do otherwise. And ever after, I could have wondered if she compared me to him, if the love they had shared was stronger and more honest than . . .

  "You're burning the stew," Starling pointed out in annoyance.

  I was. I served us from the top of the pot, and joined her at the table. I pushed all pasts, both real and imagined, aside. I did not need to think of them. I had Starling to busy my mind. As was customary, was the listener and she was the teller of tales. She began a long account of some upstart minstrel at Springfest who had not only dared to sing one of her songs, with only a verse or two changed, but then had claimed ownership of it. She gestured with her bread as she spoke, and almost managed to catch me up in the story. But my own memories of other Springfests kept intruding. Had I lost all content in the simple life I had created for myself? The boy and the wolf had been enough for me for many years. What ailed me now?

  I went from that to yet another discordant thought. Where was Hap? I had brewed tea for the three of us, and portioned out food for three as well. Hap was always ravenous after any sort of a task or journey. It was distracting that he could not get past his bad mood to come and join us. As Starling spoke on, I found my eyes straying repeatedly to his untouched bowl of stew. She caught me at it.

  "Don't fret about him," she told me almost testily. "He's a boy, with a boy's sulky ways. When he's hungry enough, he'll come in."

  Or he'll ruin perfectly good fish by burning it over a fire . The wolf's thought came in response to my Wit questing toward him. They were down by the creek. Hap had made a tempojst

  rary spear out of a stick, and the wolf had simply plunged into the water to hunt along the undercut banks. When the fish ran thick, it was not difficult for him to corner one there, to plunge his head under the water and seize it in his jaws. The cold water made his joints ache, but the boy's fire would soon warm him. They were fine. Don't worry.

  Useless advice, but I pretended to take it. We finished eating, and I cleared the dishes away. While I tidied, Starling sat on the hearth by the evening fire, picking at her harp until the random notes turned into the old song about the miller's daughter. When everything was put to rights, I joined her there with a cup of Sandsedge brandy for each of us. I sat in a chair, but she sat near the fire on the floor. She leaned back against my legs as she played. I watched her hands on the strings, marking the crookedness where once her fingers had been broken, as a warning to me. At the end of her song, I leaned down and kissed her. She kissed me back, setting the harp aside and making a more thorough job of it.

  She stood then and took my hands to pull me to my feet. As I followed her into my bedroom, she observed, "You're pensive tonight."

  I made some small sound of agreement. Sharing that she had bruised my feelings earlier would have seemed sniveling and childish. Did I want her to lie to me, to tell me that I was still young and comely when obviously I was not? Time had had its way with me. That was all, and to be expected. Even so, Starling kept coming back to me. Through all the years, she'd kept returning to me and to my bed. That had to count for something.

  "You were going to tell me about something?" she prompted.

  "Later," I told her. The past clutched at me, but I put its greedy fingers aside, determined to immerse myself in the present. This life was not so bad. It was simple and uncluttered, without conflict. Wasn't this the life I had always dreamed of? A life where I made my decisions for myself?

  And I was not alone, really. I had Nighteyes and Hap, and Starling, when she came to me. I opened her vest and then her blouse to bare her breasts while she unbuttoned my shirt. She embraced me, rubbing against me with the unabashed pleasure of a purring cat. I clasped her to me and lowered my face to kiss the top of her head. This too was simple and all the sweeter for it. My freshly stuffed mattress was deep and fragrant as the meadow grass and herbs that
filled it. We tumbled into it. For a time, I stopped thinking at all, as I tried to persuade both of us that despite appearances, I was a young man still.

  A while later, lingered in the hinterlands of sleep. Sometimes I think there is more rest in that place between wakefulness and sleep than there is in true sleep. The mind walks in the twilight of both states, and finds the truths that are hidden alike by daylight and dreams. Things we are not ready to know abide in that place, awaiting that unguarded frame of mind.

  I came awake. My eyes were open, studying the details of my darkened room before I realized that sleep had fled. Starling's wide-flung arm was across my chest. In her sleep, she had kicked the blanket away from both of us. Night hid her careless nakedness, cloaking her in shadows. I lay still, hearing her breathe and smelling her sweat mixed with her perfume, and wondered what had wakened me. I could not put my finger on it, yet neither could I close my eyes again. I slid out from under her arm and stood up beside my bed. In the darkness I groped for my discarded shirt and leggings.

  The coals of the hearth fire gave hesitant light to the main room, but I did not linger there. I opened the door and stepped barefoot into the mild spring night. I stood still a moment, letting my eyes adjust, and then made my way away from the cottage and garden and down to the stream bank. The path was cool hard mud underfoot, well packed by my daily trips to fetch water. The trees met overhead, and there was no moon, but my feet and my nose knew the way as well as my eyes did. All I had to do was follow myWit to my wolf. Soon I picked out the orange glow of Hap's dwindled fire, and the lingering scent of cooked fish.

  They slept by the fire, the wolf curled nose to tail and Hap wrapped around him, his arm around Nighteyes' neck. Nighteyes opened his eyes as I approached, but did not stir. I told you not to worry.

  I'm not worried. I'm just here. Hap had left some sticks of wood near the fire. I added them to the coals. I sat and watched the fire lick along them. Light came up with the warmth. I knew the boy was awake. One can't be raised with a wolf without picking up some of his wariness. I waited for him.

  "It's not you. Not just you, anyway."

  I didn't look at Hap, even when he spoke. Some things are better said to the dark. I waited. Silence can ask all the questions, where the tongue is prone to ask only the wrong one.

  "I have to know," he burst out suddenly. My heart seized up at the question to come. In some corner of my soul, I had always dreaded him asking it. I should not have let him go to Springfest, I thought wildly. If I had kept him here, my secret would never have been threatened.

  But that was not the question he asked.

  "Did you know that Starling is married?"

  I looked at him then, and my face must have answered for me. He closed his eyes in sympathy. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I should have known you didn't. I should have found a better way to tell you."

  And the simple comfort of a woman who came to my arms when she would, because she desired to be with me, and the sweet evenings of tales and music by the fire, and her dark merry eyes looking up into mine were suddenly guilty and deceptive and furtive. I was as foolish as I had ever been, no, even stupider, for the gullibility of a boy is fatuousness in a man. Married. Starling married. She had thought no one would ever want to marry her, for she was barren. She had told me that she had to make her own way with her songs, av, for there would never be a man to care for her, nor children to provide for her old age. Probably, when she had told me those things, she had believed they were true. My folly had been in thinking that truth would never change.

  Nighteyes had risen and stretched stiffly. Now he came to lie down beside me. He set his head on my knee. I don't understand. You are ill?

  No. Just stupid.

  Ah. Nothing new there. Well, you haven't died from that so far.

  But sometimes it has been a near thing. I took a breath. "Tell me about it." I didn't want to hear it, but I knew he had to tell it. Better to get it over with.

  Hap came with a sigh, to sit on the other side of Nighteyes. He picked up a twig from the ground beside him and teased the fire with it. "I don't think she meant for me to find out. Her husband doesn't live at Buckkeep. He traveled in to surprise her, to spend Springfest with her." As he spoke, the twig caught fire. He tossed it in. His fingers wandered to idly groom Nighteyes.

  I pictured some honest old farmer, wed to a minstrel in the quiet years of his life, perhaps with grown children from an earlier marriage. He loved her, then, to make a trip to Buckkeep to surprise her. Springfest was traditionally for lovers, old and new.

  "His name is Dewin," Hap went on. "And he's some sort of kin to Prince Dutiful. A distant cousin or something. He's a tall man, always dressed very grand. He wore a cloak, twice as big around as it need be, collared with fur. And he wears silver on both wrists. He's strong, too. At the Springfest dancing, he lifted Starling right up and swung her around, and all the folk stood back to watch them." Hap was watching my face as he spoke. I think he found my obvious dismay comforting. "I should have known you didn't know. You wouldn't cuckold a grand man like that."

  "I wouldn't cuckold any man," I managed to say. "Not knowingly."

  He sighed as if relieved. "So you've taught me." Boyishly, his mind instantly reverted to how it had affected him. "I was upset when saw them kiss. I'd never seen anyone except you and Starling kiss like that. I thought she was betraying you, and then when I heard him introduced as her husband . . ." He cocked his head at me. "It really hurt my feelings. I thought then that you knew and didn't care. I thought that perhaps all these years you had taught me one thing, and done another. I wondered if you thought me so dull I'd never discover it, if you and Starling laughed about it as if it were a joke for me to be so stupid. It built up in my mind until I began to question everything you'd ever taught me about anything." He looked back at the fire. "It felt horrible, to be so betrayed."

  I was glad to hear him sort it out this way. Better far that he consider only what it meant to him, rather than how it could cut me. Let him follow his own thoughts where they would lead. My own mind was moving in another direction, creaking like an old cart dragged out of a shed and newly greased for spring. I resisted the turning of the wheels that led me to an inevitable conclusion. Starling was married. Why not? She'd had nothing to lose and all to gain. A comfortable home with her grand lord, some minor title no doubt, wealth and security for her old age, and for him, a lovely and charming wife, a celebrated minstrel, and he could bask in her reflected glory and enjoy the envy of other men.

  And when she wearied of him, she could take to the road as minstrels always did, and have a fling with me, and neither man ever the wiser. Neither? Could I assume there were only two of us?

  "Did you think you were the only one she bedded?"

  A direct-spoken lad, Hap. I wondered what questions he had asked Starling on the ride home.

  "I suppose I didn't think about it at all," I admitted. So many things were easier to live with if you didn't give them much thought. I suppose I had known that Starling shared herself with other men. She was a minstrel; they did such things. So I had excused my bedding her to myself, and indirectly to Hap. She never spoke of it, I never asked, and her other lovers were hypothetical beings, faceless, and bodiless. They were certainly not husbands, however. She was vowed to him, and him to her. That made all the difference to me.

  "What will you do now?"

  An excellent question. One I had been carefully not considering. "I'm not sure," I lied.

  "Starling said that it was none of my business; that it hurt no one. She said that if I told you, I'd be the cruel one, hurting you, not her. She said that she'd always been careful not to hurt you, that you'd had enough pain in your life. When I said that you had a right to know, she said you had a greater right not to know."

  Starling's clever tongue. She'd left him no way to feel right about himself. Hap looked at me now, his mismatched eyes loyal as a hound's, and waited for me to pass judgment on him. I t
old him the truth. "I'd rather know the truth from you than have you watch me be deceived."

  "Have I hurt you, then?"

  I shook my head slowly. "I've hurt myself, boy." And I had. I'd never been a minstrel; I had no right to a minstrel's ways. Those who make a living with their ringers and tongues have flintier hearts than the rest of us, I suppose. "Sooner a kindly wolverine than a faithful minstrel," so the saying goes. I wondered if Starling's husband paid heed to it.

  "I thought you would be angry. She warned me that you might get angry enough to hurt her."

  "Did you believe that?" That stung as sharply as the revelation.

  He took a quick breath, hesitated again, then said quickly, "You've a temper. And I've never had to tell you something that might hurt you. Something that might make you feel stupid."

  Perceptive lad. More so than I had thought. "I am angry, Hap. I'm angry at myself."

  He looked at the fire. "I feel selfish, because I feel better now."

  "I'm glad you feel better. I'm glad things are easy between us again. Now. Set all that aside and tell me about the rest of Springfest. What did you think of Buckkeep Town?"

  So he talked and I listened. He'd seen Buckkeep and Springfest with a boy's eyes, and as he spoke I realized how greatly both castle and town had changed since my days there. From his descriptions, I knew the city had managed to grow, clawing out building space from the harsh cliffs above it, and expanding out onto pilings. He described floating taverns and mercantiles. He talked too of traders from Bingtown and the islands beyond it, as well as those from the Out Islands. Buckkeep Town had increased its stature as a trade port. When he spoke of the Great Hall of Buckkeep and the room where he had stayed as Starling's guest, I recognized that a great deal had changed up at the keep as well. He spoke of carpets and fountains, rich hangings on every wall, and cushioned chairs and glittering chandeliers. His descriptions put me more in mind of Re-gal's fine manor at Tradeford than the stark fortress I had once called home. I suspected Chade's influence there as much as Kettricken's. The old assassin had always been fond of fine things, not to mention comfort. I had already resolved never to return to Buckkeep. Why should it be so daunting to learn that the place I recalled, that stark fortress of black stone, did not really even exist anymore?