Fool's Errand
Page 123

Faster, I suggested to my black. I did not really think she had more speed in her, but as a flame roars up a dry tree, she again surged forward. I laughed aloud at the pure joy of it, and saw her ears flicker in response. She did not reach toward my mind with any thought, but I felt a tentative glimmer of her approval. We would do well enough together.
We were first to reach Lampcross Ferry.
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 2 - Golden Fool
The Tawny Man 1 - Fools Errand
Chapter XV
GALETON
Since the time of the Piebald Prince, the scouring of the Witted has been accepted within the Six Duchies as matteroffactly as enforced labor for bad debt or logging for thieves. It was the normal way of the world, and unquestioned. In the years following the Red Ship War, it was natural that the purging should begin in earnest. The Cleansing of Buck had freed the land of the Red Ship Raiders and the Forged ones they had created. Honest folk hoped to purify the Six Duchies of unnatural taints completely. Some were, perhaps, too swift to punish on little evidence. For a time, accusations of being Witted were enough to make any man, guilty or not, tremble for fear of his life.
The selfstyled Piebalds took advantage of this climate of suspicion and violence. While not revealing themselves, they publicly exposed wellknown figures who were possessed of the Wit but never spoke out against the persecution of their more vulnerable fellows. It was the first attempt by the Witted as a group to wield any sort of political power. Yet it was not the effort of a people to defend themselves against unjust persecution, but the underhanded tactic of a duplicitous faction determined to seize power for themselves by any available means. They had no more loyalty to themselves than a pack of dogs.
t Ê. delvin's “the politics of the piebald cabal”
As it turned out, my race to the ferry landing was of small use. The ferry was there and tied up, and so it would remain, the captain told me, until an expected cargo of two sa, wagons of sea salt arrived. When Lord Golden and Laurel arrived, which, to speak fairly, was not so much longer after I did, the captain remained adamant. Lord Golden offered him a substantial purse to leave without the wagons, but the captain shook his head with a smile. “I'd have your coins once, and nice as they might clink, I could only spend them once. I wait for the wagons at Lady Bresinga's request. Her coins come to me every week, and I'll not do anything to risk her ill will. You'll have to wait, good sir, begging your pardon.”
Lord Golden was little pleased with this, but there was nothing he could do. He told me to remain there with the horses, and took himself off to the landing inn where he could have a mug of ale in comfort while he waited. It was in keeping with our roles, and I harbored no resentment. I told myself this several times. If Laurel had not been with us, perhaps he would have found a way for us to share some time without compromising our public roles. I had looked forward to a companionable journey with him and time in which we did not have to maintain our facade of master and servant but I resigned myself to what was necessary. Still, something of my regret must have showed in my face, for Laurel came to keep pace with me as I walked the horses about in a field near the ferry landing. “Is something troubling you?” she asked me.
I glanced at her in some surprise at the sympathy in her voice. “Just missing an old friend,” I replied honestly.
“I see,” she answered, and when I offered no more on the topic, she observed, “You've a good master. He held no grudge against you that you beat him in our race. Many's the master who would have found a way to make you regret your victory over him.”
The idea startled me, not as Tom Badgerlock but as Fitz. It had never occurred to me that the Fool might resent a race fairly won. Plainly I was not fully settled into my role. “That's true, I suppose. But the victory was his as much as mine. He chose the horse, and at first I was not much impressed with the beast. But she can run, and in running she showed a spirit I didn't suspect she had. I think I can make a good mount of her yet.”
Laurel stepped back to run a critical eye over my black. “She seems a good mount to me. What made you doubt her?”
“Oh.” I searched for words that would not make me sound Witted. “She seemed to lack a certain willingness. Some horses want to please. Your Whitecap is one, and Malta another. My black seems to lack that. But as we get to know one another, perhaps it will come.”
“Myblack? That's her name?”
I shrugged and smiled. “I suppose. I hadn't given her one, but, yes, I suppose that's what I've been calling her.”