Fool's Errand
Page 190

“And you?” he said after a moment. Was he disappointed that I had turned the conversation so firmly?
I tossed my head toward the row of trees along the streambed. “I'm going to climb one of those and keep watch. You should get a few hours of sleep. If they try to fall on us, they'll have to cross the whole meadow. I'll see them against the firelight in time to take action.”
“What action?”
I shrugged. “If there's a few, we fight. If there's many, we run.”
“Complex strategy. Chade taught you well.” “Rest while you can. We ride at moonrise.” And we parted. I had the nagging sense that something had been left unspoken between us, something important. Well. There would be a better time later.
Anyone who thinks it is easy to find a good climbing tree in the dark has never tried it. On my third try, I found one that had a limb broad enough to sit on that still afforded me an unencumbered view of our campsite. I could have sat and pondered the vagaries of fate that had made me the father of two children and the parent of neither. Instead, I decided to worry about Hap. I knew Chade would keep his word, but could Hap hold up his end of the bargain? Had I taught him how to work well enough, would he have enough care for what he did, would he listen well and endure correction humbly?
The darkness was pitchblack. I looked in vain for the waning moon to rise. She and her dwindling light would not appear until the dead of night. Against the blackred smear of our campfire, I could just make out the shapes of Lord Golden and the boy in their blankets. Time passed. A friendly branch stub nudged against the small of my back and prevented me from getting too comfortable.
Come down.
I had dozed. I could not see the wolf, but I knew that he was in the shadows at the base of my tree. Something's wrong.
Come down. Be silent.
I came down, but not as quietly as I had hoped. I hung by my hands and then dropped, only to discover there was a hollow beneath the tree and the fall was greater than I had expected. The jar clacked my teeth together and jolted my spine against the base of my skull. I'm too old to do this sort of thing anymore .
No. You only wish you were. Come.
I followed him, my teeth gritted. He took me silently back to the campsite. The Fool sat up noiselessly as I drew near. Even in the dark, I could make out his questioning look. I made a small motion for silence and watched.
The wolf went to where the Prince was curled like a kitten in his blankets. He put his muzzle close to Dutiful's ear. I gestured at him not to wake the boy, but he ignored me. In fact, he levered his nose under the Prince's cheek and nudged him. The boy's head gave limply to his touch, lolling like a dead man's. My heart stood still, and then I heard the rasp of his sleeping breath. The wolf nudged him again. He still didn't wake.
I met the Fool's wideeyed stare, then I went to kneel by the boy. Nighteyes looked up into my face.
He was questing for them, questing and reaching, and then suddenly, he was just gone. I can't feel him. Nighteyes was anxious.
He's gone far and deep. I considered a moment. This is not the Wit.
“Watch over us,” I bade the Fool. Then I lay down beside Dutiful. I closed my eyes. As if I were steeling myself to dive into deep water, I measured each breath I drew into myself. I matched the rhythm to the boy's breathing. Verity, I thought, for no reason at all save that it seemed to center me. I hesitated, then I groped for and found the boy's hand. I held it in mine, and it pleased me unreasonably that his palm was callused with work. I drew a final breath and plunged into the flow of the Skill. Skin to skin, I found him immediately.
I attached my consciousness to his and flowed with him. This, I suddenly knew, was how Galen's coterie had spied on King Shrewd all those years ago. Then I had despised that leeching of knowledge. Now I seized onto it relentlessly and followed my Prince.
There had been a shock of recognition, a jolt of kinship, when I had first seen the boy. It did not compare to what I experienced tiow. I knew this boy's wild seeking, his artless and fearless Skilling. It was as my own had been, a wild reaching with no knowledge of how I did it or the dangers it posed. He quested with his Wit and did not know that he Skilled out as well. For a daunting moment, I realized that like my own Skill magic, his was tainted with the Wit. Having taught himself to Skill this way, could he ever learn to use the Skill magic purely?
Then that consideration was pushed completely aside. Cloaked within the Skill, I witnessed his Wit magic, and I was appalled.
Prince Dutiful was the cat. He was not merely bonded with the animal; he flowed completely into it, reserving nothing of himself. I knew that the wolf and I had interwoven our consciousness to a deep and dangerous level, but it was superficial compared to the Prince's complete surrender to his bond.