I glanced over at the wolf. “So do I,” I pointed out.
No. You do not. You are aging, but you are not getting old as am getting old. This is true and we both know it.
There seemed little point in denying it. “So?” I challenged him, bravado masking my sudden uneasiness.
So we approach a time of decision. And it should be something we decide, not something that we let happen to us. I think you should teR the Fool about our time among the Old Blood. Not because he will or can decide for us, but because we both think better when we share thoughts with him.
This was a carefully structured thought from the wolf, an almost toohuman reasoning from the part of me that ran on four legs. I went down on one knee suddenly beside him and flung my arms around his neck. Frightened for no reason I dared name, I hugged him tight, as if I could pull him inside my chest and hold him there forever. He tolerated it for a moment, then flung his head down and bucked clear of me. He leapt away from me, then stopped. He shook himself all over to settle his rumpled coat, then stared out over the sea as if surveying new hunting terrain. I drew a breath and spoke. “I'll tell him. Tonight.”
He gave me a glance over his shoulder, nose held low and ears forward. His eyes were alight. A flash of his old mischief danced there. I know you will, little brother. Don't fear.
Then, in a leap of grace that belied his dog's years, he whipped away from me and became a gray streak that vanished suddenly amongst the scrubby brush and tussocky grasses of the gentle hillside. My eyes could not find him, so clever was he, but my heart went with him as it always did. My heart, I told myself, would always be able to find him, would always find a place where we still touched and merged. I sent the thought after him, but he made no replyto it.
I returned to the cottage. I gathered the day's eggs from the chicken house and took them in. The Fool coddled eggs in the coals on the hearth while I brewed tea. We carried our food outside into the blue morning, and the Fool and I broke our fasts sitting on the porch. The wind off the water didn't reach my little vale. The leaves of the trees hung motionless. Only the chickens clucked and scratched in the dusty yard. I had not realized how prolonged my silence had been until the Fool broke it. “It's pleasant here,” he observed, waving his spoon at the surrounding trees. “The stream, the forest, the beach cliffs nearby. I can see why you prefer it to Buckkeep.”
He had always possessed a knack for turning my thoughts upside down. “I'm not sure that I prefer it,” I replied slowly. “I never thought of comparing the two and then choosing where I would live. The first time I spent a winter here, it was because a bad storm caught us, and in seeking shelter under the trees, we found an old cart track. It led us to an abandoned cottage Êthis oneÊand we came inside.” I shrugged a shoulder. "We've been here ever since.
He cocked his head at me. “So, with all the wide world to choose from, you didn't choose at all. You simply stopped wandering one day.”
“I suppose so.” I nearly halted the next words that came to my lips, for they seemed to have no bearing on the topic. “Forge is just down the road from here.” “And it drew you here?”
“I don't think so. I did go back to it, to look at the ruins and recall it. No one lives there now. Usually, a place like that, folk would have scavenged the ruins. Not Forge.”
“Too many evil memories associated with that place,” the Fool confirmed. “Forge was just the beginning, but folk remember it the best, and gave its name to the scourge that followed. I wonder how many folk were Forged, all told?”
I shifted uneasily, then rose to take the Fool's empty dish. Even now, I did not like to recall those days. The Red Ships had raided our shores for years, stealing our wealth. It was only when they began to steal the humanity of our people that we had risen in full wrath against them. They had begun that evil at Forge, kidnapping village folk and returning them to their kin as soulless monsters. Once, it had been my task to track down and kill Forged ones; one of many quiet, nasty tasks for the King's assassin. But that was years ago, I told myself. That Fitz no longer existed. “It was a long time ago,” I reminded the Fool. “It's over and done with now.”
“So some say. Others disagree. Some still cling to their hatred of the Outislanders and say that even the dragons we sent them were too merciful. Others, of course, say we should put that war behind us, as Six Duchies and Outislanders have always moved from war to trade. On my way here, there was tavern talk that Queen Kettricken seeks to buy both peace and a trade alliance with the Outislanders. I've heard it said she will marry Prince Dutiful off to an Out Islands narcheska, to cement the treaty bond she has proposed.”
