her own land. The negotiations with the traders who had accompanied the Narcheska’s delegation were going very well indeed. Bearns uncertainty about the alliance had been somewhat mollified when the Queen had formally awarded Seal Bay permission to be the Six Duchies’ exclusive trading port for furs, ivory and oil. From Buckkeep Town would ship the products of the Inland Duchies, the wines and brandy and grain. Shoaks and Rippon would claim the bulk of the trade in wool, cotton, leather and such.
‘Do you think each duchy will respect the other’s licence?’ I had asked idly as I swirled brandy in my glass.
Chade snorted. ‘Of course not. Smuggling is an old and honoured profession in every port town I’ve ever visited. But each duke has been given a bone to growl over, and each is already calculating the value that the alliance with the Outislands will bring to his home province. That is all we were truly after. To convince all of them that the entire Six Duchies would profit from this.’ Then he had sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A moment later he shifted uncomfortably, and then said, ‘Oh.’
From a fold in his robe, he brought out the figurine from the beach. She dangled from her chain, small and perfect. Her sleek black hair was crowned with a blue ornament. ‘I found this on a pile of rags in the corner. Is it yours?’
‘No. But that “pile of rags” was probably my old work-clothes. The necklace belongs to the Prince.’ As Chade frowned at me in puzzlement, I added, ‘I told you about it. The time we spent on that strange beach. He picked it up there. I ended up putting it in his purse for him. I should give it back to him.’
Chade had scowled then. ‘When he told me his tale of his adventures, he had little to say about the journey through the Skill-pillars or his time on the beach. He certainly never mentioned this.’
‘He wasn’t trying to deceive you, Chade. Even for an experienced Skill-user, going through a pillar is an unsettling experience. I took him through to the beach without warning; he had no idea what had happened to him. And, to return, I took him through three pillars. I’m not surprised his memories of it are scrambled. I’m just glad he is sane; most of Regal’s young Skill-users did not fare so well.’
A frown furrowed his brow. ‘So. An inexperienced Skill-user cannot pass through a pillar on his own?’
‘I don’t know. The first time I went through one, it was purely accidental on my part. But I had spent that whole day in a sort of Skill-stupor, on an Elderling road … Chade. What are you thinking?’
His quizzical look was too innocent.
‘Chade, stay away from those pillars. They are dangerous. Perhaps more dangerous to you, who may have traces of Skill-magic in your blood, than to ordinary folk.’
‘What are you afraid of?’ he asked me quietly. ‘That I might discover that I possessed an aptitude for the Skill? That perhaps, if I had been taught as a boy, I too could wield it now?’
‘Perhaps you could. But what I fear is that you will read some cracked and dusty old scroll and risk yourself in some experiment just when the Six Duchies needs you most.’
Chade made a disapproving grunt as he got up to place the figurine on his mantel. ‘And that reminds me of another thing. The Queen sends you this.’ He picked up a small scroll from the mantel and handed it to me. Unfurled, I immediately recognized Kettricken’s squared hand. She had never become accustomed to the flowing script we used in the Six Duchies. Twelve careful runes were inked there, and by each one was a single word. ‘Harbour, Beach, Glacier, Cave, Mountain, Motherhouse, Hunter, Warrior, Fisher, Allmother, Smith, Weaver.’
‘It’s from some game she was playing with Peottre. I see why she sent you this. Do you?’
I nodded. ‘The runes look similar to the runes on the Skill-pillars. They are not the identical runes, but they look as if they might be from the same system of writing.’
‘Very good. But one, at least, is almost identical. Here. These are the runes that marked the pillar that you and the Prince used. The one near the old mounds.’
Chade took up a second scroll from the table between us. It was obviously the work of a true scribe. It showed four carefully replicated symbols, with the orientation of each facet of the pillar marked, as well as notations on the size and placement of the originals. Chade had obviously sent his little bees out to gather information for him. ‘Which one took you to the beach?’ Chade asked me.
‘This one.’ It was similar to the one for ‘Beach’ on Kettricken’s scroll, save for an extra tail or two.
‘And did an identical one bring you back?’
I frowned. ‘I had little time to note the appearance of the one that brought me back. I see you’ve been busy in my absence.’
He nodded. ‘There are other stone pillars within the Six Duchies. I’ll have information on them within the next few weeks. Obviously they were originally used by Skilled ones, and somehow the knowledge of how they worked was lost for a time. But we have a chance to regain it.’
‘Only at great danger. Chade, may I point out that our trip to the beach ended with Dutiful and me underwater? It could have been much worse. Imagine if one of the exit pillars was face down on the ground. Or shattered. What happens to the user then?’
Chade looked only mildly flustered as he said, ‘Well, then I assumed you would see the way was blocked and come right back.’
‘My assumption is that I would be expelled from the pillar into solid stone. It isn’t like a doorway where you can halt and look out. It dumps you out, as if you’d stepped through a trapdoor.’
‘Ah. I see. Well, then their use will have to be investigated much more carefully. But as we read the Skill-scrolls, we may be able to decipher what each rune means and at least establish where each “gate” originally opened. And thus, eventually, determine which ones are safe to use. And perhaps right or repair the others. What other Skill-users did in the past, we can reclaim.’
‘Chade. I am not at all certain that those pillars were the work of Skill-users. Perhaps some have used them, but each time I’ve passed through one, the disorientation and the …’ I groped for words. ‘Foreignness,’ I hazarded at last. ‘The foreignness makes me wonder if Skill-users are the ones who built them. If they were built by humans at all.’
‘Elderlings?’ he had suggested after a moment.
‘I don’t know,’ I had replied.
The conversation echoed through my mind as I gazed at the racked scrolls and the locked chests in the Skill-tower. The answers might be here, waiting for me.
I selected three scrolls from the rack from among the ones that looked most recent. I’d start with the ones in letters and languages that I knew well. I found none by Solicity, which struck me as odd. Certainly, our last Skillmistress must have committed something of her wisdom to paper; it was generally assumed that one who achieved Master status would have something unique to pass on to their followers. But if Solicity had ever written anything, it was not amongst these scrolls. The three I finally chose were by someone named Treeknee, and were labelled as a translation of an older manuscript by Skillmaster Oklef. The translations had been done at the behest of Skillmaster Barley. I had never heard of any of them. I tucked the three scrolls under my arm and departed by way of the false panel in the hearth mantel.
I intended to leave
