with the Bingtown Traders will be determined by the Six Duchies’ best interests, not by threats. From anyone.’
‘And?’
‘And they left the audience chamber. The Narcheska seemed in high dudgeon, walking stiff-backed as a soldier. Blackwater hunched like a man heavily burdened.’
‘They’re scheduled to return to the Outislands soon, aren’t they?’
Chade nodded heavily. ‘A few days from now. All of this happens just in time to leave everything out of balance. If the Queen does not return an answer to the Bingtowners soon, then when the Narcheska departs, the whole betrothal will be left in uncertainty. All of that work to solidify our relations gone to waste or worse. Yet I feel there must be no haste in returning an answer to the Bingtown Traders. This whole offer must be considered carefully. This talk of dragons … is this a threat? A mockery of our dragons? A wild offer to us, of something that doesn’t even exist, because they need our help so desperately? I need to make sense of that. I need to send spies and buy information. We dare not return an answer until we have our own sources of facts.’
The Fool and I exchanged a glance.
‘What?’ Chade demanded.
I took a deep breath and threw caution to the wind. ‘I need to speak with you and the Queen. And perhaps Dutiful should be present as well.’
I am no coward. I have always accepted the will of the god-born. More than a dozen times has my life been put at the feet of Duke Sidder, for the good of glorious Chalced. None of those risks do I regret. But when the most gracious and divinely just Duke Sidder finds fault with us for failing to hold Bingtown Harbour, he is unfortunately basing his judgement on the reports of men who were not there. Hence, our most gracious and divinely just duke cannot be faulted in any way for coming to flawed conclusions. Herewith, I endeavour to correct those reports.
Scribe Wertin wrote that ‘… a fleet of seasoned battleships was defeated and driven away by slaves and fishermen.’ This is not the case. Slaves and fishermen were, indeed, responsible for much treachery against our ships, done in secret and under cover of darkness rather than in true battle. But as our captains had not been given warning that the Bingtown Traders might have such organized forces at their disposal, why would we be expected to be on guard against them? I think the fault here lies not with our captains, but with those Bingtown emissaries, scribes and accountants, not warriors, who neglected to keep us well informed. Hanging is too kind for them. Many brave warriors died unworthy deaths due to their laxity in reporting.
Scribe Wertin also suggests that perhaps treasure was loaded from the warehouses before they were destroyed, and that individual captains kept it for themselves following our defeat. This is most emphatically not true. The warehouses, stuffed with the spoils our assiduous treasure collecting had gathered for you, were burned to the ground with all their contents by Bingtown fanatics. Why is this so hard for scribes to believe? There were also reports of Bingtown folk who killed their kinfolk and themselves rather than face our raiders. In consideration of our reputations, I think this can be taken as fact.
But Scribe Wertin’s gravest and most unjust error is his denial of the existence of the dragon. May I ask, most courteously and humbly, on what he bases this report? Every captain who returned to our shores reported sightings of a blue-and-silver dragon. Every captain. Why are their words dismissed as cowardly excuses, while the tales of a soft eunuch are heralded as truth? There was, indeed, a dragon. We took disastrous damage from it. Your scribe fatuously states that there is no proof of this, that the reports of the dragons are ‘the excuses of cowards for fleeing a certain victory, and perhaps a subterfuge for keeping treasure and tribute from Duke Sidder’. What proof, I ask, could be sought that is more telling than those hundreds of men who never returned home?
Captain Slyke’s rebuttal of his Execution Verdict, Chade Fallstar’s translation from the Chalcedean
It was hours later when I wearily climbed the stairs back to Lord Golden’s room. I had had a long audience with the Queen and Chade. Chade had declined to summon Prince Dutiful to attend it. ‘He knows that we know one another, you and I, of old. But I don’t think we would be wise to strengthen that connection in his mind. Not just yet.’
On reflection, I decided that perhaps I agreed with him. Chade was technically my great-uncle, though I had never related to him that way. Always he had been my mentor. Old as he was and scarred as I was, we still shared some family resemblance. Dutiful had already voiced his suspicions that I was related to him. Best that he did not see us together, and gain strength for any of his theories.
My session with Chade and the Queen had been long. Chade had never before had the opportunity to have both of us in the same room while he questioned us about the true nature of the Six Duchies dragons. He sipped one of his foul tisanes and took copious notes until his bony hand wearied. After that, he passed the pen to me and commanded me to write as we spoke. As ever, his questions were concise and thoughtful. What was new in his demeanour was his obvious enthusiasm and fervour. For him the wonder of the stone dragons, brought to life with blood, Skill and Wit, were a manifestation of the extended powers of the Skill. I saw hunger in his eyes, as he speculated that perhaps men seeking to avoid death’s cold jaws had first worked this magic.
Kettricken frowned at that. I surmised that she preferred to believe that the stone dragons had been created by Skill-coteries in the hope of serving the Six Duchies some day. She probably believed that the older dragons had likewise been carved for some loftier goal. When I countered this with the concept that a Skill-addiction led one to the creation, they both scowled at me.
I had been scowled at a great deal. My relaying of the information about the Bingtown dragons was treated first with scepticism, and then annoyance that I had not spoken sooner. Why I shielded the Fool from their disapproval, I could not have said. I did not lie directly; Chade had trained me too well for that. Instead, I let them think that he had told me his tales of Bingtown dragons when first he came to visit me. I took upon myself the responsibility that I had not passed the knowledge on to them. I shrugged, and said carelessly that I had not thought such tales could affect us here in Buckkeep. I did not have to add that it seemed a wild story to me then. Both of them were still teetering on whether they accepted it.
‘It puts our own dragons into a new light,’ Kettricken mused softly.
‘And makes the veiled man’s remarks a bit less offensive,’ I ventured to add.
‘Perhaps. Though I still feel affront that he dared to doubt our dragons were real.’
Chade cleared his throat. ‘We must let that pass, for now, my queen. Last year I came into possession of some papers that spoke of a dragon defending Bingtown from the Chalcedean fleet. It seemed but a wild battle tale to me, such as men often use to excuse defeat. I surmised that the rumours of our real dragons had led the Chalcedeans to pretend themselves defeated by a Bingtown dragon rather than simple strategy. Perhaps I should have heeded it; I will see what other information I can purchase. But for now, let us consider our own resources.’ He cleared his throat and stared at me as if he suspected me of withholding vital information. ‘The buried cities the Fool told you about … could they be related to the abandoned city that you visited?’ Chade pushed the question in as if it were more important than the Queen’s comment about affront.
I shrugged. ‘I have no way of knowing. The city I visited was not buried. Some great cataclysm had riven it, true. It was like a cake
