with Icefyre, the God Runes’ dragon. They both dealt with legends, but he hoped I could sift whatever seed of truth had begun them. He had already dispatched spies to the Outislands. One had sailed secretly aboard the Narcheska’s vessel, ostensibly working his way across to visit relatives there. His true mission was to reach Aslevjal, or at least to discover as much about that isle as could be learned, and to report back to Chade with it. The old man feared that having committed himself to the quest, Dutiful must actually go. But he was determined the Prince would go well prepared and well accompanied. ‘I myself may go with him,’ Chade had informed me at our last chance encounter in the tower. I had groaned, but managed to keep it a silent one. He was too old for such a trip. By an amazing effort of will, I managed to keep those words to myself also. For I knew what would follow any protest: ‘Who, then, do you think I should send?’ I was no more in favour of visiting Aslevjal myself than I was for Chade going. Or Prince Dutiful, for that matter.
I pushed the Icefyre scroll to one side and rubbed my eyes. It was interesting, but I doubted that anything there was going to prepare the Prince for his quest. From what I knew of our stone dragons, even from what the Fool had told me of the Bingtown dragons, it seemed highly unlikely to me that there was a dragon asleep in a glacier on an Outislander isle. Far more likely that a ‘slumbering dragon’ was fancifully blamed for earthquakes and glaciers calving. Besides, I’d had enough of dragons for a time. The more I worked on the scroll, the more troubling thoughts of the veiled Bingtowner menaced my sleep. Yet I could wish those were my only concerns.
My eyes fell on a heavy pottery bowl, upside down on the corner of the table. There was a dead rat under it. Well, there was most of a dead rat under. I’d taken it from the ferret last night. From a sound sleep, a Wit-scream of hideous pain had awakened me. It was not the ordinary snuffing of a small creature’s life. Anyone with the Wit had to become inured to those constant ripples. Usually, little creatures went like popping bubbles. Among animals, death is a daily chance one takes in the course of living. Only a human bonded to a creature could have given such a roar of dismay, outrage and sorrow over a creature’s death.
Once jolted awake by it, I had given up all hope of going back to sleep. It was as if my wound of losing Nighteyes had suddenly been torn afresh. I had arisen and, loath to awaken the Fool, had instead come up to the tower. On the way I had encountered the ferret dragging the rat. It had been the largest, most glossily healthy rat I had ever seen. After a chase and a tussle, the ferret had surrendered it to me. There was no way I could prove that this dead rat had been someone’s Wit-beast, but my suspicions were strong. I had saved it to show it to Chade. I knew we had a spy sneaking about within the keep’s walls. Laurel’s lynched sprig of laurel was proof enough of that. Now it seemed possible that the rat and his Wit-partner had not only penetrated to the royal residence, but knew something of our hidden lairs. I hoped the old man would come to the tower this evening.
I now turned to the two old Skill-scrolls we’d been piecing together. They were more challenging than the Icefyre vellums, and yet more satisfying to work on. Chade believed the two were part of the same work, based on the apparent age of the vellum and the style of lettering used. I believed they were two separate works, based on the choice of words and the illustrations. Both were faded and cracked, with portions of words or whole sentences unreadable. Both were in an archaic lettering that gave me headaches. Beside each scroll was a clean piece of vellum, with Chade’s and my line-for-line translations of the two. Looking at them, I realized that my handwriting predominated now. I glanced at Chade’s latest contribution. It was a sentence that began, ‘The use of elfbark’. I frowned at that, and found the corresponding line in the old scroll. The illustration beside it was faded, but it was definitely not elfbark. The word Chade had translated as ‘elfbark’ was partially obscured by a stain. But squinting at it, I had to agree that ‘elfbark’ did seem the most likely configuration of the letters. Well, that made no sense. Unless the illustration did not pertain to that part of the text. In which case, the piece I had translated might be all wrong. I sighed.
The wine rack swung open. Chade entered, followed by Thick bearing a tray of food and drink. ‘Good evening,’ I greeted them, and carefully set my work to one side.
‘Good evening, Tom,’ Chade greeted me.
‘Evening, master,’ Dogstink. Thick echoed him.
Don’t call me that. ‘Good evening, Thick. I thought you and I were going to meet here earlier today.’
The half-wit set the tray down on the table and scratched himself. ‘Forgot,’ he said with a shrug, but his little eyes narrowed as he said it.
I gave Chade a glance of resignation. I had tried, but the old man’s surly stare seemed to say I had not tried hard enough. I tried to think of a way to be rid of Thick so I could discuss the rat with Chade.
‘Thick? Next time you bring up wood for the fire, could you bring an extra load? Sometimes in the evening, it gets quite cold up here.’ I gestured at the dwindling flames. I’d had to let it die down as there was no more wood to fuel it.
Cold dogstink. The thought reached me clearly but he simply stood and stared at me slackly as if he had not understood my words.
‘Thick? Two loads of firewood tonight. All right?’ Chade spoke to him, a bit more loudly than was needed and saying each word clearly. Could he not sense how much that annoyed Thick? The man was simple, but not deaf. Nor stupid, really.
Thick nodded slowly. ‘Two loads.’
‘You could go get it right now,’ Chade told him.
‘Now,’ Thick agreed. As he turned to go, he gave me a brief glance from the corner of his eyes. Dogstink. More work.
I waited until he had gone before I spoke to Chade. He had set the tray on the table opposite the scrolls. ‘He doesn’t try to assault me with the Skill any more. But he uses it to insult me, privately. He knows you cannot hear him. I don’t know why he dislikes me so much. I’ve done nothing to him.’
Chade lifted one shoulder. ‘Well, you will both just have to get past that and work together. And you must begin soon. The Prince must have some sort of Skill-coterie to accompany him on this quest, even if it’s only a serving-man he can draw strength from. Court Thick, Fitz, and win him. We need him.’ When I met his words with silence, he sighed. Glancing about, he offered, ‘Wine?’
I indicated my cup on the table. ‘No, thank you. I’ve been drinking hot tea this evening.’
‘Oh. Very good.’ Chade walked around the table to see what I was working on. ‘Oh. Did you finish the Icefyre scrolls?’
I shook my head. ‘Not yet. I don’t think we’re going to find anything useful in them. They seem to be very vague about the actual dragon. Mostly accounts of earthquakes that proved that the dragon would punish someone if he didn’t do what was just, and so the man realizes that he had best behave in a righteous way.’
‘Nevertheless, you should finish reading them. There might be something in there, some hidden mention of a detail that could be useful.’
‘I doubt it. Chade, do you think there even is a dragon? Or might not this be Elliania’s ploy to delay her marriage, by sending the Prince off to slay something that doesn’t exist?’
‘I am satisfied that some sort of creature is encased in ice on Aslevjal Isle. There are a number of passing mentions of it being visible in some of the very old scrolls. A few winters of very deep snowfalls and an avalanche seem to have obscured it. But for a time travellers in that area would go far out of their way to stare into the glacier and speculate on what they were seeing inside it.’
