not understood. Chade urged me to learn the basics of their language, and I have tried. It shares many roots with our own. I can speak it well enough to make myself understood, though the Narcheska has already told me that she would rather speak to me in my own tongue than hear hers so twisted.’ For an instant, he clenched his teeth to that insulting reproof. Then he went on, ‘The bards are more difficult to understand. Evidently the rules of their language change for their poetry, and syllables can be stretched or shortened to make them fit a measure. Bard’s Tongue, they call it, but add their windy music blasting past the words and it is difficult for me to get more than the basics of every tale. All seem to be about chopping down enemies and taking bits of their bodies as trophies. Like Echet Hairbed, who slept under a coverlet woven from the scalps of his enemies. Or Sixfinger, who fed his dogs from skull bowls of those he had defeated.’
‘Nice folks,’ I observed wryly. Lord Golden scowled at me.
‘Our songs must sound as strange to her, especially the romantic tragedies of maidens who die for love of a man they cannot possess and such,’ Lord Golden gently pointed out. ‘These are barriers you must overcome together, my prince. Such misunderstandings yield most easily to casual conversation.’
‘Ah, yes,’ the Prince conceded sourly. ‘Ten years from now, perhaps we’ll have a casual conversation. For now, we are so ringed by her hangers-on and my well-wishers, that we speak to one another through a throng, in raised voices to reach one another. Every word we exchange is overheard and discussed. Not to mention dear Uncle Peottre, standing over her like a dog over a bone. Yesterday afternoon, when I attempted to stroll though the gardens with her, I felt more as if we were leading a horde to war. There were over a dozen people chattering and trampling along behind us. And when I did pluck a late flower to offer to her, her uncle stepped between us to take it from my hand and examine it before he passed it on to her. As if perhaps I were offering him something poisonous.’
I grinned in spite of myself, recalling the noxious herbs that Kettricken herself had once offered to me when she considered me a threat to her brother. ‘Such treachery is not unknown, my prince, even in the best of families. Her uncle is doing no more than his duty. It has not been long since our lands warred against one another. Give time for old wounds to close and heal. It will happen.’
‘But for now, my prince, I fear we must put our heels to our horses. Did not I hear you say that you had an afternoon appointment with your mother? I think we had best put a little haste into our pace.’
‘I suppose,’ the Prince replied listlessly to Lord Golden’s words. Then he turned a commanding stare on me. ‘So then, Tom Badgerlock. When will we next meet? I am most anxious to begin my lessons with you.’
I nodded, wishing I shared his enthusiasm. I felt obliged to add, ‘The Skill is not always a kindly magic to deal with, my prince. You may find these lessons less than pleasant after we begin them.’
‘I expect that to be so. My experiences of it to date have been both unsettling and confusing.’ His gaze became clouded and distant as he said, ‘When you took me … I know it had something to do with a pillar. We went to … somewhere. A beach. But now when I try to recall that passage, or the events that occurred there or immediately afterwards, it is like trying to recall a dream from childhood. The ends of it don’t meet somehow, if you know what I mean. I thought I understood all that had happened to me. Then, when I tried to discuss it with Chade and my mother, it all fell to tatters. I felt like an idiot.’ He lifted one hand to rub his wrinkled brow. ‘I cannot make the pieces go in order to make a complete memory.’ Then he fixed me with a direct stare and said, ‘I cannot live with that, Tom Badgerlock. I have to resolve it. If this magic must be a part of me, then I must control it.’
His words were far more sensible than my reluctance to deal with it. I sighed. ‘Tomorrow, dawn. In Verity’s tower room,’ I offered, expecting him to refuse me.
‘Very well,’ he replied easily. An odd smile curved his mouth. ‘I thought only Chade called the Seawatch tower “Verity’s tower”. Interesting. You might have at least referred to my father as King Verity.’
‘Your pardon, my prince,’ was the best reply I could think of, and he merely snorted at it. Then he fixed me with a truly royal look and added, ‘And you will make every attempt to be at my ceremony tonight, Tom Badgerlock.’
Before I could reply, he set his heels to his grey and rode back to Buckkeep like a man pursued by demons. We had little choice but to follow. He did not slow until we reached the gate, where we paused to be formally recognized and admitted. From there we walked our horses, but Dutiful was silent and I could think of nothing to say. When we arrived at the tall doors of the main hall, courtiers were already gathered to meet him. A groom hurried up to take his horse’s head, and a stableboy took Malta’s reins. I was left to fend for myself, for which I was grateful. Lord Golden thanked the Prince formally for the extreme pleasure of his exclusive company and the Prince courteously replied. We sat our mounts, watching Dutiful as he was engulfed by his nobles and carried off. I swung off Myblack and stood awaiting my master.
‘Well. A pleasant ride,’ Lord Golden observed, and dismounted. As his boot lightly touched the ground, his foot seemed to fly out from under him and he fell badly. I had never seen the Fool so ungraceful. He sat up, lips pinched tight, then with a groan leaned forward to clutch at his booted ankle.
‘Such a wrench!’ he cried, and then, imperiously, ‘No, no, stay back, see to my horse,’ as he waved the stableboy away. Then, quite sharply to me, ‘Well, don’t stand there, you dolt! Give the stableboy your horse and help me up. Or do you propose that I shall hop up to my chambers?’
The Prince had already been borne away on a wave of chattering ladies and lords. I doubted that he was aware of Lord Golden’s mishap. Some of the Prince’s attendants looked our way, but most were intent on Dutiful. So I crouched and as Lord Golden put his arm across my shoulders, I asked quietly, ‘How bad is it?’
‘Bad enough!’ he snapped sharply. ‘I shall not be dancing tonight, and my new dancing slippers were just delivered yesterday. Oh, this is intolerable! Help me to my rooms, man.’ At his irritated scolding, several lesser nobles hastened towards us. His manner changed instantly as he replied to their anxious queries with assurances that he was sure he would be fine, and that nothing could keep him from the betrothal festivities tonight. He leaned most of his weight on me, but one sympathetic young man took his arm, and a lady sent her maid scuttling off to order hot water and soaking herbs immediately taken to Lord Golden’s chambers, and to fetch a healer as well. No less than two young men and three very lovely young ladies trailed us as we made our way into Buckkeep.
By the time we had lurched and hobbled our way up the stairs and corridors to Golden’s chambers, he had sharply rebuked me for clumsiness a dozen times. We found the healer and the hot water awaiting us outside the door. The healer took Lord Golden out of my hands, and I was almost immediately sent off to fetch brandy to steady his shaken nerves and something from the kitchens to settle his stomach. As I left, I cringed in sympathy for his sharp cries of pain as the healer carefully freed his foot from his boot. By the time I returned with a tray of pastries and fruit from the kitchen, the healer had departed and Lord Golden was ensconced in his chair with his well-propped foot stretched out before him while his sympathizers filled the other chairs. I set out the food upon the table and carried brandy to him. Lady Calendula was sympathizing with him over the heartless and incompetent healer. What kind of a bumbler was he, to cause Lord Golden such pain and then declare that he could find very little indication of an injury? Young Lord Oaks told a long, detailed and plaintive story of how the healer at his father’s house had nearly let him die of a stomach ailment under similar circumstances. When he was finally finished with his tale, Lord Golden begged their understanding that he needed to rest after his disaster. I concealed my relief as I bowed them all out the door.
