Fool’s Quest

“I have to say it. Someone has to ask it. You know as well as I do that they may both be already dead, out in the forest. We have no trail left to follow. The Servants and the Chalcedeans are all dead or fled.” He came to join me at the window. “We’ve no clues left to follow. The best we can hope now is that they turn up on their own at a farmstead or inn.”

“And the worst that can happen is that things remain as they are now. With us having no idea whatever became of them.”

For a time, we both stood in silence. I tried to find a thread of hope. “We did not find Vindeliar or Dwalia,” I reminded him.

“They may be bodies in the forest. Or hiding from us as they did before. They have not left us a trail we can follow.”

He was right. Reality and the bleakness of elfbark welled up in me like blood in Ellik’s wound. “I’m so powerless.” The words burst from me. “Riddle, I had to come here and try to find her. Since Winterfest, she has been gone and I’ve been able to do nothing. Nothing! And now I’ve even less of a trail to follow.” Agony and anger were one force in me. I wanted to smash everything in the room but most of all, I wanted to destroy myself for how impotent I was. I had cut my hair to my scalp when Molly died, a symbolic destruction and punishment of myself because I had failed to save her. Now I wanted to slash my face, to batter my skull against the wall, to fling myself from the window. I hated myself for my total failure. I was a thing that was so useless as to be evil. I was an assassin and capable of torture, a man bereft of goodness. But even my wickedness was impotent. It had gained me nothing.

“I do not like the expression on your face,” Riddle said softly. “Fitz, you cannot hold yourself responsible. This was a thing that happened to you, not a thing you did.” His voice was sympathetic.

“It was a thing I did not do. A neglected duty,” I said quietly. I turned back to the window and looked down. A drop but not a big enough one. The impulse would not work.

Riddle knew me too well. “And then if we did find her, that would be the first piece of news she’d have about you.”

Slowly I turned away from the easy exit. “Tomorrow we leave for Buckkeep.”

Riddle nodded slowly.

Mornings come, whether we want them or not. I dragged my body from my bed and trusted that my herb-addled mind would catch up with me. Breakfast was interminable and full of pleasant conversations I could scarcely follow. Someone had recognized Ellik as Chancellor Ellik of Chalced, and for some reason it was very exciting that a Buck stable boy had made an end of the old man. Spurman assured me twice that he’d sent word on to Buckkeep Castle concerning exactly who had attempted this peculiar invasion of Buck. My weary mind offered me no response for him, so I simply nodded.

And finally, finally, we departed Ringhill Keep. I rode at the front of my guard, with Riddle beside me. Perseverance trailed behind us, still leading Bee’s horse, Priss. He looked battered and wan. Lant rode beside him. Riddle leaned over and said quietly that the boy had had his first night drinking with men the evening before, and been feted as a hero for his “first kill.” He tipped his head toward Lant. “Lucky for the lad, Lant intervened right after he puked the first time. He forbade any more liquor and sent him off to bed. But I expect he has a bit of a head today.”

I rode Fleeter. The horse seemed to have recovered from my abuse of her, but exhibited a wariness in contrast with her former eagerness to please me. I let her feel that I regretted how roughly I had used her, but did not try to intrude into her thoughts.

Foxglove came behind us at the head of our troops. She was displeased with the Rousters and cool toward me. I could tell that her efforts to integrate them with my guard were not going smoothly. Yesterday her control of them had been tenuous at best. Today as they formed up with my guard, they still remained as a separate rank at the rear of the formation. I suspected that she was unhappy with me for saddling her with such troublemakers. We had not ridden far before Lant edged his mount closer to mine. He spoke while looking straight ahead. “You humiliated me. You left me drugged and sleeping as if I were a child.”

You are. I shook my head. “Lant, I left you sleeping as if you were a badly injured man who should not have been sent out on such a mission. That was true of Perseverance as well.” I fabricated some balm for him. “I could scarcely have left the boy there alone. How is your wound?”

My diversion of the conversation baffled him for an instant. “It’s healing,” he said gruffly.

“Good. It needs time. Lant, I have a suggestion. It’s a strong suggestion. When we return to Buckkeep Castle, report to Captain Foxglove. Let her direct you in your swordplay, going gently until your muscles are rebuilt. I do not propose that you become a soldier or a member of my guard.” How to phrase the next part. Become a man? No. I fumbled for words.