Fool’s Quest

Spark looked at me with irritation. “I’ve never been chased by a man with a sword, let alone a dragon. So, yes, we ran upstairs. It was awful there: Furniture had gone to rot, and it littered the floor. I kept stumbling and I could hear the man shouting as he searched downstairs, for like you he could not believe we would be so stupid as to run up the stairs. Then I found a window, and it looked out on an alley that I judged was too narrow for the dragon.”

The Fool took up the tale. “So we held hands and jumped out the window with little idea of what was below us. Oh, the terror of that jump for me! It was purest luck that we landed well. I still went to one knee, but Spark already had hold of me and was hauling me along. She flattened us against the wall and we went as silently as we could, staying to the narrow alley for quite a way. Once we came to where the buildings were wakeful, I could get my bearings and then I led the way. We could still hear the dragons trumpeting behind us, but it almost made me feel safer to know they were searching for us back by the well. I judged it was too late to seek an audience with Malta or to reach for Tintaglia, and that the pillar was our best way to escape, though I knew how much Spark dreaded it.

“I thought I could run no farther. I had forgotten how heavy skirts can be, let alone a fur-lined cloak. And these boots!” He thrust one foot out before us. The toe was as pointed as a sword. “Not for running,” he said decisively. “But just as I slowed and told Spark that we could probably walk for a time, I heard running feet behind us. It was strange. The ghost-festivity was all around us, yet somehow I heard the sound of running footsteps. I felt I had no speed left in me and I shouted at Spark to flee but she would not leave me. Then I heard that sound just as I felt the arrow tug through the shoulder of my cloak. And I found that I could not only run but drag Spark along with me.”

“He was red,” Spark said suddenly. Her voice had gone shaky, a contrast with her earlier pleasure in telling the tale. “I looked back. I didn’t want to go into the pillar; I was terrified. I looked back to see if he might have mercy if I stayed. But he was like a creature from a nightmare. Tall and narrow and as scarlet as his dragon. And his eyes! When I saw him halt and set another arrow to his bow, I did not hold back. I may have pushed Amber into the pillar.”

“And here we are,” the Fool finished. He looked round at us, smiling blindly.

“Indeed. Here we are,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-Five Kelsingra

Wide gape the gates of yellowed bone. A tongue of plank is our path between the teeth as we walk toward the gullet. Here I will be devoured. This is a true thing, near unavoidable on any path. I must enter those jaws.

—Dream Journal of Bee Farseer

We all slept in the Elderling tent that night, packed as neatly as saltfish in a box. I slept along one wall, the Fool against my back. Even against the fine fabric, I slept much more warmly than I had in our small tent. In the early hours of dawn Per came in from his watch. “The porridge is nearly cooked,” he told me softly as I woke. “I put a bit of honey in it.”

I sat up, trying not to wake the others this early. Both the Fool and Spark, I thought, should take all the sleep they could. Then my Wit sent a sudden shuddering through me. A predator, one bigger than me, moved outside the tent, exploring our camp. In the next moment Motley began a raucous cawing. I heard the clatter of an overturned pot.

I shifted as quietly as I could and reached across the Fool to seize Lant’s shoulder. “Sssh,” I warned him as he woke. “Something’s outside. Follow me, sword drawn.”

The others woke as we extricated ourselves but sensed our caution. Spark’s eyes looked as big as saucers as I stepped over her, sword bared, and ducked to exit the tent. Lant came behind me, as barefoot as I was, naked steel in his hand. As soon as I saw our intruder, I reached back to grab his wrist. “Don’t look directly at him,” I warned. To the others inside, I said in a carrying whisper. “Bear. Come out. Don’t dress, just get clear of the tent. You don’t want to be caught inside it. Do not run, but be ready to scatter if I shout.”

The bear was a big fellow, and the silvery hair on his shoulders and a graying muzzle showed that he was both old and wise. No bear gets that old without the wisdom that survival demands, but neither does a creature in the wild live to that age without infirmities. The breadth of his shoulders showed me what a powerful creature he once had been, but he was gaunt now. He was on all fours, sniffing through Lant’s pack, which had been left by last night’s campfire. His interest was plain: food.