Fool’s Quest

“Yes. They did.” Bulen spoke with certainty. “It happened later. It was evening. They had placed Bee on the sleigh. I seem to remember the woman urging the soldiers to leave as soon as possible. But the soldiers were looting and feasting on food from the kitchens and . . . taking the young women. The women were . . . empty. As if they did not care or notice, and one man complained it was not . . . satisfactory. The kind woman finally talked them into leaving, but the angry soldier dragged Shun away from the others. She was resisting, when no one else was. He threw her down in the snow. And he, he began to, he intended to rape her.”

Lant made a sound in the back of his throat. I glanced at him. His face was in his hands. Chade was as pale as chalk but silent.

“She was fighting back, but not with any hope of winning. And I, I was just watching it happen. As you watch snow fall or wind move in the trees. I am so ashamed to say that. Not a man of Withywoods objected or raised a hand to stop him. But suddenly Bee came running and threw herself on the man. He flung her aside, but Bee was shouting that she would die if they hurt Shun. And a whole swarm of the pale people attacked the soldier then and dragged him off Lady Shun.”

“Then she was not violated?” Chade barely had breath to push the words out.

Bulen looked at him. He flushed a deep scarlet and lowered his eyes in shame. “Then? No. But before then, or after they took her, I cannot say.” He lifted his gaze and met Chade’s eyes with honest pain. “I consider it likely.”

Lant groaned aloud.

Chade rose abruptly. “A moment,” he said in a voice I did not recognize, and hurried out of the room.

“Lad.” Bulen spoke quietly. “Please forgive me for doubting you.”

Before Perseverance could speak, his mother let out a loud wail. “All I had left, and I turned you from my door! What would your father have said to me? Oh, son, son, whatever shall we do now? How shall we earn our bread?” She clutched at Perseverance and sobbed against him. The boy had gone pale. He gave me a look and then spoke to her bowed head.

“I’ve sworn myself to Badgerlock, Mother. I’ll earn our keep. Only he’s not Badgerlock. Grandfather was right. He is truly FitzChivalry Farseer and he’s accepted me into his service. I will take care of you.”

“Truly?” It was Bulen who spoke. “He is truly FitzChivalry, the Witted . . . Farseer?” He near fell over his tongue dodging the word bastard.

“He is,” Perseverance said proudly before I could think of a sufficient lie.

“He is,” Lant echoed. “But I thought it was to be kept always a secret.” He stared at me in consternation.

“It was an interesting Winterfest at Buckkeep Castle,” I said, and his eyes grew rounder.

“Then everyone knows?”

“Not in full.” But now they would. The woven lies of decades were suddenly unraveling. How much of the truth could I bear?

Before anyone could speak again, Chade walked back into the room. He looked cadaverous. His voice was hoarse and thick. “They seem to have struck first at the stables and then destroyed the messenger birds. We must now speak with anyone who may have survived that first part of the attack.” He cleared his throat. “Eventually, we will speak with everyone who endured this. But we must start at the beginning.”

Chapter Fifteen

Surprises

Let there be made a great record of every dream that has been recorded. Even more important, as the shaysims share dreams with us, let each dream be recorded, not once, but for each element of the dream. Let there be a record of dreams of horses, of trees, of acorns or apples, and so on. So that when there is a mustering of cavalry, or a fire sweeps through the forests, we can look and see if this event was foretold. And soon, as the Servants study well the dreams, I foretell that we shall see the patterns for ourselves, and then make ourselves the judgments as to what must be enabled and what must be hindered.

—Servant Cetchua of the 41st Line