Fool’s Fate. Робин Хобб

morning air. The scent of the fruit tree blossoms balmed it. I reminded myself that my task would not last long. Very soon, I would accompany the Prince on his quest to Aslevjal in the Out Islands. Surely I could endure being the lad’s instructor until then.

      The Wit-magic makes one aware of other life, and so I turned even before Swift pushed open the heavy door. He shut it quietly behind him. Despite his long climb up the steep stone stairs, he was not breathing hard. I remained partially concealed by screening blossoms and studied him. He was dressed in Buckkeep blue, in simple garments befitting a page. Chade was right. He would make a fine axe-man. The boy was thin, in the way of active boys of that age, but the knobs of shoulders under his jerkin promised his father’s brawn. I doubted he would be tall, but he would be wide enough to make up for it. Swift had his father’s black eyes and dark curling hair, but there was something of Molly in the line of his jaw and the set of his eyes. Molly, my lost love and Burrich’s wife. I took a long, deep breath. This might be more difficult than I had imagined.

      I saw him become aware of me. I stood still, letting his eyes seek me out. For a time we both stood, unspeaking. Then he threaded his way through the meandering paths until he stood before me. His bow was too carefully practised to be graceful.

      ‘My lord, I am Swift Witted. I was told to report to you, and so I present myself.’

      I could see he had made an effort to learn his court courtesies. Yet his blatant inclusion of his beast-magic in how he named himself seemed almost a rude challenge, as if he tested whether the Queen’s protection of the Witted would hold here, alone with me. He met my gaze in a forthright way that most nobles would have found presumptuous. Then again, I reminded myself, I was not a noble. I told him so. ‘I am not “my lord” to anyone, lad. I’m Tom Badgerlock, a man-at-arms in the Queen’s Guard. You may call me Master Badgerlock, and I shall call you Swift. Is that agreed?’

      He blinked twice and then nodded. Abruptly, he recalled that that was not correct. ‘It is, sir. Master Badgerlock.’

      ‘Very well. Swift, do you know why you were sent to me?’

      He bit his upper lip twice, swift successive nibbles, then took a deep breath and spoke, eyes lowered. ‘I suppose I’ve displeased someone.’ Then he flashed his gaze up to mine again. ‘But I don’t know what I did, or to whom.’ Almost defiantly, he added, ‘I cannot help what I am. If it is because I am Witted, well, then, it isn’t fair. Our queen has said that my magic should not make any difference in how I am treated.’

      My breath caught in my throat. His father looked at me from those dark eyes. The uncompromising honesty and the determination to speak the truth was all Burrich’s. And yet, in his intemperate haste, I heard Molly’s quick temper. For a moment, I was at a loss for words.

      The boy interpreted my silence as displeasure and lowered his eyes. But the set of his shoulders was still square; he did not know of any fault he had committed, and he would not show any repentance until he did.

      ‘You did not displease anyone, Swift. And you will find that to some at Buckkeep, your Wit matters not at all. That is not why we separated you from the other children. Rather, this change is for your benefit. Your knowledge of letters surpasses the other children of your age. We did not wish to thrust you into a group of youths much older than you. It was also decided that you could benefit from instruction in the use of a battle-axe. That, I believe, is why I was chosen to mentor you.’

      His head jerked and he looked up at me in confusion and dismay. ‘A battle-axe?’

      I nodded, both to him and to myself. Chade was up to his old tricks again. Plainly the boy had not been asked if he had any interest in learning to wield such a weapon. I put a smile on my face. ‘Certainly a battle-axe. Buckkeep’s men-at-arms recall that your father fought excellently with the axe. As you inherit his build as well as his looks, it seems natural that his weapon of choice should be yours.’

      ‘I’m nothing like my father. Sir.’

      I nearly laughed aloud, not from joy, but because the boy had never looked more like Burrich than he did at that moment. It felt odd to look down at someone giving me his black scowl. But such an attitude was not appropriate to a boy of his years, so I coldly said, ‘You’re like enough, in the Queen’s and Councillor Chade’s opinions. Do you dispute what they have decided for you?’

      It all hovered in the balance. I saw the instant when he made his decision, and almost read the workings of his mind. He could refuse. Then he might be seen as ungrateful and sent back home to his father. Better to bow his head to a distasteful task and stay. And so he said, voice lowered, ‘No, sir. I accept what they have decided.’

      ‘That’s good,’ I said with false heartiness.

      But before I could continue, he informed me, ‘But I have a skill with a weapon already. The bow, sir. I had not spoken of it before, because I did not think it would be of interest to anyone. But if I’m to train as a fighter as well as a page, I already have a weapon of choice.’

      Interesting. I regarded him in silence for a moment. I’d seen enough of Burrich in him to suspect he would not idly boast of a skill he didn’t possess. ‘Very well, then. You may show me your skills with a bow. But this time is set aside for other lessons. To that end, we’ve been given permission to use scrolls from the Buckkeep library. That’s quite an honour for both of us.’ I waited for a response.

      He bobbed a nod, and then recalling his manners, ‘Yes, sir.’

      ‘Good. Then meet me here tomorrow. We’ll have an hour of scrolls and writing, and then we’ll go down to the weapons court.’ Again I awaited his reply.

      ‘Yes, sir. Sir?’

      ‘What is it?’

      ‘I’m a good horseman, sir. I’m a bit rusty now. My father refused to let me be around his horses for the last year. But I’m a good horseman, as well.’

      ‘That’s good to know, Swift.’ I knew what he had hoped. I watched his face, and saw the light in it dim at my neutral response. I had reacted almost reflexively. A boy of his age shouldn’t be considering bonding with an animal. Yet as he lowered his head in disappointment, I felt my old loneliness echo down the years. So, too, had Burrich done all he could to protect me from bonding with a beast. Knowing the wisdom of it now didn’t still the memory of my thrumming isolation. I cleared my throat and tried to keep my voice smoothly assured when I spoke. ‘Very well, then, Swift. Report to me here tomorrow. Oh, and wear your old clothes tomorrow. We’ll be getting dirty and sweaty.’

      He looked stricken.

      ‘Well? What is it, lad?’

      ‘I … sir, I can’t. I, that is, I don’t have my old clothes any more. Only the two sets the Queen gave me.’

      ‘What happened to them?’

      ‘I … I burned them, sir.’ He suddenly sounded defiant. He met my eyes, jaw jutting.

      I thought of asking him why. I didn’t need to. It was obvious from his stance. He had made a show for himself of destroying all things that bound him to his past. I wondered if I should make him admit that aloud, then decided that nothing would be gained by it. Surely such a waste of useful garments was something that should shame him. I wondered how bitterly his differences with his father had run. Suddenly the day seemed a little less brightly blue. I shrugged, dismissing the matter. ‘Wear what you have, then,’ I said abruptly, and hoped I did not sound too harsh.

      He stood there, staring at me, and I realized that I hadn’t dismissed him. ‘You can go now, Swift. I will see you tomorrow.’

      ‘Yes, sir. Thank you, Master Badgerlock.’ He bowed, jerkily correct, and then hesitated again. ‘Sir? May I ask you a last question?’

      ‘Certainly.’

      He looked all around us, almost suspiciously. ‘Why do we meet up here?’

      ‘It’s quiet. It’s pleasant. When I was your age, I hated to be kept indoors