Fool’s Fate. Робин Хобб

face a challenge squarely was a man anyone could respect, regardless of where he was birthed.

      The Prince’s nobles received the tidings of his departure with varying degrees of surprise and dismay. It was conveyed to them as a slight change in our schedule. Most had not planned to accompany the Prince to his fiancée’s mothershouse; they had been told back in Buckkeep that such a large delegation of folk would not be easily welcomed there. They had expected to stay in Zylig and establish connections for future trade negotiations. For the most part, they were content to remain on Skyrene and court trading partners. Arkon Bloodblade, kaempra of the Boar Clan and the Narcheska’s father, quietly assured us that he would remain with his warriors to ensure their stay was pleasant, and to further advance our cause with the Hetgurd.

      Chade told me later that he had strongly suggested to our nobles that they continue to enjoy the hospitality of the Boar stronghouse rather than investigate the hospitality of the local inns. He also suggested that they display their own heraldic devices when they went out and about amongst the Outislanders, just as the clansmen sported their animal sigils. I doubt that he told the Six Duchies nobles there would be more safety for them if they were not seen as part of the Farseer Buck Clan, as the Outislanders thought of the Prince’s family.

      The Tusker was an Outislander vessel, far less comfortable than the Maiden’s Chance had been. She bobbed more in the waves, I noted as I watched the others board, but her shallower draught was more suitable for the inter-island channels that we would be navigating than the Maiden’s deeper hull. Some of the channels, I was told, were barely passable at a low tide, and during certain tides that came only once or twice a year a man could walk from island to island on foot. We would traverse several of these channels before once more crossing open water to the Narcheska’s home island and her village of Wuislington.

      It was a cruel thing to do to Thick. I let him sleep as long as possible before I awakened him to a hot meal of familiar foods brought from the Maiden’s Chance. I urged him to eat and drink well and spoke only of pleasant things. I concealed from him that we would be embarking on yet another voyage. He was unhappy about having to wash and dress, wanting only to go back to his bed. I longed to be able to let him, for I was convinced it would have been best for his health. But we could not safely leave him behind in Zylig.

      Even when we stood on the docks with the Prince’s guardsmen, his Wit-coterie, Chade and Prince Dutiful, watching the cargo of bridal gifts being loaded onto the Tusker, Thick thought we had only come out on a morning’s stroll. The boat was tied alongside the dock. At least, I told myself grimly, boarding would present no problem. I was wrong. He watched the others walk up the gangway and on board with no qualms, but when it was his turn, he stopped dead beside me. ‘No.’

      ‘Don’t you want to see the Outislander ship, Thick? Everyone else has gone on board to look around. I’ve heard it is very different from our ship. Let’s go and see it.’

      He looked at me for a moment in silence. ‘No,’ he said. His little eyes were beginning to narrow in suspicion.

      Further deception was useless. ‘Thick, we have to go on board. It’s going to sail soon, to take the Prince to the Narcheska’s home. We have to go with him.’

      Around us, activity on the docks had halted. All else had been in readiness, and all the others were aboard. The ship waited only for Thick and me. Men from other ships and passers-by stared at Thick’s strangeness avidly, with varying degrees of revulsion on their faces. Sailors from the Tusker waited to haul the planks of the walkway on board and cast off lines. They stared at us in annoyance, waiting. I sensed from them that we humiliated them by our very presence. Why could not we get on board and out of sight below decks? Time to act. I took his upper arm firmly. ‘Thick, we have to get on board now.’

      ‘No!’ He bellowed the word suddenly as he slapped at me wildly, and both his fear and his fury struck me in a wild wave of Skill. I staggered aside from him, bringing a general guffaw from those who had halted to watch us. In truth, it must have looked strange to them, that the petulant slap of a half-wit had near driven me to my knees.

      I hate to recall what followed. I had no choice but to force him. But Thick’s terror left him no choice either. We fought it out on the docks, my physical size and strength and the stoutness of my well-practised walls against his Skill and awkward fighting abilities.

      Both Chade and Prince Dutiful were instantly aware of my dilemma, of course. I sensed the Prince trying to reach Thick and calm him, but the red haze of his anger acted as efficiently as any Skill-wall. I could not feel Chade’s presence at all; I think his effort of the day before had drained him. The first time I seized Thick with the intent of simply lifting him off his feet and carrying him aboard, his Skill flooded into me. The skin-to-skin contact left me vulnerable. It was his fear that he flung at me, and I near wet myself with the terror he woke in me. Ancient memories of moments when death’s jaws had closed around me rushed through me. I felt the teeth of a Forged one sink into my shoulder and an arrow thudded home in my back. I had lifted him to my shoulder, and I sagged to my knees, under the weight of his terror rather than his body. This elicited a fresh roar of laughter from the onlookers. Thick broke free of me and then stood there, crying out wildly and wordlessly, at bay, unable to flee, for now a circle of jeering men ringed us.

      The mockery around us grew, battering me more effectively than Thick’s flailing fists. I could not grasp hold of him without risking the integrity of my walls, nor did I dare lower my walls against Thick’s onslaught to allow my own Skill to have its full effect. So I made futile efforts at herding him aboard, closing off his escape whenever he tried to dart past me down the docks. When I stepped toward him, he would step back, closer to the gangplank, and the circle of men there would give way. Then he would dart at me, hand outstretched, knowing that if he touched me, my walls would fall before him. And I would be forced to give ground to avoid his reaching hand. And all the while, men laughed and shouted to their comrades in their harsh tongue, to come and see a duchyman who could not fight a half-wit.

      In the end, it was Web who saved me. Perhaps the excited cries of the sailors on the Tusker brought him to the railing. The bulky sailor pushed his way past the gawkers and came down the gangway toward us. ‘Thick, Thick, Thick,’ he said calmingly. ‘Come now, man. There’s no need for this. No need at all.’

      I had known that the Wit could be used to repel someone. Who has not leapt back from the clashing teeth of a dog or narrowly avoided the swipe of a cat’s claws? It is not just the threat that forces one to give ground, but the force of the creature’s anger that pushes its challenger back. I think that for a Witted one, to learn to repel is as instinctive as knowing how to flee danger. I had never stopped to think that there might be another complementary force, one that calmed and beckoned.

      I did not have a word for what Web exuded toward Thick. I was not his target, yet I was still peripherally aware of it. It settled my hackles and calmed my thundering heart. Almost without my volition, my shoulders lowered and my jaw unclenched. I saw a wondering look come over Thick’s face. His mouth sagged open and his tongue that was never completely inside it, protruded even more as his little eyes drooped almost closed. Web spoke softly. ‘Easy, my friend. Relax. Come now, come with me.’

      There is a look a kitten gets when its mother lifts it by the nape of its neck. That look was on Thick’s face as Web’s big hand settled on his arm. ‘Don’t look,’ Web suggested to him. ‘Eyes on me, now,’ and Thick obeyed him, looking up at Web’s face as the Witmaster led him aboard the ship as easily as a lad leads a bull by the ring in its nose. I was left trembling, the sweat drying down my spine. The blood rushed to my face at the taunting of the men that accompanied my boarding of the ship. Most of them spoke Six Duchies in a rudimentary way. That they used it now was deliberate, to be sure I understood their scorn. I could not pretend to ignore them, for I could not control the blood which reddened my face with shame. I had no place I could vent my anger as I stalked after Web. I heard the planks taken up behind me as soon as I was on board. I didn’t look back, but trailed after Web and Thick toward a tent-like structure on the deck of the ship.

      The accommodations were far cruder than those on the Maiden’s Chance