Fool’s Errand. Robin Hobb

so caught up in his inner thoughts that he seems completely unaware of what is going on in the lives of those around him. He is not discourteous or uncaring; at least, not deliberately. But …’

      ‘He’s what, fourteen?’ I asked. ‘He does not sound so different from Hap, of late. I’ve been thinking much the same things about him; that I need to let him out a bit. It’s time he got out and learned something new, from someone other than myself.’

      Chade nodded. ‘I think you are absolutely correct. Queen Kettricken and I have reached the same decision about Prince Dutiful.’

      His tone made me suspect I had just run my head into the snare. ‘Oh?’ I said carefully.

      ‘Oh?’ Chade mimicked me, and then leaned forwards to tip more brandy into his glass. He grinned, letting me know the game was at an end. ‘Oh, yes. You’ve no doubt guessed it. We would like to have you come back to Buckkeep and instruct the Prince in the Skill. And Nettle, too, if Burrich can be persuaded to let her go and if she has any aptitude for it.’

      ‘No.’ I said the word quickly before I could be seduced. I am not sure how definitive my answer sounded. No sooner had Chade broached the idea than desire for it surged in me. It was the answer, the so-simple answer after all these years. Train up a new coterie of Skill-users. I knew Chade had the scrolls and tablets relating to the Skill-magic. Galen the Skillmaster and then Prince Regal had wrongfully withheld them from us, so many years ago. But now I could study them, I could learn more and I could train up others, not as Galen had done, but correctly. Prince Dutiful would have a Skilled coterie to aid and protect him, and I would have an end to my loneliness. There would be someone to reach back when I reached out.

      And both my children would know me, as a person if not as their father.

      Chade was as sly as ever. He must have sensed my ambivalence. He left my denial hanging alone in the air between us. He held his cup in both hands. He glanced down at it briefly, putting me sharply in mind of Verity. Then he looked up again, his green eyes meeting mine without hesitation. He asked no questions, he made no demands. All he had to do was wait.

      Knowing his tactic did not shield me against it. ‘You know I cannot. You know all the reasons I should not.’

      He shook his head slightly. ‘Not really. Why should Prince Dutiful be denied his birthright as a Farseer?’ More softly he added, ‘Or Nettle?’

      ‘Birthright?’ I tried for a bitter laugh. ‘It’s more like a family disease, Chade. It’s a hunger, and when you are taught how to satisfy it, it becomes an addiction. An addiction that can become strong enough eventually to set your feet on the paths that lead past the Mountain Kingdom. You saw what became of Verity. The Skill devoured him. He turned it to his own ends; he made his dragon and poured himself into it. He saved the Six Duchies. But even if there had been no Red Ships to battle, Verity would eventually have gone to the Mountains. That place called him. It is the ordained end for any Skilled one.’

      ‘I understand your fears,’ he confessed quietly. ‘But I think you are wrong. I believe Galen deliberately instilled that fear in you. He limited what you learned, and he battered fear into you. But I’ve read the Skill-scrolls. I haven’t deciphered all that they tell, but I know it is so much more than simply being able to communicate across a distance. With the Skill, a man can prolong his own life and health. It can enhance a speaker’s powers of persuasion. Your training … I don’t know how far it went, but I’ll wager Galen taught you as little as he could.’ I could hear the excitement building in the old man’s voice, as if he spoke of a hidden treasure. ‘There is so much to the Skill, so much. Some scrolls imply that the Skill can be used as a healing tool, not only to find out exactly what is wrong with an injured warrior, but actually to encourage the healing of those hurts. A strong Skilled one can see through another’s eyes, hear what that other hears and feels. And –’

      ‘Chade.’ The softness of my voice cut him off. I had known a moment of outrage when he admitted he’d read the scrolls. He’d had no right, I’d thought, and then known that if his Queen gave them to him to read, he had as much right as anyone. Who else should read them? There was no Skillmaster any more. That line of ability had died out. No. I had killed it. Killed off, one by one, the last trained Skill-users, the last coterie ever created at Buckkeep. They had been faithless to their King, so I had destroyed them and the magic with them. The part of me that was rational knew that it was magic better left dead. ‘I am no Skillmaster, Chade. It’s not only that my knowledge of the Skill is incomplete, but that my talent was erratic. If you’ve read the scrolls, then I’m sure you’ve discovered for yourself, or heard from Kettricken, that using elfbark is the worst thing a Skilled one can do. It suppresses or kills the talent. I’ve tried to stay away from it; I don’t like what it does to me. But even the bleakness it brings on is better than the Skill-hunger. Sometimes I’ve used elfbark steadily for days at a time, when the craving is bad.’ I looked away from the concern on his face. ‘Whatever talent I ever had is probably stunted beyond recall now.’

      His voice was soft as he observed, ‘It seems to me that your continued craving would indicate the opposite, Fitz. I’m sorry to hear you’ve been suffering; we truly had no idea. I had assumed the Skill-hunger would be like a man’s craving for drink or Smoke, and that after a period of enforced abstinence, the longing would grow less.’

      ‘No. It does not. Sometimes it lies dormant. Months pass, even years. Then, for no reason I can tell, it stirs to life again.’ I squeezed my eyes shut for an instant. Talking about it, thinking about it was like prodding at a boil. ‘Chade. I know that this is why you came all this way to find me. And you’ve heard me say “no”. Now can we speak of other things? This conversation … pains me.’

      For a time he was silent. There was a false heartiness in his voice when he abruptly said, ‘Of course we can. I told Kettricken that I doubted you’d fall in with our plan.’ He gave a brief sigh. ‘I’ll simply have to do the best I can with what I’ve gleaned from the scrolls. Now. I’ve had my say. What would you like to hear about?’

      ‘You can’t mean that you’ll try to teach Dutiful the Skill from what you’ve read in some old scrolls?’ I was suddenly on the edge of anger.

      ‘You leave me no choice,’ he pointed out pleasantly.

      ‘Do you grasp the danger you’d be exposing him to? The Skill draws a man, Chade. It pulls at the mind and heart like a lodestone. He will want to be one with it. If the Prince yields to that attraction, for even an instant while he’s learning, he’ll be gone. And there will be no Skilled one to go after him, to pull him back together and drag him from the current.’

      I could tell from the expression on Chade’s face that he had no understanding of what I was telling him. He only replied stubbornly, ‘What I read in the scrolls is that there is danger to leaving one with a strong Skill-talent completely untrained. In some cases, such youngsters have begun to Skill almost instinctively, but with no concept of the dangers or how to control it. I should think that even a little knowledge might be better than to leave the young prince in total ignorance.’

      I opened my mouth to speak, then shut it again. I drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘I won’t be drawn into it, Chade. I refuse. Years ago I promised myself. I sat by Will and watched him die. I didn’t kill him. Because I’d promised myself I was no longer an assassin, and no longer a tool. I won’t be manipulated and I won’t be used. I’ve made enough sacrifices. I think I’ve earned this retirement. And if you and Kettricken disagree with that and no longer wish to provide me with coin, well, I can cope with that as well.’

      As well to have that out in the open. The first time I’d found a bag of coins by my bed after Starling had visited, I was insulted. I’d hoarded the affront for months until she visited me again. She’d only laughed at me, and told me they weren’t largesse from her for my services, if that’s what I’d thought, but a pension from the Six Duchies. That was when I’d forced myself to admit that whatever Starling knew of me, Chade knew as well. He was the source of the fine paper and good inks she sometimes brought as well. She probably reported to him each time she returned to Buckkeep. I’d told myself