Fool’s Quest

Lant went, walking stiffly. Before he reached the door, I spoke. “If I may offer some words, my king?”

“You may.”

“I would point out that FitzVigilant arrived at Withywoods in poor condition owing to a severe beating he had taken in Buckkeep Town. And that he had been battered again, in both mind and body, when Withywoods was attacked.”

“His behavior is not being judged here, Prince FitzChivalry,” the king said, but as Lant reached the door, he shot me a look that was both ashamed and grateful. The guard on the door allowed him out. At a gesture from Dutiful, the guard followed Lant out the door and shut it behind him.

“Well. What shall we do with them?”

“Disband them. Flog those who mistreated Thick. Send them away in shame from Buck forever.” Elliania spoke dispassionately, and I had no doubt that in the Out Islands such would have been their fate.

“Not every man of them mistreated Thick. Find the ones who should bear the blame, and judge them individually.” Kettricken spoke quietly.

“But those who did not directly injure him did not oppose those who did!” Elliania objected.

The king shook his head. “There was no clear chain of command. Part of the fault must be borne by me. I should have directed FitzVigilant to take command of them and conveyed that to all.”

I spoke. “I doubt they would have accepted his authority. He has never soldiered. These men are the barrel-scrapings of the guard. Discarded by other guard units, they are the ones with the least self-discipline, ruled by the most ruthless and least honorable officers. At the least, disband them. Some will perhaps find places with other guard units. But keeping them as a company will only invite the worst from them.” I spoke for mercy in a calm voice. But privately, I planned to work a bit of the prince’s justice on the ones Thick had named to me.

Dutiful looked at me as if he could hear my thoughts. I hastily checked my walls. No, I was alone in my mind. He had simply come to know me too well. “Perhaps you would like to speak with each of them and see if any meet the standard to be included in your new guard company?”

“And then he smiled at me.” The irritation I felt with my king was not ameliorated by the smile that bloomed on the Fool’s face.

“He does know you well, to set you to this task. I’ll wager that in that barrel of rotten apples, you’ll find a few sound ones. And that when you give them a final chance, you’ll win their loyalty forever.”

“Not the sort of men I’d want at my back,” I objected. “Nor the sort of troops I want to hand to Foxglove and expect her to manage. I’d like my honor guard to actually be honorable men.”

“What of the ones who taunted Thick and backhanded your stable lad?”

I took breath to speak and then gasped in surprise as an arrow of Skill from Nettle penetrated my walls effortlessly. The Queen’s Garden. Tidings of Bee and Shine. Come now. Do not try to Skill back to me.

Hope flared in my heart. “I am summoned by Nettle to the Queen’s Garden,” I told him and stood. “They may have word of Bee’s whereabouts.” I was shocked to find that the sudden hope cut me as sharply as fear.

“Light! Air!” the crow demanded as I stood.

“I’ll return as soon as I can,” I offered. I ignored the Fool’s disappointed look, and did not even object as Motley hopped from the table and with a single flap of her wings gained my shoulder. In my chamber, I paused only to release the crow from my window before I hastened to find Nettle in the Queen’s Garden.

The Queen’s Garden was no traditional garden, but a tower top. I was panting when I reached it, having run through half of Buckkeep Castle to get there. In summer the pots there overflowed with greenery and fragrant blossoms. Some even held small fruit trees. Simple statuary and isolated benches completed Kettricken’s retreat from the petty annoyances of life at court. But as I emerged onto the tower top, winter greeted me. Snow mounded the planters, and the small trees had been swaddled against winter’s cruelest bite. I had thought to find only Nettle waiting for me. But Kettricken, warmly cloaked against winter’s chill, was present, as well as Dutiful, and Queen Elliania. It took me a moment to recognize Civil Bresinga. The boy had grown to a man. When he saw I recognized him, he bowed to me gravely but kept silent. I had wondered why they had chosen the Queen’s Garden as a meeting place. As Dutiful’s hound rolled a young lynx around in the snow, I understood. The two Wit-companions, obviously well acquainted with each other, suddenly raced off between the planters. I knew a moment of sharp envy.

“We’ve had word,” Dutiful greeted me.

He seemed so solemn that I wondered if bodies had been found. I left formality behind as I demanded of him, “What news?”

“It’s not certain,” Dutiful cautioned me, but Civil did not wait to speak.