for me to follow. The Black Man stalked the island, and woe to any who came there with unworthy intents. He was the dragon’s guardian, or perhaps he was the dragon in human form. Black as the dragon was black, ‘something’ as the dragon was ‘something’, strong as the wind and as unslayable, and unforgiving as ice was he. He would gnaw the bones of the cowardly, and slice the flesh of the rash, he would …
‘To your duty!’ Peottre suddenly interjected into our circle. His command was good-naturedly severe, reminding us that he was acting captain on this ship as well as our host. The sailor stopped barking the song and looked at him askance. I sensed a tension there; the boar proclaimed that this was Arkon Bloodblade’s warrior. Most of the crew was marked as Bloodblade’s, loaned to Peottre for this task. Peottre gave a tiny shake of his head at the sailor, as much rebuke as warning, and the man lowered his shoulders.
‘At what task, then, in our hours of rest?’ he still asked, a hint of bravado in his tone.
Peottre spoke mildly but his stance said he would tolerate no defiance. ‘Your duty, Rutor, is to rest in these hours, so that when you are called to work, you come fresh to the task. Rest, then, and leave entertaining our guests to me.’
Behind him, both Chade and the Prince had emerged from their cabin to watch curiously. Web stood behind them. I wondered if Peottre had heard the man’s song and excused himself abruptly from their company. I reached to them both. Do we know a tale of the Black Man on Aslevjal Island? One who guards the dragon, perhaps? For that is the song that Peottre has just silenced.
I know nothing. I will ask Chade in a quiet moment.
Chade? I attempted a direct contact.
There was no response. He did not even shift his eyes toward me.
I think he attempted too much yesterday.
Has he taken any teas today? I asked suspiciously. Skill-effort such as Chade had expended yesterday could well leave a novice exhausted, yet the old man was moving as spryly as ever. Elfbark? I wondered jealously. Denied to me but used by him?
He has some foul brew nearly every morning. I’ve no idea what is in it.
I quashed the thought before I could betray myself to the Prince. I did resolve to purloin a pinch of Chade’s tea herbs if I could and determine what he was using. The old man was too careless with his health. He would burn his life away while trying to spend it in our cause.
I had no such opportunity. The remaining days of our brief voyage passed uneventfully. I was kept occupied with Thick’s care and Swift’s education. These two actually merged, for when Thick awoke from a long sleep, he was weak and fretful, yet would not tolerate me looking after him. He was willing to accept Swift’s attentions, however. The boy was understandably reluctant. Caring for a sick man is tedious and can be unpleasant. Swift also felt the ingrained abhorrence that many Six Duchies folk feel toward the malformed. My disapproval did not shake this from him, but Web’s calm acceptance of Thick’s differences gradually swayed the boy. Web’s ability to teach Swift by example made me feel a clumsy and thoughtless guardian. I wanted so badly to do well by Swift, as well as Burrich had done by Nettle, and yet I repeatedly failed even to win his trust.
Days can be long when one feels useless. I had little time with Chade or the Prince. There was no casual way to be alone with either of them on the crowded ship, so communication was limited to the use of the Skill. I tried to reach to Chade as little as possible, hoping that a time of rest would rebuild his ability. The Prince relayed to me that Chade knew nothing of a Black Man on Aslevjal Island. Peottre kept the sailor who had sung of him extremely busy, so he was not available as a source for me. Isolated from Chade and Dutiful and rejected by Thick, I felt lonely and incapable of discovering peace anywhere. My heart yearned out to old memories, to my simple romance with Molly and the effortless friendship I had once shared with the Fool. Nighteyes came often to my mind, for Web and his bird were very much in evidence and Civil’s cat trailed him everywhere on the ship. I had lost the passionate attachments I had formed in my youth, and lost, too, the heart to seek others. As for Nettle, and Burrich’s invitation for me to ‘come home’ … my heart ached with longing to do just that, but I knew it was a time that I longed to return to, not a place, and neither Eda nor El offers that to a man. When we sailed into a tiny harbour, no more than a bite out of a small island’s coast, and Peottre shouted with pleasure to see his home, envy flooded me.
Web stepped up to the ship’s railing beside me, disturbing my fine wallow in melancholy. ‘I left Swift helping Thick get his shoes on. He’ll be glad to be ashore again, though he doesn’t admit it. He’s not even really seasick any more. It’s his lung ailment that weakens him now. That, and homesickness.’
‘I know. And little I can do about either on this ship. Once we’re ashore, I hope to find him a comfortable place and offer him quiet, rest and good food. They’re usually the best hope one has for such illness.’
Web nodded in companionable silence as we drew closer to the shore. A single figure, a girl in blowing russet skirts, stood on a headland watching us approach. Sheep and goats grazed the rocky pasturage around her and on the rolling hillsides behind her. Inland, we glimpsed threads of rising smoke from cottages that snuggled tight amongst the furze. A single dock on stone pilings reached out into the tiny bay to greet us. I saw no sign of a town. As I watched, the girl on the headland lifted her arms over her head and waved them three times. I thought she was greeting us, but perhaps she signalled folk at the settlement, for a short time later people came down the path to the shore. Some stood on the dock, awaiting us. Others, youngsters, ran along the beach, shouting excitedly to one another.
Our crew sailed the ship right up to the dock in a brash display of seamanship. The tossed lines were caught and made fast, checking our motion. In a matter of moments, it seemed, our canvas was taken down and stowed. On the deck, Peottre surprised me by offering gruff thanks to the Boar crew who had sailed the ship. It made me aware yet again that we were dealing with an alliance of two clans, not one. Obviously, both Peottre and the crewmen regarded this as a great favour and possible debt between the clans.
That was made even clearer to me in the manner in which we disembarked. Peottre went first, and as he stepped onto the dock, he made a grave obeisance to the women gathered to greet him. There were men there as well, but they stood behind the women, and it was only after Peottre had been warmly received by the older women of his clan that he walked past them to the men to exchange greetings. Few of them, I noted, were of warrior age, and those who were bore the disabling scars of that trade. There were a few oldsters, and a milling group of boys in their early teens. I frowned to myself, and then tried to pass my thought to Chade. Either their men don’t see fit to greet us, or they are concealed from us somewhere.
His returned thought was thin as a thread of smoke. Or they were decimated in the Red Ship War. Some clans took heavy losses.
I could sense that he strained to reach me and let the contact lapse. He had other things on his mind just now. It was more my Wit than my Skill that picked up the Prince’s restlessness and disappointment. The reason for that was plain. Elliania was not among those who had come to meet us. Don’t let it bother you, I counselled him. We don’t know enough of their customs in this regard to know what her absence means. Don’t assume it is a slight.
Bother me? I’d hardly noticed. This is about the alliance, Fitz, not about some girl and her ploys. The sharpness of his retort betrayed his lie. I sighed to myself. Fifteen. All I could do was thank Eda that I’d never have to be that age again.
Peottre must have advised Chade of their custom in this regard, for he and all our party remained standing on the deck until a young woman in her early twenties lifted her clear voice and invited the son of the Buck Clan of the Farseer Holdings to descend from the ship with his folk.
‘That’s our signal,’ Web said quietly. ‘Swift will have Thick ready to leave. Shall we go?’
I nodded, and then asked, as if I had a right to, ‘What does Risk show you? Does she see armed men anywhere about?’
He