“Well, think on it, boy. Scribing’s a good trade, and what other prospects do you have? Between the two of us, I think that some time away from Buckkeep might do you good.”
“Away from Buckkeep?” I repeated in wonder. It was like someone opening a curtain. I had never considered the idea. Suddenly the roads leading away from Buckkeep gleamed in my mind, and the weary maps I had been forced to study became places I could go. It transfixed me.
“Yes,” Fedwren said softly. “Leave Buckkeep. As you grow older Chivalry’s shadow will grow thinner. It will not always shelter you. Better you were your own man, with your own life and calling to content you before his protection is entirely gone. But you don’t have to answer me now. Think about it. Discuss it with Burrich, perhaps.”
And he handed me my pith paper and sent me back to my place. I thought about his words, but it was not Burrich I took them to. In the feeble hours of a new day, Chade and I were crouched, head to head, I picking up the red shards of a broken crock that Slink had overset while Chade salvaged the fine black seeds that had scattered in all directions. Slink clung to the top of a sagging tapestry and chirred apologetically, but I sensed his amusement.
“Come all the way from Kalibar, these seeds, you skinny little pelt!” Chade scolded him.
“Kalibar,” I said, and dredged out, “a day’s travel past our border with Sandsedge.”
“That’s right, my boy,” Chade muttered approvingly.
“Have you ever been there?”
“Me? Oh, no. I meant that they came from that far. I had to send to Fircrest for them. They’ve a large market there, one that draws trade from all Six Duchies and many of our neighbors as well.”
“Oh. Fircrest. Have you ever been there?”
Chade considered. “A time or two, when I was a younger man. I remember the noise, mostly, and the heat. Inland places are like that—too dry, too hot. I was glad to return to Buckkeep.”
“Was there any other place you ever went that you liked better than Buckkeep?”
Chade straightened slowly, his pale hand cupped full of fine black seed. “Why don’t you just ask me your question instead of beating around the bush?”
So I told him of Fedwren’s offer, and also of my sudden realization that maps were more than lines and colors. They were places and possibilities, and I could leave here and be someone else, be a scribe, or—
“No.” Chade spoke softly but abruptly. “No matter where you went, you would still be Chivalry’s bastard. Fedwren is more perspicacious than I believed him to be, but he still doesn’t understand. Not the whole picture. He sees that here at court you must always be a bastard, must always be something of a pariah. What he doesn’t realize is that here, partaking of King Shrewd’s bounty, learning your lessons, under his eye, you are not a threat to him. Certainly, you are under Chivalry’s shadow here. Certainly, it does protect you. But were you away from here, far from being unneedful of such protection, you would become a danger to King Shrewd, and a greater danger to his heirs after him. You would have no simple life of freedom as a wandering scribe. Rather you would be found in your inn bed with your throat cut some morning, or with an arrow through you on the high road.”
A coldness shivered through me. “But why?” I asked softly.
Chade sighed. He dumped the seeds into a dish, dusted his hands lightly to shake loose those that clung to his fingers. “Because you’re a royal bastard, and hostage to your own bloodlines. For now, as I say, you’re no threat to Shrewd. You’re too young, and besides, he has you right where he can watch you. But he’s looking down the road. And you should be, too. These are restless times. The Outislanders are getting braver about their raids. The coast folk are beginning to grumble, saying we need more patrol ships, and some say warships of our own, to raid as we are raided. But the Inland Duchies want no part of paying for ships of any kind, but especially not warships that might precipitate us into a full-scale war. They complain the coast is all the King thinks of, with no care for their farming. And the mountain folk are becoming more chary about the use of their passes. The trade fees grow steeper every month. So the merchants mumble and complain to each other. To the south, in Sandsedge and beyond, there is drought, and times are hard. Everyone there curses, as if the King and Verity were to blame for that as well. Verity is a fine fellow to have a mug with, but he is neither the soldier nor the diplomat that Chivalry was. He would rather hunt winter buck, or listen to a minstrel by the fireside than travel winter roads in raw weather, just to stay in touch with the other Duchies. Sooner or later, if things do not improve, people will look about and say, “Well, a bastard’s not so large a thing to make a fuss over. Chivalry should have come to power; he’d soon put a stop to all this. He might have been a bit stiff about protocol, but at least he got things done, and didn’t let foreigners trample all over us.’ ”