Fool's Quest (The Fitz and The Fool Trilogy #2)

My mind raveled through the years, and I had leisure to think of all the foolish decisions I’d made. In the dark I mourned the loss of Molly and how I had wasted Bee’s little life. I indulged my hatred for Dwalia and her followers, and raged that they were beyond my vengeance. I lifted and studied my own ridiculous quest. I had to wonder if I would even find Clerres, and what one man could do to topple such an evil nest of cruelty. It was foolish even to try, but it was the last thing I had to give purpose to my life.

I wondered if I were a coward to refuse to risk my eyesight to bring back the Fool’s. No. I was better suited to this mission than he was. I was sad to leave him, but glad he was somewhere warm and safe. If I succeeded in my quest and returned to him, he would forgive me. Perhaps. And perhaps by then, the dragon’s blood he had taken would have restored his sight. I could hope. For him, I could hope for a better life and good years to come. For myself, the only hope I had was that I could kill successfully before I was killed.

The steep thrust of the mountain peaks that surrounded us delayed dawn. When there was enough light to see, I built up the fire, packed both pots with snow and set them to melt, then shouted at the others to wake up. Per stumbled out first, and my reluctance to part with the butterfly cloak shamed me. The cold reached for me with greedy fingers. But my daughter had chosen to protect him under the cloak, and what she had given to him, I would not take away. Lant roused more slowly, and I hastened the process when I took back the two cloaks that had become part of his bedding.

“I’m going hunting,” I told them. “You two are to stay near the camp. Gather lots of wood and keep the fire going. I may not be back until late evening. Or even tomorrow morning.” How far was it? I would travel swiftly and alone, unburdened by a pack animal or companions. I could do it.

“Where are you going?” Per was suspicious.

“I told you. Hunting. I’ll bring back meat, I hope. A good meal for us.”

“You’ve no bow. How can you hunt?”

I was already tired of the conversation. “As I used to. Like a wolf.” I turned and walked away from them. At the edge of the clearing, I stopped. “Cut staves for yourselves. There are wild animals here, some big enough to think you’d be prey. Lant, practice with the boy. Teach him what you know.” I turned away from them. Whacking at each other with staves would both occupy them and keep them warm. As I walked away, Motley cawed derisively after me but did not follow.

I wondered why I was doing this. It was not part of my plan. But neither was Per or Lant. I reached for Nettle to let her know what I was doing and found only a roaring current of Skill full of strange voices. I pulled hastily away from it. I hiked on.

The trail was more overgrown than I remembered it. Trees and bushes had begun to encroach on the edges of the ancient Skill-road. Perhaps not even Elderling magic could hold out forever. Windblown dead needles and small branches littered the smooth snow. I relaxed into the cold, accepting it, and felt my muscles loosen as my body generated its own heat. I moved swiftly but quietly, looking for movement. If I had the chance, I’d kill something for us to eat, but as Per had guessed, meat was not my primary goal.

The last time I’d walked this way, the foliage had been dense and green. Snow mounded on the moss that draped the tree branches now. I passed a tree where a bear had sharpened his claws. The tracks were old, softened with snow. Birds flitted through the trees. A deer trail crossed my path, but nothing moved on it right now. In a small clearing I came across a tangle of wild roses still heavy with frozen red hips. The birds feeding on them cursed me as I stole from the edges of the prickly tangle. I filled my kerchief and tied it shut. If nothing else, they would flavor porridge or tea for us. I picked a final handful to chew as I walked.

The forest grew denser and darker. I hurried. Although the year had turned her steps toward spring, the days were still short. My feet got cold and I pulled my hood tighter around my ears. I ran then, plowing through the snow across the path, pounding my feet until they warmed with the exercise. I ran carelessly, spooking a fat bird that might have made a good meal, if I’d had the means to kill it. After that I walked, and ran, and walked again. I ate snow to keep my mouth wet, but avoided chilling my body with too much of it. Onward. I watched the winter sun pass over my head and shadows start to grow long. This was foolishness. Why had I yielded to the impulse? I was as stupid as Lant and Per put together. Then, as evening leached all colors from the day, I came to the first buried hulk beside the snow pathway.

It had been years but some things a man does not forget. I moved from stone dragon to stone dragon. Here was the one shaped like a wild boar. Here was one with the shape of a dragon. The blue-winged buck’s antlers were edged with snow. They still filled me with awe, each and every one of them.