Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

Then the town man, Bosk, came to stand before Civil. He was twisting his fingers together as if he might unscrew them from his hands. Then, in an uncertain voice, he asked, “Farseers killed Piebalds. Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure,” Civil said softly. His hand went up and touched his throat. “Very sure indeed.”

“Their names,” the man whispered. “Do you know their names?”

Civil stood still and silent for a moment. Then, “Keppler. Padget. And Swoskin. Those were the names I knew them by. But Prince Dutiful called Keppler by another name, from his time amongst the Piebalds. He called him Laudwine.”

Bosk shook his head, plainly disappointed. But someone else in the room loudly asked, “Laudwine?” She pushed to the front and I recognized Silvereye. “That can’t be so! He was the leader of the Piebalds. If he’d been killed, I’d have heard of it.”

“Oh, would you?” the minstrel asked curiously. The look on his face was not pleasant.

“I would,” she snapped. “Make of that what you will. I know folk who know Laudwine, and yes, some of them are Piebalds. I am not one, myself, though my recent conversations here have made me see what drove them to such extreme acts.” She turned a shoulder to the minstrel, excluding him as she demanded of Civil, “How long ago did this happen? And what proof do you have that what you say is so?”

The lad took a step back from her, but he answered. “Well over a month ago. As for proof . . . what proof can you expect me to give? I saw what I saw, but I fled as soon as I could. It shames me to admit it, but it is so. Still, I doubt what is common talk in Buckkeep Town is false. A one-armed man and his horse were killed, as well as a small dog. And the other two men in the house.”

“His horse, too!” Silvereye exclaimed, and I saw her take it as a double loss.

“If this is so, it is a major blow to the Piebalds,” Bosk declared. “It might well mean the end of them.”

“No. It will not!” She was adamant. “The Piebalds are stronger than a single man. They will not give up this fight until we have had justice. Justice and revenge.”

Bosk stood up and walked toward her slowly, his fists knotted. His threat would have been pathetic if it had not been so sincere. “Maybe I should take my revenge where I can get it,” he suggested breathlessly. His voice nearly broke on the next words. “If I posted your name as Witted, and you were hung and burned, would it scald your Piebald friends? Perhaps I should take your advice. Do to them exactly what was done to me.”

“You are so stupid! Can’t you see they are fighting for all of us, and deserve our support? I had heard rumors, that Laudwine had discovered something, something that could topple the Farseers from power. Perhaps that secret died with him, but perhaps it did not.”

“Now you are the one being stupid,” Civil broke in determinedly. “Topple the Farseers? Now there is a plan! Bring down the only queen who has ever tried to halt the hanging and burning. And what will that gain us? Only widespread persecution, with no fear of reprisals or guardsmen coming to intervene. If Old Blood even attempts to overthrow the monarchy, it will be seen as proof that we are as evil and untrustworthy as our enemies have said. Are you mad?”

“She is,” Web said quietly. “And for that we should pity her, not condemn her.”

“I don’t want your pity!” Silvereye spat out. “I need no one’s pity. Nor do I need your help. Grovel to this Farseer Queen. Forgive all that has been done to you, and let them use you as their servants. I do not forgive, and in my time I will have my revenge. I will.”

“We’ve done it,” Chade whispered by my ear. “Or perhaps I should say that Silvereye has done it for us. She has driven into our fold any who do not dream of blood and burning. And that is most of them, I think. See if I am not right.”

And with that he left me, scuttling off like a gray spider through the tunnels. It wasn’t until late that night that I finally left my post to go and find food and then to take some sleep. But it went as he had said it would. Civil remained with the Old Bloods, and when the Queen, Chade, and the Six Duchies delegates returned, he stood before them and greeted them as a Witted noble. I saw the discomfort on the faces of the delegates as he assured them that in every duchy, there were Witted nobility, forced for generations to keep their magic small and silent. Several of the young men he spoke to now knew him well. They had ridden with him, drunk with him, and gamed at table with him. They exchanged glances with one another, and their plain message was “If he is Witted, who else might be also?” But Civil either did not see or ignored their reservations as he pushed on with his proclamation. He intended now to let his magic burn bright for the good of Prince Dutiful and the Farseer reign. He pledged himself to this, and I thought I saw grudging admiration on three of the delegates’ faces. Perhaps this Old Blood youth could act as a proof against their prejudice.