Un­like the Skill road, the road we trav­elled the next day had ex­per­i­en­ced the full rav­ages of time. Doubt­less once a wide thor­ough­fare, the en­croach­ments of the forest had nar­rowed it to little more than a track. While to me it seemed al­most care­free to march down a road that did not at every mo­ment threaten to steal my mind from me, the oth­ers muttered about the hum­mocks, up­thrust roots, fallen branches and other obstacles we scrambled through all day. I kept my thoughts to my­self and en­joyed the thick moss that over­lay the once-cobbled sur­face, the branchy shade of the bud-leafed trees that over­arched the road and the oc­ca­sional pat­ter of flee­ing an­im­als in the un­der­brush.

  Nighteyes was in his ele­ment, ra­cing ahead and then gal­lop­ing back to us, to trot pur­pose­fully along be­side Kettricken for a time. Then he would go ran­ging off again. At one time he came dash­ing back to the Fool and me, tongue lolling, to an­nounce that to­night we would hunt wild pig, for their sign was plen­ti­ful. I re­layed this to the Fool.

  ‘I did not lose any wild pigs. There­fore, I shall not hunt for any,’ he replied loftily. I rather agreed with his sen­ti­ments. Burrich’s scarred leg had made me more than wary of the great tusked an­im­als.

  Rab­bits, I sug­ges­ted to Nighteyes. Let us hunt rab­bits.

  Rab­bits for rab­bits, he snorted dis­dain­fully, and dashed off again.

  I ig­nored the in­sult. The day was just pleas­antly cool for hik­ing and the verd­ant forest smells were like a home­com­ing to me. Kettricken led us on, lost in her own thoughts, while Kettle and Starling fol­lowed us, caught up in talk. Kettle still ten­ded to walk more slowly, though the old wo­man seemed to have gained stam­ina and strength since our jour­ney had be­gun. But they were a com­fort­able dis­tance be­hind us when I quietly asked the Fool, ‘Why do you al­low Starling to be­lieve you are a wo­man?’

  He turned to me, waggled his eye­brows and blew me a kiss. ‘And am I not, fair princeling?’

  ‘I’m ser­i­ous,’ I re­buked him. ‘She thinks you are a wo­man and in love with me. She thought that we had a tryst last night.’

  ‘And did we not, my shy one?’ He leered at me out­rageously.

  ‘Fool,’ I said warn­ingly.

  ‘Ah.’ He sighed sud­denly. ‘Per­haps the truth is, I fear to show her my proof, lest ever af­ter­wards she find all other men a dis­ap­point­ment.’ He ges­tured mean­ing­fully at him­self.

  I looked at him lev­elly un­til he grew sober. ‘What does it mat­ter what she thinks? Let her think whatever is easi­est for her to be­lieve.’

  ‘Mean­ing?’

  ‘She needed someone to con­fide in and, for a time, chose me. Per­haps it was easier for her to do that if she be­lieved I was a wo­man, also.’ He sighed again. ‘That is one thing that in all my years among your folk I have never be­come ac­cus­tomed to. The great im­port­ance that you at­tach to what gender one is.’

  ‘Well it is im­port­ant …’ I began.

  ‘Rub­bish!’ he ex­claimed. ‘Mere plumb­ing, when all is said and done. Why is it im­port­ant?’

  I stared at him, at a loss for words. It all seemed so ob­vi­ous to me as to not need say­ing. After a time, I said, ‘Could you not simply tell her you are a man and let the is­sue be laid to rest?’

  ‘That would scarcely lay it to rest, Fitz,’ he replied ju­di­ciously. He clambered over a fallen tree and waited for me to fol­low. ‘For then she would need to know why, if I am a man, I do not de­sire her. It would have to be either a fault in me, or some­thing I per­ceived as a fault in her. No. I do not think any­thing needs to be said on that topic. Starling, how­ever, has the min­strel’s fail­ing. She thinks that everything in the world, no mat­ter how private, should be a topic for dis­cus­sion. Or bet­ter yet, made into a song. Ah, yes!’

  He struck a sud­den pose in the middle of the forest trail. His stance was so art­fully re­min­is­cent of Starling when she read­ied her­self to sing that I was hor­ri­fied. I glanced back at her as the Fool launched into sud­den, hearty song:

  ‘Oh, when the Fool pisses

  Pray tell, what’s the angle?

  Did we take down his pants

  Would he dimple or dangle?’

  My eyes dar­ted from Starling to the Fool. He bowed, an em­broid­ery of the elab­or­ate bow that of­ten marked the end of her per­form­ances. I wanted at once to laugh aloud and to sink into the earth. I saw Starling red­den and start for­ward, but Kettle caught at her sleeve and said some­thing severely. Then they both glared at me. It was not the first time that one of the Fool’s es­capades had em­bar­rassed me, but it was one of the most keenly-edged ones. I made a help­less ges­ture back at them, then roun­ded on the Fool. He was caper­ing down the path ahead of me. I hastened to catch up with him.

  ‘Did you ever stop to think you might hurt her feel­ings?’ I asked him an­grily.

  ‘I gave it as much thought as she gave to whether such an al­leg­a­tion might hurt mine.’ He roun­ded on me sud­denly, wag­ging a long fin­ger. ‘Ad­mit it. You asked that ques­tion with never a thought as to whether it would hurt my van­ity. How would you feel if I de­man­ded proof that you were a man? Ah!’ His shoulders slumped sud­denly and he seemed to lose all en­ergy. ‘Such a thing to waste words on, with all else we must con­front. Let it go, Fitz, and I will as well. Let her refer to me as “she” as much as she wishes. I will do my best to ig­nore it.’

  I should have left it alone. I did not. ‘It is only that she thinks that you love me,’ I tried to ex­plain.

  He gave me an odd look. ‘I do.’

  ‘I mean, as a man and a wo­man love.’

  He took a breath. ‘And how is that?’

  ‘I mean …’ It half-angered me that he pre­ten­ded not to un­der­stand me. ‘For bed­ding. For …’

  ‘And is that how a man loves a wo­man,’ he in­ter­rup­ted me sud­denly, ‘for bed­ding?’

  ‘It’s a part of it!’ I felt sud­denly de­fens­ive but could not say why.

  He arched an eye­brow at me and said calmly, ‘You are con­fus­ing plumb­ing and love again.’

  ‘It’s more than plumb­ing!’ I shouted at him. A bird ab­ruptly flew off, caw­ing. I glanced back at Kettle and Starling, who ex­changed puzzled glances.

  ‘I see,’ he said. He thought a bit as I strode ahead of him on the path. Then, from be­hind me he called out, ‘Tell me, Fitz, did you love Molly or that which was un­der her skirts?’

  Now it was my turn to be af­fron­ted. But I was not go­ing to let him baffle me into si­lence. ‘I love Molly and all that is a part of her,’ I de­clared. I hated the heat that rose in my cheeks.

  ‘There, now you have said it,’ the Fool replied as if I had proven his point for him. ‘And I love you, and all that is a part of you.’ He cocked his head and the next words held a chal­lenge. ‘And do you not re­turn that to me?’

  He waited. I des­per­ately wished I had never star­ted this dis­cus­sion. ‘You know I love you,’ I said at last, grudgingly. ‘After all that has been between us, how can you even ask? But I love you as a man loves an­other man …’ Here the Fool leered at me mock­ingly. Then a sud­den glint lit his eyes, and I knew that he was about to do some­thing aw­ful to me.

  He leaped to the top of a fallen log. From that height, he gave Starling a tri­umphant look and cried dra­mat­ic­ally, ‘He loves me, he says! And I love him!’ Then with a whoop of wild laughter he leapt down and raced ahead of me on the trail.

  I ran my hand back through my hair and then slowly clambered over the log. I heard Kettle laugh­ing and Starling’s angry com­ments. I walked si­lently through the forest, wish­ing I’d had the sense to keep my mouth shut. I was cer­tain that Starling was sim­mer­ing with fury. Lately she had had al­most no words for me. I had ac­cep­ted that she found my Wit some­thing of an ab­om­in­a­tion. She was not the first to be dis­mayed by it; at least she showed some tol­er­ance for me. But now the an­ger she car­ried would have a more per­sonal bite to it. One more small loss of what little I had left. A part of me greatly missed the close­ness we had shared for a time. I missed the hu­man com­fort of hav­ing her sleep against my back, or sud­denly take my arm when we were walk­ing. I thought I had closed my heart against those needs, but I sud­denly missed that simple warmth.

  As if that thought had opened a breach in my walls, I sud­denly thought of Molly. And Nettle, both in danger be­cause of me. Without warn­ing, my heart was in my throat. I must not think of them, I warned my­self, and re­minded my­self that there was noth­ing I could do. There was no way I could warn them without be­tray­ing them. There was no pos­sible way I could reach them be­fore Regal’s hench­men did. All I could do was trust to Burrich’s strong right arm, and cling to the hope that Regal did not truly know where they were.

  I jumped over a trick­ling creek and found the Fool wait­ing for me on the other side. He said noth­ing as he fell into pace be­side me. His mer­ri­ment seemed to have deser­ted him.

  I re­minded my­self that I scarcely knew where Molly and Burrich were. Oh, I knew the name of a nearby vil­lage, but as long as I kept that to my­self, they were safe.

  ‘What you know, I can know.’

  ‘What did you say?’ I asked the Fool un­eas­ily. His words had replied so ex­actly to my thoughts that it sent a chill up my spine.

  ‘I said, what you know, I can know,’ he re­peated ab­sen­tly.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ex­actly my thought. Why would I wish to know what you know?’

  ‘No. I mean, why did you say that?’

  ‘In truth, Fitz, I’ve no idea. The words popped into my head and I said them. I of­ten say things I have not well con­sidered.’ The last he said al­most as an apo­logy.

  ‘As do I,’ I agreed. I said no more to him, but it bothered me. He seemed, since the in­cid­ent at the pil­lar, to be much more of the Fool I re­membered from Buck­keep. I wel­comed his sud­den growth in con­fid­ence and spir­its but I also wor­ried that he might have too much faith in events flow­ing as they should. I also re­called that his sharp tongue was more prone to bare con­flicts than re­solve them. I my­self had felt its edge more than once, but in the con­text of King Shrewd’s court, I had ex­pec­ted it. Here, in such a small com­pany, it seemed to cut more sharply. I wondered if there were any way I could soften his razor hu­mour. I shook my head to my­self, then res­ol­utely dredged up Kettle’s latest game prob­lem and kept it be­fore my mind even as I clambered over forest debris and sidestepped hanging branches.

  As late af­ter­noon wore on, our path led us deeper and deeper into a val­ley. At one point the an­cient trail af­forded a view of what lay be­low us. I glimpsed the green-beaded, trail­ing branches of wil­lows com­ing into leaf and the rose-tinged trunks of pa­per birches presid­ing over a deeply grassed meadow. Bey­ond I saw the brown stand­ing husks of last year’s cat­tails deeper in the vale. The lush rank­ness of the grasses and ferns fore­told swamp­land as surely as the green smell of stand­ing wa­ter did. When the ran­ging wolf came back wet to his knees, I knew I was right.

  Be­fore long we came to where an en­er­getic stream had long ago washed out a bridge and de­voured the road to either side of it. Now it trickled shin­ing and sil­ver in a grav­elly bed, but the fallen trees on either bank at­tested to its flood­time fury. A chorus of frogs stilled sud­denly at our ap­proach. I went rock to rock to get past it with dry feet. We had not gone far be­fore a second stream crossed our path. Given a choice of wet feet or wet boots, I chose the former. The wa­ter was icy. The only kind­ness was that it numbed my feet from the stones in its bed. On the far side I put my boots back on. Our small com­pany had closed its ranks as the trail grew more dif­fi­cult. Now we con­tin­ued to march si­lently to­gether. Black­birds called and early in­sects hummed.

  ‘So much life here,’ Kettricken said softly. Her words seemed to hang in the still sweet air. I found my­self nod­ding in agree­ment. So much life around us, both green and an­imal. It filled my Wit-sense and seemed to hang in the air like a mist. After the bar­ren stones of the moun­tains and the deser­ted Skill road, this abund­ance of life was heady.

  Then I saw the dragon.

  I hal­ted in my tracks and lif­ted my arms out in a sud­den ges­ture for both still­ness and si­lence that all seemed to re­cog­nize. All of my com­pan­ions’ gazes fol­lowed mine. Starling gasped and the hackles on the wolf stood up. We stared at it, as un­mov­ing as it was.

  Golden and green, he sprawled un­der the trees in their dappled shade. He was far enough off the trail that I could only see patches of him through the trees, but those were im­press­ive enough. His im­mense head, as long as a horse’s body, res­ted deep in the moss. His single eye that I could see was closed. A great crest of feather-scales, rain­bow-hued, lay lax about his throat. Sim­ilar tufts above each eye looked al­most com­ical, save that there could be noth­ing com­ical about a creature so im­mense and so strange. I saw a scaled shoulder, and wind­ing between two trees, a length of tail. Old leaves were heaped about it like a sort of nest.

  After a long breath­less mo­ment, we ex­changed glances. Kettricken raised her eye­brows at me, but I de­ferred to her with a tiny shrug. I had no concept of what dangers it might present, or how to face them. Very slowly and si­lently I drew my sword. It sud­denly looked like a very silly weapon. As well face a bear with a table-knife. I don’t know how long our tableau held. It seemed an end­less time. My muscles were be­gin­ning to ache with the strain of re­main­ing mo­tion­less. The jep­pas shif­ted im­pa­tiently, but held their places in line as long as Kettricken kept their leader still. At last Kettricken made a small si­lent mo­tion, and slowly star­ted our party for­ward again.

  When I could no longer see the slum­ber­ing beast, I began to breathe a bit easier. Just as quickly, re­ac­tion set in. My hand ached from grip­ping my sword hilt and all my muscles sud­denly went rub­bery. I wiped my sweaty hair back from my face. I turned to ex­change a re­lieved look with the Fool, only to find him star­ing bey­ond me with un­be­liev­ing eyes. I turned hast­ily, and like flock­ing birds, the oth­ers mimed my ges­ture. Yet again we hal­ted, si­lently trans­fixed, to stare at a sleep­ing dragon.

  This one sprawled in the deep shade of ever­green trees. Like the first, she nestled deep in moss and forest debris. But there the re­semb­lance ended. Her long sinu­ous tail was coiled and wrapped around her like a gar­land, and her smoothly scaled hide shone a rich, cop­pery brown. I could see wings fol­ded tight to her nar­row body. Her long neck was craned over her back like a sleep­ing goose’s and the shape of her head was bird-like also, even to a hawk-like beak. From the creature’s brow spir­al­led up a shin­ing horn, wickedly sharp at the tip. The four limbs fol­ded be­neath her put me more in mind of a hind than a liz­ard. To call both these creatures dragons seemed a con­tra­dic­tion, yet I had no other word for be­ings such as these.

  Again we stood si­lent and star­ing while the jep­pas shif­ted rest­lessly. Ab­ruptly Kettricken spoke. ‘I do not think they are liv­ing be­ings. I think they are clever carvings of stone.’

  My Wit-sense told me oth­er­wise. ‘They are alive!’ I cau­tioned her in a whis­per. I star­ted to quest to­ward one, but Nighteyes near pan­icked. I drew my mind-touch back. ‘They sleep very deeply, as if still hi­bern­at­ing from the cold weather. But I know they are alive.’

  While Kettricken and I were speak­ing, Kettle went to de­cide it for her­self. I saw Kettricken’s eyes widen, and turned to look back at the dragon, fear­ing it was awaken­ing. In­stead I saw Kettle place her withered hand on the creature’s still brow. Her hand seemed to tremble as she touched it, but then she smiled, al­most sadly, and stroked her hand up the spiralling horn. ‘So beau­ti­ful,’ she mused. ‘So cun­ningly wrought.’

  She turned back to us all. ‘Mark how last year’s vine twined about her tail tip. See how deeply she lies in the fallen leaves of a score of years. Or per­haps a score of scores. Yet each tiny scale still gleams, so per­fectly fash­ioned is she!’

  Starling and Kettricken star­ted for­ward with ex­clam­a­tions of won­der and de­light, and were soon crouched by the sculp­ture, call­ing each other’s at­ten­tion to craf­ted de­tail after de­tail. The in­di­vidual scales of each wing, the flu­idly grace­ful loop­ing of the tail coils and every other mar­vel of the artist’s design were ad­mired. Yet while they poin­ted and touched so avidly, the wolf and I held back. Hackles stood up all along Nighteyes’ back. He did not growl; in­stead he gave a whine so high it was al­most like a whistle. After a mo­ment, I real­ized the Fool had not joined the oth­ers. I turned to find him re­gard­ing it from afar, as a miser might look on a pile of gold lar­ger even than his dreams. There was the same sort of wide­ness to his eyes. Even his pale cheeks seemed to hold a rosy flush.

  ‘Fitz, come and see! It is only cold stone, carved so well as to ap­pear alive. And look! There is an­other, with the antlers of a stag and the face of a man!’ Kettricken lif­ted a hand to point and I glimpsed yet an­other fig­ure sprawled sleep­ing on the forest floor. They all de­par­ted the first ef­figy to re­gard this new one, ex­claim­ing anew over the beauty and de­tails of it.

  I moved my­self for­ward on leaden feet, the wolf pressed tightly to my side. When I stood next to the horned one, I could see for my­self the fuzzy sac of spider webs af­fixed in the hol­low of one hoofed foot. The creature’s ribs did not move with the pump­ing of any lungs, nor did I feel any body warmth at all. I fi­nally forced my­self to set a hand to the cold, carved stone. ‘It’s a statue,’ I said aloud, as if to force my­self to be­lieve what my Wit-sense denied. I looked around me, past the stag-man that Starling still ad­mired, to where Kettle and Kettricken stood smil­ing by yet an­other sculp­ture. Its boar-like body sprawled on its side, and the tusks that pro­truded from its snout were as long as I was tall. In all ways it re­sembled the forest pig that Nighteyes had killed, save for its im­mense size and the wings tucked close to its side.