The Complete Tawny Man Trilogy: Fool’s Errand, The Golden Fool, Fool’s Fate. Robin Hobb

new moon would herald Prince Dutiful’s betrothal ceremony. Would the Prince stand at the narcheska’s side? It was hard to make the question seem important.

      There are times when not thinking requires all of one’s concentration. I don’t know how far I walked before I stepped on it. It shifted in the wet sand beneath my foot, and for an instant I thought I had stepped on a knife blade lying flat on the sand. In the darkness, I stooped and located it by touch. I picked it up. It was about the length of the blade of a butcher’s knife, and somewhat shaped the same. It was hard and cold, stone or metal, I could not tell which. But it was not a knife. I ran my fingers over it cautiously. There was no sharpened edge. A rib ran up the centre of it, and then the object was finely striated in parallel rows at an angle to the rib on both sides. It culminated in a sort of tube at one end. It was heavy, yet not as heavy as it seemed it should have been. I stood holding it in the darkness, feeling sure I knew what it was, but unable to summon up that knowledge. It was familiar in an eerie way, as if I picked up something that had been mine a long time ago.

      The puzzle of the object was a welcome distraction from my own thoughts. I held it in my hand as I continued down the beach. I hadn’t gone a dozen steps before I stepped on another one. I picked it up. By touch I compared the two. They were not quite identical, one being slightly longer. I held them, weighing them in my hands.

      When I stepped on the third one, I was almost expecting it. I lifted it from the sand and wiped the wet grit from it. Then I stood still where I was. I had a strange sense of something waiting for me. It hovered, unable to take shape without my volition. I had the strangest sensation of standing on the edge of a cliff. One more step, and I would either plummet to my death, or discover I could fly.

      I stepped back from it. I turned around and walked back towards the dying campfire on the beach. As I watched, I saw Dutiful’s silhouette pass before the flames, and the sparks leapt up into the night as he dropped more wood on the fire. Well, at least he could do that much for himself.

      It was hard to go back to the circle of that light. I didn’t want to face him, didn’t want his questions or his accusations. I did not want to pick up the reins of my life. But by the time I reached the fire, Dutiful was stretched out beside it, feigning sleep. He wore his own shirt, and mine had been draped on the stakes to warm and dry. I put it on silently. As I tugged up the collar, my fingers encountered Jinna’s charm. Ah. Well that explained his smile and kindly words. I lay down on my side of the fire.

      Before I closed my eyes, I examined the objects I had found. They were feathers. Of stone or metal, I still could not say. In the fire’s deceptive light, they were dark grey. I instantly knew where they belonged. I doubted they would ever be there. I put them on the ground beside me and closed my eyes, fleeing into sleep.

       TWENTY-FOUR Confrontations

      So up strides Jack and stands before the Other, so bold that he rocked from his heels to his toes and back again. ‘Oh, ho,’ says he, and he holds up the bag of red pebbles that he’d gathered. ‘So all that rests on this beach is yours? Well, I say that what I’ve gathered is mine, and he who wants what is mine will not get it without me taking a piece of his flesh in exchange.’ And Jack showed the Other his every tooth, from white in the front to black in the back, and his fist, too, doubled up like a tree knot. ‘I’ll slam you,’ he says, ‘and I’ll rip your ears from the sides of your head.’ And it’s certain that he would have that very moment, save that Others have no more ears than a toad, as any child knows.

      But all the same, the Other knew he would not take the sack of red pebbles without a fight. So all in a moment, he shimmered and shook. He reeked of dead fish no longer then, but gave off the scent of every flower that blooms in high summer. He shivered his skin so he sparkled and to Jack’s eyes there was suddenly a maiden standing there, naked as a new leaf and licking her lips as if she tasted honey there.

       Ten Voyages with Jack, Voyage the Fourth

      I think that for a time I slept dreamlessly. Certainly I was weary enough. Far too much had happened to me, far too swiftly. Sleep was as much a respite from thought as it was rest. Yet after a time, dreams claimed me and tumbled me. I climbed the steps to Verity’s tower. He was sitting at the window, Skilling. My heart leapt joyfully at first sight of him, but when he turned to me, his face was grieved. ‘You did not teach my son, Fitz. I’ll have to take your daughter for that.’ Both Nettle and Dutiful were stones on a game-cloth, and with a single sweep of his hand, he exchanged their positions. ‘It’s your move,’ he said. But before I could do anything, Jinna came to brush all the stones from the cloth into her hand. ‘I’ll make a charm of these,’ she promised me. ‘One to protect all of the Six Duchies.’

      ‘Put it away,’ I begged her, for I was the wolf and the charm was one against predators. It sickened and cowed me just to behold it. It was potent, far more potent than any of the other charms she had shown me. It was magic stripped to its most basic form, all human sentiment abraded from it. It was magic of an older time and place, magic that cared nothing for people. It was as implacable as the Skill. It was sharp as knives and burning as poison. ‘Put it away!’

      He couldn’t hear me. He had never been able to hear me. The Scentless One wore it around his throat, and he had opened his collar wide to bare it. It was all I could do to force myself to stand still and guard his back. Even behind him, I could feel its harsh radiance. I could smell blood, his and my own. I still felt the warm slow seep of my blood down my flank, and my strength dripping away with it.

      A man with a whining dog stood guard over us, scowling. Behind him, a fire burned, and Piebalds slept around it. Beyond them was the open mouth of the shelter, and an edge of dawn in the sky. It seemed horribly far away. Our guard’s face was contorted, not just with anger but with fear and frustration. He longed to hurt us, but dared come no closer. It was not a dream. It was the Wit and I was with Nighteyes and he lived. The surge of joy I felt amused him but only for an instant. Your witnessing this will not make it easier for either of us. You should have stayed away from this