Golden Fool by Hobb Robin Read Free Book Online Page B

swung into place behind him, both his voice and his Skill reached me again.
You stink like dog poop. Chop you up and burn you.
    His anger was like an ebbing tide that slowly left me stranded. After a time, I lifted my hands and pressed them to my temples. The stress of holding my walls so tight and solid was beginning to tell on me, but I dared not let them down just yet. If he could sense my lowering them, if he chose then to blast me with a Skill command, I would be prey to it, just as Dutiful had been prey to my impulsive Skill command not to fight me. I feared that his mind still bore the stamp of that decree.
    That was yet another worry that I must tend to. Did that order still restrain him? I made the resolution then that I must discover how to reverse my Skill command. If I did not, I knew it would soon become a barrier to any true friendship between us. Then I wondered if the Prince were cognizant at all of what I had done to him. It had been an accident, I told myself, and then despised my lie. A burst of my temper had imprinted that command on my prince’s mind. It shamed me that I had done so, and the sooner it was removed, the better for both of us.
    Dimly I became aware of music again. I made a tentative connection. As I gradually lowered my walls, it became louder in my mind. Putting my hands over my ears did not affect it at all. Skilling music. I had never even imagined such a thing, yet the half-wit was doing it. When I drew my attention away from it, it faded into the shushing curtain of thoughts that always stood at the edges of my Skill. Most of it was formless whispering, the overheard thoughts of the folk who possessed just enough talent to let their most urgent thoughts float out onto the Skill. If I focused my abilities on them, I could sometimes pluck whole thoughts and images from their minds, but they lacked enough Skill to be aware of me, let alone reply. This half-wit was different. He was a roaring Skill fire, his music the heat and smoke of his wild talent. He made no effort to hide it; possibly he had no idea how to hide it, or had any reason to do so.
    I relaxed, keeping only the wall that ensured my private thoughts would remain hidden from Dutiful’s budding Skill talent. Then with a groan, I lowered my head into my hands as a Skill headache thundered through my skull.
     
    “Fitz?”
    I was aware of Chade’s presence an instant before he touched my shoulder. Even so, I started as I awoke and raised my hands as if to ward off a blow.
    “What ails you, boy?” he demanded of me, and then leaned closer to peer at me. “Your eyes are full of blood! When did you last sleep?”
    “Just now, I think.” I managed a feeble smile. I ran my hands through my chopped hair. It was sweated flat to my skull. I could recall only tatters of my fleeting nightmare. “I met your servant,” I told him shakily.
    “Thick? Ah. Well, not the brightest man in the keep, but he serves my purpose admirably. Hard for him to betray secrets when he hasn’t the sense to recognize a secret if he fell over it. But enough of him. As soon as Lord Golden’s message reached me, I came up here, hoping to catch you. What is this about Piebalds in Buckkeep Town?”
    “He wrote that down in a message?” I was incensed.
    “Not in so many words. Only I would have picked out the sense of it. Now tell me.”
    “They followed me last night . . . this morning. To scare me and to let me know they knew me. That they could find me anytime. Chade. Set that aside for a moment. Did you know your servant—what is his name? Thick? Did you know Thick is Skilled?”
    “At what? Breaking teacups?” The old man snorted as if I had made a bad jest. He heaved a sigh and gestured at the cold fireplace in disgust. “He’s supposed to set a small fire in the hearth each day. Half the time he forgets to do that. What are you talking about?”
    “Thick is Skilled. Strongly Skilled. He nearly dropped me in my tracks when I accidentally