“We cannot change what he agreed to for us,” Chade told me grimly. “But it was worthwhile to see Bloodblade’s face when Dutiful told him, ‘My word is mine, and I am the only man who can give it. Never again presume to speak for me.’”
This he told me over brandy, in the same room in the stronghouse we had originally occupied. Thick and Dutiful were in the adjoining room. I could hear only the tone of their conversation: Dutiful was calmly explaining why Thick must board the ship the next day and Thick’s voice was varying from a child’s whine to a man’s angry refusal. It did not sound as if it were going well. But, given what Bloodblade had committed us to, I did not think any of it could go much worse than it had.
Our nobles had done well in our absence, better than I had expected. Trading alliances between varying clans and Six Duchies houses were already being formalized. Displaying their own insignia had seemed to distance them sufficiently from the Buck of the Farseers to allow them to approach the varying clans without prejudice. Dutiful dined with his nobles almost every night, and each evening seemed to bring news of more trade negotiations. If the Prince was able to present a dragon head to the Narcheska, we would have succeeded in our goal. The Six Duchies and the Out Islands would be so tied together with marriage and trade that future wars would not profit anyone.
But the Hetgurd seemed determined it would not be easy for us. The Farseer Prince would be allowed to challenge the dragon, but the Hetgurd had set the rules for the confrontation. When we departed for Aslevjal, we would not be taking the Prince’s Guard with him, but only a set number of warriors. Dutiful’s Wit coterie took up most of that count, and so far he had refused to consider Chade’s suggestion that he leave his Witted allies and take hardened fighters instead. As Dutiful had challenged her, the Narcheska would be accompanying us. We assumed that meant Peottre as well, and perhaps a few warriors from Narwhal or Boar clans, though their help had not been promised to us. A boat selected by the Hetgurd would transport us to Aslevjal. It would also transport the six Hetgurd representatives, who would see that we adhered to their rules. They would be warriors, selected from six different clans other than Boar or Narwhal clans. They would be allowed to defend themselves, if the dragon threatened them, but otherwise not harm him or assist us in any way. What we took with us would be limited to what the ship could carry, and once we were ashore, we’d be carrying it on our backs.
“I’m surprised they didn’t specify the Prince must fight the dragon in single combat.”
“They came close to it,” Chade said sourly. “He is supposed to be the first man to challenge the beast. And it was strongly suggested that he should attempt to deal the death blow, if there is one. They are warriors enough to know that in the heat of a battle, no one can say which blow will actually do the deed. One of their bards will be accompanying us, as witness. Just what we needed.” He scratched a whiskery cheek wearily. “Not that we are greatly concerned about any of that. As I’ve said from the start, I think this is more a case of digging something out of the ice than battling any living creatures. I had looked forward to having a larger workforce for that part of this business.” He coughed slightly and looked mildly pleased with himself as he said, “But perhaps I have something that will serve us as well as the extra men would have.”
“How many men is Dutiful allowed?”
“Twelve. And we make up the count of them far too quickly. You and me, Web, Civil, Cockle, Riddle, Thick, Longwick, and four guardsmen.” He shook his head. “I wish Dutiful would consider leaving at least Civil and Cockle here. Two more seasoned warriors can make all the difference in a situation.”
“What of Swift? Is he staying here, then?” I could not decide if I felt relief or uneasiness at the thought.
“No, we’ll take him. But as he’s a boy yet, he doesn’t count toward our quota of warriors.”
“And we leave tomorrow?”
Chade nodded. “Longwick has spent the last week gathering provisions for us. Most of what we brought of Six Duchies victuals has been used; I’m afraid we’ll be eating the local provender. He has sorted through what we had and acquired what we need for a party of twelve. I’ve already warned him that there will be a cat to feed as well as the rest of us. We will all carry weapons, regardless of whether we’ve been trained in them or not. An axe for you?”
I nodded. “And one for Swift. He has his own bow and arrows, but as you said before, an axe for chopping ice may be more to the point.”
Chade sighed. “And that is where my invention runs out. I have no idea what we’ll be facing, Fitz. We’ll have food and tents and weapons and some tools. But beyond that, I’ve no idea what we’ll need.” He poured himself a stingy dollop of brandy. “I’ll not deny that I take pleasure in knowing that Peottre is just as dismayed by all this as I am. He and the Narcheska will be accompanying us. Bloodblade is coming on the ship, but I don’t think he’s staying for the dragon-slaying.” He smirked sarcastically as he called it that, doubting it would be any such thing. “It’s damnably inconvenient all round, this giving a task the rules of a contest. They’ve limited us to two message birds as well, but to be used only to summon the ship back when we are ready to leave the island. They’ll be in the keeping of our chaperones.”
His words pushed my mind in another direction. “Do you suppose the bird you sent has reached Kettricken yet?”
He gave me a pitying look. “You know there’s no way for us to tell. Wind or storms, a hawk… so many things can delay or stop a bird. A message bird flies only toward its home and mate. There is no way for Kettricken to send word back to us.” Delicately he added, “Have you thought of trying to reach Burrich?”
“Last night,” I replied. To his lifted eyebrow, I replied, “Nothing. I felt like a moth battering at a lantern glass. I can’t reach him. Years ago, I used to be able to catch glimpses of them, of Molly and Burrich. Not a mind-to-mind touch, but… well, it’s no use. That’s gone. I suspect that Nettle was my focus for it, though I did not see through her eyes.”
“Interesting,” he said softly, and I knew he was squirreling away that bit of information for possible future use. “But you cannot reach Nettle?”
“No.” I boxed the word in, refusing to let any emotion ride on it. I reached across the table and picked up the brandy bottle.