Golden Fool

When I heard the scuff of footsteps coming up the tower stairs, I thought it was the guard. I took the bottle and my glass, retreated to a dim corner of the room and stood very still. I heard the key turn slowly in the lock, and the door opened. Then Dutiful entered. He shut the door firmly behind himself and then glanced about the apparently empty room. His irritation was plain on his face. He crossed to the table and once more looked about the room. A slow realization came to me. Witted the Prince might be, but not as strongly as I was. Even in the room with me, he remained unaware of my presence. This was a new idea to me: that, just as with the Skill, men could possess the Wit magic in various strengths. I set the thought aside to ponder later.



“Here.” When I spoke, he jumped, and then became aware of me as I stepped from the shadows, bottle and glass in hand. He glared at me as I advanced to the table and set the glass down. “Good morning, my prince.”



He spoke firmly, with great disdain. “Tom Badgerlock, you are dismissed. I no longer wish to have you teach me anything. I will be speaking to my mother to have you removed from Buckkeep entirely.”



I kept my calm. “As you wish, my prince. Undoubtedly, that would be the easiest route for me as well.”



“This is not about what is ‘easiest’ for me. This is about treachery and betrayal. You have used the Skill against me, your rightful prince. I could ask for your banishment. Even your execution.”



“You could, my prince. Or, you could ask for my explanation.”



“No explanation could excuse what you did.”



“I did not say you could ask for my excuse. I said you could ask for my explanation.”



And there the conversation stopped. I refused to lower my eyes. I met his gaze steadily. I was determined that he would ask, courteously, for my explanation before he would hear another word from me. He seemed equally determined that he would cow me with his princely stare until I decided to beg his pardon.



Suspense was on my side.



“An explanation is long overdue.”



“Perhaps it is,” I conceded, and waited again.



“Explain yourself, Tom Badgerlock.”



A “please” would have been nice, but I sensed he had bent as far as he could. A boy’s pride can be a brittle thing.



I walked back over to the table and refilled my glass. I lifted the bottle questioningly toward him, but he shook his head, an abrupt refusal to share drink with such as me. I sighed. “How much do you recall of the beach? The one that we fled to through the standing stone?”



His face clouded a bit and he looked wary. “I . . .” He came very close to lying. Then, “I recall parts of it. It fades, like a dream, and then sometimes bits of it come back to me bright and clear. I know you used the Skill magic to take us there. It weakened and confused me somehow. I imagine that is when you cast your power spell over me.”



I sighed. This was going to be even more difficult than I had feared. “Do you remember a time by the fire, when you attacked me? Attacked me with every intent of killing me?”



He looked aside from me briefly, then nodded as if surprised that he did recall such a thing. “But that was not entirely of my own will. You know that! Peladine was striving even then to control my body. And I did not know you then. I thought you were my enemy!”



“Nor did I know you. Not as I do now. Yet already we were bound by a Skill link, for I had had to go after your soul once before, and haul it back to your body.” I hesitated, then decided I would not speak of that other being I had encountered, the great being that had aided us both to return. That memory remained hazy even for me. Best not to bring up what I could not explain. I took a breath. “I knew Peladine was within you. And that she would stop at nothing to kill me, even if she had to damage you in the process. It frightened me. And then, in my anger and fear for my life, I commanded you, ‘Dutiful, stop fighting me.’ It was a Skill command. One that printed itself onto your mind with far more force than I intended. I never meant to do it, Dutiful. It was an accident, one I have regretted, and one I have tried to amend. I thought I had amended it.” I felt an unwanted smile twist my mouth. “I thought I had lifted it from you, right up until the very moment when I tried to keep you from your foolish declaration in the hall. Only then did I perceive that some final shadow of it remained, and only when you broke it.”



“Yes. I broke it.” He spoke with satisfaction. Then he glared at me again. “But knowing that it existed, knowing that you can do such a thing to me, how can I ever trust you again?”