Fool's Errand (Tawny Man, #1)(145)

I watched for wood, and found some that was almost dry in the shelter of a longfallen tree. I took handfuls of the pithy wood from the rotting trunk, and broke dead branches into manageable length. I pulled off my shirt and bundled my tinder and fuel into it in the hopes of keeping it marginally drier. As I toiled back up the hill to the cavern, the rain ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The pattering of secondhand drops from the tree branches and the trickling sounds of water seeking to soak into the earth filled the evening. Somewhere in the near distance, a night bird sang a cautious two notes.

“It's me,” I said quietly as I approached the overhang of stone. Myblack snorted a soft reply. I could barely see the others within, but after a few moments, my eyes adjusted. Lord Golden had set out my flint box for me. Luck was with me, and in a few moments, I had a tiny fire kindled in the back of the cave. The smoke crawled along the stony roof until it found its way out. I stepped outside to check that it was not too visible from the hillside below. Satisfied, I returned, to build the fire to a respectable size.

Laurel sat up and then scooted closer to the friendly light. She looked a bit better, but her pain was still evident on her face. I watched her steal a sidelong glance at the archer. There was accusation in her eyes, but also misplaced pity. I hoped she wouldn't try to interfere in what I had to do. Lord Golden was already muttering through his pack. A moment later, he pulled out one of my blue servant shirts and offered it to me. “Thanks,” I muttered. At the edge of the firelight, my prisoner sat with his shoulders hunched. I noticed the neat bandaging on his leg and wrist and recognized the Fool's knots. Well, I had not told him to leave the man alone; I should have known he would tend to him. I dropped my sodden shirt to the floor. As I shook out the dry shirt, Laurel spoke softly from the shadows. - ê.

“That's quite a scar.”

“Which one?” I asked without thinking.

“Center of your back,” she replied as quietly.

“Oh. That one.” I tried to keep my voice light. “That was an arrow whose head didn't come out with the shaft.”

“So that was your concern earlier. Thank you.” She smiled at me.

It was almost an apology. I could think of no reply. Her words and gentle smile had made me selfconscious. Then I became aware of Jinna's charm exposed at my throat. Ah. I finished putting on the dry shirt. Then I took the leggings that Lord Golden handed me and stepped into the shadows behind the horses to change. The dribble of water down the inside wall had swelled to a steady trickle, and a tiny stream was now venturing past the horses and out the mouth of the cave. Well, at least they would have water tonight, if not grass. I tasted a scooped handful. It was earthy but not foul.

Back by the fire, Lord Golden solemnly offered me a hunk of bread and an apple. I had not realized how hungry I was until I took the first bite. All of it would not have filled me, but I ate only the apple and half the bread. Unfortunately, by the last bite, I still felt just as hungry. Iêignored that as I had the rain earlier. It was another humanbased assumption, that one had the right to a full belly at regular intervals. It was a comforting idea, but not truly necessary to survival. I repeated that several times to myself. I looked up from the flames to find Lord Golden eyeing me. Laurel had tugged a blanket over herself and dozed off. I spoke quietly. “Did he say anything while you were bandaging him?”

Lord Golden considered. Then a smile broke through the facade. “Ouch?” the Fool offered.

I grinned back, then forced myself to face the eventuality. Despite Laurel's shut eyes, I lowered my voice, pitching it only for the Fool's ears. "I have to know everything he knows about their plans. They're organized and they're jb-.

ruthless. There's more to this than Witted folk helping a runaway boy. I have to make him tell us where they've taken the Prince."

The smile faded from the Fool's face, but Lord Golden's hauteur did not replace it. “How?” he asked in dread.

“However must,” I replied coldly. I felt a sick anger that he would make this harder for me. The Prince and his wellbeing were what mattered. Not his squeamishness, nor the life of the Old Blood boy who sat by the cavern wall. Not even my own feelings mattered in this. I was doing this for Chade, for my Queen, for the Farseer line, for the Prince himself. This dirty little task was what I had been schooled to do; it was all part of the “quiet work” of an assassin's training. My guts clenched inside me. I pulled my eyes away from the Fool's anxious gaze and stood up. Get it over with. Make him talk. Then kill him. I dared not let him go and we certainly couldn't be hindered by taking him with us. It wouldn't be the first time I'd killed for the Farseers. I'd never had to beat information out of my victim first, but I knew how to do that too. I'd learned those lessons firsthand in Regal's dungeon. I only wished the circumstances had left me another choice.

I turned away from the light and walked into the darkness where the young man waited. He was sitting on the ground, his back to the cavern wall. For a time, I just stood over him, looking down on him. I hoped his dread of this encounter was as great as mine. When he finally gave in and looked up at me, I growled, “Where are they taking him?” “I don't know,” he said, but the words had no strengthin them.

I kicked him hard, the toe of my boot catching him under his ribs. I'd gauged it to drive the air from his lungs without doing permanent damage. It wasn't time for that yet. He yelped and curled over his injury. Before he could recover at all, I reached down, grabbed him by the shirtfront, and jerked him to his feet. I had the advantage of height, so I gritted my teeth and held him on his toes. His hands caught at my wrists and tugged feebly. He was still gasping for air.