There is no Lady Bee here. Some folk died in a fire. They all are strange. Then, as if something else flowed and washed against us, his thoughts were swept away. All was fog, as if we were on a gray sea in a gray fog in a constant wash of gray rain. Frightening … That thought broke through stronger than the others, and then there was nothing. No sense of anyone, anywhere in the Skill-current.
Chade’s grip on my hand had tightened. In that physical touch, our rising fears became one thing. I could hear his shuddering breath.
Later. Rest now. Nettle arrowed the thought at Sildwell with a fierce strength, but it was an arrow sent toward a target that no one could see.
We were abruptly seated on a divan in the comfortable chamber in Buckkeep. I shot to my feet. “I’m going now.”
“Yes,” Chade confirmed. He gripped the back of the divan with both hands.
“What was that?” Dutiful demanded of all of us. I scarcely heard him. Dread was rising in me like cold water in a flood. Something was terribly wrong at Withywoods. A fire in the stables? Lant injured? Bee was there, as good as alone if Lant was injured. So far away from me. “I’m leaving,” I repeated. My voice had no strength. Chade nodded and reached for me.
“Perhaps a dragon,” Nettle said softly. “We know that the stone dragons often distorted memory and perception when they over flew a battle.”
“The confoundment,” Elliania confirmed. “Many of our warriors spoke of it. The battle would be lost and over, and few had more than fragmentary memories of what had happened.”
“And the living dragon Tintaglia was able to bend our thoughts and change our Skilling,” Nettle recalled slowly. “Dragons have visited Bearns. It may be that one had descended on Withywoods. We should wake Thick and see if he can reach through the fog and get some sense out of Sildwell.”
Chade gripped my arm, leaned heavily on me for a moment. “To my room. I have everything you need there.” He suddenly pulled himself up straight. “There is no time to lose.”
As we moved toward the door, his strength seemed to come back to him. “Da?” Nettle asked in consternation.
“I must go to Withywoods tonight, via the stones. Riddle, arrange a horse for me, please.”
“Don’t you think that—”
I didn’t want to waste words or time. I spoke over my shoulder. “No Lady Bee? A fire? Regardless of his Skill-ability, all is not well there. I should never have left her there alone.” I reached the door, Chade beside me.
“FitzVigilant is with her,” Nettle reminded me. “He’s young but he has a good heart, Fitz. He would not let harm come to her. I think something or someone has befuddled Sildwell. His talent was always uneven.” She tried to speak calmly but her voice was a notch too high.
“He said Lant was injured. Or burned? If he’s injured he can’t protect anyone. I’m going now. By the pillars.” The unease was building to a panic in my chest. I tried to push it down. Be calm. No wild imaginings. Just get there and find out what was real. But the messenger’s words stabbed me with a thousand fears. A fire. Bee missing. Had the fire spread to the manor? Had she hidden in the walls and died there, unseen? I dragged in a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable. And calm. “Once I am there, I will let you know what has happened.”
Nettle opened her mouth to object but Riddle spoke quickly. “Fitz is right. Let him go. Fitz, do you want me with you?”
I did. He had Skill-strength to lend and was good with a sword, and I had no idea what I was going into. But I would not again leave a daughter unguarded. “No. But thank you, my friend. Guard what we love here and my mind will be easier for that.”
I had one glimpse of Nettle’s grateful face and then the door closed behind us.
“Let’s get you on your way,” Chade insisted. From somewhere he had summoned the strength of a much younger man. He hastened down the corridor and up the grand stairs. He took them two at a time and I kept pace with him.
“Chade?” I began and “Not yet,” he replied breathlessly. His stride lengthened. He ran and I followed. He slammed into his room, startling his valet and a servant stoking the hearth fire. He dismissed them both abruptly, and they went with much bowing to me, a performance that made me uncomfortable until Chade shut the door on them. Once we were alone, he threw open his wardrobe. “Your feet are smaller than mine. Can you manage in my boots?”
“I imagine so,” I said, and he pulled out a heavy pair of riding boots. A thick cloak and a woolen shirt followed, billowing as he threw them toward me.
