Chade did not reply immediately. I thought he was stunned by the Fool's words, his view of reality reordered by them. But then he snorted disdainfully. “Pish. What you say only makes it plainer to me that no good will be worked for anyone by resurrecting this dragon.” He rubbed his eyes wearily. “Oh, why do we bother with this fatuous debate? None of us know what we will find when we get there. It's all philosophical ramblings and nursery tales at this point. When I confront it, then I will think about what is best to do. There. Does that satisfy you?”

“I scarcely believe that my satisfaction matters to you.” And as he spoke those odd words, the Fool sent a sidelong glance my way. But it was not a look to catch my eye, but rather one that pointed me out to Chade.

“You're right,” Chade agreed smoothly. “It is not your satisfaction but Fitz's agreement that matters to me. Yet I know that if this decision falls to him alone, he would give your satisfaction much weight, even, perhaps, at the risk of Farseer fortunes.” My old master gave me a speculative look, as if I were a spavined horse that might or might not last through another battle. The smile he gave me was almost desperate. “Yet I hope he will hear my concerns, as well.” His gaze met mine. “When we confront it, then we will decide. Until then, the choice remains open. Is that acceptable?”

“Almost,” the Fool replied. His voice was cool as he proposed, “Give us your promise, as a Farseer, that when the time comes, Fitz may do as his judgment bids him.”

“My promise as a Farseer!” Chade was incensed.

“Exactly,” the Fool replied calmly. “Unless your words are just an empty sop thrown to keep Fitz on the path to doing your will.” He leaned back in his chair, his wrists and hands lax on the arms of it, perfectly at ease. For a moment, I recognized that slender man in black with his shining hair bound back. This was the boy the Fool had been, grown to a man. Then he turned his head to regard Chade more directly, and the familiarity was gone. His face was a sculpted silhouette of determination. I had never seen anyone challenge Chade so confidently.

I was shocked at the words Chade spoke then. His smile was very strange as his eyes went from me to the Fool and back again. It was my gaze he met as he said, “I give my word as a Farseer. I will not ask him to do anything against his will. There. Are you content, man?”

The Fool nodded slowly. “Oh, yes. I am content. For the decision will come to him, and that I see as clearly as anything that remains to me to see.” He nodded to himself. “There are still things we must discuss, you and I, but once we are on board ship and under way, there will be time for that. But the day rushes on without us, and I still have much to do to prepare for my departure. Good day, Lord Fallstar.”

A very slight smile hung about his mouth. His glance went from me to Chade. And then he made a most curious gesture. Sweeping his arms wide, he made a graceful bow to Chade, as if they had afforded one another some great courtesy. When he straightened he spoke to me. His tone was warmer. “It was good to have a few moments with you today, Fitz. I've missed you.” Then he gave a sudden small sigh, as if he had recalled an unpleasant duty. I suspected that his predicted death had just pushed itself to the forefront of his mind. His smile faded. “Gentlemen, you will excuse me,” he murmured. And he departed, exiting through the cramped panel concealed in the side of the hearth as gracefully as a lord departing a banquet.

I sat staring after him. Our recent Skill-encounter rattled in my mind with his strange words and stranger gestures. He had clashed with Chade over something, and triumphed. Yet I was not quite sure what, if anything, had just been settled between them.

My old mentor spoke as if he could hear my thoughts. “He challenges me for your loyalty! How dare he? Me, who practically raised you! How can he think there would be any chance of us disagreeing, when we both know how much rests upon the successful completion of this quest? My word as a Farseer, indeed! And what does he think you are, when all is said and done?”

He turned and put the question to me as if he expected an unthinking assent from me. “Perhaps,” I said quietly, “he believes that he is the White Prophet and I am his Catalyst.” Then I took a stronger breath and spoke a question of my own. “How can the two of you quarrel over my loyalty, as if I had no thought of my own to give to any decision I might make?” I gave a snort of disgust. “I would not think a horse or a dog as mindless a game piece as you both seem to think I am.”

He was staring past me out of the window when he spoke, and I do not think he truly considered the import of his words. “Not a horse or a dog, Fitz, no. I'd never think of you that way. No. You're a sword. So you were made to be, by me, a weapon to be wielded. And he thinks you fit his hand the best.” The old man snorted in contempt. “The man is, still, a fool.” He looked at me and nodded. “You were wise to tell me of his plans. It is good we shall be leaving him behind.”