I recognized his parody of me reporting to Verity, and had to smile. I decided that Kettle had helped Verity unlock his Skill and that work was proceeding on the dragon. But Kettricken. "What makes Kettricken sad?" I asked.

"She wishes she were Kettle," the Fool explained, in a tone that said any moron would have known that. He handed me a plate of meat and a mug of tea. "How would you feel, to have come this long and weary way, only to have your spouse choose another to help him in his work? He and Kettle chatter back and forth like magpies. All sorts of inconsequential talk. They work and chip, or sometimes, Verity just stands still, his hands pressed to the dragon. And he tells her of his mother's cat, Hisspit, and of thyme that grew in the garden on the tower. And all the while, Kettle speaks to him, with no break, of Gull who did this, and Gull who did that, and all she and Gull did together. I thought they would cease when the sun went down, but that was the only time that Verity seemed to recall Kettricken was alive. He asked her to bring firewood and make fires for light. Oh, and I think he has allowed her to sharpen a chisel or two for him."

"And Starling," I said stupidly. I did not like to think of what Kettricken must be feeling. I reined my thoughts away from it.

"She works on a song about Verity's dragon. I think she has given up on you and me ever doing anything of note."

I smiled to myself. "She is never about when I do anything of significance. What we wrought today, Fool, was better than any battle I have ever fought. But she will never understand all of that." I cocked my head toward the yurt. "Her harp sounds mellower than I recall it," I said to myself.

In answer, he lifted his eyebrows and waggled his fingers at me.

My eyes, widened. "What have you been doing?" I demanded.

"Experimenting. I think that if I survive all this, my puppets shall be the stuff of legend. I have always been able to look at wood and see what I wished to call forth. These," and again he waggled his fingers at me, "make it so much easier."

"Be cautious," I pleaded with him.

"Me? I have no caution within me. I cannot be what I am not. Where are you going?"

"Up to see the dragon," I replied. "If Kettle can work on it, so can I. I may not be as strongly Skilled, but I've been linked with Verity for far longer."

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

The Wit and the Sword

The Outislanders have always raided the coastline of the Six Duchies. The founder of the Farseer monarchy was, in fact, no more than a raider grown weary of the sea life. Taker's crew overwhelmed the original builders of the wooden fort at the mouth of the Buck River and made it their own. Over a number of generations, the black stone walls of Buckkeep Castle replaced it, and the Outislander raiders became residents and monarch.

Trade and raiding and piracy have all existed simultaneously between the Six Duchies and the Outislands. But the commencement of the Red-Ship raids marked a change in this abrasive and profitable interchange. Both the savagery and destruction of the raids were unprecedented. Some attributed it to the rise to power in the Outislands of a ferocious chieftain who espoused a bloody religion of vengeance. The most savage of his followers became Raiders and crew for his Red-Ships. Other Outislanders, never before united under one leader, were coerced into swearing fealty to him, under threat of Forging for those and their families who refused him. He and his raiders brought their vicious hatred to the shores of the Six Duchies. If he ever had any intent beyond killing, raping, and destroying, he never made it known. His name was Kebal Rawbread.

"I don't understand why you deny me," I said stiffly.

Verity stopped his endless chopping at the dragon. I had expected him to turn and face me, but instead he only crouched lower, to brush away rock chips and dust. I could scarcely believe the progress he had made. The entire clawed right foot of the dragon now rested upon the stone. True, it lacked the fine detail of the rest of the dragon, but the leg itself was now complete. Verity wrapped a careful hand over the top of one of its toes. He sat motionless beside his creation, patient and still. I could not see any movement of his hand, but I could sense Skill at work. If I reached toward it at all, I could feel the tiny fissuring of stone as it flaked away. It truly seemed as if the dragon had been hidden in the stone, and that Verity's task was to reveal it, one gleaming scale at a time.

"Fitz. Stop it." I could hear annoyance in his voice. Annoyance that I was Skill-sharing with him, and annoyance that I was distracting him from his work.

"Let me help you," I begged again. Something about the work drew me. Before, when Verity had been scraping at the stone with his sword, the dragon had seemed an admirable Work of stone-carving. But now there was a shimmering of Skill to him as both Verity and Kettle employed their powers. It was immensely attractive, in the way that a sparkling creek glimpsed through trees draws the eye, or the smell of fresh-baked bread wakes hunger. I longed to put hands on, and help shape this powerful creature. The sight of their working awakened a Skill hunger in me such as I had never known. "I have been Skill-linked with you more than anyone has. In the days when I pulled an oar on the Rurisk, you told me I was your coterie. Why do you turn me away now, when I could help, and you need help so badly?"

Verity sighed and rocked back on his heels. The toe was not done, but I could see the faint outline of scales upon it now, and the beginning of the sheath for the wickedly curved talon. I could feel how the claw would be, striated like a hawk's talon. I longed to reach down and draw forth those lines from the stone.

"Stop thinking about it," Verity bade me firmly. "Fitz. Fitz, look at me. Listen to me. Do you remember the first time I took strength from you?"

I did. I had fainted. "I know my own strength better now," I replied.

He ignored that. "You didn't know what you were offering me, when you told me you were a King's Man. I took you at your word that you knew what you were doing. You didn't. I tell you plainly right now that you don't know what you are asking me for. I do know what I am refusing you. And that is all."

"But Verity…"

"In this, King Verity will hear no buts, FitzChivalry." He drew that line with me as he had so seldom before.

I took a breath and refused to let my frustration become anger. He placed his hand carefully on the dragon's toe again. I listened a moment to the clack, clack, clack of Kettle's chisel working the dragon's tail free of the stone. She was singing as she worked, some old love ballad.

"My lord, King Verity, if you would tell me what it is I don't know about helping you, then I could decide for myself, perhaps, if…"

"It is not your decision, boy. If you truly wish to help, go get some boughs and make a broom. Sweep the rock chips and dust away. It is damnable stuff to kneel in."

"I would rather be of real help to you," I muttered disconsolately as I turned away.

"FitzChivalry!" There was a sharp note to Verity's voice, one I had not heard since I was a boy. I turned back to it with dread.

"You overstep yourself," he told me bluntly. "My queen keeps these fires going and sharpens my chisels for me. Do you put yourself above such work?"

At such times, a brief answer suffices best. "No, sir."

"Then you shall make me a broom. Tomorrow. For now, much as I hate to say it, we all should rest, at least for a time." He stood slowly, swayed, then righted himself. He placed a silver hand affectionately on the dragon's immense shoulder. "With the dawn," he promised it.