“Maybe I learned caution from a wise old man. One who is now behaving foolishly.”
Chade’s cheeks flushed pink. Anger lit his eyes. “You are not yourself. Or, perhaps it is even worse than that. You are yourself. Listen to me, you whelp. I watched my brother die. I watched King Shrewd dwindle, and I was beside him in the days when he did not know that his mind wandered, and I was beside him in the days when he was cognizant of the weakness of his body and his mind, and shamed to tears by it. I do not know which days were worse to witness. If he had had the Skill to change that, he would have done it, no matter the cost. This is Skill knowledge that was lost to us. I intend to regain it. And to use it.”
I think he expected me to roar back at him. I half-expected myself to, and perhaps I would have if I had not felt such a combination of weakness, despair, and fear. Chade had frightened me badly when his health and mind were failing and I feared we might lose his wealth of information and connections. Now, health-filled and bright-eyed, with ambition burning in him, he terrified me. I had known this side of Chade existed, known that he had always hungered to master the Skill. I had never known I’d have to confront that appetite. I took two deep breaths and spoke quietly. “Is that decision yours to make?”
A frown furrowed his brows. “What do you mean? Who else should make it?”
“The Skillmaster, perhaps, should say how the Skill is applied at Buckkeep. Especially among inexperienced students.” I met his gaze sternly. In truth, he was the one who had pushed me into accepting the responsibility of the position. I wondered if he winced now at how his own stubbornness in this had turned to bite him.
He was incredulous. “You’re saying you’d forbid me this? And expect me to obey you?” Hands on his knees, he leaned forward in his chair to confront me.
I did not want to meet him head-on in a clash of wills. I had not the strength just now. I turned the question. “There was another Farseer who tried to use the Skill to his own ends. He himself was neither strong nor talented with the Skill, but he used the strength of his coterie to gain his ends. He used them ruthlessly, regardless of what it did to them, how it drained them or twisted their own wills. Will you become another Regal?”
“I am nothing like Regal!” Chade spat at me. “For one thing, his interest was all for himself. You know that I have spent my entire life laboring tirelessly for the Farseer reign. And for another difference, I will develop my own Skill. I will not long be dependent on another’s strength.”
“Chade.” My voice came out in a cracked whisper. I cleared my throat, but still spoke weakly. “Perhaps you will develop your own Skill. But not if you go on as you have, experimenting alone, taking chances with yourself, and now risking Thick, who has no concept of the danger you may represent.” I wasn’t sure he was listening to me. He was staring past me, his green eyes going far. I spoke on anyway, hearing my own voice failing and starting to rasp. “You need to learn the dangers of the magic, Chade, before you wade into it and start using it for your own ends. The Skill is not a toy, nor is it something that any user should employ solely for his own benefit.”
“It wasn’t fair!” Chade protested suddenly. “They denied me the teaching, the teaching that I should have had. I was as much a Farseer as Shrewd. I should have been taught.”
I was tiring rapidly. I had to win this, or at least fight him to a draw before I collapsed back into my bed. “No. It wasn’t fair,” I agreed. “But using Thick as your crutch and tool is not fair, either. Nor will it replace the proper teaching you should have had. That you must get for yourself. Thick is strong with the Skill, and has no concept of what dangers that may present to him. Nor has he the will to resist your using his magic for your own purposes. He will not warn you when you are taking too much from him, and you will not know you have taken it until it is too late. It is wrong of you to tap his strength as if he were a bullock hitched to your cart. He may be simple, but in Skill at least, he is our equal. He’s a member of our coterie. As such you should be brothers, regardless of your varying abilities.”
“Coterie?” The slack-jawed look of astonishment on Chade’s face suddenly made me realize that he had not seen what was obvious to me.
“Coterie,” I repeated. “You. Me. Dutiful. The Fool. And Thick.” I paused, waiting for him to say something. Instead, I heard the soft sound of the Fool’s chair being pushed back from his desk. And the even quieter sounds of his feet as he crossed the room to stand near us. I wondered what expression he wore, but I didn’t look away from Chade’s gaze. When he continued silent, I reminded him, “Chade. I was there. I was not in full possession of myself, I know, but I would have had to be dead to have been unaware of what happened to me. What you all united to do to me. Didn’t you understand that that was how a coterie functioned? The pooling of strength and abilities to achieve some goal. That was what you did. Thick’s strength. Your knowledge of a man’s internal structure. Dutiful’s control and purpose. And the Fool’s link to me. All were necessary to do what you did. And can do again, if needed. Dutiful has his coterie. Not much of one, in many ways, but a coterie, nonetheless. But only if we function as one. If you lead Thick astray, to use him as your personal reservoir of strength, you’ll destroy us before we find our potential.”
