“So our plan is?”
“Surprise them if we can, hit them hard, take what we want, and get out fast. And ride for Buckkeep as swiftly as we can, because we won't be safe until we are there.”
He followed the thought further than I had been willing to. “Myblack is swift and strong. You may have to leave Malta and me behind once you have the Prince. Don't hesitate.”
And me .
The Fool glanced at Nighteyes as if he had heard him.
“I don't think I can do that,” I said carefully.
Don't fear. I'll protect him for you.
I felt a terrible sinking in my heart. I kept severely to myself the worry, But who will protect you? I would not let it come to that, I promised myself. I would not leave either of them. “I'm hungry,” the Fool noted. It was not a complaint, merely an observation, but I wished he had not said it. Some things are easier to ignore than acknowledge.
We rode on, the trail much plainer now in the raindampened earth. They had cut their losses and pushed on without the archer, just as they had left one of their own behind to die when they had fled the village. Such cold determination spoke loudly to me of how valuable the Prince was to them. They would be willing to fight to the death. They might even kill the Prince rather than let us take him. The fact that we knew so little of their motives would force me to be totally ruthless. I discarded the idea of attempting to talk to them first. I suspected their answer would be the same greeting that their archer had had for us yesterday.
I thought longingly of a time when I would have sent Nighteyes ahead to spy out the way for us. Now, with the trail so clear, the panting wolf was holding us back. I knew the moment when he realized it, for he abruptly sat down beside the trail. I pulled in Myblack, and the Fool halted also. My brother?
Go on without me. The hunt belongs to the swift and keen. Shall go on without my eyes and nose, then? And without your brain, too, alas. Be on your way, fettle brother, and save your flattery for someone who might believe it. A cat, perhaps. He came to his feet, and despite his weariness, in a few steps he had melted into the surrounding brush in his deceptively effortless way. The Fool looked askance at me.
“We go on without him,” I said quietly. I glanced away from the troubled look in his eyes. I nudged Myblack and we went on, but faster now. We pushed our horses and the tracks before us grew fresher. At a stream, we stopped to let the horses water and to refill our skins. There were late blackberries there, sour and hard, the ones that had turned color but in the shade, without the direct heat of the sun to sweeten them. We ate handfuls of them anyway, glad of anything we could chew and swallow. Reluctantly, we left fruit on the bushes, mounting as soon as the horses had fairly slaked their thirsts. We pushed on.
“I make out six of them,” the Fool observed as we rode.
I nodded. “At least. There were cat tracks near the water. Two different sizes.”
“We know one rode a warhorse. Should we expect at least one large warrior?”
I shrugged reluctantly. “I think we should expect anything. Including more than six opposing us. They ride toward safety of some kind, Fool. Perhaps an Old Blood settlement, or a Piebald stronghold. And perhaps we are watched even now as we follow.” I glanced up. I had not noticed any birds paying us undue attention, but that did not mean there weren't any. With the folk we pursued now, a bird in the air or a fox in a bush could be a spy. We could take nothing for granted.
“How long has it been happening to you?” the Fool asked as we rode.
“The shared dreams with the Prince?” I had not the energy to try to dissemble with him. “Oh, for some time.”
“Even before that night you dreamed he was at Galekeep?”
I answered reluctantly. “I'd had a few odd dreams before then. I didn't realize they were the Prince's.”
“You hadn't told me of them, only that you'd dreamed of Molly and Burrich and Nettle.” He cleared his throat and added, “But Chade had mentioned some of his suspicions to me.”
“Did he?” I was not pleased to hear that. I did not like to think of Chade and the Fool discussing me behind my back.
“Was it always the Prince, or only the Prince? Or are there other dreams?” The Fool tried to conceal the depth of his interest, but I had known him too long.
“Besides the dreams you already know about?” I deferred. I debated swiftly, not whether to lie to him, but how much of the truth I wished to share. Lying to the Fool was wasted effort. He had always known when I lied to him, and managed to deduce the truth from it. Limiting his knowledge was the better tactic. And I felt no scruples about it, for it was the device he most often employed against me. “You know that I dreamed of you. And, as I told you, once I dreamed clearly of Burrich, clear enough that I nearly went to him. Those, I would say, are the same types of dreams as those I have had about the Prince.”