I didn’t want to invade the man’s mind. But my repeated questioning of Dixon had not given me any information and had pushed him into a seizure. I couldn’t risk that with Lant. From what Perseverance had told me, Lant had taken that stab wound when he’d been held captive with the others in the carriageway. Did that mean he’d tried to fight them? Perhaps that was where I should begin.
“Let me see your injury,” I requested.
He startled and leaned back from me. “The healer has treated it. It’s healing as well as could be expected.”
“And what did he say it looked like?”
“It’s a puncture. From a tine.”
“Or a blade. He said it looked like a sword-thrust, didn’t he?”
His eyes went very wide. He began to shake his head, a small denial at first and then a more frantic one.
“Sir? Prince FitzChivalry Farseer?”
I turned my attention from him to the man who stood in the doorway, startled at how he had named me. He was young, scarcely past his teens, and dressed in the livery of a royal messenger. His nose and the tops of his cheeks were bright red with cold, and he looked exhausted. “Sildwell,” I greeted him.
He looked mildly surprised that I knew his name. “Yes. They told me to come back here and talk to you.”
I heaved a sigh. “Come in, get warm by the fire, and please start this conversation as if you have at least a little training as a messenger.”
“It’s the fog,” he said. He walked to the fire and stood beside Perseverance. “It makes it hard to care. All I want to do is sleep and not think about anything.” I became aware the boy had curled up and was deeply asleep on the floor. The messenger looked down at him, glanced at the glowering FitzVigilant, and then stood straighter. Reaching into the satchel at his side, he took out the baton that proclaimed him a true messenger. He held it as he spoke. “Sir, I bring you tidings from Lord Chade of Buckkeep Castle. I was to deliver these tidings and gifts to Lady Bee, Lady Shun, and Scribe FitzVigilant of Withywoods. But on arriving here, I was told that two of those recipients were unknown here. I endeavored to Skill this information to Lord Chade to request his further instructions. Although I am not highly Skilled, I have never encountered difficulties with the simple relaying of information. This time, however, I was not able to make myself understood. I next undertook to send a messenger bird. I asked for one to be brought to me and was told the manor had no such birds. I knew that was untrue. I found all the birds dead on the floor of the pigeon-house. Throttled, their necks broken. No one had even cleared the bodies away. When I endeavored to bring this to the attention of the steward, he said that the manor had no pigeon-house. He said this as he stood looking at it with me.
“I believe you were with the others when Lady Nettle attempted to Skill to me. You already know how little success we had. After a long and frustrating day of disbelief and lies, I decided to go down to Withy and have a glass of ale. My insistence that I had a message for two nonexistent ladies had not made me the most welcome fellow here. But as I rode, the fog and heaviness that seemed to fill the air began to dissipate. By the time I reached Withy, I was able to communicate clearly with Lord Chade and the King’s Own Coterie. They directed me to return here as swiftly as possible and say that Thick and Lord Chade hope to arrive here by morning. He directed me to arrange to have mounts waiting for them at the Judgment Stone on Gallows Hill as soon as there is daylight. So I did.” He looked uneasy for a moment. “I feared no one here would obey me, so I hired horses in Withy, to be taken to Gallows Hill in the morning. I said you would pay very well.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Will Lady Nettle not accompany Lord Chade and Thick?”
He raised his brows. “Sir, I was told she is with child. Hence she cannot use the pillars.”
“And why not?”
“It was in a recent translation that Lord Chade brought to our attention. Perhaps you have not heard of it. A pregnant Skill-user who moves through the stones often emerges, er, unpregnant.”
“She miscarries her child?”
“No, sir. It’s darker than that. Her pregnancy vanishes. There are two accounts of it happening. And a third account of a fine mare that was led through a Skill-portal to be serviced by a stallion. Close to her time to bear, she was taken home again, but emerged from the Skill-pillar empty-wombed.”
Cold rose in me. I had never heard of such a thing. It came to me again that we knew nothing of how the portals worked. An unborn child vanished. To where? How? It didn’t matter in some ways. Gone was gone. I spoke faintly. “Thank Eda Chade found that scroll!”