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My hope for a swift end to the dragon waned. It required every bit of discipline I had ever been taught to recount my misadventure in detail and in order. Irrational shame burned me as I spoke of how I had walked away from Hest and Riddle. When I told them of the Fool's fate, and of his words about the Narcheska's mother and sister, Dutiful swayed where he sat. “At last, it all comes clear. Too late.”

I knew he was right and despair claimed me anew. Even if I knew the way back, even if I could persuade them to muster our entire force and march on the Pale Woman's stronghold, we were too few. She could kill or Forge him in moments, and doubtless would. Nor could I hope to kill the dragon quickly and win his release. Clear the ice, and we must still get past the Hetgurd, our own Old Bloods, and perhaps Tintaglia.Advertisement

The Pale Woman's promise that he would not die was a thinly disguised threat. The Fool would be Forged. To me would fall the task of taking what remained of his life. I could not contemplate it.

“If we went by stealth to the pit, could we kill Icefyre? In secret? Tonight?” It was the only plan I could think of.

“Impossible,” the Prince said. His face and his voice were gray. “The ice between him and us is too thick. There are days of pick-and-shovel work ahead of us before we reach his flesh. And before then, I fear Tintaglia will be here.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “My quest has failed. I put my trust in the wrong place.”

I looked at Chade. “How much time do we have?” How much time does the Fool have?

He shook his head. “How fast can a gull fly? How swiftly will the Bingtown Traders react to Web's message? How fast can a dragon fly? No one knows those things. But I think the Prince is right. We have lost.”

I gritted my teeth. “There is more than one way to move ice,” I said and looked at Chade meaningfully. The old man's eyes lit. But before he could reply, Swift's voice was lifted outside the tent.

“Sir! I've brought Tom Badgerlock's pack, and food will follow. May I come in?”

Dutiful nodded at Burrich, and he moved to beckon his son inside.

The boy came in. His bow to his prince was stiffly formal and he did not look at his father or me. It pained me to see how the division between the Prince and his Wit coterie tore the boy. At Burrich's command Swift dug through my pack to pull out dry clothing for me. The lad did not seem well disposed toward his father, but he obeyed him. Burrich saw me observing them, and after the boy had left, he said quietly, “Swift was not exactly glad to see me when I got here. I didn't give him the thrashing he merited, but he's had the length of my tongue several times. He's not said much in reply, for he knew he deserved it. Here. Take off that wet robe.”

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As I struggled to pull up my leggings, Burrich suddenly leaned into the light, peering at me with his clouded eyes. “What's the matter with you? What's wrong with your arm?”

“It's pulled out of the socket,” I choked out. My throat had closed up at the sight of his eyes. I wondered how much he could see anymore. How had he come to find us here, walking with clouded eyes across the snow?

He closed his eyes and shook his head. Then, “Come here,” he said tersely. He turned me, and sat me down on the floor at his feet. His fingers walked my shoulder, and the pain they woke was oddly reassuring. He knew what he was doing. I knew it would hurt, but that he would also mend me. I could sense that from his fingers, just as I had when I was a boy, just as I had felt when he restored me after Galen had nearly killed me.

“We've brought the food. May we come in?”

The voice outside the tent was Web's. The Prince nodded curtly, his mouth a flat line, and again Burrich lifted the door flap. As Web entered, he greeted me with “It's good to see you alive, Tom Badgerlock.” I nodded gravely, not trusting myself to find words. He met my eyes and accepted my hostility. The Prince looked aside from the man, his hurt plain in every line of his body. Chade glowered at him. Web's expression remained as kindly and calm as ever.

The small kettle he carried smelled like good beef rather than the fish I'd been expecting. Swift was behind him with a pot of tea. They crowded into the tent to set their burdens down within my reach.

Burrich continued to investigate my shoulder as if they were not there. He ignored Web, but the Witmaster watched Burrich intently. When Burrich spoke, it was to Dutiful. “Prince Dutiful, my lord. You could be of great help to me right now, if you would. I'll need someone to hold him firmly round the chest and brace him while I do what must be done. If you would sit there, and lock your arms around him . . . Higher. Like so.” pqdm.com