The last day of the Queen’s Witted convocation showed solid progress. The minstrel appeared unmasked, and asked her permission to remain at court. The Queen presented to her Six Duchies delegates a proclamation that from this date henceforward, executions could only be legally carried out under the aegis of each of her ducal houses, with the head of each house liable for any injustices that occurred in his own duchy. Each duchy was to have only one gallows, and that was to be under the control of the ruling house. Not only was each duchy to prevent local officials from executing prisoners, but dukes and duchesses must review individually every such execution. Killings carried out otherwise would be seen as murders, and the Queen’s judgment would be available against such killers. It did not solve the problem of how Old Bloods could safely bring such charges without fear of reprisals, but it at least formally established consequences for them.

Of such tiny steps, Chade assured me, would our progress be made. When I rode forth with the Queen’s Guard to escort our Old Blood delegates back to their friends and receive our prince and Laurel in return, I marked a solid change in the folk. There was talk and laughter amongst themselves as they rode, and some interchanges even with the guard. Cow-woman, her cow and her calf trailing her, rode alongside Lord Civil Bresinga, and seemed to feel great honor at this fine young lord’s conversation with her. On his other side rode Boyo. His evident efforts to claim equality with Lord Bresinga were rather undermined by that young man’s egalitarian attitude toward cow-woman. Civil’s cat rode on his saddle behind him.

All around us in the forest, the snow had melted down to thin icy fingers clawing at the soil in the shadows. New green things were beginning to brave the sunlit world, and the breeze that flowed past us indeed seemed the wind of change. Amongst all this, Silvereye rode alone in our midst. Web rode alongside me and made conversation about everything, for both the Queen and Chade had insisted that he must make the journey so that all Old Bloods might witness that he returned to Buckkeep Castle of his own free will.

When we made our rendezvous, Civil and Pard seemed equally glad to see their prince. Dutiful professed himself surprised and pleased to have them come to meet him. His warm welcome of his friend and his Wit-beast impressed the Old Bloods, both those who had been to Buckkeep Castle and those who awaited them. He had, of course, known of his friend’s coming through my Skill.

When we returned to Buckkeep Castle, not only the Prince and Laurel returned with us, but also Web and the minstrel, whose name was Cockle. He sang as he rode with us, and I gritted my teeth to his rendition of “Antler Island Tower.” That stirring and maudlin lay told the tale of the Antler Island defense against the Red Ship raiders, with much emphasis placed on the role that Chivalry’s bastard son had played. It was true that I had been there, but I doubted half the exploits attributed to my axe. Web laughed aloud at my pained expression. “Don’t sneer so, Tom Badgerlock. Surely the Witted Bastard is a hero both our folk can share. He was a Buckkeep man and Old Blood both.” And his bass joined the minstrel on the next refrain about “Chivalry’s son, with eyes of flame, who shared his blood if not his name.”

Didn’t Starling write that ballad? Dutiful asked with false concern. She considers it her property. She may not take kindly to Cockle singing it at Buckkeep.

She wouldn’t be alone in that. I may strangle him myself to save her the time.

Yet on the next refrain, not only Civil and Dutiful lifted their voices, but half the guardsmen as well. That, I told myself, is the effect that a spring day can have on folk. I hoped it would wear out soon.

Chapter XXVII

SPRING SAILING

In the beginning of the world, there were the Old Blood folk and the beasts of the fields, the fish in the water and the birds of the sky. All lived together in balance if not in harmony. Among the Old Blood folk, there were but two tribes. One was comprised of the blood takers, and they were the people who bonded to creatures who ate the flesh of other creatures. And the other folk were the blood givers, and they bonded to those who ate only plants. The two tribes had nothing to do with each other, not any more than a wolf has to do with a sheep; that is, they met only in death. Yet each respected the other as an element of the land, just as a man respects both a tree and a fish.

Now the laws that separated them were stern laws and just. But there are always people who think they know better than the law, or think that, in their special situation, an exception should be made for them. So it was when a daughter of a blood taker, bonded to a fox, fell in love with the son of a blood giver, bonded to an ox. What harm, they thought, could come of their love? They would do no injury to one another, neither woman to man nor fox to ox. And so they went apart from their own peoples, lived in their love, and in time brought forth children of their own. But of their children, the first son was a blood taker and the first daughter was a blood giver. And the third was a poor witless child, deaf to every animal of every kind and doomed always to walk only in his own skin. Great was the sorrow of the family when their eldest son bonded to a wolf and their eldest daughter to a deer. For his wolf killed her deer, and she took the life of her brother in recompense. Then they knew the wisdom of the oldest ways, for a predator cannot bond with prey. But worse was to come, for their witless child sired only witless children, and thus were born the folk who are deaf to all the beasts of the world.