Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2)

Golden Fool (Tawny Man #2) Page 72

Together we separated ourselves from the tantalizing flow, and then peeled apart and went to our own bodies. Yet as we departed from the Skill river, it seemed to me that someone else almost spoke to me, in a distant echo of thought.

That was well done. But next time, be more careful, with yourself as well as with him.

The message was arrowed at me, a thought with me as its target. I do not think Dutiful was aware of it at all. As I opened my eyes at the table, and saw how pale he was, I pushed all consideration of that foreign Skilling aside. He slumped in his chair, head canted to one side, eyes nearly closed. Drops of sweat had tracked down his face from his hair and his lips puffed as the breath moved in and out of them. My first lesson had nearly been his last.

I rounded the table and crouched down beside him. “Dutiful. Can you hear me?”

He gasped in a small breath. Yes. A terrible smile flowed onto his slack face. It was so beautiful. I want to go back, Tom.

“No. Don’t do that; don’t even think about it right now. Stay here and now. Focus on staying in your own body.” I glanced around the room. There was nothing here to offer him, no water, and no wine. “You’ll recover in a few moments,” I told him, not at all sure that was true. Why hadn’t I planned for this possibility? Why hadn’t I warned him first of the dangers of the Skill? Because I had never expected that he could Skill so well on his very first lesson? I had not thought he would be adept enough to get himself into trouble. Well, now I knew better. Teaching the Prince was going to be more dangerous than I had thought.

I set a hand to his shoulder, intending to help him sit up straighter. Instead, it was as if we leapt into one another’s minds. I had lowered my walls to teach him, and Dutiful had no walls. The elation of the Skill flooded me as our minds met and matched. With him, I could hear the muted roar of Skill thoughts like the carousing of a flood river in the distance. Come away from that, I counseled him, and somehow drew him back from that brink. It was unnerving to feel his fascination with it. Once, I too had felt that drawn to the great Skill current. It still exerted a tremendous attraction on me, but I also knew its dangers, and that balanced it. The Prince was like a baby reaching toward a candle flame. I drew him back from it, put myself between it and him, and finally sensed him curtaining his mind against the Skill murmur.

“Dutiful.” I spoke his name aloud at the same time I Skilled it. “It’s time to stop now. This is enough for one day, and far too much for the first lesson.”

“But . . . I want . . .” His spoken words were little more than a whisper, but I was pleased he said them aloud.

“Enough,” I said, and took my hand from his shoulder. He leaned back in his chair with a sigh, rolling his head back. I fought temptations of my own. Could I share strength with him, to help him recover? Could I set walls for him, to protect him until he was better able to navigate the Skill currents? Could I remove the Skill-induced command I had given him not to fight me?

When I had first been offered the chance to learn to Skill, I had seen it as a double-edged blade. There was great opportunity to learn the magic, but balanced against it was always the danger that Galen the Skillmaster might learn I was Witted and destroy me. I had never approached the Skill as openly and eagerly as Dutiful did. Very soon danger and pain had blunted my curiosity about the royal magic. I had used it with reluctance, drawn to it by its addictive lure yet frightened of how it threatened to consume me. When I had discovered that drinking elfbark tea could deaden me to the Skill’s call, I had not hesitated to use it despite the drug’s evil reputation. Freed from the drug’s numbing effect, my enthusiasm for Skilling had been rekindled by the Prince’s enthusiasm and our access to the Skill scrolls. As much as Dutiful did, I longed to plunge back into that intoxicating current. I steeled my will. I must not let him feel that from me.

A glance at the climbing sun told me that our time together had nearly gone. Dutiful had recovered much of his color but his hair was flat with sweat.

“Come, lad, pull yourself together.”

“I’m tired. I feel as if I could sleep the rest of the day.”

I did not mention my burgeoning pain. “That’s to be expected, but it’s probably not a good idea. I want you to stay awake. Go do something active. Ride, or practice with your blade. Above all, rein your thoughts away from this first lesson. Don’t let the Skill tempt you to come near it again today. Until I’ve taught you to balance focusing on it with resisting it, it’s a dangerous thing for you. The Skill is a useful magic, but it has the power to draw a man as honey draws a bee. Venture there alone, be distracted by it, and you’ll be gone to a place from which no one, not even I, can recall you. Yet here your body must remain, as a great drooling babe that takes no notice of anything.”