"So they knew." The Fool confirmed his suspicion. "That group, at least, knew that Fitz, Chivalry's bastard, did not die."

I shrugged a shoulder. It surprised me that the old epithet still stung as it did, even from his lips. Surely I had grown past that. Once, I had thought of myself only as "the bastard." But I had long ago got past that and realized that a man was what he made of himself, not what he was born. I suddenly recalled how the hedge-witch had puzzled over my disparate palms. I resisted the impulse to look at my own hands and instead poured us both more of the elfbark brew. Then I rose to rummage through my larder to see what I could find to drive the bitter taste from my mouth. I picked up the Sandsedge brandy, then determinedly set it back again. Instead, I found the last of the cheese, a bit hard but still flavorful, and half a loaf of bread. We had not eaten since breaking our fast that morning. Now that my headache was quieting, I found myself ravenously hungry. The Fool shared my appetite, for as I whittled hunks off the cheese, he sliced thick slabs off the bread.

My story hung unfinished in the air between us.

I sighed. "There was little I could do about what they knew or didn't know, save deny it. Nighteyes and I needed what they knew. They alone could teach us what we had to learn."

He nodded, and stacked cheese atop bread before biting into it. He waited for me to continue.

The words came to me slowly. I did not like to recall that year. Nonetheless, I learned much, not just from Rolf's deliberate teaching, but by simple exposure to the Old Blood community. "Rolf was not the best of teachers. He was short- tempered and impatient, especially around mealtimes, much inclined to cuff and growl, and sometimes roar his frustration at a slow student. He simply could not grasp how completely ignorant I was of Old Blood ways and customs. I suppose by his lights I was as ill-mannered as a deliberately rude child. My 'loud' Wit- conversations with Nighteyes spoiled hunting for other bonded predators. I had never known that we must announce our presence through the Wit if we shifted territory. In my days at Buck-keep, I had never even known that community existed among the Witted ones, let alone that they had customs of their own."

"Wait," the Fool interrupted me. "Then you are saying that Witted ones can share thoughts with each other, just as thoughts can be exchanged through the Skill." He seemed very excited at the idea.

"No." I shook my head. "It's not like that. I can sense if another Witted one is speaking with his bond-beast… if they are careless and free in their conversing, as Nighteyes and I used to be. Then I will be aware of the Wit being used, even though I am not privy to the thoughts they share. It's like the humming of a harp string." I smiled ruefully. "That was how Burrich kept guard on me, to be sure I was not indulging in the Wit, once he was aware I had it. He kept his own walls firm against it. He did not use it, and he tried to screen himself from the beasts that reached toward him with it. For a long time, that kept him ignorant of my use of it. He had set Wit-walls, similar to the Skill-walls that Verity taught me to set. But once he realized I was Witted, I think he lowered them, to oversee me." I paused at the Fool's puzzled gaze. "Do you understand?"

"Not completely. But enough to take your meaning. But… can you overhear another Witted one's beast speaking to that Witted one, then?"

I shook my head again, then nearly laughed at his baffled look. "It seems so natural to me, it is difficult to put it into words." I pondered a bit. "Imagine that you and I shared a personal language, one that only we two could interpret,"

"Perhaps we do," he offered with a smile.

I continued doggedly. "The thoughts that Nighteyes and I share are our thoughts, and largely incomprehensible to anyone who overhears us using the Wit. That language has always been our own, but Rolf taught us to direct our thoughts specifically to one another, rather than flinging our Wit wide to the world. Another Witted one might be aware of us if he were specifically listening for us, but generally, our communication now blends with all the Wit-whispering of the rest of the world."

The Fool's brow was furrowed. "So only Nighteyes can speak to you?"

"Nighteyes speaks most clearly to me. Sometimes, another creature, not bonded to me, will share thoughts with me, but the meaning is usually hard to follow; rather like trying to communicate with someone who speaks a foreign but similar language. There can be much hand waving and raised voices repeating words and gesturing. One catches the gist of the meaning with none of the niceties." I paused and pondered. "I think it is easier if the animal is bonded to another Witted one. Rolf's bear spoke to me once. And a ferret. And between Nighteyes and Burrich… it must have been oddly humiliating to Burrich, but he let Nighteyes speak to him when I was in Regal's dungeons.

The understanding was imperfect, but it was good enough that Burrich and he could plot together to save me."

I wandered for a time in that memory, then pulled myself back to my tale. "Rolf taught me the basic courtesy of the Old Blood folk but he did not teach us gently; he was as prone to chastise before we were aware of our errors as afterward. Nighteyes was more tolerant of him than I was, perhaps because he was more amenable to a pack hierarchy. I think it was more difficult for me to learn from him, for I had grown accustomed to a certain amount of adult dignity. Had I come to him younger, I might have accepted more blindly the roughness of his teaching. My experiences of the preceding years had left me violent toward any person who showed aggression toward me. I think the first time I snarled back at him after he shouted at me for some error, it shocked him. He was cold and distant with me for the remainder of the day, and I perceived I must bow my head to his rough ways if I were to learn from him. And so I did, but it was like learning to control my temper all over again. As it was, I was often hard-pressed to quell my anger toward him. His impatience with my slowness frustrated me as much as my 'human thinking' baffled him. On his worst days, he reminded me of the Skillmaster Galen, and he seemed as narrow- minded and cruel as he spoke spitefully of how badly educated I had been amongst the un-Blooded. I resented that he should speak so of folk that I regarded as my own. I knew too that he thought me a suspicious and distrustful man who never completely lowered all my barriers to him. I held back much from him, that is true. He demanded to know of my upbringing, of what I could recall of my parents, of when I had first felt my Old Blood stir in me. None of the sparse answers I gave him pleased him, and yet I could not go into detail without betraying too much of whom and what I had been. The little I did tell him provoked him so much that I am sure a fuller tale would have disgusted him. He approved that Burrich had prevented me Jtr

from bonding young, and yet condemned all his reasons for doing so. That I had still managed to form a bond with Smithy despite Burrich's watchfulness convinced him of my deceitful nature. Repeatedly, he came back to my wayward childhood as the root of all my problems in finding my Old Blood magic. Again, he reminded me of Galen disparaging the Bastard for trying to master the Skill, the magic of kings. Among a folk where I had thought finally to find acceptance, I discovered that yet again I was neither fish nor fowl. If I complained to Nighteyes at how he treated us, Rolf would snarl at me to stop whimpering to my wolf and apply myself to learning better ways."

Nighteyes learned more easily and often the wolf was the one to convey finally to me what Rolf had failed to rattle into me. Nighteyes also sensed more strongly than I did how much Rolf pitied him. The wolf did not react well to that, for Rolf's pity was based on the notion that I did not treat Nighteyes as well as I should. He took it amiss that I had been almost a grown man and Nighteyes little more than a cub at the time of our bonding. Over and over, Rolf rebuked me for treating Nighteyes as less than an equal, a distinction that both of us disputed.