Donald continued to pace the floor of his bedroom, an almost constant exercise since returning from the meeting with his father. ‘Just because you can’t do it, doesn’t mean it can’t be done,’ his father had said. He could not argue the point. It was a simple statement of fact. Why did it bother him? He knew others could do many things he could not. Everyone has limitations. It did not prove anyone else could succeed where he failed, though. It did not even suggest that! He might not know what the Warden was, but he felt certain it was not some kind of magical warrior. Maybe he could not animate it because no one could!
A knock on his door interrupted his long walk going nowhere. Kwestor’s characteristic frown greeted him when he answered it.
“Have you come to cheer me up,” Donald asked dismally. The idea of Kwestor cheering anyone struck him as almost humorous by itself. Kwestor and cheer went together like water and fire.
“I take it the meeting with your father did not go as you hoped,” the ranger stated, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.
“I did my best. He just doesn’t take me seriously. He still thinks I’m a kid. If Allan or Robert or even Chastity told him the same things it would have been different.”
“No it wouldn’t,” the ranger said with no trace of sympathy. “Not without more evidence. I told you, someone is expending a great deal of effort to convince your father Gotrox poses a threat. Whoever that is has undoubtedly presented him with a considerable amount of fabricated support for this theory in the past couple of months. One anecdotal report by you or anyone isn’t enough to counter all of it.”
“You knew I wouldn’t succeed, didn’t you?”
“I would have been surprised if you had, and I am not often surprised.”
“Why didn’t you try to stop me?”
“It would have been pointless. Some lessons must be learned the hard way.”
“You think everything is pointless.”
The scout said nothing in response. After all, he could not deny it.
“So what should I do now?”
After a considered pause, Kwestor asked, “Does how this turns out matter to you?”
“Of course it does!” He remembered some of the stoutfolk he met, like the bookish museum curator and the cleaning woman looking forward to retirement. They did not represent some aggressive enemy. They were just people like everyone else. Short, wide, hairy people, for sure, but they seemed nice enough. Why could his father not see this?
The thought of what war would bring to border towns like Gondford and to people like Millie, the distractingly alluring girl he had met there, chilled him. She said she had stoutfolk friends, and the image of stoutfolk and tallfolk children playing and dancing happily together at the harvest fair came unbidden to his mind. He imagined what might become of them in a war.
“And do you still think you can do something about it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have to decide.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“Yes it does. You just don’t realize it.”
“But I can’t do anything! I don’t have any authority or influence. I’m just—nothing, an extra prince.”
“I agree.”
The statement brought an end to Donald’s emotional wallowing the way no encouragement could have. “You know, you’re not very good at cheering people up.”
“I’m not here to cheer you up. And when it comes to influence over your father, I don’t think you have a chance over all of his professional advisers. But I don’t think you agree, and that is really what is important. There are some lessons you have to learn on your own. If you think you still have a chance of preventing war with Gotrox, you need to try. And I won’t tell you it’s impossible because I can’t predict the future. I just don’t see how you could succeed. It’s not my call, though. Let me ask you another question. Do you still think fate brought you to this point?”
“You mean do I think I was fated to find out about the Warden and stop war between Westgrove and Gotrox?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Good. Do you think Westgrove and Gotrox are fated to go to war?”
“No. I don’t think that either. I think people make their own futures.” At one time not long ago, although it seemed so, he would have been less sure. Now, he knew better. People could not control everything that happened to them but other things they could, and the choices they made mattered. The point, he now realized, is that these are real choices. The decisions people make are not predetermined by fate or the gods.
“Good. Now do you think you, personally, can make a difference in how this turns out?”
“I really don’t see how, but I feel that somehow I can.”
“I won’t tell you I agree, but this is your decision to make and as long as you think you have a chance, you have to try. If you don’t, living with yourself will be difficult. When all is said and done, success or failure, how you see yourself is really all that matters.”
Nice words and probably true, but if anything he did would be futile, what did it matter? “But what can I do?”
“Just your best. But I’ll tell you one more thing, and it’s important. When you are sure, absolutely sure you have done everything you could and you still can’t succeed, you have to be willing to admit defeat and go on. Some battles you can win, some you can’t. That’s just how things are.”
Donald made an exasperated gesture to the uncaring ceiling and the cold expanse of the universe beyond. “I was hoping for something more specific.”
The ranger walked slowly to the bedroom window and looked out on the late morning scene.
Donald followed him, looking over his shoulder. Yesterday’s rains had stopped sometime during the night, leaving drying puddles in the courtyard below. He watched while a lone retainer crossed, carrying a barrel of refuse from the kitchen.
With his back still to the prince, Kwestor said, “It would help if we knew for sure who was behind all of this.”
Donald sighed. “I am not at all convinced your conspiracy idea is correct, you know. I still think it’s possible this is all just a runaway misunderstanding. But, just for the sake of argument, what have you come up with? I know you’ve been thinking about this for the last several days.”
“My first thought was that that Reverend Tripgood fellow was behind it. He admitted he had been advising your father, and, unless he’s a bigger fraud than I expect, he has some obvious theological motivations to welcome the subjugation of Gotrox. But I don’t think that’s it, at least not all of it, although I could be wrong. The motivations for the overly religious can be very complex and often irrational. The biggest problem, though, is that Tripgood simply doesn’t have enough influence with your father. He’s not one of the king’s trusted advisers and he doesn’t have the right kind of personal charisma to instantly get into his good graces.”
“I take it you don’t think much of religious people.”
“They’re no different from anyone else. In the wrong hands, though, religion can be a very dangerous thing.”
Donald almost asked him to explain what he meant, but he decided not to pursue it. He feared the scout would give him another lecture on the nature of man, and he did not feel up to it.
“All right, assuming there is a conspiracy and Tripgood is not behind it, who’s the next suspect on your list?”
“My problem with the only other one is just the opposite; he has means but no motive, or at least none I’m aware of. The person in the very best position to influence the king, apart from your mother, of course, is his chief adviser, Horace Barter. Most information your father receives is probably funneled and filtered through that man, giving him a unique capability to influence royal policy by carefully controlling what is brought to his Majesty’s attention and, just as importantly, how. I do not know the man well from personal experience, although I have met him. I know what most people say about him, though. It is common knowledge his f
amily is rich, and he is not rumored to have any expensive vices. The standard motivations don’t seem to fit.”
Kwestor reminded Donald of one of his old tutors when he began counting off the arguments as he talked.
“Sex,” the ranger began, raising his index finger as a counter, “motivates most men more than anything else. However, in Barter’s case, if he is not asexual, I doubt anyone could prove it. In addition, of course, the man is in his sixties. Affairs, especially with much younger women, are not uncommon at that age, but given his apparent lifelong disinterest, sex seems a rather unlikely motivator. If he’s involved in this, I doubt he’s doing it for a woman.
“Power isn’t likely to be something he’s after, either.” A second finger went up. “As Chief adviser to the king of the most powerful kingdom on the continent, he has about as much power as one could possibly have already.
“Some people desire fame, but Barter just doesn’t seem the type.” The ranger raised a third digit. “If fame was important to him, he could get it in easier and better ways than starting a war.
“The last of the big four, money, shouldn’t be a temptation for him either. For one thing, he comes from a very wealthy family. I don’t know what his share of the family fortune is, but I very much doubt he has any financial worries. Also, he must be earning a substantial income from your father, and since he seems to have no real expenses to speak of, his savings should be significant.
“The only other motivator I know of that may be a factor is fear. People can do some very strange things out of fear, but Barter doesn’t strike me as the fearful type. I don’t see how he could be afraid of Gotrox. They’re a far smaller country than Westgrove. He may have succumbed to Tripgood’s religious teachings and is acting out of fear of the reverend’s concept of Ariman. This hypothesis seems unlikely. Not impossible though, and I’m keeping it as a possibility.
“It’s easy to see how Barter could be behind it all, but I have not been able to come up with a good reason why. I’m not saying he’s incorruptible. Most people have a price. I just have no idea what currency Barter’s could be paid in.”
“So in a way, your two prime suspects have alibis.”
“There are unknowns, not alibis. All that matters right now is that you can’t charge into your father’s study, accuse the culprit, expose the plot, stop the war, and save the kingdom. So if you’re going to do something, it will have to be something else.”
Donald winced, unsure if the snide comment was intended to address his fondness for adventure novels.
“Maybe I can go see him again, talk to him.”
“And tell him what?”
“I don’t know. I’ll…I’ll think of something.”