“That’s a riddle?”
He looked at me pityingly. “No. A riddle is what I just asked you. That’s an Elderling. And the first riddle was, how do you summon one?”
My stride slowed. I looked at him more directly, but his eyes were always difficult to meet.
“Is that a riddle? Or a serious question?”
“Yes.” The Fool was grave.
I stopped in midstride, completely bemuddled. I glared at him. In answer, he went nose to nose with his rat scepter. They simpered at one another. “You see, Ratsy, he knows no more than his uncle or his grandfather. None of them know how to summon an Elderling.”
“By the Skill,” I said impetuously.
The Fool looked at me strangely. “You know this?”
“I suspect it is so.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Now that I consider it, I do not think it likely. King Wisdom made a long journey to find the Elderlings. If he could simply have Skilled to them, why didn’t he?
“Indeed. But sometimes there is truth in impetuosity. So riddle me this, boy. A King is alive. Likewise a Prince. And both are Skilled. But where are those who trained alongside the King, or those who trained before him? How come we to this, this paucity of Skilled ones at a time when they are so grievously needed?”
“Few are trained in times of peace. Galen didn’t see fit to train any, up until his last year. And the coterie he created …” I paused suddenly, and though the corridor was empty, I suddenly did not want to speak anymore about it. I had always kept whatever Verity told me about the Skill in confidence.
The Fool pranced in a sudden circle about me. “If the shoe does not fit, one cannot wear it, no matter who made it for you,” he declared.