Assassin's Quest (UK)

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Assassin's Quest (UK) Page 47

by Robin Hobb


  The ser­geant reached the tent first, but his men came with Starling shortly af­ter­wards. She walked between them and entered the tent with dig­nity des­pite her bruised face and swollen lip. There was an icy calm to her as she stood straight be­fore Burl and gave him no greet­ing at all. Per­haps only I sensed the fury she con­tained. Of fear she showed no sign at all.

  When she stood along­side me, Burl lif­ted his eyes to con­sider us both. He poin­ted one fin­ger at her. ‘Min­strel. You are aware that this man is FitzChiv­alry, the Wit­ted Bas­tard.’

  Starling made no re­sponse. It was not a ques­tion.

  ‘In Blue Lake, Will, of Ga­len’s Co­terie, ser­vant of King Regal, offered you gold, good hon­est coin, if you could help us track down this man. You denied all know­ledge of where he was.’ He paused, as if giv­ing her a chance to speak. She said noth­ing. ‘Yet, here we have found you, trav­el­ling in his com­pany again.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And now he tells me that you, in serving him, serve Ver­ity the Pre­tender. And he threatens me with Ver­ity’s wrath. Tell me. Be­fore I re­spond to this, do you agree with this? Or has he mis­s­poken on your be­half?’

  We both knew he was of­fer­ing her a chance. I hoped she’d have the sense to take it. I saw Starling swal­low. She did not look at me. When she spoke, her voice was low and con­trolled. ‘I need no one to speak for me, my lord. Nor am I any man’s ser­vant. I do not serve FitzChiv­alry.’ She paused, and I felt dizzy­ing re­lief. But then she took breath and went on, ‘But if Ver­ity Farseer lives, then he is true king of the Six Duch­ies. And I do not doubt that all who say oth­er­wise will feel his wrath. If he re­turns.’

  Burl sighed out through his nose. He shook his head re­gret­fully. He ges­tured to one of the wait­ing men. ‘You. Break one of her fin­gers. I don’t care which one.’

  ‘I am a min­strel!’ Starling ob­jec­ted in hor­ror. She stared at him in dis­be­lief. We all did. It was not un­heard of for a min­strel to be ex­ecuted for treason. To kill a min­strel was one thing. To harm one was en­tirely an­other.

  ‘Did you not hear me?’ Burl asked the man when he hes­it­ated.

  ‘Sir, she’s a min­strel.’ The man looked stricken. ‘It’s bad luck to harm a min­strel.’

  Burl turned away from him to his ser­geant. ‘You will see he re­ceives five lashes be­fore I re­tire this night. Five, mind you, and I wish to be able to count the sep­ar­ate welts on his back.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the ser­geant said faintly.

  Burl turned back to the man. ‘Break one of her fin­gers. I don’t care which one.’ He spoke the com­mand as if he had never uttered the words be­fore.

  The man moved to­ward her like a man in a dream. He was go­ing to obey, and Burl was not go­ing to stop the or­der.

  ‘I will kill you,’ I prom­ised Burl sin­cerely.

  Burl smiled at me se­renely. ‘Guards­man. Make that two of her fin­gers. I do not care which ones.’ The ser­geant moved swiftly, draw­ing his knife and step­ping be­hind me. He set it to my throat and pushed me to my knees. I looked up at Starling. She glanced at me once, her eyes flat and empty, then looked away. Her hands, like mine, were bound be­hind her. She stared straight ahead at Burl’s chest. Still and si­lent she stood, go­ing whiter and whiter un­til the guards­man ac­tu­ally touched her. She cried out, a hoarse gut­tural sound as he gripped her wrists. Then she screamed, but her cry could not cover the two small snaps her fin­gers made as the man bent them back­wards at the joints.

  ‘Show me,’ Burl com­man­ded.

  As if angry with Starling that he had had to do this, the man thrust her down on her face. She lay on the sheep­skin be­fore Burl’s feet. After the scream, she had not made a sound. The two smal­lest fin­gers on her left hand stood out crazily from the oth­ers. Burl looked down at them, and nod­ded, sat­is­fied.

  ‘Take her away. See she is well guarded. Then come back and see your ser­geant. When he is fin­ished with you, come to me.’ Burl’s voice was even.

  The guard seized Starling by her col­lar and dragged her to her feet. He looked both ill and angry as he prod­ded her out of the tent. Burl nod­ded to the ser­geant. ‘Let him up, now.’

  I stood look­ing down at him, and he looked up at me. But there was no longer the slight­est doubt as to who was in con­trol of the situ­ation. His voice was very quiet as he ob­served, ‘Earlier you said you un­der­stood me. Now I know that you do. The jour­ney to Moon­seye can be swift and easy for you, FitzChiv­alry. And for the oth­ers. Or it can be oth­er­wise. It is en­tirely up to you.’

  I made no reply. None was needed. Burl nod­ded to the other guards­man. He took me from Burl’s tent to an­other one. Four other guards in­hab­ited it. He gave me both bread and meat and a cup of wa­ter. I was do­cile as he retied my hands in front of me so I could eat. Af­ter­wards, he poin­ted me to a blanket in a corner, and I went like an obed­i­ent dog. They bound my hands be­hind me again and tied my feet. They kept the bra­zier burn­ing all night, and al­ways there were at least two watch­ing me.

  I did not care. I turned away from them and faced the wall of the tent. I closed my eyes, and went, not to sleep, but to my wolf. His coat was mostly dry, but still he slept in ex­haus­tion. Both the cold and the bat­ter­ing of the river had taken their toll of him. I took what small com­fort was left to me. Nighteyes lived, and now he slept. I wondered on which side of the river.

  EIGHT­EEN

  Moon­seye

  Moon­seye is a small but for­ti­fied town on the bor­der between the Six Duch­ies and the Moun­tain King­dom. It is a pro­vi­sion­ing town and tra­di­tional stop­ping-place for trade cara­vans us­ing the Che­lika trail to the Wide Vale pass and the lands bey­ond the Moun­tain King­dom. It was from Moon­seye that Prince Chiv­alry ne­go­ti­ated his last great treaty with Prince Rurisk of the Moun­tain King­dom. On the heels of fi­nal­iz­ing this treaty came the dis­cov­ery that Chiv­alry was father to an il­le­git­im­ate son con­ceived with a wo­man from that area and already some six years old. King-in-Wait­ing Chiv­alry con­cluded his ne­go­ti­ations and im­me­di­ately rode home to Buck­keep, where he offered his queen, father and sub­jects his deep­est apo­lo­gies for his youth­ful fail­ure, and ab­dic­ated the throne to avoid cre­at­ing any con­fu­sion as to the line of suc­ces­sion.

  Burl kept his word. By day I walked, flanked by guards, my hands bound be­hind me. I was housed in a tent by night and my hands un­bound that I might feed my­self. No one was un­ne­ces­sar­ily cruel to me. I do not know if Burl had ordered that I be strictly left alone, or if enough tales of the Wit­ted, pois­on­ing Bas­tard had been spread that no one ven­tured to bother me. In any case, my trek to Moon­seye was no more un­pleas­ant than foul weather and mil­it­ary pro­vi­sions made it. I was se­questered from the pil­grims so I knew noth­ing of how Kettle, Starling and the pil­grims fared. My guards did not talk among them­selves in my pres­ence, so I had not even camp gos­sip for ru­mours. I dared not ask after any of them. Even to think of Starling and what they had done to her made me ill. I wondered if any­one would pity her enough to straighten and bind her fin­gers. I wondered if Burl would al­low it. It sur­prised me how of­ten I thought of Kettle and the chil­dren of the pil­grims.

  I did have Nighteyes. My second night in Burl’s cus­tody, after a hasty feed­ing of bread and cheese, I was left alone in a corner of a tent that housed six men-at-arms as well. My wrists and ankles were well bound, but not cruelly tight, and a blanket flung over me. My guards soon be­came en­grossed in a game of dice by the candle that lit the tent. It was a tent of good goat leather, and they had floored it with ce­dar boughs for their own com­fort, so I did not suf­fer much from cold. I was aching and weary and the food in my belly made me drowsy. Yet I struggled to stay awake. I ques­ted out to­ward Nighteyes, al­most fear­ful of what I might find. I had had only the barest traces of his pres­ence i
n my mind since I had bid him sleep. Now I reached for him and was jol­ted to feel him quite close by. He re­vealed him­self as if step­ping through a cur­tain, and seemed amused at my shock.

  How long have you been able to do that?

  A while. I had been giv­ing thought to what the bear-man told us. And when we were apart, I came to know I had a life of my own. I found a place of my own in my mind.

  I sensed a hes­it­ancy to his thought, as if he ex­pec­ted me to re­buke him for it. In­stead I em­braced him, wrap­ping him in the warmth I felt for him. I feared you would die.

  I fear the same for you, now. Al­most humbly he ad­ded, But I lived. And now at least one of us is free, to res­cue the other.

  I am glad you are safe. But I fear there is little you can do for me. And if they catch sight of you, they will not rest un­til they have killed you.

  Then they shall not catch sight of me, he prom­ised lightly. He car­ried me off hunt­ing with him that night.

  The next day it took all of my con­cen­tra­tion to stay on my feet and mov­ing. A storm blew up. We at­temp­ted a mil­it­ary pace des­pite the snowy trails we fol­lowed and the shriek­ing winds that con­stantly buf­feted us with threats of snow. As we moved away from the river and up into the foot­hills, the trees and un­der­brush were thicker. We heard the wind in the trees above us, but felt it less. The cold be­came dryer and more bit­ter at night the higher we went. The food I was given was enough to keep me on my feet and alive, but little more. Burl rode at the head of his pro­ces­sion, fol­lowed by his moun­ted guard. I walked be­hind in the midst of my guards. Be­hind us came the pil­grims flanked by reg­u­lars. Be­hind all that trailed the bag­gage train.

  At the end of each day’s march, I was con­fined to a swiftly-pitched tent, fed and then ig­nored un­til the next day’s rising. My con­ver­sa­tions were lim­ited to ac­cept­ing my meals, and to night-time thought-shar­ing with Nighteyes. The hunt­ing on this side of the river was lush com­pared to where we had been. He found game al­most ef­fort­lessly and was well on his way to re­build­ing his old strength. He found it no trouble at all to keep pace with us and still have time to hunt. Nighteyes had just torn into a rab­bit’s en­trails on my fourth night as a pris­oner when he sud­denly lif­ted his head and snuffed the wind.

  What is it?

  Hunters. Stalk­ers. He aban­doned his meat and stood. He was on a hill­side above Burl’s camp. Mov­ing to­ward it, slip­ping from tree to tree, were at least two dozen shad­owy fig­ures. A dozen car­ried bows. As Nighteyes watched, two crouched in the cover of a dense thicket. In a few mo­ments, his keen nose caught the scent of smoke. A tiny fire glowed dully at their feet. They sig­nalled the oth­ers, who spread out, noise­less as shad­ows. Arch­ers sought vant­age points while the oth­ers slipped into the camp be­low. Some went to­ward the picket-lines of the an­im­als. With my own ears, I heard stealthy foot­steps out­side the tent where I lay trussed. They did not pause. Nighteyes smelled the stench of burn­ing pitch. An in­stant later, two flam­ing bolts went winging through the night. They struck Burl’s tent. In a mo­ment, a great cry arose. As sleep­ing sol­diers stumbled out of their tents and headed to­ward the blaze, the arch­ers on the hill­side rained ar­rows down on them.

  Burl stumbled out of the burn­ing tent, wrap­ping his blankets about him­self as he came and bel­low­ing or­ders. ‘They’re after the Bas­tard, you fools! Guard him at all costs!’ Then an ar­row went skip­ping past him over the frozen ground. He cried out and flung him­self flat into the shel­ter of a sup­ply wagon. A breath later two ar­rows thud­ded into it.

  The men in my tent had leaped up at the first com­mo­tion. I had largely ig­nored them, pre­fer­ring Nighteyes’ view of the events. But when the ser­geant burst into the tent, his first or­der was, ‘Drag him out­side be­fore they fire the tent. Keep him down. If they come for him, cut his throat!’

  The ser­geant’s or­ders were fol­lowed quite lit­er­ally. A man knelt on my back, his bared knife set to my throat. Six oth­ers sur­roun­ded us. All about us, in the dark­ness, other men scrambled and shouted. There was a second out­cry as an­other tent went up in flames, join­ing Burl’s that now blazed mer­rily and lit his end of the camp well. The first time I tried to lift my head and see what was hap­pen­ing, the young sol­dier on my back slammed my face back into the frozen ground en­er­get­ic­ally. I resigned my­self to ice and gravel and looked through the wolf’s eyes in­stead.

  Had not Burl’s guard been so in­tent on keep­ing me, and on pro­tect­ing Burl, they might have per­ceived that neither of us were the tar­gets of this raid. While ar­rows fell about Burl and his blaz­ing tent, at the dark end of the camp the si­lent in­vaders were free­ing smug­glers and pil­grims and ponies. Nighteyes’ spy­ing had shown me that the archer who had fired Burl’s tent wore the Hold­fast fea­tures as clearly as Nik did. The smug­glers had come after their own. The cap­tives trickled out of the camp like meal from a holed sack while Burl’s men guarded him and me.

  Burl’s as­sess­ment of his men had been cor­rect. More than one man-at-arms waited out that raid in the shadow of a wagon or a tent. I did not doubt that they’d fight well if per­son­ally at­tacked, but no one ven­tured to lead a sortie against the arch­ers on the hill. I sus­pec­ted then that Cap­tain Mark had not been the only man to have an ar­range­ment with the smug­glers. The fire they did re­turn was in­ef­fect­ive, for the blaz­ing tents in the camp had ruined their night vis­ion, whereas the fire made sil­hou­ettes and tar­gets of the arch­ers who stood to re­turn the smug­glers’ fire.

  It was over in a re­mark­ably short time. The arch­ers on the hill con­tin­ued to loose ar­rows down on us as they slipped away, and that fire held the at­ten­tion of Burl’s men. When the rain of mis­siles ab­ruptly ceased, Burl im­me­di­ately roared for his ser­geant, de­mand­ing to know if I had been kept. The ser­geant looked warn­ingly about at his men, and then called back that they’d held them off me.

  The rest of that night was miser­able. I spent a good part of it face-down in the snow while a half-dressed Burl snorted and stamped all around me. The burn­ing of his tent had con­sumed most of his per­sonal sup­plies. When the es­cape of the pil­grims and smug­glers was dis­covered, it seemed to be of sec­ond­ary im­port­ance to the fact that no one else in camp had cloth­ing of a size that would fit Burl.

  Three other tents had been fired. Burl’s rid­ing-horse had been taken in ad­di­tion to the smug­glers’ ponies. For all Burl’s bel­lowed threats of dire ven­geance, he made no ef­fort to or­gan­ize a pur­suit. In­stead he con­ten­ted him­self with kick­ing me sev­eral times. It was nearly dawn be­fore he thought to ask if the min­strel, too, had been taken. She had. And that, he de­clared, proved that I had been the true tar­get of the raid. He tripled the guard around me for the rest of that night, and for the next two days’ jour­ney to Moon­seye. Not sur­pris­ingly, we saw no more of our at­tack­ers. They had got all they wished and van­ished into the foot­hills. I had no doubt that Nik had boltholes on this side of the river as well. I could not feel any warmth to­ward the man who had sold me but I con­fessed to my­self a grudging ad­mir­a­tion that he had car­ried off the pil­grims with him when he es­caped. Per­haps Starling could make a song of that.

  Moon­seye seemed a small town hid­den in a fold of the moun­tains’ skirts. There were few outly­ing farm­steads, and the cobbled streets began ab­ruptly just out­side the wooden pal­is­ade that sur­roun­ded the town. A sen­try is­sued a formal chal­lenge to us there from a tower above the walls. It was only after we had entered it that I ap­pre­ci­ated what a thriv­ing little city it was. I knew from my les­sons with Fed­wren that Moon­seye had been an im­port­ant mil­it­ary out­post for the Six Duch­ies be­fore it had be­come a stop­ping-place for cara­vans bound for the other side of the Moun­tains. Now traders in am­ber and furs and carved ivory passed throu
gh Moon­seye on a reg­u­lar basis and en­riched it in their passing. Or so it had been in the years since my father had suc­ceeded in ne­go­ti­at­ing an open pass treaty with the Moun­tain King­dom.

  Regal’s new hos­til­it­ies had changed all that. Moon­seye had re­ver­ted to the mil­it­ary hold­ing it had been in my grand­father’s day. The sol­diers that moved through the streets wore Regal’s gold and brown in­stead of Buck’s blue, but sol­diers are sol­diers. The mer­chants had the weary, wary air of men rich only in their sov­er­eign’s scrip and won­der­ing how re­deem­able it would prove in the long run. Our pro­ces­sion at­trac­ted the at­ten­tion of the loc­als, but it was a sur­repti­tious curi­os­ity they showed us. I wondered when it had be­come bad luck to won­der too much about the King’s busi­ness.

  Des­pite my wear­i­ness, I looked about the town with in­terest. This was where my grand­father had brought me to aban­don me to Ver­ity’s care, and where Ver­ity had passed me on to Burrich. I had al­ways wondered if my mother’s folk had lived near Moon­seye or if we had trav­elled far to seek out my father. But I looked in vain for any land­mark or sign that would awaken some memory of my lost child­hood in me. Moon­seye looked to me both as strange and as fa­mil­iar as any small town I had ever vis­ited.

  The town was thick with sol­diers. Tents and lean-tos had been thrown up against every wall. It looked as if the pop­u­la­tion had re­cently in­creased a great deal. Even­tu­ally we came to a court­yard that the an­im­als in the bag­gage train re­cog­nized as home. We were drawn up and then dis­missed with mil­it­ary pre­ci­sion. My guard marched me off to a squat wooden build­ing. It was win­dow­less and for­bid­ding. In­side was a single room where an old man sat on a low stool by a wide hearth where a wel­com­ing fire burned. Less wel­com­ing were three doors with small barred win­dows in them that opened off that room. I was shown into one, my bonds sum­mar­ily cut, and then I was left alone.

 

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