by Robin Hobb
Shortly after midday, Nighteyes joined us.
‘Good doggie!’ I observed aloud to him.
That pales in comparison to what Kettle is calling you, he observed smugly. I pity you all when the old bitch catches up with the pack. She has a stick.
Is she following us?
She tracks quite well, for a noseless human. Nighteyes trotted past us, moving with surprising ease even in the unpacked snow to the side of the trail. I could tell he was enjoying the ripple of unease that his scent pushed through the trailing jeppas. I watched him as he passed them all and then Kettricken. Once he was in the lead, he ranged confidently ahead, just as if he knew where we were going. I soon lost sight of him, but I did not worry. I knew he would circle back often to check on us.
‘Kettle is following us,’ I told the Fool.
He shot me a questioning look.
‘Nighteyes says she is quite angry with us.’
His shoulders rose and fell in a quick sigh. ‘Well. She has a right to her own decision,’ he observed to himself. Then, to me, he added, ‘It still unnerves me a bit when you and the wolf do that.’
‘Does it bother you? That I am Witted?’
‘Does it bother you to meet my eyes?’ he rejoined.
It was enough. We kept walking.
Kettricken held us to a steady pace for as long as the daylight lasted. A trampled area under the shelter of some of the great trees was our stopping-place. While it did not look frequently used, we were on some sort of traders’ trail to Jhaampe. Kettricken was matter-of-fact in her total command of us. She gestured Starling to a small rick of dry firewood protected from the snow by canvas. ‘Use some to get a fire started, and then take care to replace at least as much as we use. Many folk stop here, and in foul weather, a life may depend on that wood being there.’ Starling meekly obeyed.
She directed the Fool and I as we assisted her in setting up a shelter. When we were finished, we had a tent shaped rather like the cap of a mushroom. That done, she portioned out the tasks of unloading bedding and moving it into the tent, unloading the animals and picketing the lead animal, and melting snow for water. She herself shared fully in the tasks. I watched the efficiency with which she established our camp and saw to our needs. With a pang, I realized she reminded me of Verity. She would have made a good soldier.
Once our basic camp was established, the Fool and I exchanged glances. I went to where Kettricken was checking our jeppas. Those hardy beasts were already at work nibbling bud tips and bark from the smaller trees that fronted one side of the camp. ‘I think Kettle may be following us,’ I told her. ‘Do you think I should go back and look for her?’
‘To what end?’ Kettricken asked me. The question sounded callous, but she went on, ‘If she can catch up with us, then we will share what we have. You know that. But I suspect that she will weary before she gets here, and turn back to Jhaampe. Perhaps she has already turned back.’
And perhaps she has become exhausted and sunk down by the side of the trail, I thought to myself. But I did not go back. I recognized in Kettricken’s words the harsh practicality of the Mountain folk. She would respect Kettle’s decision to follow us. Even if her attempt to do so killed her, Kettricken would not interfere with her own will for herself. I knew that among the Mountain folk, it was not unusual for an old person to choose what they called Sequestering, a self-imposed exile where cold might put an end to all infirmities. I, too, respected Kettle’s right to choose her life-path, or die in the attempt. But it did not stop me from sending Nighteyes back down our trail to see if she was still coming. I chose to believe it was only curiosity on my part. He had just returned to camp with a bloody white hare in his jaws. At my request, he stood, stretched and woefully commanded me, Guard my meat, then. He disappeared into the gathering dusk.
The evening meal of porridge and hearth-cakes was just finished cooking when Kettle came into camp with Nighteyes at her heels. She stalked up to the fire and stood warming her hands at it as she glowered at the Fool and me. The Fool and I exchanged a glance. It was a guilty one. I hastily offered Kettle the cup of tea I had just poured for myself. She took it and drank it before she said accusingly, ‘You left without me.’
‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘We did. Kettricken came to us and said we must leave right away, so the Fool and I –’
‘I came anyway,’ she announced triumphantly, cutting through my words. ‘And I intend to go on with you.’
‘We are fleeing,’ Kettricken said quietly. ‘We can’t slow our pace for you.’
Sparks near leaped from Kettle’s eyes. ‘Did I ask you to?’ she asked the Queen tartly.
Kettricken shrugged. ‘Just so you understand,’ she said quietly.
‘I do,’ Kettle replied as quietly. And it was settled.
I had watched this interchange with a sort of awe. I felt an increase in respect for both of the women afterwards. I think I fully grasped then how Kettricken perceived herself. She was the Queen of the Six Duchies and she did not doubt it. But unlike many, she had not hidden behind a title or taken offence at Kettle’s quick reply to her. Instead, she had answered her, woman to woman, with respect but also authority. Once more I had glimpsed her mettle and found I could not fault it.
We all shared the yurt that night. Kettricken filled a small brazier with coals from our fire and brought it within. It made the shelter surprisingly comfortable. She posted a watch and included both Kettle and herself in that duty. The others slept well. I lay awake for a time. I was once more on my way to find Verity. That brought a tiny measure of release from the incessant Skill-command. But I was also on my way to the river where he had laved his hands in raw Skill. That seductive image lurked always at the edge of my mind now. Resolutely I pushed the temptation from my mind, but that night my dreams were full of it. We broke camp early, and were on our way before the day was fairly born. Kettricken bid us discard a second, smaller yurt that had been brought along to accommodate our original larger party. She left it carefully stowed at the stopping-place where another might find and make use of it. The freed beast was loaded instead with the bulk of the packs the humans had carried. I was grateful, for the throbbing of my back was unceasing now.
For four days Kettricken held us to that pace. She did not say if she truly expected pursuit. I did not ask. There were no real opportunities for private talk with anyone. Kettricken always led, followed by the animals, the Fool and me, Starling, and, often trailing us by quite a distance, Kettle. Both women kept their promises. Kettricken did not slow the pace for the old woman, and Kettle never complained of it. Each night she came into camp late, usually accompanied by Nighteyes. She was usually just in time to share our food and shelter for the night. But she arose the moment Kettricken did the next day and never complained.
The fourth night, when we were all within the tent and settling down to sleep, Kettricken suddenly addressed me. ‘FitzChivalry, I would have your thoughts on something,’ she declared.
I sat up, intrigued by the formality of her request. ‘I am at your service, my queen.’
Beside me, the Fool muffled a snicker. I suppose we both looked a bit odd, sitting in a welter of blankets and furs and addressing one another so formally. But I kept my demeanour.
Kettricken added a few bits of dry wood to the brazier to bring up a flame and light. She took out an enamelled cylinder, removed the cap and coaxed out a piece of vellum. As she gently unrolled it, I recognized the map that had inspired Veri
ty to his quest. It seemed odd to look at the faded map in this setting. It belonged to a much more secure time in my life, when hot meals of good food were taken for granted, when my clothes were tailored to fit me and I knew where I would sleep each night. It seemed unfair that my whole world had changed so much since I had last seen the map, but that it remained unchanged, an ageing flap of vellum with a worn tracery of lines on it. Kettricken held it flat on her lap and tapped a blank spot on it. ‘This is about where we are,’ she told me. She took a breath as if bracing herself. She tapped another spot, likewise unmarked. ‘This is about where we found the signs of a battle. Where I found Verity’s cloak and … the bones.’ Her voice quavered a bit on the words. She looked up suddenly and her eyes met mine as they had not since Buckkeep. ‘You know, Fitz, it is hard for me. I gathered up those bones and thought they were his. For so many months, I believed him dead. And now, solely on your word of some magic that I do not possess or understand, I try to believe he is alive. That there is hope still. But … I have held those bones. And my hands cannot forget the weight and chill of them, nor my nose that smell.’
‘He lives, my lady,’ I assured her quietly.
She sighed again. ‘Here is what I would ask you. Shall we go directly to where the trails are marked on this map, the ones that Verity said he would follow? Or do you wish to be taken to the battle-site first?’
I thought for a time. ‘I am sure you gathered from that place all there was to gather, my queen. Time has passed, part of a summer and more than half of a winter since you were last there. No. I can think of nothing I might find there that your trackers did not when the ground was bared of snow. Verity lives, my queen, and he is not there. So let us not seek him there, but where he said he would go.’
She nodded slowly, but if she took heart from my words, she did not show it. Instead, she tapped the map again. ‘This road here shown is known to us. It was a trade road once, and although no one even recalls what its destination was, it is still used. The more remote villages and the solitary trappers have their paths to it, and they then follow it down to Jhaampe. We could have been travelling on it all this time, but I did not wish to. It is too well used. We have come by the swiftest route, if not the widest. Tomorrow, however, we shall cross it. And when we do, we shall set our backs toward Jhaampe and follow it up into the Mountains.’ Her finger traced it on the map. ‘I have never been to that part of the Mountains,’ she said simply. ‘Few have, other than trappers or occasional adventurers who go to see if the old tales are true. Usually they bring back tales of their own that are even stranger than the ones that prompted them to go adventuring.’
I watched her pale fingers walk slowly across the map. The faint lines of the ancient road diverged into three separate trails with different destinations. It began and ended, that road, with no apparent source or destination. Whatever had once been marked at the end of those lines had faded away into inky ghosts. Neither of us had any way of knowing which destination Verity had chosen. Though they did not look far separated on the map, the terrain of the Mountains could mean they were days or even weeks apart. I also had small trust in such an old map being reliably to scale.
‘Where are we going first?’ I asked her.
She hesitated briefly, then her finger tapped one of the trail ends. ‘Here. I think this one would be closest.’
‘Then that is a wise choice.’
She met my eyes again. ‘Fitz. Could not you simply Skill to him, and ask him where he is? Or bid him come to us? Or at least ask him why he has not returned to me?’
At each small shake of my head, her eyes grew wilder. ‘Why not?’ she demanded in a shaking voice. ‘This great and secret magic of the Farseers cannot even call him to us in such need?’
I kept my eyes on her face, but wished there had been fewer listening ears. Despite all Kettricken knew of me, I still felt very uneasy speaking of the Skill with anyone save Verity. I chose my words carefully. ‘By Skilling to him, I might place him in great danger, my lady. Or draw trouble down on us.’
‘How?’ she demanded.
I briefly considered the Fool, Kettle and Starling. It was hard to explain to myself the uneasiness I felt at speaking bluntly of a magic that had been guarded as a secret for so many generations. But this was my queen and she had asked me a question. I lowered my eyes and spoke. ‘The coterie Galen made was never loyal to the King. Not to King Shrewd, not to King Verity. Always they were the tool of a traitor, used to cast doubt on the King’s abilities and undermine his ability to defend his kingdom.’
From Kettle came a small gasp of indrawn breath, while Kettricken’s blue eyes went steely grey with cold. I continued. ‘Even now, were I to openly Skill to Verity, they might find a way to listen. By such a Skilling, they might find him. Or us. They have grown strong in the Skill, and ferreted out ways of using it that I have never learned. They spy on other Skill-users. They can, using only the Skill, inflict pain, or create illusion. I fear to Skill to my king, Queen Kettricken. That he has not chosen to Skill to me makes me believe my caution is the same as his.’
Kettricken had gone snow pale as she mulled my words. Softly she asked, ‘Always disloyal to him, Fitz? Speak plainly. Did not they aid in defending the Six Duchies at all?’
I weighed my words as if I were reporting to Verity himself. ‘I have no proof, my lady. But I would guess that Skill-messages of Red Ships were sometimes never relayed, or were deliberately delayed. I think the commands that Verity Skilled forth to the coterie members in the watchtowers were not passed on to the keeps they were to guard. They obeyed him enough that Verity could not tell his messages and commands had been delivered hours after he had sent them. To his dukes, his efforts would appear inept, his strategies untimely or foolish.’ My voice trailed away at the anger that blossomed in Kettricken’s face. Colour came up in her cheeks, angry roses.
‘How many lives?’ she asked harshly. ‘How many towns? How many dead, or worse, Forged? All for a prince’s spite, all for a spoiled boy’s ambition for the throne? How could he have done it, Fitz? How could he have stood to let people die simply to make his brother look foolish and incompetent?’
I did not have any real answer to that. ‘Perhaps he did not think they were people and towns,’ I heard myself say softly. ‘Perhaps to him they were only game pieces. Possessions of Verity’s to be destroyed if he could not win them for himself.’
Kettricken closed her eyes. ‘This cannot be forgiven,’ she said quietly to herself. She sounded ill with it. With an oddly gentle finality, she added, ‘You will have to kill him, FitzChivalry.’
So odd, to be given that royal command at last. ‘I know that, my lady. I knew it when last I tried.’
‘No,’ she corrected me. ‘When last you attempted it, it was for yourself. Did not you know that had angered me? This time, I tell you that you must kill him for the sake of the Six Duchies.’ She shook her head, almost surprised. ‘It is the only way in which he can be Sacrifice for his people. To be killed for them before he can hurt them any more.’
She looked around abruptly at the circle of silent people huddled in bedding, staring at her. ‘Go to sleep,’ she told all of us, as if we were wilful children. ‘We must get up early again tomorrow and once more travel swiftly. Sleep while you can.’
Starling went outside to take up her first night’s watch. The others lay back and as the flames from the brazier fell and the light dimmed, I am sure they slept. But despite my weariness, I lay and stared into the darkness. About me were only the sounds of people breathing, of the night wind bar
ely moving through the trees. If I quested out, I could sense Nighteyes prowling about, ever alert for the unwary mouse. The peace and stillness of the winterbound forest was all around us. They all slept deeply, save for Starling on watch.
No one else heard the rushing drive of the Skill-urge that grew stronger within me every day of our journeying. I had not spoken to the Queen of my other fear: that if I reached out to Verity with the Skill, I would never return, but would instead immerse myself in that Skill river I had glimpsed and be forever borne away on it. Even to think on that temptation brought me quivering to the edge of acquiescence. Fiercely I set my walls and boundaries, putting every guard between me and the Skill that I had ever been taught. But tonight I set them, not just to keep Regal and his coterie out of my mind, but to keep myself in it.
TWENTY-FOUR
The Skill Road
What is the true source of magic? Is one born with it in the blood, as some dogs are born to follow a scent while others are best at herding sheep? Or is it a thing that may be won by any with the determination to learn? Or rather are magics inherent to the stones and waters and earths of the world, so that a child imbibes abilities with the water he drinks or the air he breathes? I ask these questions with no concept of how to discover the answers. Did we know the source, could a wizard of great power be deliberately created by one desiring to do so? Could one breed for magic in a child as one breeds a horse for strength or speed? Or select a babe, and begin instruction before the child could even speak? Or build one’s house where one might tap the magic where the earth is richest with it? These questions so frighten me that I have almost no desire to pursue the answers, save that if I do not, another may.