Assassin's Quest (UK)

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Assassin's Quest (UK) Page 61

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.

 

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