Assassin's Quest (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  Kettle called my gaze away from the Queen. ‘Fitz. Fo­cus on the game. Only on the game. His threats could be a ploy, to trick you into be­tray­ing them. Don’t talk about them. Don’t think about them. Here. Look here.’ Her trem­bling old hands moved my blanket away and spread out the game­cloth. She spilled stones into her hand, and plucked out white ones to re-cre­ate the prob­lem. ‘Solve this. Fo­cus on this, and this only.’

  It was next to im­pos­sible. I looked at the white stones and thought it all a stu­pid task. What play­ers could be so clumsy and short-sighted as to let the game de­grade into such a clut­ter of white stones? It was not a prob­lem worth solv­ing. But neither could I lie down and sleep. I scarcely dared blink lest I see that eye again. Had it been Regal’s whole coun­ten­ance or both his eyes it would not per­haps have seemed so aw­ful. But the dis­em­bod­ied eye seemed all-see­ing and con­stant, in­es­cap­able. I stared at the game pieces un­til the white stones seemed to float above the junc­tures of the lines. One black stone, to bring a win­ning pat­tern out of this chaos. One black stone. I held it in my hand, rub­bing it with my thumb.

  All the next day, as we fol­lowed the road down the moun­tain’s flank, I held the stone in my bare hand. My other arm was about the Fool’s waist, his arm around my neck. These two things kept my mind fo­cused.

  The Fool seemed some­what bet­ter. His body was no longer fe­ver­ish, but he seemed un­able to stom­ach food or even tea. Kettle forced wa­ter on him un­til he simply sat and re­fused it, shak­ing his head word­lessly. He seemed as in­dis­posed to talk as I was. Starling and Kettle with her staff led our weary little pro­ces­sion. The Fool and I fol­lowed the jep­pas, while Kettricken with her bow strung kept our rear guarded. The wolf prowled rest­lessly up and down the line, now ran­ging ahead, now lop­ing up our back trail.

  Nighteyes and I had gone back to a sort of word­less bond. He un­der­stood that I did not wish to think at all, and did his best not to dis­tract me. It was still un­nerv­ing to sense him try­ing to use the Wit to com­mu­nic­ate with Kettricken. No sign of any­one be­hind us, he would tell her as he trot­ted past on one of his end­less trips. Then he would go ran­ging far ahead of the jep­pas and Starling, only to come back to Kettricken and as­sure her in passing that all was clear ahead of us. I tried to tell my­self that she merely had faith that Nighteyes would let me know if he found any­thing amiss on his scout­ing trips. But I sus­pec­ted she was be­com­ing more and more at­tuned to him.

  The road led us very swiftly down­wards. As we des­cen­ded the land changed. By late af­ter­noon, the slope above the road was gent­ling and we began to pass twis­ted trees and mossy boulders. Snow faded and be­came patchy on the hill­side while the road was dry and black. Dry tufts of grass showed green at their bases just off the shoulder of the road. It was hard to make the hungry jep­pas keep mov­ing. I made a vague Wit-ef­fort to let them know that there would be bet­ter brows­ing ahead, but I doubt that I had enough fa­mili­ar­ity with them to make any last­ing im­pres­sion on them. I tried to limit my thoughts to the fact that fire­wood would be more plen­ti­ful to­night, and to grat­it­ude that the lower the road car­ried us the warmer grew the day.

  At one time, the Fool made a ges­ture to a low grow­ing plant that had tiny white buds on it. ‘It would be spring in Buck­keep by now,’ he said in a low voice, and then ad­ded quickly, ‘I’m sorry. Pay no at­ten­tion to me, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Are you feel­ing any bet­ter?’ I asked him, res­ol­utely thrust­ing spring flowers and bees and Molly’s candles out of my mind.

  ‘A little.’ His voice shook and he took a quick breath. ‘I wish we could walk more slowly.’

  ‘We’ll camp soon,’ I told him, know­ing that we could not slow our pace now. I felt a grow­ing ur­gency and had de­ve­loped the no­tion it came from Ver­ity. I pushed that name, too, from my mind. Even walk­ing down the wide road in day­light, I feared that Regal’s eye was only a blink away and that if I glimpsed it they would once more hold me un­der their power. For an in­stant I hoped Car­rod and Will and Burl were cold and hungry, but then real­ized I could not safely think of them, either.

  ‘You were sick like this be­fore,’ I ob­served to the Fool, mostly to think of some­thing else.

  ‘Yes. In Blue Lake. My lady queen spent the food money on a room that I might be in out of the rain.’ He turned his head to stare at me. ‘Do you think that might have caused it?’

  ‘Caused what?’

  ‘Her child to be still­born …’

  His voice dwindled off. I tried to think of words. ‘I don’t think it was any one thing, Fool. She simply suffered too many mis­for­tunes while she was car­ry­ing the babe.’

  ‘Burrich should have gone with her and left me. He would have taken bet­ter care of her. I wasn’t think­ing clearly at the time …’

  ‘Then I’d be dead,’ I poin­ted out. ‘Among other things. Fool, there is no sense in try­ing to play that game with the past. Here is where we are today, and we can only make our moves from here.’

  And in that in­stant, I sud­denly per­ceived the solu­tion to Kettle’s game prob­lem. It was so in­stantly clear that I wondered how I could not have seen it. Then I knew. Each time I had stud­ied the board, I wondered how it could have got into such a sorry con­di­tion. All I had seen were the sense­less moves that had pre­ceded mine. But those moves had no longer mattered, once I held the black stone in my hand. A half-smile crooked my lips. My thumb rubbed the black stone.

  ‘Where we are today,’ the Fool echoed, and I felt his mood shadow mine.

  ‘Kettricken said that you might not truly be ill. That it might be … pe­cu­liar to your kind.’ I was un­com­fort­able com­ing even that close to a ques­tion re­gard­ing this.

  ‘It could be. I sup­pose. Look.’ He drew off his mit­ten, then reached up and dragged his nails down his cheek. Dry white trails fol­lowed them. He rubbed at it and the skin powdered away be­neath his hands. On the back of his hand, the skin was peel­ing as if it had been blistered.

  ‘It’s like a sun­burn peel­ing away. Do you think it’s the weather you’ve been in?’

  ‘That, too, is pos­sible. Save that if it is like last time, I shall itch and peel over every bit of my body. And gain a bit more col­our in the pro­cess. Are my eyes chan­ging?’

  I ob­liged him by meet­ing his gaze. Fa­mil­iar as I was with him, it was still not an easy task. Had those col­our­less orbs darkened a trifle more? ‘Per­haps they are a bit darker. No more than ale held up to the light. What will hap­pen to you? Will you con­tinue to have fevers and gain col­our?’

  ‘Per­haps. I don’t know,’ he ad­mit­ted after a few mo­ments had passed.

  ‘How could you not know?’ I de­man­ded. ‘What were your eld­ers like?’

  ‘Like you, fool­ish boy. Hu­man. Some­where back in my blood­line, there was a White. In me, as rarely hap­pens, that an­cient blood is given form again. But I am no more White than I am hu­man. Did you think that one such as I was com­mon to my people? I have told you. I am an an­om­aly, even among those who share my mixed lin­eage. Did you think White Proph­ets were born every gen­er­a­tion? We would not be taken so ser­i­ously if we were. No. Within my life­time, I am the only White Prophet.’

  ‘But could not your teach­ers, with all those re­cords you said they kept, tell you any­thing of what to ex­pect?’

  He smiled, but bit­ter­ness was in his voice. ‘My teach­ers were too cer­tain that they knew what to ex­pect. They planned to pace my learn­ing, to re­veal what they thought I should know when they thought I should know it. When my proph­ecies were dif­fer­ent from what they had planned, they were not pleased with me. They tried to in­ter­pret my own words for me! There have been other White Proph­ets, you see. But when I tried to make them see that I was the White Prophet, they could not ac­cept it. Writ­ing after writ­ing they showed to me, to t
ry to con­vince me of my ef­frontery in in­sist­ing on such a thing. But the more I read, the more my cer­tainty grew. I tried to tell them my time was nearly upon me. All they could coun­sel was that I should wait and study more to be cer­tain. We were not on the best terms when I left. I ima­gine they were quite startled to find I was gone so young from them, even though I had proph­es­ied it for years.’ He gave me a strangely apo­lo­getic smile. ‘Per­haps if I had stayed to com­plete my school­ing, we would know bet­ter how to save the world.’

  I felt a sud­den sink­ing in the pit of my stom­ach. So much had I come to rely on a be­lief that the Fool, at least, knew what we were about. ‘How much do you truly know of what is to come?’

  He took a deep breath, then sighed it out. ‘Only that we do it to­gether, Fitzy-fitz. Only that we do it to­gether.’

  ‘I thought you had stud­ied all those writ­ings and proph­ecies …’

  ‘I did. And when I was younger, I dreamed many dreams, and even had vis­ions. But it is as I have told you be­fore; noth­ing is a pre­cise fit. Look you, Fitz. If I showed you wool and a loom and a set of shears, would you look at it and say, oh, that is the coat I will someday wear? But once you have the coat on, it is easy to look back and say, oh, those things fore­told this coat.’

  ‘What is the good of it, then?’ I de­man­ded in dis­gust.

  ‘The good of it?’ he echoed. ‘Ah. I have never quite thought of it in those terms be­fore. The good of it.’

  We walked for a time in si­lence. I could see what an ef­fort it was for him to keep to the pace, and wished vainly there had been a way to keep one of the horses and get it past the slide area.

  ‘Can you read weather signs, Fitz? Or an­imal tracks?’

  ‘Some, for weather. I am bet­ter at an­imal tracks.’

  ‘But in either one, are you al­ways sure you are right?’

  ‘Never. You don’t really know un­til the next day dawns, or you bring the beast to bay.’

  ‘So it is with my read­ing of the fu­ture. I never know … please, let us stop, even if for only a bit. I need to get my breath, and take a sip of wa­ter.’

  I ob­liged him re­luct­antly. There was a mossy boulder just off the road, and he seated him­self there. Not too far from the road were ever­greens of a type I did not know. It res­ted my eyes to look on trees again. I left the road to sit be­side him, and was in­stantly aware of a dif­fer­ence. As subtle as bees’ hum­ming was the work­ing of the road, but when it sud­denly ceased, I felt it. I yawned to pop my ears, and sud­denly felt more clear-headed.

  ‘Years ago I had a vis­ion,’ the Fool ob­served. He drank a bit more wa­ter, then passed the skin to me. ‘I saw a black buck rising from a bed of shin­ing black stone. When first I saw the black walls of Buck­keep rising over the wa­ters, I said to my­self, “Ah, that is what that meant!” Now I see a young bas­tard whose sigil is a buck walk­ing on a road wrought from black stone. Maybe that is what the dream sig­ni­fied. I don’t know. But my dream was duly re­cor­ded, and someday, in years to come, wise men will agree as to what it sig­ni­fied. Prob­ably after both you and I are long dead.’

  I asked a ques­tion that had long prickled me. ‘Kettle says there is a proph­ecy about my child … the child of the Cata­lyst …’

  ‘That there is,’ the Fool con­firmed calmly.

  ‘Then you think Molly and I are doomed to lose Nettle to the throne of the Six Duch­ies?’

  ‘Nettle. You know, I like her name. Very much, I do.’

  ‘You did not an­swer my ques­tion, Fool.’

  ‘Ask me again in twenty years. These things are so much easier when one looks back.’ The side­ways glance he gave me told me he would say no more on that topic. I tried a new tack.

  ‘So you came, all that way, so that the Six Duch­ies would not fall to the Red Ships.’

  He gave me an odd look, then grinned as if as­ton­ished. ‘Is that how you see it? That we do all this to save your Six Duch­ies?’ When I nod­ded, he shook his head. ‘Fitz, Fitz. I came to save the world. The Six Duch­ies fall­ing to the Red Ships is but the first pebble in the ava­lanche.’ He took an­other deep breath. ‘I know the Red Ships seem dis­as­ter enough to you, but the misery they make to your folk is no more than a pimple on the world’s but­tocks. Were that all, were it simply one set of bar­bar­i­ans seiz­ing land from an­other, it would be no more than the or­din­ary work­ing of the world. No. They are the first stain of poison spread­ing in a stream. Fitz, do I dare tell you this? If we fail, the spread is fast. For­ging takes root as a cus­tom, nay, as an amuse­ment for the high ones. Look at Regal and his “King’s Justice”. He has suc­cumbed to it already. He pleas­ures his body with drugs and deadens his soul with his sav­age amuse­ments. Aye, and spreads the dis­ease to those around him, un­til they take no sat­is­fac­tion in a con­test of skill that draws no blood, un­til games are only amus­ing if lives are wagered on the out­come. The very coin­age of life be­comes de­based. Slavery spreads, for if it is ac­cep­ted to take a man’s life for amuse­ment, then how much wiser to take it for profit?’

  His voice had grown in strength and pas­sion as he spoke. Now he caught his breath sud­denly and leaned for­ward over his knees. I set a hand on his shoulder, but he only shook his head. After a mo­ment, he straightened. ‘I de­clare, talk­ing to you is more weary­ing than hik­ing. Take me at my word, Fitz. As bad as the Red Ships are, they are am­a­teurs and ex­per­i­menters. I have seen vis­ions of what the world be­comes in the cycle when they prosper. I vow it shall not be this cycle.’

  He heaved him­self to his feet with a sigh and crooked out his arm. I took it and we re­sumed our walk­ing. He had given me much to think about, and I spoke little. I took ad­vant­age of the gent­ling coun­tryside to walk along­side the road rather than upon it. The Fool did not com­plain of the un­even ground.

  As the road plunged ever deeper into the val­ley, the day warmed and the fo­liage in­creased. By even­ing, the ter­rain had mel­lowed so much that we were able to pitch the tent, not only off the road, but quite a dis­tance from the road. Be­fore bed­time, I showed Kettle my solu­tion to her game, and she nod­ded as if well pleased. She im­me­di­ately began to set out a new puzzle. I stopped her.

  ‘I do not think I will need that to­night. I am look­ing for­ward to truly sleep­ing.’

  ‘Are you? Then you shouldn’t look for­ward to wak­ing up again.’

  I looked shocked.

  She re­sumed set­ting out her pieces. ‘You are one against three, and those three a co­terie,’ she ob­served more gently. ‘And pos­sibly those three are four. If Regal’s broth­ers could Skill, he most likely has some abil­ity. With the aid of the oth­ers, he could learn to lend his strength to them.’ She leaned closer to me and lowered her voice, al­though the oth­ers were all busy with camp chores. ‘You know it is pos­sible to kill with the Skill. Would he wish to do less than that to you?’

  ‘But if I sleep off the road –’ I began.

  ‘The force of the road is like the wind that blows alike on all. The ill wishes of a co­terie are like an ar­row that tar­gets only you. Be­sides. There is no way you can sleep and not worry about the wo­man and the child. And every time you think of them, it is pos­sible the co­terie sees them through your eyes. You must crowd them out of your mind.’

  I bent my head over the game­cloth.

  I awoke the next morn­ing to the pat­ter­ing of rain on the tent skins. I lay for a time listen­ing to it, grate­ful that it was not snow but dread­ing a day of walk­ing in rain. I sensed the oth­ers wak­ing up around me with a keen­ness I had not felt in days. I felt al­most as if I had res­ted. Across the tent, Starling ob­served sleepily, ‘We walked from winter to spring yes­ter­day.’

  Next to me the Fool shif­ted, scratched and muttered, ‘Typ­ical min­strel. Ex­ag­ger­ate everything.’

  ‘I see you are feel­ing bet­ter,’ Star
ling re­tor­ted.

  Nighteyes thrust his head into the tent, a bloody rab­bit dangling in his jaws. The hunt­ing is bet­ter, too.

  The Fool sat up in his blankets. ‘Is he of­fer­ing to share that?’

  My kill is your kill, little brother.

  Some­how it stung to hear him call the Fool ‘brother’. Es­pe­cially when you’ve already eaten two this morn­ing? I asked him sar­castic­ally.

  No one forced you to lie in bed all dawn.

  I was si­lent a mo­ment. I have not been much com­pan­ion to you lately, I apo­lo­gized.

  I un­der­stand. It is no longer just we two. Now we are pack.

  You are right, I told him humbly. But this even­ing, I in­tend to hunt with you.

  The Scent­less One may come too, if he wishes. He could be a good hunter, did he try, for his scent could never give him away.

  ‘He not only of­fers to share meat, he in­vites you to hunt with us this even­ing.’

  I had ex­pec­ted the Fool to de­cline. Even at Buck he had never shown any in­clin­a­tion to­ward hunt­ing. In­stead he in­clined his head gravely to­ward Nighteyes and told him, ‘I would be hon­oured.’

  We struck camp speedily and were soon on our way. As be­fore I walked be­side the road rather than upon it, and felt clearer-headed for it. The Fool had eaten vo­ra­ciously at break­fast and now seemed al­most his old self. He walked upon the road, but within hail­ing dis­tance and kept up a merry chat­ter­ing to me all day. Nighteyes ranged ahead and be­hind as al­ways, fre­quently at a gal­lop. All of us seemed in­fec­ted with the re­lief of warmer weather. The light rain soon gave way to a streaky sun­light, and the earth steamed fra­grantly. Only my con­stant ache over Molly’s safety and a nag­ging fear that at any time Will and his co­horts might at­tack my mind kept it from be­ing a lovely day. Kettle had warned me about let­ting my mind dwell on either prob­lem, lest I at­tract the co­terie’s at­ten­tion. So I car­ried my fear in­side me like a cold black stone, res­ol­utely telling my­self there was ab­so­lutely noth­ing I could do.