Assassin's Quest (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  ‘No. Never say that. Never.’ I feared to touch her, but she turned sud­denly and bur­rowed her face against me. I put an arm around her and found her trem­bling. I felt com­pelled to con­fess my stu­pid­ity. ‘I did not un­der­stand. When you said Burl’s sol­diers had raped some of the wo­men … I did not know you had suffered that.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her voice was very small. ‘I had thought you deemed it un­im­port­ant. I have heard it said in Far­row that rape both­ers only vir­gins and wives. I thought per­haps you felt that to one such as I, it was no more than my due.’

  ‘Starling!’ I felt an ir­ra­tional flash of an­ger that she could have be­lieved me so heart­less. Then I thought back. I had seen the bruises on her face. Why had not I guessed? I had never even spoken to her of how Burl had broken her fin­gers. I had as­sumed she had known how that had sickened me, that she knew it was Burl’s threat of greater dam­age to her that had kept me leashed. I had thought that she with­drew friend­ship from me be­cause of my wolf. What had she be­lieved of my dis­tance?

  ‘I have brought much pain into your life,’ I con­fessed. ‘Do not think I do not know the value of a min­strel’s hands. Or that I dis­count the vi­ol­a­tion of your body. If you wish to speak of it, I am ready to listen. Some­times, talk­ing helps.’

  ‘Some­times it does not,’ she countered. Her grip on me sud­denly tightened. ‘The day you stood be­fore us all, and spoke in de­tail of what Regal had done to you. I bled for you that day. It did not undo any­thing that was done to you. No. I do not want to talk about it, or think about it.’

  I lif­ted her hand and softly kissed the fin­gers that had been broken on my ac­count. ‘I do not con­fuse what was done to you with who you are,’ I offered. ‘When I look at you, I see Starling Bird­song the min­strel.’

  She nod­ded her face against me, and I knew it was as I sur­mised. She and I shared that fear. We would not live as vic­tims.

  I said no more than that, but only sat there. It came to me again that even if we found Ver­ity, even if by some mir­acle his re­turn would shift the tides of war and make us vic­tors, for some the vic­tory would come far too late. Mine had been a long and weary road, but I still dared to be­lieve that at the end of it there might be a life of my own choos­ing. Starling had not even that. No mat­ter how far in­land she might flee, she would never es­cape the war. I held her closer and felt her pain bleed over into me. After a time, her trem­bling stilled.

  ‘It’s full dark,’ I said at last. ‘We had best go back to the camp.’

  She sighed, but she straightened up. She took my hand. I star­ted to lead her back to camp, but she tugged back on my hand. ‘Be with me,’ she said simply. ‘Just for here and just for now. With gen­tle­ness and friend­ship. To take the … other away. Give me that much of your­self.’

  I wanted her. I wanted her with a des­per­a­tion that had noth­ing to do with love, and even, I be­lieve, little to do with lust. She was warm and alive and it would have been sweet and simple hu­man com­fort. If I could have been with her, and some­how arisen from it un­changed in how I thought of my­self and what I felt for Molly, I would have done so. But what I felt for Molly was not some­thing that was only for when we were to­gether. I had given Molly that claim to me; I could not res­cind it simply be­cause we were apart for a time. I did not think there were words that could make Starling un­der­stand that in choos­ing Molly I was not re­ject­ing her. So in­stead I said, ‘Nighteyes comes. He has a rab­bit.’

  Starling stepped close to me. She ran a hand up my chest to the side of my neck. Her fin­gers traced the line of my jaw and caressed my mouth. ‘Send him away,’ she said quietly.

  ‘I could not send him far enough that he would not know everything of what we shared,’ I told her truth­fully.

  Her hand on my face was sud­denly still. ‘Everything?’ she asked. Her voice was full of dis­may.

  Everything. He came and sat down be­side us. An­other rab­bit dangled in his jaws.

  ‘We are Wit-bon­ded. We share everything.’

  She took her hand from my face and stood clear of me. She stared down at the dark shape of the wolf. ‘Then all I just told you …’

  ‘He un­der­stands it in his own way. Not as an­other hu­man would, but …’

  ‘How did Molly feel about that?’ she ab­ruptly de­man­ded.

  I took a sharp breath. I had not ex­pec­ted our con­ver­sa­tion to take this turn. ‘She never knew,’ I told her. Nighteyes star­ted back to the camp. I fol­lowed him more slowly. Be­hind me came Starling.

  ‘And when she does know?’ Starling pressed. ‘She will just ac­cept this … shar­ing?’

  ‘Prob­ably not,’ I muttered un­will­ingly. Why did Starling al­ways make me think of things I had avoided con­sid­er­ing?

  ‘What if she forces you to choose between her and the wolf?’

  I hal­ted in my tracks for an in­stant. Than I star­ted walk­ing again, a bit faster. The ques­tion hung around me, but I re­fused to think about it. It could not be, it could never come to that. Yet a voice whispered in­side me, ‘If you tell Molly the truth, it will come to that. It must.’

  ‘You are go­ing to tell her, aren’t you?’ Starling re­lent­lessly asked me the one ques­tion I was hid­ing from.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said grimly.

  ‘Oh,’ she said. Then after a time, she ad­ded, ‘When a man says that, it usu­ally means, “No, I won’t, but from time to time, I’ll toy with the idea, so I can pre­tend I even­tu­ally in­tend to do it.”’

  ‘Would you please shut up?’ There was no strength in my words.

  Starling fol­lowed me si­lently. After a time, she ob­served, ‘I don’t know who to pity. You, or her.’

  ‘Both of us, per­haps,’ I sug­ges­ted stonily. I wanted no more words about it.

  The Fool was on watch when we got back to camp. Kettle and Kettricken were asleep. ‘Good hunt­ing?’ he asked in a com­radely way as we ap­proached.

  I shrugged. Nighteyes was already gnaw­ing his way through the rab­bit he had car­ried. He sprawled con­ten­tedly by the Fool’s feet. ‘Good enough.’ I held up the hare. The Fool took it from me and cas­u­ally hung it from the tent pole.

  ‘Break­fast,’ he told me calmly. His eyes dar­ted to Starling’s face, but if he could tell she had been weep­ing, he made no jest of it. I don’t know what he read in my face, for he made no com­ment on it. She fol­lowed me into the tent. I pulled off my boots and sank grate­fully into my bed­ding. When I felt her settle her­self against my back a few mo­ments later, I was not very sur­prised. I de­cided it meant she had for­given me. It did not make it easy to fall asleep.

  But even­tu­ally I did. I had set up my walls, but some­how I man­aged a dream of my very own. I dreamed that I sat by Molly’s bed and watched over her as she and Nettle slept. The wolf was at my feet, while in the chim­ney corner the Fool sat on a stool and nod­ded to him­self, well pleased. Kettle’s game­cloth was spread on the table, but in­stead of stones, it had tiny statues of dif­fer­ent dragons in white and black. The red stones were ships, and it was my move. I had the piece in my hand that could win the game, but I only wished to watch Molly sleep. It was al­most a peace­ful dream.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Elf­bark

  There are a num­ber of old ‘White Proph­ecies’ that re­late to the be­trayal of the Cata­lyst. White Colum says of this event, ‘By his love is he be­trayed, and his love be­trayed also.’ A lesser-known scribe and prophet, Gant the White, goes into more de­tail. ‘The heart of the Cata­lyst is bared to a trus­ted one. All con­fid­ence is given, and all con­fid­ence be­trayed. The child of the Cata­lyst is given into his en­emies’ hands by one whose love and loy­alty are above ques­tion.’ The other proph­ecies are more ob­lique, but in each case the in­fer­ence is that the Cata­lyst is be­trayed by one who has his im­pli­cit trust.

  Early the
next morn­ing, as we ate toasted bits of rab­bit meat, Kettricken and I con­sul­ted her map again. We scarcely needed it any more, we both knew it so well. But it was a thing to set between us and point at as we dis­cussed things. Kettricken traced a fad­ing line on the battered scroll. ‘We shall have to re­turn to the column in the stone circle, and then fol­low the Skill road for some little way bey­ond it. Right up to our fi­nal des­tin­a­tion, I be­lieve.’

  ‘I have no great wish to walk upon that road again,’ I told her hon­es­tly. ‘Even walk­ing be­side it strains me. But I sup­pose there is no help for it.’

  ‘None that I can see.’

  She was too pre­oc­cu­pied to of­fer much sym­pathy. I looked at the wo­man. The once gleam­ing blonde hair was a short scruffy braid. Cold and wind had weathered her face, chap­ping her lips and etch­ing fine lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth, to say noth­ing of the deeper worry lines in her brow and between her eyes. Her cloth­ing was travel-stained and worn. The Queen of the Six Duch­ies could not even have passed muster as a cham­ber­maid in Trade­ford. I sud­denly wanted to reach out to her. I could think of no way to do so. So I simply said, ‘We will get there, and we will find Ver­ity.’

  She lif­ted her eyes to meet mine. She tried to put faith into her gaze and voice as she said, ‘Yes, we will.’ I heard only cour­age.

  We had torn down and moved our camp so of­ten, it no longer took any thought. We moved as a unit, al­most as a single creature. Like a co­terie, I thought to my­self.

  Like a pack, Nighteyes cor­rec­ted me. He came to push his head against my hand. I paused and scratched his ears and throat thor­oughly. He closed his eyes and laid back his ears in pleas­ure. If your mate makes you send me away, I shall miss this greatly.

  I won’t let that hap­pen.

  You be­lieve she will make you choose.

  I re­fuse to think about it just now.

  Ah! He fell over on his side then rolled to his back so I could scratch his belly. He bared his teeth in a wolfish smile. You live in the now and re­fuse to think of what may come. But I, I find I can think of little else save what may come to be. These times have been good for me, my brother. Liv­ing with oth­ers, hunt­ing to­gether, shar­ing meat. But the howl­ing bitch had it aright last night. Cubs are needed to make a pack. And your cub…

  I can­not think of that just now. I must think only of what I must do today to sur­vive, and all I must do be­fore I can hope to go home.

  ‘Fitz? Are you all right?’

  It was Starling, com­ing to take me by the el­bow and give me a small shake. I looked at her, wakened from my be­muse­ment. The howl­ing bitch. I tried not to grin. ‘I’m fine. I was with Nighteyes.’

  ‘Oh.’ She glanced down at the wolf, and I saw her struggle again to grasp just what we shared. Then she shrugged it off. ‘Ready to leave?’

  ‘If every­one else is.’

  ‘They seem to be.’

  She went to help Kettricken load the fi­nal jeppa. I glanced about for the Fool, and saw him sit­ting si­lently on top of his pack. His hand res­ted lightly upon one of the stone dragons and he had a faraway look on his face. I walked up softly be­hind him. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked quietly.

  He did not jump. He never startled. He just turned his pale gaze up to meet mine. The look on his face was a lost yearn­ing with none of his usual sharp wit to it. ‘Fitz. Have you ever felt you re­called some­thing, but when you groped after it, there was noth­ing there?’

  ‘Some­times,’ I said. ‘I think it hap­pens to every­one.’

  ‘No. This is dif­fer­ent,’ he in­sis­ted quietly. ‘Since I stood on that stone the day be­fore yes­ter­day, and sud­denly glimpsed the old world that was here … I keep hav­ing odd half-memor­ies. Like him.’ He stroked the dragon’s head gently, a lover’s caress to the wedge-shaped rep­tilian head. ‘I can al­most re­mem­ber know­ing him.’ He sud­denly fixed me with a plead­ing look. ‘What did you see, back then?’

  I gave a small shrug. ‘It was like a mar­ket plaza, with shops around it, and folk ply­ing their trades. A busy day.’

  ‘Did you see me?’ he asked very quietly.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ I sud­denly felt very un­easy, speak­ing about it. ‘Where you were, there was someone else. She was like you, in a way. No col­our to her, and be­hav­ing, I think, as a jester. You spoke of her crown, carved like rooster heads and tails.’

  ‘Did I? Fitz, I can re­call little of what I said im­me­di­ately af­ter­ward. I only re­call the feel­ing, and how swiftly it faded. Briefly, I was con­nec­ted to everything. Part of it all. It was won­der­ful, like feel­ing a surge of love or glimpsing some­thing per­fectly beau­ti­ful or …’ He struggled for words.

  ‘The Skill is like that,’ I told him softly. ‘What you felt is the pull of it. It is what a Skill-user must con­stantly res­ist, lest he be swept away on it.’

  ‘So that was Skilling,’ he ob­served to him­self.

  ‘When you first came out of it, you were ec­static. You said some­thing about some­body’s dragon that you were to in­tro­duce. It made small sense. Let me think. Realder’s dragon. And he had prom­ised to fly you.’

  ‘Ah. My dream last night. Realder. That was your name.’ He caressed the statue’s head as he spoke. When he did so, the oddest thing happened. My Wit-sense of the statue surged and Nighteyes came spring­ing to my side, every hackle on his back stand­ing erect. I know the hair on the back of my neck stood up as well, and I re­coiled, ex­pect­ing the statue sud­denly to stir to life. The Fool shot us a puzzled glance. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The statues seem alive to us. To both Nighteyes and me. And when you spoke that name, it al­most seemed to stir.’

  ‘Realder,’ the Fool re­peated ex­per­i­ment­ally. I caught my breath as he said it, but felt no re­sponse. He glanced at me and I shook my head. ‘Just stone, Fitz. Cold and beau­ti­ful stone. I think per­haps your nerves are fray­ing.’ He took my arm com­pan­ion­ably and we walked away from the statues and back to the faded trail. The oth­ers were already out of sight, save for Kettle. She stood lean­ing on her stick and glar­ing back at us. In­stinct­ively I quickened my pace. When we got to the place where she waited, she took my other arm, and then im­per­i­ously waved at the Fool to pre­cede us. We fol­lowed him, but at a slower pace. When he was a sub­stan­tial dis­tance ahead of us, she squeezed my arm in a grip of steel and de­man­ded, ‘Well?’

  For an in­stant I looked at her blankly. Then, ‘I haven’t worked it out yet,’ I apo­lo­gized to her.

  ‘That much is plain,’ she told me severely. She sucked on her teeth for a mo­ment, frowned at me, nearly spoke, and then shook her head briskly at her­self. She did not let go of my arm.

  For much of the rest of the day, as I walked si­lently by her side, I pondered the game puzzle.

  I do not think there is any­thing quite so te­di­ous as re­tra­cing one’s steps when one is des­per­ate to get some­where. Now that we were no longer fol­low­ing an an­cient road near in­vis­ible in over­growth, we fol­lowed our own trampled way back through the marshy forest and up into the hills, and made bet­ter speed leav­ing than we had in get­ting there. With the shift­ing of the sea­sons, the day­light was linger­ing longer, and Kettricken pushed our march to the edge of dusk. Thus it was that we found ourselves only one hill away from the plaza of black stone when we made our camp that night. I think it was for my sake that Kettricken chose to camp on the an­cient road for an­other night. I had no de­sire to sleep any closer to that cross­roads than I must.

  Shall we hunt? Nighteyes de­man­ded as soon as our shel­ter was set.

  ‘I’m go­ing hunt­ing,’ I an­nounced to the oth­ers. Kettle glanced up dis­ap­prov­ingly.

  ‘Stay well away from the Skill road,’ she warned me.

  The Fool sur­prised me by com­ing to his feet. ‘I shall go with them. If the wolf doesn’t mind.�
�

  The Scent­less One is wel­come.

  ‘You are wel­come to go with us. But are you sure you feel that strong?’

  ‘If I get tired, I can come back,’ the Fool poin­ted out.

  As we strode off into the deep­en­ing dusk, Kettricken was por­ing over her map and Kettle was on watch. ‘Don’t be long, or I shall come and find you,’ she warned me as I left. ‘And stay away from the Skill road,’ she re­peated.

  Some­where above the trees, a full moon sailed. Light from her crept and snaked down in sil­very spills through the newly leafed branches to il­lu­min­ate our way. For a time we simply trav­elled to­gether through the pleas­antly open woods. The wolf’s senses sup­ple­men­ted mine. The night was alive with the smells of grow­ing things and the calls of tiny frogs and night in­sects. The night air had a crisper bite to it than the day did. We found a game trail and fol­lowed it. The Fool kept pace with us, say­ing not a word. I breathed in deeply and then sighed it out. Des­pite everything else, I heard my­self say, This is good.

  Yes. It is. I shall miss it.

  I knew he was think­ing of what Starling had said the night be­fore. Let us not think of to­mor­rows that may never come. Let us just hunt, I sug­ges­ted, and we did. The Fool and I kept to the trail and the wolf veered off through the woods, to spook game back to­ward us. We moved with the forest, slid­ing near noise­lessly through the night, every sense alert. I came across a por­cu­pine trundling along through the night, but I did not feel like club­bing it to death, let alone gingerly skin­ning it be­fore we could eat. I wanted simple meat to­night. With great dif­fi­culty, I per­suaded Nighteyes to seek other prey with me. If we do not find any­thing else, we can al­ways come back for it. They are not ex­actly swift of foot, I poin­ted out to him.