Assassin's Quest (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  ‘I do not think so,’ I said calmly, to cover my own doubt. ‘I still have plenty of pain left.’

  Kettle lif­ted her old face to the night. She drew a long breath in through her nose. ‘Dawn comes,’ she said, as if she had scen­ted it. ‘You must re­turn to the dragon. To Ver­ity’s dragon. And you two,’ her head swiv­elled to re­gard the Fool and Nighteyes, ‘you two should go up to that look-out point and see if Regal’s troops are in sight yet. Nighteyes, you let Fitz know what you see. Go on, both of you. And Fool. You leave Girl on a Dragon alone after this. You would have to give her your en­tire life. And even then, it might not be enough. That be­ing so, stop tor­tur­ing your­self. And her. Go on, now!’

  They went, but not without some back­ward looks. ‘Come on,’ Kettle ordered me tersely. She began to hobble back the way she had come. I fol­lowed, walk­ing as stiffly as she, through the black and sil­ver shad­ows of the blocks that littered the quarry. She looked every bit of her two hun­dred odd years. I felt even older. Aching body, joints that caught and creaked. I lif­ted my hand and scratched my ear. Then I snatched it down, chag­rined. Ver­ity would have a sil­ver ear now. Already the skin of it burned, and it seemed the dis­tant night in­sects chirred more loudly now.

  ‘I am sorry, by the way. About your Molly girl and all. I did try to tell you.’

  Kettle did not sound sorry. But I un­der­stood that now. Al­most all of her feel­ings were in the dragon. She spoke of what she knew she would have felt, once. She still had pain for me, but she no longer re­called any pain of her own to com­pare it with. I only asked, quietly, ‘Is there noth­ing private any more?’

  ‘Only the things we keep from ourselves,’ she replied sadly. She looked over at me. ‘It is a good thing you do this night. A kind thing.’ Her lips star­ted to smile but her eyes teared. ‘To give him one last night of youth and pas­sion.’ She stud­ied me, the set look on my face. ‘I shall say no more of it, then.’

  I walked the rest of the way be­side her in si­lence.

  I sat by the warm em­bers of last night’s fire and watched the dawn come. The shrill­ing of night in­sects changed gradu­ally to the morn­ing chal­lenges of dis­tant birds. I could hear them very well now. It was strange, I thought, to sit and wait for my­self. Kettle said noth­ing. She breathed deep of the chan­ging scent of the air as night turned to dawn and watched the light­en­ing of the sky with avid eyes. Stor­ing it all up to put into the dragon.

  I heard the grate of boot against stone and looked up. I watched my­self com­ing. My stride was con­fid­ent and brisk, my head up. My face was freshly washed, my wet hair slicked back from my brow into a war­rior’s tail. Ver­ity wore my body well.

  Our eyes met in the early light. I saw my eyes nar­row as Ver­ity ap­praised his own body. I stood up and without think­ing, began to brush my clothes off. Then I real­ized what I was do­ing. This was not a shirt I had bor­rowed. My laugh boomed out, louder than I used it. Ver­ity shook my head at me.

  ‘Leave it, boy. There’s no mak­ing it bet­ter. And I’m al­most fin­ished with it any­way.’ He slapped my chest with the palm of my hand. ‘Once I had a body like this,’ he told me, as if I hadn’t known. ‘I had for­got­ten so much of how that felt. So much.’ The smile faded from his face as he re­garded me peer­ing at him from his own eyes. ‘Take care of it, Fitz. You only get one. To keep, any­way.’

  A wave of gid­di­ness. Black closed from the edges of my vis­ion, and I fol­ded up my knees and sank down to keep from fall­ing.

  ‘Sorry,’ Ver­ity said quietly, and it was in his own voice.

  I looked up to find him look­ing down on me. I stared up at him mutely. I could smell Kettricken’s scent on my skin. My body was very tired. I knew a mo­ment of total out­rage. Then it cres­ted and fell away as if the emo­tion were too much ef­fort. Ver­ity’s eyes met mine and ac­cep­ted all I felt.

  ‘I will neither apo­lo­gize to you nor thank you. Neither would be ad­equate.’ He shook his head to him­self. ‘And in truth, how could I say I am sorry? I am not.’ He looked away from me, out over my head. ‘My dragon will rise. My queen will bear a child. I will drive the Red Ships from our shore.’ He took a deep breath. ‘No. I am not sorry for our bar­gain.’ His eyes came back to me. ‘FitzChiv­alry. Are you sorry?’

  Slowly I stood up. ‘I don’t know.’ I tried to de­cide. ‘The roots of it go too deep,’ I said at last. ‘Where would I start to undo my past? How far back would I have to reach, how much would I have to change in or­der to change this, or to say I was not sorry now?’

  The road is empty be­low us. Nighteyes spoke in my mind.

  I know. Kettle knows, too. She but looked for some­thing to busy the Fool and sent you along to keep him safe. You can come back now.

  Oh. Are you all right?

  ‘FitzChiv­alry. Are you all right?’ There was con­cern in Ver­ity’s voice. But it could not com­pletely mask the tri­umph there as well.

  ‘Of course not,’ I told them both. ‘Of course not.’ I walked away from the dragon.

  Be­hind me, I heard Kettle ask eagerly, ‘Are we ready to quicken him?’

  Ver­ity’s soft voice car­ried to my ears. ‘No. Not just yet. For a little while longer, I would have these memor­ies to my­self. For a short time more, I would re­main a man.’

  As I passed through the camp, Kettricken emerged from her tent. She wore the same travel-wear­ied tu­nic and leg­gings she had the day be­fore. Her hair was caught back from her face in a short, thick braid. There were still lines in her brow and at the corners of her mouth. But her face had the warm lu­min­es­cence of the finest pearls. Re­newed faith shone in her. She took a deep breath of the morn­ing air and smiled at me ra­di­antly.

  I hur­ried past her.

  The stream wa­ter was very cold. Coarse hor­se­tail grasses grew along one bank. I used hand­fuls of them to scrub my­self. My wet clothes were draped on the bushes on the other side of the stream. The heat of the day prom­ised they would soon be dry. Nighteyes sat on the bank and watched me with a pucker between his eyes.

  I do not un­der­stand. You do not smell bad.

  Nighteyes. Go hunt­ing. Please.

  You wish to be alone?

  As much as that is pos­sible any more.

  He stood up and stretched, curt­sey­ing low to me as he did so. Someday, it will be only you and I. We shall hunt and eat and sleep. And you will heal.

  May we both live to see that, I agreed whole­heartedly.

  The wolf slipped off through the trees. Ex­per­i­ment­ally, I scrubbed at the Fool’s fin­ger­prints on my wrist. They did not come off, but I learned a great deal about the life cycle of a hor­se­tail fern. I gave it up. I de­cided I could take my en­tire skin off and still not feel free of what had happened. I waded out of the stream, dash­ing the wa­ter off my­self as I went. My cloth­ing was dry enough to put back on. I sat down on the bank to put my boots on. I nearly thought of Molly and Burrich but I quickly pushed the im­age away. In­stead I wondered how soon Regal’s sol­diers would ar­rive and if Ver­ity would have his dragon fin­ished be­fore then. Per­haps it was even now fin­ished. I should want to see it.

  I wanted more to be alone.

  I lay back on the grass and looked up into the blue sky over­head. I tried to feel some­thing. Dread, ex­cite­ment, an­ger. Hate. Love. In­stead I felt only con­fused. And tired. Weary of flesh and spirit. I closed my eyes against the bright­ness of the sky.

  The harp notes walked along­side the sounds of the stream flow­ing. They blen­ded with it, then danced apart. I opened my eyes to it and squin­ted at Starling. She sat on the stream bank be­side me and played. Her hair was down, dry­ing in ripples down her back in the sun. She had a stem of green grass in her mouth and her bare feet nestled against the soft grass. She met my eyes but said noth­ing. I watched her hands play on the strings. Her left hand worked harder, com­pens­at­ing for the stiff­ness in the
last two fin­gers. I should have felt some­thing about that. I didn’t know what.

  ‘What good are feel­ings?’ I didn’t know I had the ques­tion un­til I spoke it aloud.

  Her fin­gers poised over the strings. She fur­rowed her brow at me. ‘I don’t think there’s an an­swer to that ques­tion.’

  ‘I’m not find­ing an­swers to much of any­thing lately. Why aren’t you back in the quarry, watch­ing them com­plete the dragon? Surely that is the stuff for a song to spring from.’

  ‘Be­cause I am here with you,’ she said simply. Then she grinned. ‘And be­cause every­one else seems busy. Kettle sleeps. Kettricken and Ver­ity … she was comb­ing his hair when I left. I do not think I had seen King Ver­ity smile be­fore. When he does, he looks a great deal like you, about the eyes. Any­way. I do not think they will miss me.’

  ‘And the Fool?’

  She shook her head. ‘He chips at the stone around Girl on a Dragon. I know he should not, but I do not think he can stop. Nor do I know any way to force him.’

  ‘I don’t think he can help her. But I don’t think he can res­ist try­ing. For all his quick tongue, he has a soft nature.’

  ‘I know that. Now. In some ways I’ve come to know him very well. In oth­ers, he will al­ways be un­know­able to me.’

  I nod­ded si­lently to that. The si­lence las­ted a time. Then, subtly, it be­came a dif­fer­ent kind of si­lence. ‘Ac­tu­ally,’ Starling said un­com­fort­ably. ‘The Fool sug­ges­ted I should find you.’

  I groaned. I wondered just how much he had told her.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about Molly …’ she began.

  ‘But not sur­prised,’ I filled in for her. I lif­ted my arm and put it across my eyes to block the sun­light.

  ‘No.’ She spoke quietly. ‘Not sur­prised.’ She cast about for some­thing to say. ‘At least you know she is safe and cared for,’ she offered.

  I knew that. It shamed me that I could find so little com­fort in it. Put­ting it into the dragon had helped in the same way that cut­ting off an in­fec­ted limb helped. Be­ing rid of it was not the same as be­ing healed of it. The empty place in­side me itched. Per­haps I wanted to hurt. I watched her from the shade of my arm.

  ‘Fitz,’ she said quietly. ‘I asked you once, for your­self. In gen­tle­ness and friend­ship. To chase a memory away.’ She looked away from me, at the sun­light glint­ing on the stream. ‘Now I of­fer that,’ she said humbly.

  ‘But I don’t love you,’ I said hon­es­tly. And in­stantly knew that it was the worst thing I could have said just then.

  Starling sighed and set her harp aside. ‘I know that. You know that. But it was not a thing that had to be said just now.’

  ‘And I know that. Now. It is just that I don’t want any lies, spoken or un­spoken …’

  She leaned over me and stopped my mouth with hers. After a time she lif­ted her face a little. ‘I am a min­strel. I know more about ly­ing than you will ever dis­cover. And min­strels know that some­times lies are what a man needs most. In or­der to make a new truth of them.’

  ‘Starling,’ I began.

  ‘You know you will just say the wrong thing,’ she told me. ‘So why don’t you be quiet for a time? Don’t make this com­plic­ated. Stop think­ing, just for a while.’

  Ac­tu­ally, it was quite a while.

  When I awoke, she still lay warm against my side. Nighteyes stood over us, look­ing down at me, pant­ing with the heat of the day. When I opened my eyes, he fol­ded his ears back and gave his tail a slow wag. A drop of warm saliva fell on my arm.

  ‘Go away.’

  The oth­ers are call­ing you. And look­ing for you. He cocked his head at me and offered, I could show Kettricken where to find you.

  I sat up and squashed three mos­qui­toes on my chest. They left bloody smears. I reached for my shirt. Is some­thing wrong?

  No. They are ready to wake the dragon. Ver­ity wishes to tell you good­bye.

  I shook Starling gently. ‘Wake up. Or you will miss Ver­ity wak­ing the dragon.’

  She stirred lazily. ‘For that, I shall get up. I can think of noth­ing else that would stir me. Be­sides, it may be my last chance at a song. Fate has ruled that I al­ways be else­where whenever you do some­thing in­ter­est­ing.’

  I had to smile at that. ‘So. You will make no songs about Chiv­alry’s Bas­tard after all?’ I teased her.

  ‘One, per­haps. A love song.’ She gave me a last secret smile. ‘That part, at least, was in­ter­est­ing.’

  I stood up and drew her to her feet. I kissed her. Nighteyes whined his im­pa­tience, and she turned quickly in my arms. Nighteyes stretched and bowed low to her. When she turned back to me, her eyes were wide.

  ‘I warned you,’ I told her.

  She only laughed and stooped to gather up our clothes.

  THIRTY-NINE

  Ver­ity’s Dragon

  Six Duch­ies troops poured into Blue Lake and took ship for the farther side and the Moun­tain King­dom on the very days that the Red Ships were beat­ing their way up the Vin River to Trade­ford. Trade­ford had never been a for­ti­fied city. Al­though word of the ships’ com­ing pre­ceded them by fast mes­sen­ger, the news was greeted with gen­eral dis­dain. What men­ace were twelve ships of bar­bar­i­ans to such a great city as Trade­ford? The city guard was aler­ted, and some of the dock­side mer­chants took steps to re­move their goods from ware­houses close to the wa­ter, but the gen­eral at­ti­tude was that if they did man­age to get as far up the river as Trade­ford, arch­ers would eas­ily pick off the Raid­ers be­fore they could do any real dam­age. The gen­eral con­sensus was that the ships must be bring­ing some of­fer of treaty to the King of the Six Duch­ies. There was much dis­cus­sion as to how much of the Coastal Duch­ies they would ask ceded to them, and the pos­sible value of re­open­ing trade with the Out Is­lands them­selves, not to men­tion restor­ing the trade flow down the Buck River.

  This is but one more ex­ample of the er­rors that can be made when one thinks one knows what the en­emy de­sires, and acts upon it. The folk of Trade­ford ascribed to the Red Ships the same de­sire for prosper­ity and plenty that they them­selves felt. To base their es­tim­a­tion of the Red Ships on that motive was a griev­ous mis­take.

  I don’t think Kettricken had ac­cep­ted the idea that Ver­ity must die for the dragon to quicken un­til the ac­tual mo­ment he kissed her good­bye. He kissed her so care­fully, his hands and arms held wide of her, his head cocked so that no sil­ver smear would touch her face. For all that, it was a tender kiss, a hungry and linger­ing one. A mo­ment longer she clung to him. Then he said some­thing softly to her. She im­me­di­ately put her hands to her lower belly. ‘How can you be so sure?’ she asked him, even as the tears began to course down her cheeks.

  ‘I know,’ he said firmly. ‘And so my first task must be to re­turn you to Jhaampe. You must be kept safe this time.’

  ‘My place is in Buck­keep Castle,’ she pro­tested.

  I had thought he would ar­gue. But, ‘You are right. It is. And thither I shall bear you. Farewell, my love.’

  Kettricken did not reply. She stood watch­ing him walk away from her, an in­tense look of in­com­pre­hen­sion on her face.

  For all the days we had spent striv­ing for this very thing, at the end it seemed rushed and un­tidy. Kettle paced stiffly by the dragon. She had bid us all farewell with a dis­trac­ted air. Now she hovered be­side the dragon, breath­ing as if she had just run a race. At every mo­ment, she was touch­ing the dragon, a fin­ger­tip caress, a drag­ging hand. Col­our rippled in the wake of her touch and lingered, fad­ing slowly.

  Ver­ity took more care with his good­byes. To Starling, he ad­mon­ished, ‘Care for my lady. Sing your songs well and true, and let no man ever doubt the child she car­ries is mine. With that truth I charge you, min­strel.’

  ‘I shall do my best, my king,’ Starli
ng replied gravely. She went to stand be­side Kettricken. She was to ac­com­pany the queen on the dragon’s broad back. She kept wip­ing her damp palms down the front of her tu­nic and check­ing to make sure the pack that car­ried her harp was se­cure to her back. She gave me a nervous smile. Neither of us needed more farewell than that.

  There had been some furore about my de­cision to stay. ‘Regal’s troops draw nearer with every passing mo­ment,’ Ver­ity re­minded me yet again.

  ‘Then you should hurry, so I will not be in this quarry when they ar­rive,’ I re­minded him.

  He frowned at that. ‘If I see any of Regal’s troops upon the road, I shall see they do not get this far,’ he offered me.

  ‘Take no risks with my queen,’ I re­minded him.

  Nighteyes was my ex­cuse to stay. He had no wish to ride upon a dragon. I would not leave him. I am sure Ver­ity knew the real reas­ons. I did not think I should re­turn to Buck. I had already made Starling prom­ise me that there would be no men­tion of me in song. It had not been an easy prom­ise to wring from a min­strel. But I had in­sis­ted. I never wanted either Burrich or Molly to know that I yet lived. ‘In this, dear friend, you have been Sac­ri­fice,’ Kettricken had told me quietly. She could of­fer me no greater com­pli­ment. I knew no word of me would ever pass her lips.

  The Fool was the one who was be­ing dif­fi­cult. All of us urged him to go with the Queen and the min­strel. He con­sist­ently re­fused. ‘The White Prophet will stay with the Cata­lyst,’ was all he would say. I privately be­lieved it was more a case of the Fool stay­ing with Girl on a Dragon. He had be­come ob­sessed with her and it frightened me. He would have to leave her be­fore Regal’s troops ar­rived at the quarry. I had privately told him that, and he had nod­ded eas­ily, but with a dis­trac­ted look. I doubted not that he had plans of his own. We had run out of time to ar­gue with him.

  There came a time when there was no reason left for Ver­ity to linger. We had said little to one an­other, but I felt there was little we could say. Everything that had happened now seemed in­ev­it­able to me. It was as the Fool said. Look­ing back, I could see where his proph­ecies had long ago swept us into this chan­nel. No one could be blamed. No one could be blame­less.