by Robin Hobb
Time passed slowly in that unchanging place. I was not given food nor water unless I asked for them, and sometimes not then, so meals were no measure of the day. Awake, I was a prisoner of my thoughts and worries. Once I tried to Skill to Verity, but the effort brought on a darkening of my vision and a long period of pounding headache. I had not the strength for a second effort. Hunger became a constant, as unrelenting as the cold of the cell. I heard the guards twice turn Patience away, heard them refuse to give me the food and bandages she had brought. I did not call to her. I wanted her to give up, to disassociate herself from me. My only respite came when I slept and dream-hunted with Nighteyes. I tried to use his senses to explore what went on at Buckkeep, but he attached only a wolf’s importance to things, and when I was with him, I shared his values. Time was not divided by days and nights, but from kill to kill. The meat I devoured with him could not sustain my human body, and yet there was satisfaction in the gorging. With his senses I found the weather changing, and awoke one morning knowing that a clear winter day had dawned. Raider weather. The Coastal dukes could not linger much longer in Buckkeep, if they had lingered at all.
As if to bear me out, there were voices at the guard station and the rasp of boots against the stone floor. I heard Regal’s voice, strained with anger, and the guard’s conciliatory greeting, and then they came down the corridor. For the first time since I had awakened there, I heard a key in the lock of my cell, and the door was swung open. I sat up slowly. Three dukes and a traitor prince peered in at me. I managed to come to my feet. Behind my lords stood a row of soldiers armed with pikes, as if ready to hold a maddened beast at bay. A guard with a drawn sword stood beside the open door, between Regal and me. He did not underestimate my hatred.
‘You see him,’ Regal declared flatly. ‘He is alive and well. I have not done away with him. But know also that I have the right to. He killed a man, my servant, right in my hall. And a woman upstairs in her chamber. I have a right to his life, for those crimes alone.’
‘King-in-Waiting Regal. You charge FitzChivalry with killing King Shrewd using the Wit,’ Brawndy stated. With ponderous logic he added, ‘I have never heard of such a thing being possible. But if this is so, then the Council has first right to his life, for he would have killed the King first. It would take a convening of the Council, to decide his guilt or innocence, and to set his sentence.’
Regal sighed in exasperation. ‘Then I will convene the Council. Let us get it done and have it over with. It is ridiculous to delay my coronation for a murderer’s execution.’
‘My lord, a king’s death is never ridiculous,’ Duke Shemshy of Shoaks pointed out quietly. ‘And we will have done with one king before we have another, Regal, King-in-Waiting.’
‘My father is dead and buried. How much more done with him can you be?’ Regal was becoming reckless. There was nothing of grief or respect in his retort.
‘We will know how he died, and at whose hand,’ Brawndy of Bearns told him. ‘Your man Wallace said FitzChivalry killed the King. You, King-in-Waiting Regal, agreed, saying he used the Wit to do it. Many of us believe that FitzChivalry was singularly devoted to his king and would not do such a thing. And FitzChivalry said the Skill users did.’ For the first time, Duke Brawndy looked directly at me. I met his eyes and spoke to him as if we were alone.
‘Justin and Serene killed him,’ I said quietly. ‘By treachery, they killed my king.’
‘Silence!’ Regal bawled. He lifted his hand as if to strike me. I did not flinch.
‘And so I killed them,’ I continued, looking only at Brawndy. ‘With the King’s knife. Why else would I have chosen such a weapon?’
‘Crazy men do strange things.’ This from Duke Kelvar of Rippon, while Regal strangled, livid with fury. I met Kelvar’s eyes calmly. Last time I had spoken with him had been at his own table, at Neatbay.
‘I am not crazy,’ I asserted quietly. ‘I was no more crazy that night than I was the night I wielded an axe outside the walls of Bayguard.’
‘That may be so,’ Kelvar affirmed thoughtfully. ‘It is common talk that he goes berserk when he fights.’
A glint came into Regal’s eyes. ‘It is common talk, too, that he has been seen with blood on his mouth after he has fought. That he becomes one of the animals that he was raised with. He is Witted.’
Silence greeted this remark. The Dukes exchanged glances, and when Shemshy glanced back at me, there was distaste in the look. Brawndy finally answered Regal. ‘This is a grave charge you level. Have you a witness?’
‘To blood on his mouth? Several.’
Brawndy shook his head. ‘Any man may finish a battle with a bloody face. An axe is not a tidy weapon. I can attest to that. No. It would take more than that.’
‘Then let us convene the Council,’ Regal repeated impatiently. ‘Hear what Wallace has to say about how my father died and at whose hand.’
The three dukes exchanged glances. Their eyes came back to me, considering. Duke Brawndy led the Coast now. I was certain of it when he was the one who spoke. ‘King-in-Waiting Regal. Let us speak plainly. You have accused FitzChivalry, son of Chivalry, of using the Wit, the beast magic, to slay King Shrewd. This is indeed a grave charge. To satisfy us of it, we ask that you prove to us that not only is he Witted, but that he can use it to do injury to another. All of us were witness that there were no marks on King Shrewd’s body, no sign of a death struggle at all. Had not you raised this cry of treachery, we might have accepted that he had died of his years. Some, even, have whispered that you but seek an excuse to be rid of FitzChivalry. I know you have heard these rumours; I speak them aloud that we may confront them.’ Brawndy paused, as if debating with himself. He glanced once more at his peers. When neither Kelvar nor Shemshy gave sign of dissension, he cleared his throat and continued.
‘We have a proposal, King-in-Waiting Regal. Prove to us, sir, that FitzChivalry is Witted, and that he used that Wit to kill King Shrewd, and we will let you put him to death as you see fit. We will witness your coronation as King of the Six Duchies. Further, we will accept Lord Bright as your presence in Buckkeep and allow you to retire your court to Tradeford.’
Triumph gleamed briefly on Regal’s face. Then suspicion masked it. ‘And if, Duke Brawndy, I do not prove this to your satisfaction?’
‘Then FitzChivalry lives,’ Brawndy calmly decreed. ‘And you give him stewardship of Buckkeep and the forces of Buck in your absence.’ All three Coastal dukes lifted their eyes to meet Regal’s.
‘This is treason and treachery!’ Regal hissed.
Shemshy’s hand almost went to his sword. Kelvar reddened but said nothing. The tension in the line of men behind them tightened a notch. Only Brawndy remained unmoved. ‘My lord, do you bring more charges?’ he asked calmly. ‘Again, we will demand them proved. It could further delay your coronation.’
After a moment of their stony eyes and silence, Regal said quietly, ‘I spoke in haste, my dukes. These are trying times for me. Bereft of my father’s guidance so suddenly, bereaved of my brother, our lady queen and the child she carries gone missing … These surely are enough cause to drive any man to hasty statements. I … very well. I will acquiesce to this … bargain you set before me. I will prove FitzChivalry Witted, or I will set him free. Does that satisfy you?’
‘No, my King-in-Waiting,’ Brawndy said quietly. ‘Such were not the terms we set. If innocent, FitzChivalry will be set in command of Buckkeep. If you prove him guilty, we shall accept Bright. Those were our terms.’
‘An
d the deaths of Justin and Serene, valuable servants and coterie members? Those deaths at least we know we may put at his door. He has admitted as much.’ The look Regal turned on me should have killed me right there. How deeply he must have regretted charging me with murdering Shrewd. But for Wallace’s wild accusations and Regal’s backing of them, he could have demanded me drowned for Justin’s death. That, as everyone had witnessed, was my doing. Ironically, his own desire to vilify me was what was staving off my execution.
‘You will have every chance to prove him Witted and the killer of your father. For those crimes, only, will we let you hang him. As to the others … he claims they are the killers of the King. If he is not the guilty one, we are willing to accept that those he killed died justly.’
‘This is intolerable!’ Regal spat.
‘My lord, those are our terms,’ Brawndy returned calmly.
‘And if I refuse them?’ Regal flared angrily.
Brawndy shrugged. ‘The skies are clear, my lord. Raider weather, for those of us with coasts. We must disperse to our own keeps, to guard our coasts as well we may. Without the convening of the full Council, you cannot crown yourself king, nor lawfully appoint a man to hold Buck in your stead. You must winter at Buckkeep, my lord, and confront the sea-pirates even as we do.’
‘You ring me round with traditions and petty laws, all to force me to your will. Am I your king or am I not?’ Regal demanded bluntly.
‘You are not our king.’ Brawndy pointed it out quietly but firmly. ‘You are our King-in-Waiting. And likely to continue waiting until these charges and this issue is resolved.’
The blackness of Regal’s glare plainly showed how little this was to his liking. ‘Very well,’ he said flatly, all too quickly. ‘I suppose I must submit to this … beginning. Remember that you have decreed it must be this way, not I.’ He turned and looked at me. I knew then that he would not keep his word; I knew I would die in this cell. That sick and sudden knowledge of my own death blackened the edges of my vision, set me swaying on my feet. I felt I had taken two steps back from life. A coldness crept up inside me.
‘Then we are agreed,’ Brawndy said smoothly. He turned his eyes back to me, and frowned. Something of what I was feeling must have showed on my face, for he asked quickly, ‘FitzChivalry. Are you fairly treated here? Do they feed you?’ As he asked this, he unfastened the brooch at his shoulder. His cloak was much worn, but of wool, and when he threw it to me the weight of it knocked me back against the wall.
I clutched the cloak, warm still with his body heat, gratefully. ‘Water. Bread,’ I said briefly. I looked down at the heavy wool garment. ‘Thank you,’ I said more quietly.
‘It’s better than many have!’ Regal retorted angrily. ‘Times are hard,’ he added lamely. As if those he spoke to did not know that better than he did.
Brawndy regarded me for a few moments. I said nothing. Finally he swung a cold look to Regal. ‘Too hard to at least give him some straw to sleep on, instead of a slab of stone?’
Regal returned his glare. Brawndy did not quail. ‘We will need proof of his guilt, King-in-Waiting Regal, before we will countenance his execution. In the meantime, we expect you to keep him alive.’
‘At least give him marching rations,’ Kelvar advised. ‘No one will say you have pampered him with those, and we shall have a live man, either for you to hang or to command at Buck for us.’
Regal crossed his arms on his chest and made no reply. I knew I would get but water and half a loaf. I think he would have tried to take Brawndy’s cloak away from me, save that he knew I would have fought for it. With a jerk of his chin, Regal indicated to the guard that he could close my door. As it slammed shut, I flung myself forward, to grip the bars and stare after them. I thought of calling out, of telling them all that Regal would not let me live, that he would find a way to kill me here. But I did not. They would not have believed me. They still did not fear Regal as they needed to. If they had known him as I did, they would have known that no promise could bind him to their bargain. He would kill me. I was too deeply within his power for him to resist ending me.
I let go of the door and walked woodenly back to my bench. I sat down. Reflex more than thought made me drape Brawndy’s cloak about my shoulders. The cold I felt now would not be warmed away by wool. As the wave of a rising tide rushes into a sea cavern, so the knowledge of my death once more filled me. Once again, I thought I might faint. I pushed at it, vaguely repelling at my own thoughts of how Regal might choose to kill me. There were so many ways I suspected he would try to wring a confession from me. Given enough time, he might be successful. The thought made me sick. I tried to pull myself back from the brink, to not realize so thoroughly that I was going to die painfully.
With a peculiar lightening of heart, I reflected that I could cheat him. Within my blood-matted sleeve cuff was the tiny pocket that still held the poison I had so long ago prepared for Wallace. Had it offered a less horrendous death, I would have taken it right then. But I had not formulated that poison for a quick and painless sleep, but for cramps and flux and fever. Later, I thought, it might become preferable to whatever Regal offered. There was no comfort in that thought. I lay back on my slab, and rolled myself up well in Brawndy’s ample cloak. I hoped he would not miss it too much. It was probably the last kind thing anyone would ever do for me. I did not fall asleep. I fled, wilfully submerging myself into my wolf’s world.
I awoke later from a human dream in which Chade had been lecturing me for not paying attention. I drew myself smaller in Brawndy’s cloak. Torchlight trickled into my cell. Day or night, I could not tell, but I thought it was deep night. I tried to find sleep again. Chade’s urgent voice had been pleading with me …
I sat up slowly. The cadence and tone of the muffled voice was definitely Chade’s. It seemed fainter when I sat up. I lay down again. Now it was louder, but I still couldn’t pick out the words. I pressed my ear to the stone bench. No. I got up slowly and moved about my small cell, from wall to corner and back again. There was one corner in which the voice was loudest but I still could not make out the words. ‘I can’t understand you,’ I said to my empty cell.
The muffled voice paused. Then it spoke again, a questioning inflection.
‘I can’t understand you!’ I said more loudly.
Chade’s voice resumed, more excitedly, but no louder.
‘I can’t understand you!’ I shouted in frustration.
Footsteps outside my cell. ‘FitzChivalry!’
The guard was short. She couldn’t see in. ‘What?’ I asked sleepily.
‘What were you shouting?’
‘What? Oh. Bad dream.’
The footsteps went away. I heard her laugh to the other guard, ‘Hard to imagine what dream could be worse than waking up for him.’ She had an Inland accent.
I went back to my bench and lay down. Chade’s voice had stopped. I tended to agree with the guard. I would not sleep again for a while, but would wonder what Chade had been so desperately trying to tell me. I doubted it would be good news, and I did not want to imagine bad. I was going to have to die here. At least let it be because I had aided the Queen’s escape. I wondered how far she was on her journey. I thought of the Fool, and wondered how well he would withstand the rigours of a winter journey. I forbade myself to wonder why Burrich was not with them. Instead, I thought of Molly.
I must have drowsed, for I saw her. She was toiling up a path, a yoke of water buckets on her shoulders. She looked pale and sick and worn. On top of the hill was a tumble-down cottage, snow banked against its walls. She stopped and set her water bu
ckets down at the door and stood looking out, over the sea. She frowned at the fair weather and the light wind that only tipped the waves with white. The wind lifted her thick hair just as I used to and slid its hand along the curve of her warm neck and jaw. Her eyes went suddenly wide. Then tears brimmed them. ‘No,’ she said aloud. ‘No. I won’t think of you any more. No.’ She stooped and lifted the heavy buckets and went into the cottage. She shut the door firmly behind her. The wind blew past it. The roof was poorly thatched. The wind blew harder and I let it carry me away.
I tumbled on it, dived through it, and let it flow my pains away. I thought of diving deeper, down into the main flow of it, where it could sweep me entirely away, right out of myself and all my petty worries. I trailed my hands in that deeper current, swift and heavy as a moving river. It tugged at me.
I’d stand back from that if I were you.
Would you? I let Verity consider my situation for a moment.
Perhaps not, he replied grimly. Something like a sigh. I should have guessed at how bad it was. It seems it takes great pain, or illness or extreme duress of some kind to break down your walls so you can Skill. He paused long and we were both silent, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. So. My father is dead. Justin and Serene. I should have guessed somehow. His weariness and dwindling strength; those are the hallmarks of a King’s Man, drained too low too often. I suspect it had been going on long, probably since before Galen … died. Only he could have conceived of such a thing let alone devised a way to do it. What a loathsome way to use the Skill. And they spied upon us?
Yes. I do not know how much they learned. And there is another to fear. Will.
Damn me thrice for a fool. Look at it, Fitz. We should have known. The ships worked so well for us at first, and then, as soon as they knew what we were up to, you and I, they found ways to block us. The coterie has been in Regal’s pocket since they were formed. Thus we have delayed messages, or messages not delivered. Help always sent too late, or never sent at all. He is as full of hate as a tick is full of blood. And he has won.