by Robin Hobb
The door was flung open. A guard thrust a torch into my cell, then cautiously followed it. Two other guards followed. ‘You. On your feet!’ barked the one with the torch. Farrow was in his accent.
I saw no point in refusing to obey. I stood up, letting Brawndy’s cloak fall back on the bench. Their leader made a curt gesture, and I fell in between the two guards. There were four others outside my cell, waiting. Regal was taking no chances. None of them was anyone I knew. They all wore the colours of Regal’s guard. I could tell their orders by the looks on their faces. I gave them no excuses. They took me down the hall a short way, past the deserted guard-post, to the larger chamber that served once as a guard-room. It had been cleared of furniture, save for a comfortable chair. Every sconce boasted a torch, making the room painfully bright to my light-deprived eyes. The guards left me standing in the middle of the room, and joined others lining the walls. Habit more than hope made me assess my situation. I counted fourteen guards. Surely that was an excess, even for me. Both doors to the chamber were closed. We waited.
Waiting, standing, in a brightly-lit room surrounded by hostile men can be underestimated as a form of torture. I tried to stand quietly, to shift my weight unobtrusively. I rapidly grew tired. It was frightening to discover how quickly starvation and inactivity had weakened me. I felt almost a sense of relief when the door finally opened. Regal entered, followed by Will. Will was remonstrating quietly with him.
‘… unnecessary. Another night or so would be all I required.’
‘I prefer this,’ Regal said acidly.
Will bowed his head in silent assent. Regal was seated, and Will took a position behind his left shoulder. Regal considered me for a moment, then leaned back negligently in his chair. He cocked his head to one side and breathed out through his nose. He lifted a finger, indicated a man. ‘Bolt. You. I want nothing broken. When we have what we want, I’ll want to make him presentable once more. You understand.’
Bolt nodded briefly. He stripped off his winter cloak and let it fall, pulled off his shirt as well. The other men watched stony-eyed. From some long-ago discussion with Chade, a small bit of advice came to mind. ‘You can hold out longer under torture if you focus on what you will say rather than what you won’t. I’ve heard of men repeating the same phrase, over and over, long past the point where they could hear the questions any more. By focusing on what you will say, you make it less likely you’ll say that which you don’t wish to.’
But this theoretical advice might not do much for me. Regal did not seem to have any questions to ask.
Bolt was taller than I was, heavier than I was. He looked as if his diet included a lot more than bread and water. He limbered and stretched as if we were going to wrestle for a Winterfest purse. I stood watching him. He met my look and smiled at me liplessly. I watched him pull on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. He’d come prepared for this. Then he bowed to Regal, and Regal nodded.
What’s this?
Be silent! I ordered Nighteyes. But as Bold stepped purposefully toward me, I felt a snarl twitch at my upper lip. I dodged his first punch, stepped in to land one of my own, and then moved back as he swung again. Desperation lent me agility. I had not expected a chance to defend myself, I had expected to be bound and tormented. Of course, there was plenty of time for that. Regal had all the time he needed. Don’t think of that. I had never been good at this kind of fight. Don’t think of that either. Bolt’s fist grazed my cheek stingingly. Be wary. I was luring him to open up, taking his measure, when the Skill wrapped me. I reeled in Will’s onslaught, and Bolt landed his next three blows effortlessly. Jaw, chest and high on my cheek. All quick and solid. The style of a man who did this a lot. The smile of a man who enjoyed it.
There followed a timeless period for me. I could not both shield myself from Will and defend myself from Bolt battering me. I reasoned, if the thinking one does in such a state can be called reasoning, that my body had its own defences against physical pain. I’d pass out, or die. Dying might be the only victory I could hope for here. So I chose to defend my mind rather than body. I veer away from recalling that beating. My token defence was to move away from his blows and force him to pursue me, to keep my eyes on him, to block where I could as long as it did not distract me from my vigil against Will’s Skill pressure. I heard the guards jeer at my supposed lack of spirit as I scarcely fought back. When one of his blows sent me staggering back against the soldiers who ringed us, their shoves and kicks drove me back toward Bolt again.
I could not devote my thoughts to strategy. When I swung, I swung wildly, and the few times my fists landed, it was with small impact. I longed to release myself, to tap my fury and just fling myself at Bolt and hammer at him any way I could. But that would have left me open to Will’s intentions. No, I had to remain cool and endure. As Will increased his pressure on me, Bolt had a leisurely time of it. Eventually, I was reduced to two choices. I could use my arms to shelter either my head or my body. He merely shifted targets. The horror was that I knew the man was holding back, striking only to inflict pain and minor damage. I dropped my hands once and met Will’s gaze face-on. I had the very brief satisfaction of seeing the sweat that streamed down his face. At that moment, Bolt’s fist connected solidly with my nose.
Blade had once described to me the sound that he heard as his nose broke in a brawl. Words did not do it justice. A sickening sound combined with incredible pain. Pain so intense it was suddenly the only pain I was aware of. I blacked out.
I don’t know how long I was out. I fluttered to the edge of consciousness, hovered there. Someone had flipped me over onto my back. Whoever it was straightened from inspecting me. ‘Nose is broke,’ he announced.
‘Bolt, I said nothing broken!’ Regal remonstrated with him angrily. ‘I have to be able to show him intact. Bring me some wine,’ he added irritably in an aside to someone else.
‘Not a problem, King Regal,’ someone assured him. That person bent over me, took a firm grip on the bridge of my nose, and dragged it straight again. That crude setting of it hurt worse than the breaking, and once more I dipped down into unconsciousness. I lingered there, hearing the voices discuss me for some time before they resolved into words and the words into sense.
Regal’s voice. ‘So what is he supposed to be able to do? Why hasn’t he done it yet?’
‘I know only what Serene and Justin told me, your majesty.’ Will’s voice was tired. ‘They claimed he was weary from Skilling, and Justin was able to force his way into him. Then the Bastard … fought back in some way. Justin said he believed himself attacked by a great wolf. Serene said she actually saw the marks of claws on Justin, but that they faded shortly afterwards.’
I heard the creak of wood as Regal flung himself back in his chair. ‘Well, make him do it. I wish to see this Wit for myself.’ A pause. ‘Or are you not strong enough? Perhaps Justin was the one I should have held in reserve.’
‘I am stronger than Justin was, your majesty,’ Will asserted calmly. ‘But Fitz is aware of my intent. He was not expecting Justin’s attack.’ More quietly he added, ‘He is stronger far than I was led to believe.’
‘Just do it!’ Regal commanded in disgust.
So Regal wanted to see the Wit? I drew a breath, gathered what little strength was inside me. I tried to focus my anger at Regal, to repel at him hard enough to drive him through the wall. But I could not. I was too riddled with pain to concentrate. My own walls defeated me. All Regal did was start, and then look at me more closely.
/> ‘He’s awake,’ he observed. Again his finger lifted lazily. ‘Verde. You may have him. But have a care to his nose. Leave his face alone. The rest of him is easily covered.’
Verde devoted some little time in hauling me to my feet so he could knock me down again. I wearied of that repetition long before he did. The floor did as much damage as his fists. I could not seem to keep my feet under me, nor lift my arms to shield myself. I retreated inside myself, smaller and smaller, huddling there until sheer physical pain would force me to alertness and make me struggle again, usually just before I passed out once more. I became aware of another thing. Regal’s enjoyment. He did not want to bind me and cause me pain. He wanted to watch me struggle, to see me attempt to fight back and fail. He watched his guard, too, noting, no doubt, which ones turned their eyes away from this sport. He used me to take their measure. I forced myself not to care that he took pleasure from my pain. All that truly mattered was keeping my walls up and keeping Will out of my head. That was the battle I had to win.
The fourth time I awoke, I was on the floor of my cell. A terrible snuffling, wheezing sound was what had wakened me. It was the sound of my breathing. I remained where they had dumped me. After a time, I lifted a hand and pawed Brawndy’s cloak down from the bench. It fell partially on top of me. I lay a time longer. Regal’s guards had listened to him. Nothing was broken. Everything hurt, but no bones were broken. All they had given me was pain. Nothing I could die from.
I crawled over to my water. I will not enumerate the pains it cost for me to lift it and drink. My initial attempts to defend myself had left my hands swollen and sore. I tried vainly to keep the edge of the pot from bumping against my mouth. Finally, I managed to drink. The water strengthened me, to make me all the more aware of everywhere I hurt. My half loaf of bread was there as well. I stuck the end of it in what was left of my water, and then sucked the soaked bread from the loaf as it softened. It tasted like blood. Bolt’s initial battering of my head had loosened teeth and cut my mouth. I was aware of my nose as an immense area of throbbing pain. I could not bring myself to touch it with my fingers. There was no pleasure in eating, only a partial relief from the hunger that clawed at me alongside my pain.
After a time, I sat up. I dragged the cloak around me and considered what I knew. Regal would batter at me physically until I either manifested the Wit in an attack his guards could witness, or until I dropped my walls enough that Will could get in my mind and inspire me to confess. I wondered which way he would rather win. I did not doubt he would win. My sole way out of this cell was by dying. Options. To try to make them beat me to death before I either used the Wit or dropped my Skill barrier to Will. Or, to take the poison I had made for Wallace. I would die from it. That was definite. In my weakened state, it would probably be faster than I had planned it for him. Still painful, though. Wretchedly painful.
One kind of pain seemed as good as another. Laboriously I folded back my bloodied right cuff. The hidden pocket was secured by a thread that should have come loose at a slight tug. But blood had matted it closed. I picked at it carefully. Mustn’t spill it. I’d need to wait until they gave me more water to get it down, otherwise I’d just gag and retch on the bitter powder. I was still working at it when I heard voices down the hallway.
It did not seem fair they would come back at me so soon. I listened. It wasn’t Regal. But anyone coming down here meant something to do with me. A deep voice, rumbling along in a rambling way. The guards replying briefly, in hostile tones. Another voice, interceding, reasoning. The rumbling again, getting louder, and the belligerence plain. Suddenly a shout.
‘You’re going to die, Fitz! Hung over water, and your body burned!’
Burrich’s voice. A strange mix of anger and threat and pain.
‘Get him out of here.’ One of the guards, speaking loud and plain now. She was obviously an Inlander.
‘I will, I will.’ I knew that voice. Blade. ‘He’s just had a bit too much to drink, that’s all. It’s always been a problem with him. And he had the boy as his apprentice down there in the stables for years. Everyone’s saying he should have known about it, did know about it and didn’t do anything, maybe.’
‘Yessss.’ Burrich drew out the angry affirmation. ‘And I’m out of a job now, Bastard! No more buck’s crest for me! Well, by El’s ass, it hardly matters. Horses are gone. Best damned horses I ever trained, gone inland now, given over to fools! Dogs are gone, hawks are gone! All that’re left are the scrubs and a couple mules. Don’t have one horse I’d admit to owning!’ His voice was growing closer. There was madness in it.
I scrabbled up the door, clung to the bars to see. I couldn’t see the guard-post, but their shadows were on the wall. Burrich’s shadow was attempting to come down the hall while the guards and Blade tried to drag him back.
‘Wait. Now, just wait a minute,’ Burrich remonstrated drunkenly. ‘Wait. Look. I only want to talk to him. That’s all.’ The cluster of people surged down the hall, halted again. The guards were between Burrich and my door. Blade was clinging to Burrich’s arm. He still showed the marks from the brawl, and one of his arms was in a sling. He could do little to stop Burrich.
‘Just get mine in before Regal gets his. That’s all. That’s all.’ Burrich’s voice was deep and slurry with drink. ‘Come on. Just for a minute. What’s it going to matter anyway? He’s good as dead.’ Another pause. ‘Look. I’ll make it worth your while. Look here.’
The guards were exchanging glances.
‘Uh, Blade, you got any coin left?’ Burrich was digging through his pouch, then snorted with disgust and upended it over his hand. Coins fell in a shower, spilling past his fingers. ‘Here, here.’ There was the chink and rattle of coins dropped and rolling on the stone floor of the passageway and he flung his arms wide in a gesture of largesse.
‘Hey, he doesn’t mean it. Burrich, you don’t bribe guards like that, you’re going to get yourself tossed in a cell, too.’ Blade stopped hastily, making apologies as he hurried to gather up the spilled coins. The guards stopped alongside him and I saw a hand make a furtive trip from floor to pocket.
Suddenly Burrich’s face peered in my window. For a moment we stood eye to eye at the barred window. Grief and outrage battled in his face. His eyes were webbed red from his drinking, and his breath was strong with it. The fabric of his shirt showed ragged where the buck crest had been torn from it. He glared at me, then, as he looked at me, his eyes widened in shock. For a moment our gaze held, and I thought something of understanding and farewell passed between us. Then he leaned back and spat full in my face.
‘That, for you,’ he snarled. ‘That for my life, which you took from me. All the hours, all the days I spent upon you. Better that you had lain down and died amongst the beasts before you let this come to pass. They’re going to hang you, boy. Regal’s having the gallows built, over water, like the old wisdom says. They’ll hang you, then cut you up and burn you down to bones. Nothing left to bury. He’s probably afraid the dogs would dig you up again. You’d like that, hey, boy? Buried like a bone, for some dog to dig up later? Better to just lie down and die right where you are.’
I had recoiled from him when he spat at me. Now I stood back from my door, swaying on my feet while he gripped the bars and stared in at me, his eyes wide and bright with madness and drink.
‘You’re so good with the Wit, they say. Why don’t you change into a rat and scuttle out of there? Huh?’ He leaned his forehead against the bars and peered in at me. Almost pensively, he said, ‘Better that than to hang, whelp. Change into a beast and run off with your tail between
your legs. If you can … I heard you can … they say you can turn into a wolf. Well, unless you can, you’re going to hang. Hang by your neck, choking and kicking …’ His voice trailed off. His dark eyes locked with mine. They were teary with drink. ‘Better to lie down and die right there than hang.’ Suddenly he seemed full of fury. ‘Maybe I’ll help you lie down and die!’ he threatened through gritted teeth. ‘Better you die my way than Regal’s!’ He began to wrest at the bars, shaking the door back and forth against its locks.
The guards were instantly on him, one to an arm, tugging and cursing while he ignored them. Old Blade jigged up and down behind them, saying, ‘Give it up, come on, Burrich, you had your say, come on, man, before there’s real trouble.’
They did not pry him loose, but he gave it up suddenly, just dropping his arms to his side. It caught the guards by surprise and they both stumbled back. I clutched at the barred window.
‘Burrich.’ It was hard to make my mouth form words. ‘I never meant to hurt you. I’m sorry.’ I took a breath, tried to find some words to end some of the torment in his eyes. ‘No one should blame you. You did the best with me you could.’
He shook his head at me, his face contorting with grief and anger. ‘Lie down and die, boy. Just lie down and die.’ He turned and walked away from me. Blade was walking backwards, apologizing a hundred times over to the two flustered guards who followed him up the corridor. I watched them go, and then watched Burrich’s shadow go lurching off, while Blade’s stayed a bit to mollify the guards.
I swiped at the spittle on my swollen face and went slowly back to my stone bench. I sat a long time, remembering. From the beginning, he had warned me off the Wit. The first dog that I had ever bonded to, he had mercilessly taken from me. I had fought him for that dog, repelled at him with every bit of strength I had, and he had just deflected it back at me. So hard I had not even attempted to repel anyone for years after that. And when he had relented, ignoring if not accepting my bond with the wolf, it had rebounded onto him. The Wit. All those times he had warned me, and all those times I had been so sure I knew what I was doing.