Assassin's Quest tft-3

by Robin Hobb

  Then she ran away into the darkness.

  Disbelief. I could feel Burrich's disbelief as plainly as my own. The woman pulled her knife from his back and lifted it to strike again. He banished his pain with anger, spun to cut her a slash across her chest, and then turned back to Red-beard. But Red-Beard had stepped back. His sword was still at the ready but he stood motionless as the stout man said, "We've got the child. Drop your sword or the baby dies here and now." He darted his eyes at the woman clutching at her chest. "Get after the woman. Now!"

  She glared at him, but went without a murmur. Burrich did not even watch her go. He had eyes only for the wailing babe in the stout man's arms. Red-beard grinned as the tip of Burrich's weapon slowly dropped toward the floor. "Why?" Burrich asked in consternation. "What have we ever done, that you attack us and threaten to kill my daughter?"

  The stout man looked down at the red-faced baby screaming in his arms. "She's not yours," he sneered. "She's the WitBastard's bastard. We have it on the best authority." He lifted Nettle high as if he would dash her against the floor. He stared at Burrich. Burrich made an incoherent sound, half-fury, half-plea. He dropped his sword. By the door, the injured man groaned and tried to sit up.

  "She's only a tiny baby," Burrich said hoarsely. As if it were my own, I knew the warmth of the blood running down Burrich's back and hip. "Let us go. You are mistaken. She's my own blood, I tell you, and no threat to your king. Please. I have gold. I'll take you to it. But let us go."

  Burrich, who would have stood and spit and fought to the death, dropped his sword and pleaded for the sake of my child. Red-beard roared out his laughter, but Burrich did not even turn to it. Still laughing, the man stepped to the table and casually lit the branch of candles there. He lifted the light to survey the disheveled room. Burrich could not take his eyes off Nettle. "She's mine," he said quietly, almost desperately.

  "Stop your lies," the stout man said disdainfully. "She's the WitBastard's get. As tainted as he was."

  "That's right. She is."

  All eyes turned to the door. Molly stood there, very pale, breathing hard. Her right hand was reddened with blood. She clutched to her chest a large wooden box. An ominous humming came from it. "The bitch you sent after me is dead," Molly said harshly. "As you will soon be, if you don't put down your weapons and free my child and man." The stout man grinned incredulously. Redbeard lifted his sword.

  Her voice shook only slightly as she added. "The child is Witted, of course. As am I. My bees will not harm us. But injure one of us, and they will rise up and follow you and give you no quarter. You shall die of a million burning stings. Think your swords will be of much use against my Wit-bees?" She looked from face to face, her eyes flashing with anger and her threat as she clutched the heavy wooden hive box to her. One bee escaped it, to buzz angrily about the room. Red-beard's eyes followed it, even as he exclaimed, "I don't believe it!"

  Burrich's eyes were measuring the distance to his sword as Molly asked softly, almost coyly, "Don't you?" She smiled oddly as she lowered the hive to the floor. Her eyes met Red-beard's as she lifted the lid of the box. She reached in and even as the stout man gasped aloud, she drew out her hand, gloved with moving bees. She closed the lid of the hive and then stood. She looked down at the bees coating her hand and said quietly, "The one with the red beard, little ones." Then she held her hand out as if offering them as a gift.

  It took a moment, but as each bee took flight, it unerringly sought out Red-beard. He flinched as first one and then another buzzed past him, and then came back, circling. "Call them back or we kill the child!" he cried out suddenly. He batted at them ineffectually with the branch of candles he held.

  Molly instead stooped suddenly and heaved up the whole hive as high as she could. "You'll kill her anyway!" she cried out, her voice breaking on the words. She gave the hive a shake, and the agitated humming of the bees became a roar. "Little ones, they would kill my child! When I set you free, avenge us!" She raised the hive higher yet in her arms, prepatory to smashing it to the floor. The injured man at her feet groaned loudly.

  "Hold!" cried the stout man. "I'll give you your child!"

  Molly froze. All could see that she could not hold the weight of the hive box much longer. There was strain in her voice but she calmly directed, "Give my baby to my man. Let them both come to me. Or you shall all die, most certainly and most horribly." The stout man looked uncertainly at Red-beard. Candles in one hand and sword in the other, Red-beard had retreated from the table, but the bees still buzzed confusedly about him. His efforts to slap them away only seemed to make them more determined. "King Regal will kill us do we fail!"

  "Then die from my bees instead," Molly suggested. "There are hundreds of bees in here," she added in a low voice. Her tone was almost seductive as she offered, "They will get inside your shirts and the legs of your trousers. They will cling to your hair as they sting. They will crawl into your ears to sting, and up your noses. And when you scream, they will crowd into your mouth, dozens of humming, fuzzy bodies, to sting your tongue until it will not fit inside your mouth. You will die choking on them!"

  Her description seemed to decide them. The stout man crossed the room to Burrich, thrust the still-screaming babe into his arms. Redbeard glared but said nothing. Burrich took Nettle, but did not neglect to stoop and seize up his sword as well. Molly glared at Red-beard. "You. Get over there beside him. Burrich. Take Nettle outside. Take her to where we picked mint yesterday. If they force me to act, I do not wish her to see it. It might make her fear the very bees who are her servants."

  Burrich obeyed. Of all the things I had witnessed that night, that seemed to me the most amazing. Once he was outside, Molly backed slowly toward the door. "Do not follow," she warned them. "My Wit-bees will be keeping watch for me, right outside the door." She gave the hive a final shake. The roaring hum increased and several more bees escaped into the room, buzzing angrily. The stout man stood frozen, but Red-beard lifted his sword as if it would defend him. The man on the floor gave an incoherent cry and scrabbled away from her as Molly backed outside. She dragged the door shut behind her, then leaned the hive against it. She took the lid off the hive and then kicked it before she turned and ran off into the night. "Burrich!" she called quietly. "I'm coming." She did not go toward the road, but off toward the woods. She did not look back.

  "Come away, Fitz." It was no Skilling, but Verity's soft voice close by me., "You have seen them safe. Watch no more, lest others see with your eyes and know where they go. It is better if you do not know yourself. Come away."

  I opened my eyes to the dimness inside the tent. Not only Verity, but Kettle sat beside me. Kettle's mouth was set in a flat line of disapproval. Verity's face was stern, but understanding was also there. He spoke before I could. "Did I believe you had sought that, I would be most angry with you. Now I say to you plainly. It is better if you know nothing of them. Nothing at all. Had you heeded me when I first advised you of that, none of them would have been threatened as they were tonight."

  "You both were watching?" I asked quietly. For an instant, I was touched. They both cared that much for my child.

  "She is my heir, too," Verity pointed out relentlessly. "Do you think I could stand by and do nothing if they had injured her?" He shook his head at me. "Stay away from them, Fitz. For all our sakes. Do you understand?"

  I nodded my head. His words could not distress me. I had already decided I would choose not to know where Molly and Burrich took Nettle. But not because she was Verity's heir. Kettle and Verity stood and left the tent. I flung myself back into my blankets. The Fool, who had been propped on one elbow, lay down also. "I will tell you tomorrow," I told him. He nodded mutely, his eyes huge in his pale face. Then he lay back down. I think he went to sleep. I stared up into darkness. Nighteyes came to lie beside me.

  He would protect your cub as his own, he pointed out quietly. That is pack.

  He meant the words for comfort. I did not need them. Instead I re
ached to rest a hand on his ruff. Did you see how she stood and faced them down? I demanded with pride.

  A most excellent bitch, Nighteyes agreed.

  I felt I had not slept at all when Starling woke the Fool and I for our watch. I came out of the tent stretching and yawning, and suspecting that keeping watch was not really a necessity. But the last shard of night was pleasantly mild, and Starling had left meat broth simmering at the fire's edge. I was halfway through a mug when the Fool finally followed me out.

  "Starling showed me her harp last night," I said by way of greeting.

  He smirked with satisfaction. "A crude bit of work. Ah, this was but one of his early efforts, they shall say of it someday," he added with strained modesty.

  "Kettle said you have no caution."

  "No, I have not, Fitz. What do we do here?"

  "Me? What I'm told. When my watch is over, I'm off to the hills, to gather broom twigs. So that I can sweep the rock chips out of Verity's way."

  "Ah. Now there's lofty work for a Catalyst. And what shall a prophet do, do you suppose?"

  "You might prophesy when that dragon will be finished. I fear we shall think of nothing else until it is done."

  The Fool was shaking his head minutely.

  "What?" I demanded.

  "I do not feel we were called here to make brooms and harps. This feels like a lull to me, my friend. The lull before the storm."

  "Now, there's a cheery thought," I told him glumly. But privately I wondered if he might not be right.

  "Are you going to tell me what went on last night?"

  When my account was finished, the Fool sat grinning. "A resourceful lass, that one," he observed proudly. Then he cocked his head at me. "Think you the baby will be Witted? Or be able to Skill?"

  I had never stopped to consider it. "I hope not," I said immediately. And then wondered at my own words.

  Dawn had scarcely broken before both Verity and Kettle arose. They each drank a mug of broth standing, and carried off dried meat as they headed back up to the dragon. Kettricken had also come out of Verity's tent. Her eyes were hollow and defeat was in the set of her mouth. She had but half a mug of broth before setting it aside. She went back into the tent and returned with a blanket fashioned into a carry-sack.

  "Firewood," she replied flatly to my raised eyebrow.

  "Then Nighteyes and I may as well go with you. I need to gather broom twigs and a stick. And he needs to do something besides sleep and grow fat."

  And you fear to go off in the woods without me.

  If sows like that abound in these woods, you are absolutely correct.

  Perhaps Kettricken would bring her bow?

  But even as I turned to make the suggestion, she was ducking back into the tent to fetch it. "In case we meet another pig," she told me as she came out.

  But it was an uneventful expedition. Outside the quarry, the countryside was hilly and pleasant. We stopped at the stream to drink and wash. I saw the flash of a tiny fingerling in the water, and the wolf immediately wanted to fish. I told him I would after I had finished gathering my broom. So he came at my heels, but reluctantly. I gathered my broom twigs and found a long straight branch for a handle. Then we filled Kettricken's carry-sack with wood, which I insisted on bearing so her hands could be free for her bow. On the way back to camp, we stopped at the stream. I looked for a place where plants overhung the bank, and it did not take us long to find one. We then spent far longer than I had intended in tickling for fish. Kettricken had never seen it done before, but after some impatience, she caught the trick of it. They were a kind of trout I had not seen before, tinged with pink along their bellies. We caught ten and I cleaned them there, with Nighteyes snapping up the entrails as quickly as I gutted them. Kettricken threaded them onto a willow stick, and we returned to camp.

  I had not realized how much the quiet interlude had soothed my spirits until we came in sight of the black pillar guarding the mouth of the quarry. It seemed more ominous than ever, like some dark scolding finger lifted to warn me that, indeed, this might be the lull but the storm was coming. I gave a small shudder as I passed it. My Skill-sensitivity seemed to be growing again. The pillar radiated controlled power luringly. Almost against my will, I stopped to study the characters incised on it.

  "Fitz? Are you coming?" Kettricken called back to me, and only then did I realize how long I had been gawking. I hastened to catch up with them, and rejoined them just as they were passing the girl on a dragon.

  I had deliberately avoided that spot since the Fool had touched her. Now I glanced up guiltily to where the silver fingerprint still shone against her flawless skin. "Who were you, and why did you make such a sad carving?" I asked her. But her stone eyes only looked at me pleadingly above her tear-specked cheeks.

  "Maybe she could not finish her dragon," Kettricken speculated. "See how its hind feet and tail are still trapped in the stone? Maybe that's why it's so sad."

  "She must have carved it sad to begin with, don't you see? Whether or not she finished it, the upper portion would be the same."

  Kettricken looked at me in amusement. "You still don't believe that Verity's dragon will fly when it is finished? I do. Of course, I have very little else to believe in anymore. Very little."

  I had been going to tell her I thought it a minstrel's tale for a child, but her final words shut my mouth.

  Back at the dragon, I bound my broom together and went at my sweeping with a vengeance. The sun was high in a bright blue sky with a light and pleasant breeze. It was altogether a lovely day and for a time I forgot all else in my simple chore. Kettricken unloaded her firewood and soon left to get more. Nighteyes followed at her heels, and I noticed with approval that Starling and the Fool hastened after her with carry-sacks of their own. With the rock chips and dust cleared away from the dragon, I could see more of the progress Verity and Kettle had made. The black stone of the dragon's back was so shiny it almost reflected the blue of the sky. I observed as much to Verity, not really expecting an answer. His mind and heart were focused entirely on the dragon. On all other topics his mind seemed vague and wandering, but when he spoke to me of his dragon and the fashioning of it he was very much King Verity.

  A few moments later, he rocked back on his heels from his crouch beside the dragon's foot. He stood and ran a silver hand tentatively over the dragon's back. I caught my breath, for in the wake of his hand there was suddenly color. A rich turquoise, with every scale edged in silver, followed the sweep of Verity's finger. The hue shimmered there-for an instant, then faded. Verity made a small sound of satisfaction. "When the dragon is full, the color will stay," he told me. Without thinking, I reached a hand toward the dragon, but Verity abruptly shouldered me aside. "Don't touch him," he warned me, almost jealously. He must have seen the shock on my face, for he looked rueful. "It's not safe for you to touch him anymore, Fitz. He is too…" His voice trailed off, and his eyes went afar in search of a word. Then he apparently forgot all about me, for he crouched back to his work on the creature's foot.

  There is nothing like being treated like a child to provoke one to act that way. I finished the last of my sweeping, set my broom aside, and wandered off. I was not overly surprised when I found myself staring up at the girl on a dragon again. I had come to think of the statue as "Girl-on-a-Dragon," for they did not seem like separate entities to me. Once more I climbed up on the dais beside her, once more I felt the swirling of her Wit-life. It lifted like fog and reached toward me hungrily. So much entrapped misery. "There is nothing I can do for you," I told her sadly, and almost felt that she responded to my words. It was too saddening to remain close to her for long. But as I clambered down, I noticed that which alarmed me. Around one of the dragon's hind feet, someone had been chiseling at the miring stone. I stooped down for a closer inspection. The chips and dust had been cleared from the cut, but the edges of it were new and sharp. The Fool, I told myself, was truly without caution. I stood with the intention of seeking him out immediate
ly.

  FitzChivalry. Return to me at once, please.

  I sighed to myself. Probably more stone chips to sweep. For this I must be away from Molly, while she fended for herself. As I walked back to the dragon, I indulged myself in forbidden thoughts of her. I wondered if they had found a place to shelter, and how badly Burrich was hurt. They had fled with little more than the clothes on their backs. How would they survive? Or had Regal's men attacked them again? Had they dragged her and the baby off to Tradeford? Did Burrich lie dead in the dirt somewhere?

  Do you truly believe that could happen and you not know of it? Besides. She seemed more than capable of caring for herself and the child. And Burrich for that matter. Stop thinking of them. And stop indulging in self-pity. I have a task for you.

  I returned to the dragon and picked up my broom. I had been sweeping for some minutes before Verity seemed to notice me. "Ah, Fitz, there you are." He stood, stretched, arching his back to take the ache out of it. "Come with me."

  I followed him down to the campfire where he busied himself for a moment by putting water to heat. He picked up a piece of the dry cooked meat, looked at it, and said sadly, "What I would not give for one piece of Sara's fresh bread. Oh, well." He turned to me. "Sit down, Fitz, I want to talk to you. I've been giving much thought to all you told me, and I've an errand for you."

  I sat down slowly on a stone by the fire, shaking my head to myself. One moment he made no sense at all to me; the next he sounded just like the man who had been my mentor for so long. He gave me no time to mull my thoughts.

  "Fitz, you visited the place of the dragons, on your way here. You told me that you and the wolf sensed life in them. Wit-life, you called it. And that one, Realder's dragon, seemed almost to awaken when you called him by name."