by Robin Hobb
‘You don’t know what it is,’ he said in amusement. He slid it back into the bag and offered it to me. ‘Look inside.’
When I peered into the open mouth of the bag, green and red light shone within. ‘They are flame-jewels,’ Malta informed us. ‘They gleam with their own light. The gems in the bracelet are perfect. Very rare.’
The other item he removed from the box looked like a porous grey brick. He showed us that it was painted red on one side. ‘This block gives off warmth, when you place it with the red side uppermost. Always take care to stow it with the grey side uppermost for it becomes warm enough to start a fire.’ He met my gaze, and then restored both bracelet and brick to the wooden box. ‘We hope you will accept these with our thanks.’
‘You honour us,’ I replied. Magical items worth a king’s ransom in one small box. ‘We accept them with thanks, and will always recall our visit here when we use them.’
‘You are welcome to return at any time,’ Queen Malta assured us.
Amber set an appreciative hand on the box, her face set in determination. ‘As generous as you have been with us, there is still a boon I would ask. Before I name it, I beg you to know that we mean no offence by requesting it.’
Puzzled glances were exchanged around the table. I had no idea what Amber sought. They had been generous with us beyond my wildest hopes. I wondered what more she could seek. Amber spoke in a soft, low voice. ‘I ask for dragon-Silver. Not a great amount. Only as much as would fill these two vials.’ From a pocket in her skirt she produced two glass containers, each with tight-fitting stoppers.
‘No.’ Reyn responded firmly, without hesitation or apology.
Amber spoke on as if she had not heard him. ‘The Skill, as we call the magic that Prince FitzChivalry used to heal your children, is based in Silver. We do not know exactly how the two are related but they are. The magic of Kelsingra comes from the Silver trapped in the stone. The memories of the people who lived here, the lights that gleam from the buildings, the pools that warm the water, all of it comes from—’
‘No. We cannot.’ King Reyn spoke with finality. ‘The Silver is not ours to give. It is the treasure of the dragons.’ He shook his head. ‘Even if we were to say yes, the dragons would not allow you to take it. It would be disastrous for you and for us. We cannot give you Silver.’
I saw Rapskal shift as if he would speak. The angry glints in his eyes said that he was affronted by her request. I needed to distance us from it. I spoke hastily. ‘There is one other request I would make, one that might be easier for you to grant. One that could, perhaps, benefit Kelsingra as well as the Six Duchies.’
I paused. ‘You may ask it,’ Queen Malta decided. It was difficult to read her fantastically scaled countenance, but I thought that she too strove to move past the awkwardness.
‘I would like to send a message to King Dutiful of the Six Duchies, to tell him that we have arrived safely here, and that you have offered to aid us on the next step of our journey. If I write out a letter for him, is there a way you can convey it for us?’
‘Easily done,’ Reyn replied, visibly relieved at the simplicity of my request. ‘If you can write small, a bird can carry such a message to Bingtown. Bingtown has many merchants who exchange birds with Buckkeep Town. I will guarantee that it will reach your king. Eventually. The winds of spring can slow our birds sometimes, but they are hardy creatures.’
‘I would greatly appreciate this,’ I responded. I hesitated, and then plunged on. Chade would have forbidden it, but Kettricken would have required it. ‘King Reyn and Queen Malta, in my land, in my king’s court, there are others who share my Skill-magic. Some are far more adept in the healing arts than I am.’ I looked around. ‘There are folk here who asked that I help them. I dare not. The magic of the Silver runs strongly in Kelsingra, too strong for me to control. I would never have chosen to be so …’ I fumbled for a word. Violent? Unrestrained? ‘… hasty in my healing of the children. A better healer than I could have been gentler. A full Skill-coterie with better control of the magic could help not just Elderling children but any folk who were born …’
They were staring at me. ‘Born different,’ I said, my voice falling lower. They looked terrified. Or stunned. Had I offended? The changes the dragons’ presence had wrought in some of them were too obvious to ignore. But perhaps speaking of such was considered offensive.
Thymara spoke. She was seated nearby but she lifted her voice and her words carried clearly. ‘Those born Changed could be … healed of it?’
Under the table, Amber gripped my leg in warning. I didn’t need it. I would not promise what I was not certain was possible. ‘Some could,’ I said. ‘I think.’
Thymara lifted her hands. I thought she would cover her face, but her cupped hands halted where she could stare at her fingers. She had black claws instead of nails. She tapped them against one another pensively.
The silence in the room shimmered with possibilities. Queen Malta spoke. ‘As soon as you can compose your letter …’ Her voice choked and tailed off.
Harrikin spoke suddenly. ‘Prince FitzChivalry has offered us something that has been unimaginable.’ He looked around the table at his fellows. ‘Perhaps we should be equally generous. We have always accepted that we were bound by the strictures of Bingtown and the Rain Wilds; that we could only do trade in Elderling goods in those markets. Perhaps it is time to discard that notion.’
Malta looked shocked. Reyn spoke slowly. ‘You suggest a break with a tradition that dates to the very founding of the Rain Wilds settlements. Many of us feel we owe the Rain Wild Traders little loyalty and the Bingtown Traders even less. On magical goods, we must confer. But for other trade, I see no reason we must be bound.’
Slow nods met his words.
King Reyn turned back to us. ‘Ancient maps in the city show that once roads connected Kelsingra to the Mountain Kingdom. Perhaps it is time for us to renew those thoroughfares, and truly become the traders we name ourselves.’
‘The Six Duchies have many trade goods. Sheep and wool, grain we grow in plenty, cattle and leather, and iron also we have to trade.’ I smiled to cover my doubts. Would Dutiful honour my impromptu negotiating?
‘Grain in plenty. Now there is something we could all celebrate. Within the month, we will dispatch a trade delegation to Buckkeep! Shall we raise a toast to opening our borders?’
More than one toast was raised that evening. Perseverance’s cheeks were flushed with wine when I saw Lant and Spark exchange a look. Spark put a hand to his shoulder and steered him out of the festivities with dignity if not with the steadiest of gait. A short time later, I pleaded fatigue and Amber retreated with me, leaving Lant to represent the Six Duchies for the rest of that evening.
As we made our slow ascent, she said quietly, ‘Within King Reyn’s own family there are people severely changed by the Rain Wilds in difficult ways. His sister …’
I knew what she was asking, ‘Even for his sister, I do not dare—’
‘No. I was merely telling you of her. She is in Trehaug now, visiting her family. Even if you were willing to take the risk, you could not. But if there are Six Duchies healers who could help the Rain Wilders, the Six Duchies could gain powerful allies.’
I sat up until dawn creating my letter to King Dutiful. I composed my words fully expecting that several people would read them before they reached him, if they ever did. I was circumspect, saying only that we had reached Kelsingra and secured passage to Jamaillia. I asked him to arrange passage home for Lant, Per and Spark and told him that he might expect an ambassador from the Dragon Traders with a trade proposal. I added that it was imperative that Skillmistress Nettle be present for all negotiations.
I wanted to say more. I dared not. I rolled my missive tightly, dipped it in wax, and pushed it into the small cylinder that would attach to a pigeon’s leg. I wished I could Skill a warning to Nettle. These dragon-keepers claimed to be Elderlings and heirs to this city and all its wonders. H
ow would they respond if they knew of Aslevjal and the battered treasures there? Would they attempt to claim them or offer to pool their knowledge of that magic with ours? Chade would have seen a rivalry, Kettricken a natural alliance. Dutiful and Nettle? I did not know what they would see. I wondered if my use of the Skill here had been the pebble that would trigger an avalanche of war, or become the first tiny block in building a shared legacy of magic. It was agonizing to say so little, and to know that it might be days before I could even attempt to reach out with the Skill.
The exact day of the Tarman’s arrival was uncertain, for the river ran higher and swifter with the melting of distant snows.
We each dealt with that waiting in our own way. The need to keep my Skill-walls tight and be ever-vigilant against the current of Skill and memories in the city wearied me. I took my meals within our chambers and graciously declined as many visitors as I could. The Skill-induced weariness that assailed me meant that I seldom ventured out into the city. I remembered Kelsingra as the deserted city I had first encountered on my quest to find Verity. It had been my first experience of travelling through a Skill-pillar and had happened by accident. The city had been dangerous to me then. Ironically, despite having studied Skill-magic, the Skill-infused walls and streets of the city were more dangerous to me now.
But the Skill-flow of the city was not the only danger to me. Thrice General Rapskal came rapping at the door of my chambers, and always he seemed to arrive when the others were away. The first time, I feigned an even greater weakness than I felt. He insisted that he needed to talk to me, but I wavered where I stood, apologized and then slowly but relentlessly closed the door. After that, I did not open the door when someone knocked. Lady Amber retained a healthy wariness for General Rapskal. She spent her days within the walls of the Greeting Hall. She visited Malta and passed on to me their gossip of old friends and recent news of both Bingtown and Trehaug. Lant, Spark and Perseverance were as entranced with Kelsingra as a babe with a new bauble, and the keepers seemed both willing and pleased to share the wonders of their city. I warned them to be cautious and let them explore. Per, with Motley the crow on his shoulder, had quickly become a favourite with the servants and unwittingly gave me a great deal of information on the inner workings of Kelsingra when he shared gossip of an evening. In the evening in our chambers, Amber and Spark did repairs on their bear-tossed wardrobe while Amber told the tales of old Buckkeep, including the adventures of the notorious Lady Thyme.
Per asked her once about her childhood. She spoke of a farming family, of an older sister thrilled to have a sibling at last. She told of gentle rolling hills that turned gold in summer, of tending docile brown cows. Then she stopped speaking, and I knew that the next part of her tale must be about Clerres. She told no more stories that night and I dreaded that I must soon dredge those memories for every pertinent fact as to the layout of Clerres. She had locked those recollections away, and yet I must find a way to open them if our plans for vengeance were to succeed.
The Fool was the one who had first demanded that I go to Clerres and ‘kill them all’. He had desired his own vengeance even before they had kidnapped Bee. Even before Dwalia had taken her into the Skill-pillars and lost her there, he had been intent on their slaughter. With great care, I had tidied away my life at Buckkeep and attempted to depart alone, to seek that far city and take my own vengeance. I’d had no concern for my own survival afterwards.
But not only the Fool, but Spark, Per and Lant had followed me. Three of them I could send back to Buck, but for the Fool to survive I must wring from him every detail he recalled of Clerres and the Servants of the Whites.
But how? How to pry that essential information from someone so adept at concealment and diversion?
On a day that was more lingering winter than spring, most of us had opted to stay inside the warmth of our chambers but Per had been restless. He had paced and stretched and sighed until I had surrendered and given him permission to explore on his own.
Late in the afternoon, he burst into the chambers, red-cheeked and tousle-haired to exclaim, ‘Motley has made a new friend!’
We all turned toward him in surprise.
‘Motley met another crow? Remind me to blacken her white feathers, or that friendship will be short-lived,’ I replied.
‘No! Not another crow!’ He fairly shouted the words, then caught his breath, and assumed a storytelling tone. ‘I was behaving very carefully, as you bid me, speaking only if spoken to and saying little then. But few people were out in the cold today. Motley had found me and was riding on my shoulder. We were walking toward a plaza with a statue of a horse when a big gust of wind hit me, very cold, and Motley lifted off my shoulder. Then she cried out, as if she were a minstrel, “Oh beauteous one, red as scarlet berries on a frost-kissed vine!” As if she were reciting a poem! The gust of wind was a red dragon landing right in front of me! Her claws clattered on the cobblestones and her tail lashed; she barely stopped short of trampling me. I scrambled backwards and fell. Skinned my palms catching myself!’ he added, and held up his reddened hands for our inspection.
‘Was the dragon threatening you?’ Lant demanded breathlessly.
‘No, not at all. She was just landing there. Still, I was scared and decided to leave. I called Motley back to me, but she flew over to land right in front of the dragon. This time she said. “Oh beauteous one, scarlet queen, feeder of crows!” And the dragon stretched her head down and I thought she would eat Motley. But instead, Motley did a little dance.’
Per opened his arms, bobbed his head and wove his body about like a courting bird.
‘Then what?’ Spark demanded breathlessly.
‘The dragon’s eyes were spinning like Spring Fair tops. She put her head flat to the ground and Motley hopped over and began grooming her, twiddling her beak along the scales of the dragon’s face, going around her eyes and nostrils. The dragon made this very strange sound, like a kettle boiling!’
‘And then?’ Sparks sounded envious at missing the spectacle.
‘I stood and waited for her. When my feet were numb with cold, I called to Motley to come with me, but she didn’t even turn her head. The dragon’s eyes were half-closed, like a big sleepy cat. So I left her and came back.’ His brow furrowed as he asked me, ‘Do you think she’ll be safe?’
‘I think she will be safe. Motley is a very clever bird.’ I wondered if dragons and crows shared an ancient connection. Crows are notorious bone-pickers of true predators. An alliance between crows and dragons seemed only natural. ‘A very clever bird,’ I repeated. And I knew she was a mystery that would only be solved when she chose to reveal herself to me.
‘She is!’ Per exclaimed proudly. ‘That she is.’
On a day of gentle sunshine, I awakened from an afternoon nap to find myself alone. I felt befogged and listless and hoped a short walk around the city would enliven me. Wearing my fine Prince-of-the-Six-Duchies cloak, I ventured out. The distant trees on the hills behind Kelsingra had a blush of moving sap in their white branches. Some, willows perhaps, were dotted with the green of swelling leaves as if someone had threaded beads onto their slender branches. The mountains had shed their snow. How many years had it been since Nighteyes and I had subsisted on their forested flanks, hunting like wolves and sleeping sound? A lifetime ago, perhaps two.
The voices of Elderling memories muttered to me from the Skill-threaded stones of the building. At first, it was distant, like the buzzing of mosquitoes, but it soon became urgent, like bees swarming. The press rasped at my walls, shaving away my defences. I turned back when I began to hear clear snatches of conversation and to see the shadowy forms of Elderlings. The Skill-current swelled around me, like an ocean wave that would slide my feet out from under me and carry me far from shore. I’d been an idiot to venture out alone. I had turned back toward the Greeting Hall when I became aware that Rapskal was following me. My efforts to block the ancient Elderling whispering had deadened my awareness of those around
me. I slowed my pace and walked unsteadily. Let him think me weaker than I was. In truth, I judged myself too enervated to withstand the attack of a determined child, let alone this Elderling soldier.
He quickly fell in beside me. ‘Prince FitzChivalry. I am glad to see you are somewhat recovered from your magic.’
‘You are kind to say so, General Rapskal. But even this brief stroll has wearied me. I shall seek my bed as soon as I return.’
‘Ah, well. I am disappointed. I’d hoped to have words with you. Important words.’ The last he added in a lower voice, as if someone might overhear us. Did he wish to deliver a private threat? But when I glanced at him, he met my gaze with a pleading look that was almost apologetic. ‘I’ve misjudged you. Heeby has told me I must change my mind.’ His gravity increased. ‘She had a dream. Or perhaps she remembered something. She has conveyed to me that your quest is a just one. One she supports.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘She wishes me to aid you in any way I can to destroy the Servants and their city. In any way.’ He leaned close and put his hand on my arm, conspiratorial. His eyes glittered as human eyes should not. My wariness became alarm when he confided, ‘Your crow and Heeby have become very close friends.’
‘Heeby?’ I queried, trying to smile in return. My crow?
‘My dragon. You know of Heeby, I trust? She is my scarlet darling.’ For a moment, his smile became a grin, making him a lad. ‘She likes your crow. Motley, I think she is called. Motley praises her and tells her of her beauty. Before the crow came, I was the only one who had admired her as she deserved. Heeby has become quite fond of Motley. But, that is not what I wished to discuss. Your mission to kill the Servants of the Whites. Heeby approves of it.’
I tried an interpretation of his words. ‘Your dragon had a dream, or remembered that she would like us to kill the Servants of the Whites?’
He grinned wider, white human teeth in a dragon-changed face. ‘Yes. Exactly.’ He was so pleased that I understood.