Royal Assassin tft-2

by Robin Hobb

  I spent the rest of that evening in my room alone. I knew that as night deepened, Molly would wonder when I did not come tapping at her door. But I had no heart for it tonight. I could not summon the energy to slip out of my room and go creeping up the stairs and slinking down the corridors, always worrying that someone might step out abruptly and find me where I had no right to be. At one time I would have sought out Molly's warmth and affection and found a measure of peace there. That was no longer the case. Now I dreaded the stealth and anxiety of our meetings, and a guardedness that did not even end when her door closed behind me. For Verity rode within me, and ever I must guard that what I felt and thought with Molly did not spill over into the link I shared with Verity.

  I gave up on the scroll I had been trying to read. What use now to learn of Elderlings, anyway? Verity would find whatever Verity found. I flung myself back on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. Even still and silent, there was no peace in me.

  My link to Verity was like a hook in my flesh; so must a snagged fish feel when it fights the line. My ties to Nighteyes were on a deeper, more subtle level, but ever he was there as well, green eyes lambent in a dark corner of myself. These parts of me never slept, never rested, were never quiescent at all. And that constant strain was beginning to tell on me.

  Hours later the candles were guttering and the fire burned low. A change in the air of my room let me know that Chade had opened his soundless door to me. I arose and went to him. But with every step I took up that drafty staircase, my anger grew. It was not the kind of anger that led to ranting and blows between men. This was an anger born as much from weariness and frustration as from any hurt. This was the sort of anger that led a man to stop everything, to say simply, "I cannot bear this anymore."

  "Cannot bear what?" Chade asked me. He looked up from where he hunched over some concoction he was grinding on his stained stone table. There was genuine concern in his voice. It made me really stop and look at the man I addressed. A tall, skinny old assassin. Pox-scarred. Hair gone almost entirely white now. Wearing the familiar gray wool robe, always with stains or the tiny burns he inflicted on his clothes while he worked. I wondered how many men he had killed for his king, killed simply at a word or nod from Shrewd. Killed without question, true to his oath. For all those deaths, he was a gentle man. Suddenly I had a question, a question more pressing than answering his question.

  "Chade," I asked, "have you ever killed a man for your own sake?"

  He looked startled. "For my own sake?"

  "Yes.

  "To protect my own life?"

  "Yes. I don't mean when on the King's business. I mean killed a man to… make your life simpler."

  He snorted. "Of course not." He looked at me strangely.

  "Why not?" I pressed.

  He looked incredulous. "One simply does not go about killing people for convenience. It's wrong. It's called murder, boy."

  "Unless you do it for your king."

  "Unless you do it for your king," he agreed easily.

  "Chade. What's the difference? If you do it for yourself, or if you do it for Shrewd?"

  He sighed and gave up on the mixture he was making. He moved around the end of the table, sat on a tall stool there. "I remember asking these questions. But of myself, as my mentor was gone by the time I was your age." He met my eyes firmly. "It comes down to faith, boy. Do you believe in your king? And your king has to be more to you than your half brother, or your grandfather. He has to be more than good old Shrewd, or fine honest Verity. He has to be the King. The heart of the kingdom, the center of the wheel. If he is that, and if you have faith that the Six Duchies are worth preserving, that the good of all our people are furthered by dispensing the King's justice, then, well."

  "Then you can kill for him."

  "Exactly."

  "Have you ever killed against your own judgment?"

  "You have many questions this night," he warned me quietly.

  "Perhaps you have left me alone too long to think of them all. When we met near nightly, and talked often and I was busy all the time, I did not think so much. But now I do."

  He nodded slowly. "Thinking is not always… comforting. It is always good, but not always comforting. Yes. I've killed against my own judgment. Again, it came down to faith. I had to believe that the folk who gave the order knew more than I did, and were wiser in the ways of the wider world."

  I was silent for a long moment. Chade started to relax. "Come in. Don't stand there in the draft. Let's have a glass of wine together, and then I need to talk to you about—"

  "Have you ever killed solely on the basis of your own judgment? For the good of the kingdom?"

  For a time Chade looked at me, troubled. I did not look away. He did, finally, staring down at his old hands, rubbing their papery-white skin against each other as he fingered the brilliant red pocks. "I do not make those judgments." He looked up at me suddenly. "I never accepted that burden, nor wished to. It is not our place, boy. Those decisions are for the King."

  "I am not `boy'," I pointed out, surprising myself. "I am FitzChivalry. "

  "With an emphasis on the Fitz," Chade pointed out harshly. "You are the illegitimate get of a man who did not step up to become king. He abdicated. And in that abdication, he set aside from himself the making of judgments. You are not king, Fitz, nor even the son of a true King. We are assassins."

  "Why do we stand by while the true King is poisoned?" I asked bluntly then. "I see it, you see it. He is lured into using herbs that steal his mind and, while he cannot think well, lured to use ones that make him even more foolish. We know its immediate source, and I suspect its true source. And yet we watch him dwindle and grow feeble. Why? Where is the faith in that?"

  His words cut me like knives. "I do not know where your faith is. I had thought perhaps it would be in me. That I knew more about it than you did, and that I was loyal to my king."

  It was my turn to drop my eyes. After a moment I crossed the room slowly, to the cabinet where Chade kept the wine and the glasses. I took down a tray and poured two careful glasses from the glass-stoppered bottle. I took the tray to the small table by the hearth. As I had for so many years, I seated myself on the hearthstones. After a moment my master came and took his place in his well-cushioned chair. He lifted his wineglass from the tray and sipped.

  "This last year has not been an easy time for either of us."

  "You have so seldom called me. And when you do, you are full of secrets." I tried to keep the accusation from my voice, but couldn't quite.

  Chade gave a short bark of laughter. "And you being such an open spontaneous fellow, that annoys you?" He laughed again, ignoring my offended look. When he had done, he wet his mouth with wine again, then looked at me. Amusement still danced in his dark eyes.

  "Do not glower at me, boy," he told me. "I have not expected anything from you that you have not demanded from me twofold. And more. For I have it in my mind that a master has some right to expect faith and trust from his student."

  "You do," I said after some moments. "And you are right. I have my secrets as well, and I have expected you to trust that they are honorable ones. But my secrets do not constrain you as yours do mine. Every time I visit the King's chambers, I see what Wallace's smokes and potions are doing to him. I want to kill Wallace, and restore my king to his wits. And after that, I want to… finish the task. I want to eliminate the source of the poisons."

  "You wish to kill me, then?"

  It was like being doused with cold water. "You are the source of the poisons Wallace gives to the King?" I was sure I had misunderstood.

  He nodded slowly. "Some of them. Probably the ones you most object to."

  My heart was cold and still inside me. "But, Chade, why?"

  He looked at me, his lips folded tight. After a moment he opened his mouth and spoke softly. "A King's secrets belong to a King only. They are not mine to give away, no matter if I think the receiver would keep them safe or not. But if y
ou would only use your mind as I have trained you, you would know my secrets. For I have not hidden them from you. And from my secret, you could deduce much on your own."

  I turned to poke at the fire behind me. "Chade. I am so weary. Too weary to play at games. Cannot you simply tell me?"

  "Of course I could. But it would compromise my promise to my king. What I do is bad enough."

  "You are splitting hairs over this!" I exclaimed angrily.

  "Perhaps, but they are mine to split," he replied with equanimity.

  His very calmness infuriated me. I shook my head violently, put the whole puzzle away from myself for a bit. "Why did you summon me tonight?" I asked flatly.

  There was a shadow of hurt behind the calm in his eyes now. "Perhaps just to see you. Perhaps to forestall your doing something foolish and permanent. I know that much of what is going on right now distresses you greatly. I assure you, I share your fears. But for now, we must continue on our allotted paths. With faith. Surely you believe that Verity will return before spring, and put all to rights."

  "I don't know," I admitted grudgingly. "It shocked me when he set off on this ridiculous quest. He should have stayed here and continued with his original plan. By the time he returns, half his kingdom will be beggared or given away, the way Regal is going at things."

  Chade looked at me levelly. "`His' kingdom is still King Shrewd's kingdom. Remember? Perhaps he has faith in his father to keep it intact."

  "I do not think King Shrewd can even keep himself intact, Chade. Have you seen him of late?"

  Chade's mouth went to a flat line. "Yes." He bit the word off: "I see him when no one else does. I tell you that he is not the feeble idiot you seem to believe he is."

  I shook my head slowly. "If you had seen him tonight, Chade, you would share my anxiety."

  "What makes you so sure I did not?" Chade was nettled now. I had no wish to anger the old man. But it seemed to be going all wrong, no matter how I spoke. I forced myself to keep silent now. Instead of speaking, I took another sip of my wine. I stared into the fire.

  "Are the rumors about the Near Islands true?" I asked at last. My voice was my own again.

  Chade sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his knuckly hands. "As in all rumors, there is a germ of truth. It may be true that the Raiders have established a base there. We are not certain. We have certainly not ceded the Near Islands to them. As you observed, once they had the Near Islands, they would raid our coast winter and summer."

  "Prince Regal seemed to believe that they could be bought off: That perhaps those islands and a bit of Bearns's coast were what they were truly after." It was an effort, but I kept my voice respectful as I spoke of Regal.

  "Many men hope that by saying a thing they can make it so," Chade said neutrally. "Even when they must know better," he added as a darker afterthought.

  "What do you think the Raiders want?" I asked.

  He stared past me into the fire. "Now, there is a puzzle. What do the Raiders want? It is how our minds work, Fitz. We think they attack us because they want something from us. But surely, if they wanted something, by now they would have demanded it. They know the damage they do to us. They must know that we would at least consider their demands. But they ask for nothing. They simply go on raiding."

  "They make no sense." I finished the thought for him.

  "Not the way we see sense," he corrected me. "But what if our basic assumption is wrong?"

  I just stared at him.

  "What if they don't want anything, except what they already have? A nation of victims. Towns to raid, villages to torch, people to torture. What if that is their entire aim?"

  "That's insane," I said slowly.

  "Perhaps. But what if it is so?"

  "Then nothing will stop them. Except destroying them."

  He nodded slowly. "Follow that thought."

  "We don't have enough ships to even slow them down." I considered a moment. "We had best all hope the myths about the Elderlings are true. Because it seems to me they, or something like them, is our only hope."

  Chade nodded slowly. "Exactly. So you see why I approve of Verity's course."

  "Because it's our only hope of survival."

  We sat for a long time together, staring into the fire silently. When I finally returned to my bed that night, I was assailed by nightmares of Verity attacked and battling for his life while I stood by and watched. I could not kill any of his attackers, for my king had not said I could.

  Twelve days later, Duke Brawndy of Bearns arrived. He came down the coast road, at the head of enough men to be impressive without being an open threat. He had mustered as much pomp and panoply as his dukedom could afford. His daughters rode at his side, save for the eldest, who had remained behind to do all that could be done for Ferry. I spent most of the early afternoon in the stables, and then in the guardroom, listening to the talk of the lesser members of his entourage. Hands acquitted himself well at seeing that there was space and care for their beasts, and as always, our kitchens and barracks made themselves hospitable places. Still, there was plenty of hard talk among the folk from Bearns. They spoke bluntly of what they had seen at Ferry, and how their summons for help had gone unheeded. It shamed our soldiers that there was little they could say to defend what King Shrewd had apparently done. And when a soldier cannot defend what his leader has done, he must either agree with the criticism or find another area in which to disagree. So there were fistfights between Bearns men and Buckkeep troops, isolated incidents for the most part, and over trivial differences. But such things did not usually happen under the discipline at Buckkeep, and so they were all the more unsettling. It underscored to me the confusion among our own troops.

  I dressed carefully for dinner that evening, unsure as to who I might encounter or what might be expected of me. I had glimpsed Celerity twice that day, and each time slipped away before I could be noticed. I expected she would be my dinner partner, and dreaded it. Now was no time to give anyone from Bearns any sort of affront, but I did not wish to encourage her. I could have saved my worrying. I found myself seated far down the table, among the lesser nobility, and the younger ones at that. I spent an uncomfortable evening as a minor novelty. Several of the girls at the table attempted to be flirtatious. This was a new experience for me and not one I relished. It made me realize just how great an influx of folk had swollen the Buckkeep court that winter. Most of them were from the Inland Duchies, sniffing after scraps from Regal's plate, but as these young women plainly indicated, they would be happy to court political influence wherever they could. The effort to follow their attempts at witty banter and respond on a level of at least moderate politeness made it nearly impossible for me to give any attention to what was going on at the High Table. King Shrewd was there, seated between Queen-in-Waiting Kettricken and Prince Regal. Duke Brawndy and his daughters Celerity and Faith were seated closest to them. The rest of the table was filled with Regal's pets. Duke Ram of Tilth and his Lady Placid, and their two sons were the most noteworthy. Regal's cousin Lord Bright was there as well; the young heir to the Duke of Farrow was new to court.

  From where I sat, I could see little, and hear even less. I felt Verity's churning frustration at the situation, but there was nothing I could do about it. The King looked more weary than dazed that evening, which I took to be positive. Kettricken, seated beside him, was near colorless save for two spots of pink on her cheeks. She did not seem to be eating much, and seemed graver and more silent than usual. Prince Regal, in contrast, was both social and merry. With Duke Ram and Lady Placid and their boys. He did not quite ignore Brawndy and his daughters, but his merriment clearly grated on the visitors' mood.

  Duke Brawndy was a large man, and well muscled even in his old age. Shocks of white hair in his black warrior's tail attested to old battle injuries, as did a hand missing a few fingers. His daughters sat just downtable from him, indigo-eyed women whose high cheekbones told of his late queen's Near Island ancestry. Faith and Celerity
wore their hair cut short and sleek in the northern style. The quick ways they turned their heads to observe everyone at the table reminded me of hawks on a wrist. These were not the gentled nobility of the Inland Duchies that Regal was used to dealing with. Of all the Six Duchies, the folk of Bearns came closest to being warriors still.

  Regal was courting disaster to make light of their grievances. I knew they would not expect to discuss Raiders at the table, but his festive tone was completely at odds with their mission here. I wondered if he knew how badly he offended them. Kettricken obviously did. More than once I saw her clench her jaw, or cast her eyes downward at one of Regal's witticisms. He was drinking too heavily as well, and it began to show in his extravagant hand gestures, and the loudness of his laughter. I wished desperately I could hear what he was finding so humorous in his own words.

  Dinner seemed interminable. Celerity rapidly located me at table. After that, I was hard put to avoid the measuring looks she sent my way. I nodded affably to her the first time our eyes locked; I could tell she was puzzled by where I had been seated. I dared not ignore every look she sent my way. Regal was offensive enough without my appearing to snub Bearns's daughter as well. I felt I teetered on a fence. I was grateful when King Shrewd rose and Queen Kettricken insisted on taking his arm to help him from the room. Regal frowned a trifle drunkenly to see the party disperse so soon, but made no effort to persuade Duke Brawndy and his daughters to stay at table. They excused themselves rather stiffly as soon as Shrewd had departed. I likewise made excuse of a headache and left my giggling companions for the solitude of my room. As I opened my door and went into my bedchamber, I felt myself the most powerless person in the Keep. Nameless the dog boy indeed.

  "I see dinner was absolutely fascinating for you," the Fool observed. I sighed. I didn't ask how he had gotten in. No point to asking questions that would not be answered. He was sitting on my hearth, silhouetted against the dancing flames of a small fire he had kindled there. There was a peculiar stillness to him, no jingling of bells, no tumbling mocking words.