Royal Assassin tft-2

by Robin Hobb

  "Then why paint Bearns as a traitor? And set up Kettricken as an outsider? Why spread rumors of ridicule about Verity and his quest?"

  "Jealousy. Regal has always been his father's spoiled pet. I do not think he would turn on Shrewd." Something in Chade's voice made me realize this was what he desperately wished to believe. "I supply the herbs that Wallace administers to Shrewd for his pain."

  "I do not doubt your herbs. But I think others are added to them."

  "What would be the point? Even if Shrewd dies, Verity is still the heir."

  "Unless Verity dies first." I held up my hand as Chade opened his mouth to protest. "It need not really happen. If Regal controls the coterie, he can supply word of Verity's death at any time. Regal becomes king-in-waiting. Then…" I let my words trail off.

  Chade let out a long sigh. "Enough. You have given me enough to ponder. I will look into these ideas, with my own resources. For now, you must watch over yourself. And Kettricken. And the Fool. If there is even a drop of truth in your theories, you all become obstacles to Regal's goal."

  "And what of you?" I asked quietly. "What is this caution we now must suffer?"

  "There is a chamber, whose wall adjoins this one. Always before, it was left empty. But one of Regal's guests is now ensconced in it. Bright, Regal's cousin, and heir to Farrow Duchy. The man is a very light sleeper. He has complained to the servants of rats squeaking in the walls. Then, last night, Slink overset a kettle, with quite a clatter. It awoke him. The man is overly curious as well. He asks servants now if spirits have ever been known to walk in Buckkeep. And I have heard him tapping at the walls. I think he suspects this chamber. It need not concern us all that much; soon he will be leaving, I'm sure. But a bit more caution is called for."

  I felt there was more, but whatever he did not wish to say would not be gained by questions. I asked one more, however. "Chade. Are you still able to see the King once a day?"

  He glanced down at his hands and shook his head slowly. "Regal seems to suspect my existence. I will admit that to you. At least, he suspects something, and seems always to have some of his folk lurking about. It makes life difficult. But enough of our worries. Let us try to think of how things may go right."

  And then Chade began a long discussion of Elderlings, based on what little we knew of them. We chatted of how it would be if Verity succeeded, and speculated what form the Elderlings' aid would take. Chade seemed to speak with great hope and sincerity, even enthusiasm. I tried to share it, but my belief was that the salvation of the Six Duchies depended on eliminating the viper in our midst. It was not long before he sent me back to my own room. I lay down on the bed, intending to rest for just a few minutes before facing the day, but instead fell into a deep sleep.

  We were blessed with storms for a time. Each day that I woke to driving wind and rain against my shutters was a day to be treasured. I tried to be unobtrusive about the Keep, avoiding Regal even if it meant taking all my meals in the watch room, drifting out of any room that Justin and Serene might enter. Will, too, had returned from his Skill post at the Red Tower in Bearns. On rare occasions I saw him in company with Serene and Justin. More often he dawdled in the hall at table, his half-lidded eyes always seeming on the verge of closing. His dislike of me was not the focused hatred that Serene and Justin shared for me, but all the same I avoided him as well. I told myself I was wise, but feared myself a coward. I attended my king as often as I was allowed to. It was not often enough.

  Came a morning when I was jolted awake to someone pounding on my door and yelling my name. I stumbled from my bed and jerked the door open. A white-faced stable boy stood shaking on my doorstep. "Hands says come to the stables. Right now!"

  He gave me no time to reply to his urgent message, but raced off as if seven kinds of demons were after him.

  I pulled on yesterday's clothes. I thought of splashing my face with water, or smoothing my hair back into its tail afresh, but those thoughts occurred to me halfway down the stairs. As I raced across the courtyard I could already hear the raised voices of a quarrel in the stable. I knew Hands would not have called me for a simple squabble among stable hands. I could not imagine what he would call me for. I pushed open the stable doors, then shoved my way past a gaggle of stable boys and grooms to get to the center of the commotion.

  It was Burrich. He was no longer shouting. Travel worn and weary, he now stood silent. Hands was beside him, white-faced but standing firm. "I had no choice," he said quietly in answer to something Burrich had said. "You would have had to do the same."

  Burrich's face looked ravaged. His eyes were unbelieving, empty with shock. "I know," he said after a moment. "I know." He turned to look at me. "Fitz. My horses are gone." He swayed slightly on his feet.

  "It wasn't Hands's doing," I said quietly. Then I asked, "Where is Prince Verity?"

  His brows knit and he looked at me oddly. "You did not expect me?" He paused, said more loudly, "Messages were sent ahead of me. Didn't you get them?"

  "We've heard nothing. What happened? Why are you back?"

  He looked around at the gaping stable boys, and something of the Burrich I knew came into his eyes again. "If you have not heard yet, then it is not for gossip and common talk. I must go straight to the King." He drew himself up straight, looked around again at the boys and grooms. The old whiplash was back in his voice as he demanded, "Have you no work to do? I shall be looking over how you have cared for things in my absence as soon as I return from the Keep."

  Like fog in the sunlight, the workers dissipated. Burrich turned to Hands. "Would you care for my horse? Poor Ruddy's been poorly treated these last days. Treat him well, now that he's home."

  Hands nodded. "Of course. Shall I send for the healer? I could have him waiting here for you when you come back."

  Burrich shook his head. "What can be done for this, I can do for myself. Come, Fitz. Give me your arm."

  In disbelief, I offered my arm and Burrich took it, leaning on me heavily. For the first time I glanced down. What I had taken to be heavy winter leggings at first glance was actually a thick wrap of bandaging on his bad leg. He favored it, putting most of his weight on me as he limped along. I could feel the exhaustion thrumming through him. Up close, I could smell the sweat of pain on him. His clothing was stained and torn, his hands and face begrimed. This was as unlike the man I knew as anything I could imagine. "Please," I said quietly as I helped him toward the castle. "Is Verity all right?"

  He gave me a ghost of a smile. "You think our prince could be dead, and I still be alive? You insult me. Besides, use your wits. You'd know if he was dead. Or injured." He paused and studied me carefully. "Wouldn't you?"

  It was plain what he spoke of. Ashamedly, I admitted, "Our link is not reliable. Some things are clear. Some are not. Of this, I knew nothing. What's happened?"

  He looked thoughtful. "Verity said he would try to send word through you. If you've relayed no tidings to Shrewd, then this information should first go to the King."

  I asked no more questions.

  I had forgotten how long it had been since Burrich had seen King Shrewd. Mornings were not the King's best times, but when I mentioned this to Burrich, he said he would rather report immediately at a bad time than delay information. So we knocked and, to my surprise, were admitted. Once within, I realized this was because Wallace was nowhere about.

  Instead, as I entered, the Fool asked me graciously, "Back for more Smoke?" Then, as he caught sight of Burrich, the mocking grin faded from his face. His eyes met mine. "The Prince?"

  "Burrich has come to report to the King."

  "I shall try to rouse him. Though the way he has been of late, one might as well report to him sleeping as awake. He takes as much notice either way."

  Accustomed as I was to the Fool's mockery, this still jarred me. The sarcasm bit wrong, for there was too much resignation in his voice. Burrich looked at me worriedly. He whispered, "What is wrong with my king?"

  I shook my head at hi
m for quiet and tried to get him to take a seat.

  "I stand before my king, until he bids me be seated," he said stiffly.

  "You are injured. He would understand."

  "He is my king. That is what I understand."

  So I gave off urging him. We waited for a time, and more than a time. At last the Fool came out of the King's bedchamber. "He is not well," he cautioned us. "It has taken me a time to make him understand who is here. But he says he will hear your report. In his chambers."

  So Burrich leaned on me as we went into the dimness and smoke of the King's bedchamber. I saw Burrich wrinkle his nose in distaste. Acrid fumes of Smoke hung heavy here, and several small censers burned. The Fool had drawn back the bed curtains, and as we stood he patted and poked cushions and pillows behind the King's back until Shrewd waved him aside with a small gesture.

  I looked at our monarch and wondered how I had not seen the signs of his disease. They were plainly there when one looked. The general wasting of his body, the sour edge of his sweat, the yellow in the whites of his eyes: these were the least things I should have seen. The shock on Burrich's face told me plainly that the change since Burrich had last seen him was immense. But he covered it well and drew himself up straight.

  "My king, I have come to report," he said formally.

  Shrewd blinked slowly. "Report," he said vaguely, and I was not sure if he gave Burrich an order, or simply repeated the word. Burrich took it as a command. He was as thorough and exact as he had always insisted I be. I stood, and he supported his weight on my shoulder as he told of journeying with Prince Verity through the winter snows, traveling always toward the Mountain Kingdom. He did not mince words, but spoke plainly. The journey had been full of hardships. Despite messengers sent ahead of Verity's expedition, hospitality and aid along the way had been poor. Those nobles whose homes lay along their route professed to have known nothing of Verity's coming. In many cases, they found only servants to greet them, and the hospitality no more than what would have been offered to any ordinary traveler. Supplies and extra horses that should have been waiting for them at assigned locations were not. The horses had suffered more grievously than the men. The weather had been savage.

  As Burrich reported I felt a tremor run through him from time to time. The man was at the edge of complete exhaustion. But each time he shook, I felt him take a deep breath, steady himself, and go on.

  His voice quavered only slightly as he told how they had been ambushed on the plains of Farrow, before they came in sight of Blue Lake. He drew no conclusions himself, but only observed that these highwaymen fought in a military style. While they wore no Duke's colors, they seemed well dressed and well armed for brigands. And Verity was obviously their intended target. When two of the baggage animals broke loose and fled, none of their attackers broke away to follow them. Bandits usually would have preferred chasing laden pack beasts to fighting armed men. Verity's men had finally found a place to take a stand and had successfully stood them off. Their attackers had finally given up when they realized that Verity's guard would die to the last man before surrendering or giving way. They had ridden off, leaving their fallen dead in the snow.

  "They had not defeated us, but we were not unscathed. We lost a good portion of our supplies. Seven men and nine horses were killed outright. Two of us were injured seriously. Three others took minor injuries. It was Prince Verity's decision to send the injured back to Buckkeep. With us he sent two sound men. His plan was to continue his quest, to take his guard with him as far as the Mountain Kingdom, and to have them stay there to await his return. Keen was placed in charge of those of us returning. To him, Verity entrusted written information. I do not know what that information packet contained. Keen and the others were killed five days ago. We were ambushed just outside the border of Buck, as we were traveling by the Buck River. Archers. It was very… quick. Four of us went down right away. My horse was struck in the flank. Ruddy's a young beast. He panicked. He plunged over an embankment into the river, and I with him. The river is deep there, and the current strong. I clung to Ruddy, but we were both swept downriver. I heard Keen shouting to the others to ride, that some must make it back to Buckkeep. But none of them did. When Ruddy and I managed to clamber out of the Buck, we went back. I found the bodies. The papers Keen had carried were gone."

  He stood straight as he reported, and his voice was clear. His words were simple. His report was a simple description of what had happened. He mentioned nothing of what he had felt at being sent back, or at being the sole survivor to return. He would drink himself sodden tonight, I suspected. I wondered if he would want company for that. But for now, he stood, silent, awaiting his king's questions. The silence stretched overlong. "My king?" he ventured.

  King Shrewd shifted in the shadows of his bed. "It reminds me of my younger days," he said hoarsely. "Once I could sit a horse and hold a sword. When a man loses that well, once that is gone, he has actually lost far more than that. But your horse was all right?"

  Burrich furrowed his brow. "I did what I could for him, my king. He will take no permanent harm from it."

  "Well. At least there is that, then. At least there is that." King Shrewd paused. For a moment we listened to his breathing. He seemed to be working at it. "Go and get some rest, man," he said at last, gruffly. "You look terrible. I may…" He paused and took two breaths. "I will call you back later. When you are rested. I am sure there are things to ask…" His voice trailed off, and again he simply breathed. The deep breaths a man takes when the pain is almost too much to bear. I remembered what I had felt that night. I tried to imagine listening to Burrich report while enduring such pain. And struggling not to show it. The Fool leaned in over the King to look into his face. Then he looked at us and gave a tiny shake to his head.

  "Come," I said softly to Burrich. "Your king has given you an order."

  He seemed to lean on me more heavily as we left the King's bedchamber.

  "He did not seem to care," Burrich said quietly, carefully to me as we moved laboriously down the corridor.

  "He does. Trust me. He cares deeply." We had come to the staircase. I hesitated. A flight down, through the hall, the kitchen, across the court, and into the stables. Then up the steep stairs to Burrich's loft. Or up two flight of steps and down the hall to my room. "I'm taking you up to my room," I told him.

  "No. I want to be in my own place." He sounded fretful as a sick child.

  "In a while. After you've rested a bit," I told him firmly. He did not resist as I eased him up the steps. I don't think he had the strength. He leaned against the wall while I unlatched my door. Once the door was open, I helped him in. I tried to get him to lie down on my bed, but he insisted on the chair by the hearth. Once ensconced there, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When he relaxed, all the privations of his journey showed in his face. Too much bone showed beneath his flesh, and his color was terrible.

  He lifted his head and looked around the room as if he'd never seen it before. "Fitz? Have you anything to drink up here?"

  I knew he didn't mean tea. "Brandy?"

  "The cheap blackberry stuff you drink? I'd sooner drink horse liniment."

  I turned back to him, smiling. "I might have some of that up here."

  He didn't react. It was as if he hadn't heard me.

  I built up my fire. I quickly sorted through the small supply of herbs I kept in my room. There wasn't much there. I had given most of them to the Fool. "Burrich, I'm going to go get you some food, and a few things. All right?"

  There was no reply. He was already deeply asleep sitting there. I went to stand by him. I did not even need to touch the skin of his face to feel the fever burning there. I wondered what had happened to his leg this time. An injury atop an old injury, and then traveled on. It would not be soon healed, that was plain to me. I hurried out of my room.

  In the kitchens, I interrupted Sara at pudding making, to tell her that Burrich was injured and sick and in my room. I lied and sai
d he was ravenously hungry, and to please send a boy up with food, and some buckets of clean hot water. She immediately put someone else to stirring the pudding and began to clatter trays and teapots and cutlery. I would have enough food to supply a small banquet very quickly.

  I ran out to the stables to let Hands know that Burrich was up in my room and would be for a while. Then I climbed the steps to Burrich's room. I had it in my mind to get the herbs and roots I would need there. I opened the door. The chamber was cold. The damp had got into it, and mustiness. I made a mental note to have someone come up and make a fire, and bring in a supply of wood, water, and candles. Burrich had expected to be gone all winter. Characteristically, he had tidied his room to the point of severity. I found a few pots of herbal salve, but no stores of freshly dried herbs. Either he had taken them with him, or given them away before he left.

  I stood in the center of the room and looked around me. It had been months since I'd been here. Childhood memories came crowding back into my head. Hours spent before that hearth, mending or oiling harness. I'd used to sleep on a mat before the fire. Nosy, the first dog I'd ever bonded to. Burrich had taken him away, to try to break me of using the Wit. I shook my head at the flood of conflicting emotions, and quickly left the room.

  The next door I knocked on was Patience's. Lacey opened it and, at the look on my face, demanded immediately, "What's wrong?"

  "Burrich's come back. He's up in my room. He's badly hurt. I don't have much in the way of healing herbs—"

  "Did you send for the healer?"

  I hesitated. "Burrich has always liked to do things his own way."

  "Indeed he has." It was Patience, entering the sitting room. "What's that madman done to himself now? Is Prince Verity all right?"

  "The Prince and his guard were attacked. The Prince was not harmed and has continued to the Mountains. He sent back those who were injured, with two sound men as an escort. Burrich was the only one to survive and get home."