by Robin Hobb
Verity sighed heavily. "No. I know. It is the weariness of the Skill that speaks so, not I. One of us, at least, must keep a clear head and try to grasp the whole of what is happening. For me, there is nothing but the sensing out, and then the sorting, the trying to fix navigator out from oarsman, to scent out the secret fears that the Skill can magnify, to find the faint hearts in the crew and prey upon those first. When I sleep, I dream them, and when I try to eat, they are what sticks in my throat. You know I have never relished this; Father. It never seemed to me worthy of a warrior, to skulk and spy about in men's minds. Give me a sword and I'll willingly explore their guts. I'd rather unman a man with a blade than turn the hounds of his own mind to nipping at his heels."
"I know, I know," Shrewd said gently, but I did not think he really did. I, at least, did understand Verity's distaste for his task. I had to admit I shared it, and felt him somehow dirtied by it. But when he glanced at me, my face and eyes were empty of any judgment. Deeper within me was the sneaking guilt that I had failed to learn the Skill, and was no use to my uncle at this time. I wondered if he looked at me, and thought of drawing on my strength again. It was a frightening thought, but I steeled myself to the request. But he only smiled at me kindly, if absently, as if no such thought had ever crossed his mind. And as he rose and walked past my chair, he tousled my hair as if I were Leon.
"Take my dog out for me, even if it is only for rabbits. I hate to leave him in my rooms each day, but his poor dumb pleading was a distraction from what I must do."
I nodded, surprised at what I felt emanating from him. A shadow of the same pain I had felt at being separated from my own dogs.
"Verity."
He turned at Shrewd's call.
"Almost I forgot to tell you why I had called you here. It is, of course, the mountain princess. Ketkin, I think her name was ....
"Kettricken. I at least remember that much. A skinny little child, the last time I saw her. So, she is the one you have selected?"
"Yes. For all the reasons we have already discussed. And a day has been set. Ten days before our Harvest Feast. You will have to leave here during the first part of Reaptime in order to reach there in time. There will be a ceremony there, before her own people, binding the two of you and sealing all the agreements, and a formal wedding later, when you arrive back here with her. Regal sends word that you must-"
Verity had halted, and his face darkened with frustration. "I cannot. You know I cannot. If I leave off my work here while it is still Reaptime, there will be nothing to bring a bride back to. Always, the Outislanders have been greediest and most reckless in the final month before the winter storms drive them back to their own wretched shore. Do you think it will be any different this year? Like as not I would bring Kettricken back here to find them feasting in our own Buckkeep, with your head on a pike to greet me!"
King Shrewd looked angered, but kept his temper as he asked, "Do you really think they could press us that greatly if you gave off your efforts for twenty days or so?"
"I know it," Verity said wearily. "I know it as surely as I know that I should be at my post right now, not arguing here with you. Father, tell them it must be put off. I'll go for her as soon as we've a good coat of snow on the ground, and a blessed gale lashing all ships into their ports."
"It cannot be," Shrewd said regretfully. "They have beliefs of their own, up in the mountains. A wedding made in winter yields a barren harvest. You must take her in the fall, when the lands are yielding, or in late spring, when they till their little mountain fields."
"I cannot. By the time spring comes to their mountains, it is fair weather here, with Raiders on our doorsills. Surely they must understand that!" Verity moved his head about, like a restless horse on a short lead. He did not want to be here. Distasteful as he found his Skill work, it called to him. He wanted to go to it, wanted it in a way that had nothing to do with protecting his kingdom. I wondered if Shrewd knew that. I wondered if Verity did.
"To understand something is one thing," the King expounded. "To insist they flaunt their traditions is another. Verity, this must be so, done now." Shrewd rubbed his head as if it pained him. "We need this joining. We need her soldiers, we need her marriage gifts, we need her father at our back. It cannot wait. Could not you perhaps go in a closed litter, unhampered by managing a 'horse, and continue your Skill work as you travel? It might even do you good to get out and about a bit, to have a little fresh air and-"
"NO!" Verity bellowed the word, and Shrewd turned where he stood, almost as if he were at bay against the windowsill. Verity advanced to the table and pounded upon it, showing a temper I had never suspected in him. "No and no and no! I cannot do the work I must do to keep the Raiders from our coast while being rocked and jolted in a horse litter. And no, I will not go to this bride you have chosen for me, to this woman I scarce recall, in a litter like an invalid or a witling. I will not have her see me so, nor would I have my men sniggering behind me, saying, `Oh, this is what brave Verity has come to, riding like a palsied old man, pandered off to some woman as if he were an Outislander whore.' Where are your wits that you can think such stupid plans? You've been among the mountain folk, you know their ways. Think you a woman of theirs would accept a man who came to her in such a sickly way? Even their royals expose a child if it is born less than whole. You'd spoil your own plan, and leave the Six Duchies to the Raiders while you did it."
"Then perhaps-"
"Then perhaps there is a Red-Ship right now, not so far that they cannot see Egg Island, and already the captain of it is discounting the dream of ill omen he had last night, and the navigator is correcting his course, wondering how he could have so mistaken the landmarks of our coastline. Already all the work I did last night while you slept and Regal danced and drank with his courtiers is coming undone, while we stand here and yatter at one another. Father, arrange it. Arrange it any way you wish and can, so long as it does not involve me doing anything save the Skill while fair weather plagues our coast." Verity had been moving as he spoke, and the slamming of the King's chamber door almost drowned out his final words.
Shrewd stood and stared at the door for some moments. Then he passed his hand across his eyes, rubbing them, but for weariness or tears or just a bit of dust, I could not tell. He looked about the room, frowning when his eyes encountered me, as if I were a thing puzzlingly out of place. Then, as if recalling why I were there, he observed dryly, "Well, that went .well, didn't it? Still and all, a way must be found. And when Verity rides to claim his bride, you will go with him."
"If you wish, my king," I said quietly.
"I do." He cleared his throat, then turned to look out his window again. "The Princess has a single sibling, an older brother. He is not a healthy man. Oh, he was well and strong once, but on the Ice Fields he took an arrow through his chest. Passed clean through him, so Regal was told. And the wounds on his chest and back healed. But in winters, he coughs blood, and in summer he cannot sit a horse nor drill his men for more than half the morning. Knowing the mountain folk, it is full surprising that he is their King-in-Waiting."
I thought quietly for a moment. "Among the mountain folk the custom is the same as ours. Male or female, the offspring inherit, by the order of their birth."
"Yes. That is so," Shrewd said quietly, and I knew that already he was thinking that Seven Duchies might be stronger than Six.
"And Princess Kettricken's father," I asked, "how is his health?"
"As hale and hearty as one could wish, for a man of his years. I am sure he will reign long and well, for at least another decade, keeping his kingdom whole and safe for his heir."
"Probably by then our troubles with the Red-Ships will long be over. Verity will be free to turn his mind to other things."
"Probably," King Shrewd agreed quietly. His eyes finally met mine. "When Verity goes to claim his bride, you will go with him," he said again. "You understand what your duties will be? I trust to your discretion."
I
inclined my head to him. "As you wish, my king."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Journey
TO SPEAK OF THE Mountain Kingdom as a kingdom is to start out with a basic misunderstanding of the area and the folk who people it. It is equally inaccurate to refer to the region as Chyurda, although the Chyurda do make up the dominant folk there. Rather than one stretch of united countryside, the Mountain Kingdom consists of various hamlets clinging to the mountainsides, of small vales of arable land, of trading hamlets sprung up along the rough roads that lead to the passes, and clans of nomadic herders and hunters who range the inhospitable countryside in between. Such a diverse people are unlikely to unite, for their interests are often in conflict. Strangely, though, the only force more powerful than each group's independence and insular ways is the loyalty they bear to the "King" of the mountain folk.
Traditions tell us that this line was begun by a prophet-judge, a woman who was not only wise, but also a philosopher who founded a theory of ruling whose keystone is that the leader is the ultimate servant of the people, and must be totally selfless in that regard. There was no definite time when the judge became the King; rather it was a gradual transition, as ward of the fairness and wisdom of the holy one at Jhaampe spread. As more and more folk sought counsel there, willing to be bound by the decision of the Judge, it was only natural that the laws of that settlement came to be respected throughout the mountains, and that more and more folk adopted Jhaampe laws as their own. And so judges became Kings, but, amazingly, retained their self-imposed decree of servitude and self-sacrifice for their people. The Jhaampe tradition is rife with tales of Kings and Queens who sacrificed themselves for their folk, in every conceivable way, from fending wild animals off shepherd children to offering themselves as hostages in times of feud.
Tales have been told that make the mountain folk out to be harsh, almost savage. In truth, the land they dwell in is uncompromising, and their laws mirror this condition. It is true that badly formed infants are exposed or, more commonly, drowned or drugged to death. The elderly often choose Sequestering, a self-imposed exile where cold and starvation end all infirmities. A man who breaks his word may have his tongue notched as well as having to surrender double the value of his original bargain. Such customs may seem quaintly barbaric to those in the more settled of the Six Duchies, but they are peculiarly suited to the world of the Mountain Kingdom.
In the end, Verity had his way. There was no sweetness in the triumph for him, I am sure, for his own stubborn insistence was backed by a sudden increase in the frequency of the raids. In the space of a month, two villages were burned, and had a total of thirty-two inhabitants taken for Forging. Nineteen of them apparently carried the now popular poison vials and chose to commit suicide. A third town, a more populous one, was successfully defended, not by the royal troops, but by a mercenary militia the townsfolk had organized and hired themselves. Many of the fighters, ironically, were immigrant Outislanders, using one of the few skills they had. And the mutterings against the King's apparent inactivity increased.
It did little good to try to explain to them about Verity and the coterie's work. What the people needed and wanted were warships of their own, defending the coastline. But ships take time to build, and the converted merchant ships that were already in the water were tubby, wallowing things compared with the sleek Red-Ships that harassed us. Promises of warships by spring were small comfort to farmers and herders trying to protect this year's crops and flocks. And the landlocked Duchies were becoming more and more vociferous about paying heavier taxes to build warships to protect a coastline they didn't share. For their part, the leaders of the Coastal Duchies sarcastically wondered how well the inland folk would do without their seaports and trading vessels to outlet their goods. During at least one High Council meeting, there was a noisy altercation in which Duke Ram of Tilth suggested that it would be little loss to cede the Near Islands and Fur Point to the Red-Ships if that would slacken their raiding, and Duke Brawndy of Beams retaliated by threatening to stop all trade traffic along the Bear River and see if Tilth found that as small a loss. King Shrewd managed to bring the council to adjournment before they came to blows, but not before the Farrow Duke had made it clear that he sided with Tilth. The lines of division were being made more sharp with each passing month and each allotment of taxes. Clearly something was needed to rebuild the kingdom's unity, and Shrewd was convinced it was a royal marriage.
So Regal danced his diplomatic steps, and it was arranged that the Princess Kettricken would make her pledges to Regal in his brother's stead, with all of her own folk to witness, and Verity's word would be given by his brother. With a second ceremony to follow, of course, at Buckkeep, with suitable representatives from Kettricken's folk to witness it. And for the nonce, Regal remained in the Mountain Kingdom's capital at Jhaampe. His presence there created a regular flow of emissaries, gifts, and supplies between Buckkeep and Jhaampe. Seldom did a week pass without a cavalcade either leaving or arriving. It kept Buckkeep in a constant stir.
It seemed to me an awkward and ungainly way to assemble a marriage. Each would be wed almost a month before glimpsing the other. But the political expedients were more important than the feelings of the principals, and the separate celebrations were planned.
I had long since recovered from Verity tapping my strength. It was taking me longer to grasp completely what Galen's misting of my mind had done to me. I believe I would have confronted him, despite Verity's counsel, except that Galen had left Buckkeep. He had departed in company of a cavalcade bound for Jhaampe, to ride with them as far as Farrow, where he had relatives he wished to visit. By the time he returned, I myself would be on my way to Jhaampe, so Galen remained out of my reach.
Again, I had too much time on my hands. I still tended Leon, but he did not take more than an hour or two of my time each day. I had been able to discover nothing more about the attack on Burrich, nor did Burrich show any signs of relenting on my ostracism. I had made one jaunt into Buckkeep Town, but when I chanced to wander by the chandlery, it was shuttered and silent. My inquiries at the shop next door brought me the information that the chandlery had been closed for ten days or more, and that unless I wished to buy some leather harness, I could go elsewhere and stop bothering him. I thought of the young man I had last seen with Molly, and bitterly wished them no good of each other.
For no other reason than that I was lonely, I decided to seek out the Fool. Never before had I tried to initiate a meeting with him. He proved more elusive than I had ever imagined.
After a few hours of randomly wandering the keep, hoping to encounter him, I made brave enough to go to his chamber. I had known for years where it was, but had never gone there before, and not simply because it was in an out-of-the-way part of the keep. The Fool did not invite intimacy, except of the kind he chose to offer, and only when he chose to offer it. His chambers were a tower-top room. Fedwren had told me that it had once been a map room and had offered an unobstructed view of the land surrounding Buckkeep. But later additions to Buckkeep had blocked the views, and higher towers supplanted it. It had outlived its usefulness for anything, save chambers for a fool.
I climbed to it, that one day toward the beginning of harvest time. It was already a hot and sticky day. The tower was a closed one, save for arrow slits that did little more than illuminate the dust motes my feet set to dancing in the still air. At first the darkness of the tower had seemed cooler than the stuffy day outside, but as I climbed, it seemed to get hotter and more close, so that by the time I reached the last landing, I felt as if there were no air left to breathe at all. I lifted a weary fist and pounded on the stout door. "It's me, Fitz!" I called, but the still hot air muffled my voice like a wet blanket smothering a flame.
Shall I use that as an excuse? Shall I say I thought perhaps he could not hear me, and so I went in to see if he was there? Or shall I say that I was so hot and thirsty that I entered to see if his chambers offered any hint of air or wate
r? Why doesn't matter, I suppose. I put my hand to the door latch, and it lifted and I went inside.
"Fool?" I called, but I could feel he wasn't there. Not as I usually felt folk's presence or absence, but by the stillness that met me. Yet I stood in the door and gawked at a soul laid bare.
Here was light, and flowers, and colors in profusion There was a loom in the corner, and baskets of fine, thin thread in bright, bright colors. The woven coverlet on the bed and the drapings on the open windows were unlike anything I had ever seen, woven in geometric patterns that somehow suggested fields of flowers beneath a blue sky. A wide pottery bowl held floating flowers and a slim silver fingerling swam about the stems and above the bright pebbles that floored it. I tried to imagine the colorless, cynical Fool in the midst of all this color and art. I took a step farther into the room, and saw something that moved my heart aside in my chest.
A baby. That was what I took it for at first, and without thinking, I took the next two steps and knelt beside the basket that cradled it. But it was not a living child, but a doll, crafted with such incredible art that almost I expected to see the small chest move with breath. I reached a hand to the pale, delicate face, but dared not touch it. The curve of the brow, the closed eyelids, the faint rose that suffused the tiny cheeks, even the small hand that rested atop the coverlets were more perfect than I supposed a made thing could be. Of what delicate clay it had been crafted, I could not guess, nor what hand had inked the tiny eyelashes that curled on the infant's cheek. The tiny coverlet was embroidered all over in pansies, and the pillow was of satin. I don't know how long I knelt there, as silent as if it were truly a sleeping babe. But eventually I rose, and backed out of the Fool's room, and then drew the door silently closed behind me. I went slowly down the myriad steps, torn between dread that I might encounter the Fool coming up and burdened with the knowledge that I had discovered one denizen of the keep who was at least as alone as I was.