The Complete Farseer Trilogy Omnibus

by Robin Hobb

  I pondered this while I unsaddled Sooty and rubbed her down. I had bent down to check her hooves when I felt Burrich watching me over the wall of the stall. I asked him, ‘For how long?’

  He knew what I was asking.

  ‘He began a few days after you left. He brought her down here one day, and spoke me fair, saying he thought it quite a shame that the Queen was spending all her days shut up in the keep. She was used to such an open and hearty life up in the mountains. He claimed he had allowed her to persuade him to teach her to ride as we rode here in the lower lands. Then he had me saddle Softstep with the saddle Verity had made for his queen, and off they went. Well, what was I to do or say?’ he asked me fiercely as I turned to look at him questioningly. ‘It is as you have said before. We are King’s Men. Sworn. And Regal is a prince of the Farseer House. Even if I were faithless enough to refuse him, there was my Queen-in-Waiting, expecting me to fetch her horse for her and saddle her.’

  A slight motion of my hand reminded Burrich that his words sounded close to treason. He stepped into the stall beside me, to scratch behind Sooty’s ear pensively as I finished with her.

  ‘You could do nothing else,’ I conceded. ‘But I must wonder what his real intent is. And why she suffers him.’

  ‘His intent? Perhaps just to wriggle his way back into favour with her. It is no secret that she pines in the castle. Oh, she is fair spoken to all. But there is too much honesty in her for her to make others believe she is happy when she is not.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ I conceded grudgingly. I lifted my head as suddenly as a dog does when his master whistles. ‘I have to go. King-in-Waiting Verity …’ I let the words trail away. I did not have to let Burrich know I had been summoned by the Skill. I slung my saddlebags with the arduously copied scrolls inside to my shoulder and headed up to the castle.

  I did not pause to change my clothes, or even to warm myself at the kitchen fires, but went straight to Verity’s map-room. The door was ajar, and I tapped once and then entered. Verity leaned over a map secured to his table. He scarcely glanced up to acknowledge me. Steaming mulled wine already awaited me, and a generous platter of cold meats and bread stood on a table near the hearth. After a bit, he straightened up.

  ‘You block too well,’ Verity said by way of greeting. ‘I have been trying to get you to hurry for the past three days, and when do you finally know you are Skilled? When you are standing in my own stables. I tell you, Fitz, we must find time to teach you some sort of control over your Skill.’

  But I knew even as he spoke that there would never be that time. Too many other things demanded his attention. As always, he immediately plunged into his concern. ‘Forged ones,’ he said. I felt a chill of foreboding run up my spine.

  ‘The Red Ships have struck again? This deep in winter?’ I asked incredulously.

  ‘No. At least we are still spared that. But it seems that the Red Ships can leave us and go home to their hearths, and still leave their poison among us.’ He paused. ‘Well, go on. Warm yourself and eat. You can chew and listen at the same time.’

  As I helped myself to the mulled wine and food, Verity lectured me. ‘It is the same problem as before. Reports of Forged ones, robbing and despoiling, not just travellers, but isolated farms and houses. I have investigated, and must give credence to the reports. Yet the attacks are happening far from the sites of any raids; and in every case the folk claim there are not one or two Forged ones, but groups of them, acting in concert.’

  I considered for a moment, swallowed, then spoke. ‘I don’t think Forged ones are capable of acting in bands or even as partners. When one encounters them, one finds they have no sense of … community. Of shared humanity. They can speak, and reason, but only selfishly. They are as wolverines would be if given human tongues. They care for nothing but their own survival. They see each other only as rivals for food or comfort of any kind.’ I refilled my mug, grateful for the spreading warmth of the wine. At least it pushed aside the physical cold. The chill thought of the bleak isolation of the Forged ones it could not touch.

  It was the Wit that had let me discover this about Forged ones. So deadened were they to all sense of kinship with the world that I could scarcely sense them at all. The Wit gave me a certain access to that web which bound all creatures together; but the Forged ones were separate from that net, as isolated as stones, as hungry and merciless as an unthinking storm or a river in flood. To encounter one unexpectedly was as startling to me as if a stone rose up to attack me.

  But Verity only nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yet even wolves, animals as they are, attack as a pack. As do tearfish on a whale. If these animals can band together to bring down food, why not the Forged ones?’

  I set down the bread I had picked up. ‘Wolves and tearfish do as they do by their nature, and share the flesh with their young. They do not kill, each for his own meat, but for meat for the pack. I have seen them in groups, but they do not act together. The time I was attacked by more than one Forged one, the only thing that saved me was that I was able to turn them against each other. I dropped the cloak they desired, and they fought over it. And when they came after me again, they more got in one another’s way than helped one another.’ I fought to keep my voice steady as the memory of that night rose up in me. Smithy had died that night, and I had first killed. ‘But they do not fight together. That is what is beyond the Forged ones; the idea of co-operating so that all might benefit.’

  I looked up to find Verity’s dark eyes full of sympathy. ‘I had forgotten that you have had some experience fighting them. Forgive me. I don’t dismiss it. There is just so much besieging me lately.’ His voice dwindled away and he seemed to be listening to something far away. After a moment he came back to himself. ‘So. You believe they cannot cooperate. And yet it seems to be happening. See, here,’ and he brushed his hand lightly over a map spread out on his table. ‘I have been marking the places of the complaints, and keeping track of how many are said to be there. What do you think of this?’

  I went to stand beside him. Standing next to Verity was now like standing next to a different sort of hearth. The strength of the Skill radiated from him. I wondered if he strove to hold it in check, if it always threatened to spill out of him and spread his consciousness over the whole kingdom.

  ‘The map, Fitz,’ he recalled me, and I wondered how much he knew of my thoughts. I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. The map showed Buck, done in wondrous detail. Shallows and tide flats were marked along the coast, as well as inland landmarks and lesser roads. It was a map made lovingly, by a man who had walked and ridden and sailed the area. Verity had used bits of red wax as markers. I studied them, trying to see what his real concern was.

  ‘Seven different incidents.’ He reached to touch his markers. ‘Some within a day’s ride of Buckkeep. But we have had no raids that close, so where would these Forged ones be coming from? They might be driven away from their home villages, true, but why would they converge upon Buckkeep?’

  ‘Perhaps these are desperate people pretending to be Forged ones when they go out to steal from their neighbours?’

  ‘Perhaps. But it is troubling that the incidents are happening closer and closer to Buckkeep. There are three different groups, from what the victims say. But each time there is a report of a robbery or a barn broken into or a cow butchered in the field, the group responsible seems to have moved closer to Buckkeep. I can think of no reason for Forged ones to do such a thing. And,’ he halted me as I began to speak, ‘the descriptions of one group match those of another attack, reported over a month ago. If these are the same Forged ones, they have come a long way in that time.’

  ‘It does not seem like Forged ones,’ I said and then, carefully, I asked, ‘Do you suspect a conspiracy of some kind?’

  Verity snorted bitterly. ‘Of course. When do I not suspect conspiracies any more? But for this, at least, I think I can look further afield than Buckkeep to find the source.’ He halted abruptly, as if hearin
g how bluntly he had spoken. ‘Look into it for me, Fitz, will you? Ride out and about a bit, and listen. Tell me what they say in the taverns, and tell me what sign you find on the roads. Gather gossip of other attacks, and keep track of the detail. Quietly. Can you do that for me?’

  ‘Of course. But why quietly? It seems to me that if we alerted folk, we would hear more swiftly of what goes on.’

  ‘We would hear more, that’s true. More of rumours, and much more of complaint. So far these are individual complaints. I am the only one, I think, who has put together a pattern from them. I do not want Buckkeep itself up in arms, complaining that the King cannot even protect his capital city. No. Quietly, Fitz. Quietly.’

  ‘Just look into it quietly.’ I did not voice it as a question.

  Verity gave his broad shoulders a small shrug. But it was more like a man shifting a burden than dislodging a load. ‘Put a stop to it where you can.’ His voice was small and he looked into the fire. ‘Quietly, Fitz. Very quietly.’

  I nodded my head slowly. I had had these kinds of assignments before also. Killing Forged ones did not bother me as much as killing a man did. Sometimes I tried to pretend I was laying a restless soul to peace, putting a family’s anguish to a final end. I hoped I would not become too adept at lying to myself. It was a luxury an assassin could not afford. Chade had warned me that I must always remember what I truly was. Not an angel of mercy, but a killer who worked for the good of the King. Or the King-in-Waiting. It was my duty to keep the throne secure. My duty. I hesitated, then spoke.

  ‘My prince. As I was coming back, I saw our Queen-in-Waiting Kettricken. She was riding out with Prince Regal.’

  ‘They make a handsome pair, do they not? And does she sit her horse well?’ Verity could not entirely keep bitterness from his voice.

  ‘Aye. But in the Mountain style still.’

  ‘She came to me, saying she wished to learn to ride our tall lowland horses better. I commended the idea. I did not know she would choose Regal as a riding master.’ Verity leaned over his map, studying detail that was not there.

  ‘Perhaps she hoped you would teach her.’ I spoke thoughtlessly, to the man, not the prince.

  ‘Perhaps.’ He sighed suddenly. ‘Oh, I know she did. Kettricken is lonely, sometimes. Often.’ He shook his head. ‘She should have been married to a younger son, to a man with time on his hands. Or to a king whose kingdom was not on the verge of war and disaster. I do not do her justice, Fitz. I know this. But she is so … young. Sometimes. And when she is not being so young, she is so fanatically patriotic. She burns to sacrifice herself for the Six Duchies. Always I have to hold her back, to tell her that it is not what the Six Duchies need. She is like a gadfly. There is no peace in her for me, Fitz. Either she wants to be romped like a child, or she is quizzing me on the very details of some crisis I am trying to set aside for a few moments.’

  I thought suddenly of Chivalry’s single-minded pursuit of the frivolous Patience, and caught a glimpse of his motives. A woman who was an escape for him. Who would Verity have chosen, had he been allowed to choose for himself? Probably someone older, a placid woman possessed of inner self worth and peace.

  ‘I grow so tired,’ Verity said softly. He poured himself more mulled wine, and stepped to the hearth to sip at it. ‘Do you know what I wish?’

  It wasn’t really a question. I didn’t even bother to reply.

  ‘I wish your father were alive, and King-in-Waiting. And I his right-hand man still. He would be telling me what tasks I must tackle, and I would be doing as he asked. I would be at peace with myself, no matter how hard my work, for I would be sure he knew best. Do you know how easy it is, Fitz, to follow a man you believe in?’

  He looked up at last to meet my eyes.

  ‘My prince,’ I said quietly. ‘I believe I do.’

  For a moment, Verity was very still. Then, ‘Ah,’ he said. He held my eyes with his, and I did not need the warmth of his Skilling to feel the gratitude he sent me. He stepped away from the hearth, drew himself up straighter. My King-in-Waiting stood before me once more. He dismissed me with a tiny motion, and I went. As I climbed the stairs to my room, for the first time in my life I wondered if I should not be grateful to have been born a bastard.

  SEVEN

  Encounters

  It has always been the custom and the expectancy that when a king or queen of Buckkeep wed, the royal spouse would bring an entourage of his or her own as attendants. Such had been the case with both of Shrewd’s queens. But when Queen Kettricken of the Mountains came to Buckkeep, she came as Sacrifice, as was her country’s custom. She came alone, with no women or men to attend her, not even a maid to be a confidante. No person in Buckkeep was there to give the comfort of familiarity to her in her new home. She began her reign surrounded completely by strangers, not just at her own social level, but extending down to servants and guards as well. As time progressed, she gathered friends to her, and found servants as well who suited her, though at first the idea of having a person whose life work was to wait on her was a foreign and distressing concept to her.

  Cub had missed my company. Before I departed for Bearns, I had left him the carcass of a deer, well frozen and concealed behind the hut. It should have been ample to feed him for the time I was gone. But in true wolf fashion, he had gorged, and slept, and gorged and slept again, until the meat was gone. Two days ago, he informed me, leaping and dancing about me. The interior of the hut was a litter of well-gnawed bones. He greeted me with frantic enthusiasm, doubly informed by the Wit and his nose of the fresh meat I brought. He fell upon it ravenously and paid me no mind at all as I gathered his chewed bones into a sack. Too much of this type of litter would draw rats, and the keep rat-hounds would follow. I couldn’t chance that. I watched him surreptitiously as I tidied, saw the rippling of muscles in his shoulders as he braced his forefeet against the chunk of meat and tore a piece of flesh free. I noted, too, that all but the thickest deer bones had been cracked and licked clean of marrow. This was cub’s play no longer, but the work of a powerful young animal. The bones he had cracked were thicker than the bones in my arm.

  But why would I turn on you? You bring the meat. And ginger cakes.

  His thought was laden with meaning. This was the way of a pack. I, an elder, brought meat to feed Cub, a young one. I was the hunter, bringing him back a portion of my kill. I quested toward him and found that, for him, our separateness was fading. We were pack. It was a concept I had never encountered before, going deeper than companion or partner. I feared that to him it meant what bonding did to me. I could not permit it.

  ‘I am a human. You are a wolf.’ I spoke the words aloud, knowing he would get their meaning from my thoughts, but trying to force him to know in all his senses our differences.

  Outwardly. Inside, we are pack. He paused and licked his nose complacently. Blood dotted his forepaws.

  ‘No. I feed you and protect you here. But only for a time. When you are able to hunt for yourself, I will take you to a far place and leave you there.’

  I have never hunted.

  ‘I will teach you.’

  That, too, is of the pack. You will teach me, and I will hunt with you. We will share many kills and much rich meat.

  I will teach you to hunt, and then I will set you free.

  I am already free. You do not hold me here, save that I will it. He lolled his tongue out over white teeth, laughing at my assumption.

  You are arrogant, Cub. And ignorant.

  So teach me. He turned his head sideways to let his back teeth scissor meat and tendon from the bone he was working on. It is your pack duty.

  We are not pack. I have no pack. My allegiance is to my king.

  If he is your leader, then he is mine also. We are pack. As his belly filled, he was becoming more and more complacent about it.

  I changed tactics. Coldly I told him, I am of a pack that you cannot be part of. In my pack, all are humans. You are not a human. You are a wolf. We are not p
ack.

  A stillness welled in him. He did not try to reply. But he felt, and what he felt chilled me. Isolation, and betrayal. Loneliness.

  I turned and left him there. But I could not hide from him how hard it was for me to leave him like that, nor conceal the deep shame at refusing him. I hoped he sensed also that I believed it was what was best for him. Much, I reflected, as Burrich had felt it was best for me when he took Nosy away from me because I had bonded to the puppy. The thought burned me and I did not just hasten away, I fled.

  Evening was falling as I returned to the keep and made my way up the stairs. I visited my room for certain bundles I had left there, and then made my way downstairs again. My traitorous feet slowed as I passed the second landing. I knew that very shortly Molly would be coming this way, bearing away the tray and dishes from Patience’s meal. Patience seldom chose to dine in the hall with the other lords and ladies of the keep, preferring the privacy of her own rooms and Lacey’s easy companionship. Her shyness had begun to take on overtones of reclusiveness lately. But it was not concern over that which kept me loitering on the stairs. I heard the tap of Molly’s feet coming down the hall, I knew I should move on, but it had been days since I had even glimpsed her. Celerity’s shy flirtations had only made me more acutely aware of how I missed Molly. Surely it could not be too much for me to simply wish her ‘good evening’ as I might any other servant girl. I knew I should not, I knew that if Patience heard of it, I would be rebuked. And yet …

  I pretended to be studying a tapestry on the landing, a tapestry that had hung there since before I had ever come to Buckkeep. I heard her footsteps approaching. I heard them slow. My heart was thundering high in my chest, the palms of my hands were moist with sweat as I turned to see her. ‘Good evening,’ I managed, between a squeak and a whisper.