The Complete Farseer Trilogy Omnibus

by Robin Hobb

  ‘How did they know it was the Queen in that tent?’ I pondered. ‘We flew no banners, we issued no challenges. How did they know she was here? There. Is that any better?’ I checked the bandage for snugness.

  ‘It’s dry and it’s clean and the wrapping seems to help the pain. I don’t suppose we can do much more than that. I suspect that whenever I work that leg hard, I’m going to have the swelling and heat in it.’ He spoke as dispassionately as if he discussed a horse’s bad leg. ‘At least it stayed closed. They did seem to make straight for the Queen’s tent, didn’t they?’

  ‘Like bees to honey,’ I observed tiredly. ‘The Queen is in Bayguard?’

  ‘Of course. Everyone is. You should have heard the cheer when they opened the gates to us. Queen Kettricken walked in, her skirts still bundled to one side, her drawn blade still dripping. Duke Kelvar went down on his knees to kiss her hand. But Lady Grace looked at her, and said, “Oh, my dear, I shall have a bath drawn for you at once”.’

  ‘Now there is the stuff they make songs of,’ I said, and we laughed. ‘But not all are up at the keep. I saw a girl just now, coming for water, down in the ruins.’

  ‘Well, up at the keep they are rejoicing. There will be some who will have small heart for that. Foxglove was wrong. The folk of Neatbay did not yield easily before the Red Ships. Many, many died before the Neatbay folk retreated to the keep.’

  ‘Does anything strike you as odd about that?’

  ‘That folk should defend themselves? No. It is …’

  ‘Does not it seem to you that there were too many Outislanders here? More than five ships’ worth?’

  Burrich halted. He looked back to the scattered bodies. ‘Perhaps those other ships had left them here, and then gone out on patrol …’

  ‘That is not their way. I suspect a larger ship, transporting a sizeable force of men.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Gone now. I think I glimpsed it, going into that fog bank.’

  We fell silent. Burrich showed me to where he had tethered Ruddy and Sooty and we rode together up to Bayguard. The great doors of the keep stood wide open, and a combination of Buckkeep soldiers and Bayguard folk mingled there. We were greeted with a shout of welcome, and offered brimming cups of mead before we were even dismounted. Boys begged to take our horses for us, and to my surprise, Burrich let them. Within the hall was genuine rejoicing that would have put any of Regal’s revels to shame. All of Bayguard had been thrown open for us. Ewers and basins of warm, scented water had been set out in the Great Hall for us to refresh ourselves, and tables were heavy with food, none of it hard bread or saltfish.

  We remained three days at Neatbay. During this time, our dead were buried, and the bodies of the Outislanders burned. Buckkeep soldiers and Queen’s Guard fell in alongside the people of Neatbay to assist in the repairs to Bayguard’s fortifications and in salvaging what was left of Neatbay town. I made a few quiet inquiries. I found that the watchtower signal had been lit as soon as the ships were sighted, but that the Red Ships had made extinguishing it one of their first goals. What of their coterie member, I asked? Kelvar looked at me in surprise. Burl had been recalled weeks ago, for some essential duty inland. He had gone to Tradeford, Kelvar believed.

  The day after the battle, reinforcements arrived from South Cove. They had not seen the signal fire, but the messengers sent out on horse had got through to them. I was present when Kettricken commended Duke Kelvar for his foresight in setting up a relay of horse for such messages, and sent her thanks also to Duke Shemshy of Shoaks for his response. She suggested they divide the captured ships, that they need no longer wait for warships to arrive, but could dispatch their own, for mutual defence. This was a sumptuous gift, and it was received in an awed silence. When Duke Kelvar recovered himself, he rose to offer a toast to his queen and to the unborn Farseer heir. So swiftly had the rumour become general knowledge. Queen Kettricken coloured prettily, but managed her thanks well.

  Those brief days of victory were a healing balm to us all. We had fought, and fought well. Neatbay would rebuild, and the Outislanders had no hold in Bayguard. For a brief time, it seemed possible that we could win free of them entirely.

  Before we had left Neatbay, the songs were already being sung, about a queen with her skirts bundled up standing bold against the Red Ships, and of the child in her womb who was a warrior before birth. That the Queen would risk not only herself but the heir to the throne for Rippon Duchy was not lost upon any of them. First Duke Brawndy of Bearns, and now Kelvar of Rippon, I thought to myself. Kettricken was doing well at winning the duchies’ loyalty.

  I had my moments at Neatbay, both warming and chilling. For Lady Grace, on seeing me in the Great Hall, recognized me and came to speak to me. ‘So,’ she had said after greeting me quietly, ‘my kitchen dog-boy has the blood of kings in him. No wonder you advised me so well, those years ago.’ She had grown well into being a lady and a duchess. Her feist dog still went everywhere with her, but now he ran about at her heels, and this change pleased me almost as much as her easy carriage of her title and her obvious affection for her duke.

  ‘We have both changed much, Lady Grace,’ I replied, and she accepted the compliment I intended. The last time I had seen her had been when I had travelled here with Verity. She had not then been so comfortable being a duchess. I had met her in the kitchens, when her dog had been choking on a bone. I had persuaded her then that her duke’s coin was better spent on watch towers than jewellery for her. Back then, she had been very new to being a duchess. Now she seemed to have never been anything else.

  ‘Not a dog-boy any more?’ she asked with a wry smile.

  ‘Dog-boy? Man-wolf!’ observed someone. I turned to see who had spoken, but the hall was crowded and no face seemed turned to watch us. I shrugged as if the remark were of no consequence, and Lady Grace appeared not to have even heard it. She presented me with a token of her favour before I left. It still makes me smile to think on it: a tiny pin in the shape of a fish’s bones. ‘I had this made, to remind me … I should like you to have it now.’ She herself seldom wore jewellery any more, she told me. She handed it to me on a balcony, on a dark evening when the lights of Duke Kelvar’s watchtowers glittered like diamonds against the black sky.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  Buckkeep

  Tradeford Castle on the Vin River was one of the traditional residences of the ruling family of Farrow. This was the place where Queen Desire had spent her childhood, and here she returned with her son Regal during the summers of his childhood. The town of Tradeford is a lively place, a centre for commerce in the heart of orchard and grain country. The Vin River is a sleepily navigable water, making travel easy and pleasant. Queen Desire had always insisted it was superior to Buckkeep in every regard and would have served much better as a seat for the royal family.

  The trip back to Buckkeep was eventful only in small ways. Kettricken was worn and tired by the time we were to return. Although she tried not to show it, it was evident in the circles under her eyes and the set of her mouth. Duke Kelvar furnished her with a litter for the trip home, but a brief ride in it showed her that its swaying only made her more nauseous. She returned it with thanks, and rode home astride her mare.

  During the second night on the road home, Foxglove came to our fire and told Burrich she thought she had seen a wolf several times that day. Burrich shrugged indifferently and assured her it was probably just curious, and was no threat to us. After she left, Burrich turned to me and said, ‘That’s going to happen once too often.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A wolf, seen in your vicinity. Fitz, have a care. There were rumours, back when you killed those Forged ones. There were tracks all about, and the marks on those men were never made by any blade. Someone told me they saw a wolf prowling Neatbay the night of the battle. I even heard a wild tale about a wolf who changed into a man when the battle was over. There were tracks in the mud outside the Queen’s very tent from that night; as well for y
ou that everyone was so tired, and in so much of a hurry to dispose of the dead. There were a few there that did not die at a man’s hand.’

  A few! Fa!

  Burrich’s face contorted in anger. ‘That will cease. Now.’

  You are strong, Heart of the Pack, but –

  The thought was broken and I heard a sudden yelp of surprise from off in the brush. Several of the horses startled and looked in that direction. I myself was staring at Burrich. He had repelled at Nighteyes, fiercely and from a distance.

  Luckily for you, from a distance, for the strength of that … I began to warn Nighteyes.

  Burrich’s gaze swung to me. ‘I said, that will cease! Now!’ He looked aside from me in disgust. ‘I’d rather you rode with your hand in your pants than that you did that constantly in my presence. It offends me.’

  I could think of nothing to say. Years of living together had taught me that he would not be argued out of his feelings about the Wit. That he knew I was bonded to Nighteyes and would still tolerate my presence was as far as he could unbend. I need not constantly remind him that the wolf and I shared minds. I bowed my head in assent. That night, for the first time in a long time, my dreams were my own.

  I dreamed of Molly. She wore red skirts again, and crouched on the beach, cutting sheel from the stones with her belt knife and eating them raw. She looked up at me and smiled. I came closer. She leaped up and ran barefoot down the beach in front of me. I chased her, but she was as fleet as she had ever been. Her hair blew back off her shoulders, and she only laughed when I called out to her to wait, wait. I awoke feeling strangely glad that she had outrun me, and with the dream scent of lavender still in my mind.

  We expected to be well greeted at Buckkeep. The ships, given the kinder weather, should have made land before us, to give tidings of our success. So we were not surprised to see a contingent of Regal’s guard coming forth to meet us. What did seem strange was that after they sighted us, they continued to walk their horses. Not a man yelled, or waved a greeting. Instead they came toward us silent and sober as ghosts. I think Burrich and I saw at the same time the baton the lead man carried, the small polished stick that betokened serious tidings.

  He turned to me as we watched them approach. Dread was written large on his face. ‘King Shrewd has died?’ he suggested softly.

  I felt no surprise, only a gaping loss in me. A frightened boy inside me gasped that now no one and nothing could stand between me and Regal. In another part, I wondered what it would have been like to call him grandfather instead of my king. But those selfish parts were small compared to what it meant to be this King’s Man. Shrewd had shaped me, made me what I was, for good or ill. He had picked up my life one day, a boy playing under a table in the Great Hall, and set his stamp upon it. His decision that I must read and write, must be able to wield a sword or dispense a poison. It seemed to me that with his passing, I must take responsibility for my own acts now. It was a strangely frightening thought.

  All had become aware of the lead man’s burden. We halted on the road. Like a curtain parting, Kettricken’s guard opened to allow him to approach her. A terrible silence held as he handed her the baton, and then the small scroll. The red sealing wax flaked away from her nail. I watched it fall to the muddy road. Slowly she opened the scroll, and read it. Something went out of her in that reading. Her hand fell to her side. She let the scroll follow the wax to the mud, a thing done with, a thing she never wished to peruse again. She did not faint, nor cry out. Her eyes looked afar, and she set her hand gently upon her belly. And in that motion, I knew it was not Shrewd who was dead, but Verity.

  I reached for him. Somewhere, surely somewhere, coiled small inside me, a spark of a link, the tiniest thread of a connection … no. I did not even know when it had vanished. I recalled that whenever I fought, I was likely to break my link with him. It did not help. I recalled now what had seemed just an oddity on the night of the battle. I had thought I had heard Verity’s voice, crying out, issuing orders that made no sense. I could not recall one individual word of what he might have shouted. But now it seemed to me that they had been battle orders, orders to scatter, to seek cover perhaps, or … but I could not recall anything with certainty. I looked over at Burrich, to find the question in his eyes. I had to shrug. ‘I don’t know,’ I said quietly. His brow furrowed as he considered this.

  Queen-in-Waiting Kettricken sat very still on her horse. No one moved to touch her, no one spoke a word. I glanced at Burrich, met his eyes. I saw fatalistic resignation there. This was the second time he had seen a King-in-Waiting fall before ascending the throne. After a long silence, Kettricken turned in her saddle. She surveyed her guard, and the mounted soldiers who followed her. ‘Prince Regal has had tidings that King-in-Waiting Verity is dead.’ She did not raise her voice, but her clear words carried. Merriment faded, and the triumph went out of every eye. She gave it a few moments to settle in. Then she nudged her horse to a walk, and we followed her back to Buckkeep.

  We approached the gate unchallenged. The soldiers on watch looked up at us as we passed. One made a sketchy salute to the Queen. She did not notice it. Burrich’s scowl deepened, but he said nothing.

  Within the castle courtyard, it seemed an ordinary day. Stable-help came to take the horses while other servants and folk moved about on the ordinary business of the keep. Somehow the very familiarity of it rattled against my nerves like stones. Verity was dead. It did not seem right that life should go on in such a workaday fashion.

  Burrich had helped Kettricken to dismount into a cluster of her ladies. A part of me noted the look on Foxglove’s face as Kettricken was hustled away by court ladies who were exclaiming over how worn she looked, was she well, amid exclamations of sympathy, regret and sorrow: a twinge of jealousy passed over the face of the captain of the Queen’s Guard. Foxglove was but a soldier, sworn to protect her queen. She could not, at this time, follow her into the keep, no matter how much she cared about her. Kettricken was in the care of her court ladies now. But I knew Burrich would not stand guard alone before Kettricken’s door tonight.

  The solicitous murmuring of her ladies on Kettricken’s behalf was enough to let me know that the rumour of her pregnancy had been spread. I wonder if it had yet been shared with Regal. I was well aware that some gossip circulated almost entirely through the women before becoming common knowledge. I suddenly wanted very badly to know if Regal knew that Kettricken carried the heir to the throne. I handed Sooty’s reins to Hands, thanked him, and promised to tell him all later. But as I headed for the keep, Burrich’s hand fell on my shoulder.

  ‘A word with you. Now.’

  Sometimes he treated me almost as if I were a prince, sometimes as less than a stable-boy. These words now were no request. Hands gave me Sooty’s reins back with a wry smile, and vanished to see to other animals. I followed Burrich as he led Ruddy into the stables. He had no problem finding an empty stall for Ruddy near Sooty’s regular stall. There were only too many stalls available. We both began matter-of-factly to work on the horses. The old familiarity of that routine, seeing to a horse while Burrich worked near by, was comforting. Our end of the stable was relatively quiet, but he waited until no one was about before asking, ‘Is it true?’

  ‘I don’t know, exactly. My link with him is gone. It had been faint before we went to Neatbay, and I always have a problem maintaining my link to Verity when I get into a fight. He says I put my guard up so strongly against those around me that I wall him out.’

  ‘I don’t understand any of that, but I knew of that problem. Are you sure that is when you lost him?’

  So I told him, about a vague sense of Verity during the battle, and the possibility that he had been under attack at the same time. Burrich nodded impatiently.

  ‘But can’t you Skill out to him, now that things are calm? Renew the link?’

  I took an instant, pushed down my own seething frustration. ‘No. I can’t. I don’t have the Skill that way.’

  Bu
rrich frowned. ‘Look. We know that messages have gone awry lately. How do we know that this one hasn’t been invented?’

  ‘We don’t, I suppose. Though it is hard to believe that even Regal would be so bold as to say Verity was dead if he was not.’

  ‘There is nothing I believe him incapable of,’ Burrich said quietly.

  I straightened up from cleaning the mud out of Sooty’s hooves. Burrich was leaning on the door of Ruddy’s stall, staring off into the distance. The white streak in his hair was a vivid reminder of just how ruthless Regal could be. He had ordered Burrich killed as casually as one might swat an annoying fly. It had never seemed to give Regal a moment’s concern that he had not stayed dead. He had no fear of retribution from a stablemaster or a bastard.

  ‘So. What would he say when Verity came back?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘Once he was king, he could see that Verity never came back. The man who sits on the throne of the Six Duchies can do away with people who are inconvenient.’ Burrich did not look directly at me as he said this, and I tried to let the barb go by me. It was true. Once Regal was in power, I had no doubt that there would be assassins ready to do his bidding. Perhaps there already were some. That thought sent a queer chill through me.

  ‘If we want definite word that Verity is still alive, our only choice is to send someone to find him, and to come back with tidings of him.’ I considered Burrich.

  ‘Assuming the messenger managed to survive it, it would still take too long. Once Regal is in power, the word of a messenger is nothing to him. The bearer of such tidings would not dare speak them aloud. We need proof that Verity is alive, proof that King Shrewd will accept, and we need it before Regal comes into power. That one would not be King-in-Waiting long.’

  ‘King Shrewd and Kettricken’s child still stand between him and the throne,’ I protested.

  ‘That location has proven unhealthy for full grown, strong men. I doubt an ailing old man or an unborn child will find it any luckier a place to be.’ Burrich shook his head and set that thought aside. ‘So. You cannot Skill to him. Who can?’