by Robin Hobb
“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” I tried to make my tone light and bantering. I missed the Fool’s usual wry faces and mockeries from this conversation.
“Only that you’d be wise to eat lightly, or not at all, of any food you do not prepare yourself.”
“At all the feasts and festivities that will be there?”
“No. Only at the ones you wish to survive.” He turned to go.
“I’m sorry,” I said hastily. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was looking for you, and I was so hot, and the door wasn’t latched, so I went in. I didn’t mean to pry.”
His back was to me and he didn’t turn around as he asked, “And did you find it amusing?”
“I…” I could not think of anything to say, of any way to assure him that what I had seen there would stay only within my own mind. He took two steps and was closing the door. I blurted, “It made me wish there were a place as much me as that place is you. A place I would keep as secret.”
The door halted a handbreadth short of closed. “Take some advice, and you may survive this trip. When considering a man’s motives, remember you must not measure his wheat with your bushel. He may not be using the same standard at all.”
And the door closed and the Fool was gone. But his last words had been cryptic and frustrating enough that I thought perhaps he had forgiven me my trespass.
I stuffed the seapurge into my jerkin, not wanting it, but afraid to leave it now. I glanced about my room, but as always it was a bare and practical place. Mistress Hasty had seen to my packing, not trusting me with my new garments. I had noticed that the barred buck on my crest had been replaced with a buck with his antlers lowered to charge. “Verity ordered it,” was all she said when I asked about it. “I like it better than the barred buck myself. Don’t you?”
“I suppose,” I replied, and that had been the end of it. A name and a crest. I nodded to myself, shouldered my chest of herbs and scrolls, and went down to join the caravan.
As I was going down the steps I encountered Verity coming up. At first I scarcely knew him, for he was ascending like a crabbed old man. I stepped out of his way to let him pass, and then knew him as he glanced at me. It is a strange thing to see a once familiar man like that, encountered as a stranger. I marked how his clothes hung on him now, and the bushy dark hair I remembered had a peppering of gray. He smiled absently at me, and then, as if it had suddenly occurred to him, he stopped me.
“You’re leaving for the Mountain Kingdom? For the wedding ceremony?”
“Yes.”
“Do me a favor, boy?”
“Of course,” I said, taken aback by the rust in his voice.
“Speak well of me to her. Truthfully, mind you, I’m not asking for lies. But speak well of me. I’ve always thought that you thought well of me.”
“I do,” I said to his retreating back. “I do, sir.” But he didn’t turn or make a reply, and I felt much as I had when the Fool left me.
The courtyard was a milling of folk and animals. There were no carts this time; the roads into the mountains were notoriously bad, and it had been decided that pack animals would have to suffice for the sake of swiftness. It would not do for the royal entourage to be late for the wedding; it was bad enough that the groom was not attending.
The flocks and herds had been sent on days before. It was expected that our trip would take two weeks, and three had been allowed for it. I saw to fastening the cedar chest onto a pack animal, and then stood beside Sooty and waited. Even in the cobbled courtyard, dust stirred thick in the hot summer air. Despite all the careful planning that had gone into it, the caravan seemed chaotic. I glimpsed Sevrens, Regal’s favorite valet. Regal had sent him back to Buckkeep a month ago, with specific instructions about certain garments he wished created. Sevrens was following Hands, dithering and expostulating about something, and whatever it was, Hands was not looking patient about it. When Mistress Hasty had been giving me final instructions on the care of my new garments, she had divulged that Sevrens was taking so many new garments, hats, and accoutrements for Regal that he had been allotted three pack animals to carry them. I imagined that caring for the three animals had fallen to Hands, for Sevrens was an excellent valet, but timid around the larger animals. Rowd, Regal’s ready man, hulked after both of them, looking ill-tempered and impatient. On one wide shoulder he carried yet another trunk, and perhaps the loading of this additional item was what was fretting Sevrens. I soon lost sight of them in the crowd.
I was surprised to discover Burrich checking the lead lines on the breeding horses and the Princess’s gift mare. Surely whoever was in charge of them could do that, I thought. And then, as I saw him mount, I realized that he, too, would be part of this procession. I looked about to see who was accompanying him, but saw none of the stable boys I knew, save Hands. Cob was already in Jhaampe with Regal. So Burrich had taken this on himself. I was not surprised.
August was there, astride a fine gray mare, waiting with an impassivity that was almost inhuman. Already his time in the coterie had changed him. Once he had been a chubby youth, quiet but pleasant. He had the same black bushy hair as Verity, and I had heard it said that he resembled his cousin as a boy. I reflected that as his Skill duties increased, he would probably resemble Verity even more. He would be present at the wedding, as a sort of window for Verity as Regal uttered the vows on his brother’s behalf. Regal’s voice, August’s eyes, I mused to myself. What did I go as? His poniard?
I mounted Sooty, as much to be up and away from the folk exchanging good-byes and last-minute instructions as for any other reason. I wished to Eda we could be away and on the road. It seemed to take forever for the straggling line to form and for the last-minute tying and strapping of bundles to be accomplished. And then, almost abruptly, the standards were lifted, a horn was blown, and the line of horses, laden pack animals, and folk began to move. I looked up once, to see that Verity had actually come out to stand atop the tower and watch us depart. I waved up at him, but doubted that he knew me amidst so many. And then we were out of the gates and winding up the hilly path that led away from Buckkeep and to the west.
Our path would lead us up the banks of the Buck River, which we would ford at its wide shallows near where the borders of Buck and Farrow Duchies touched. From there we would journey across Farrow’s wide plains, in baking heat I had never encountered before, until we reached Blue Lake. From Blue Lake, we would follow a river named simply Cold whose origins were in the Mountain Kingdom. From the Cold Ford the trading road began, that led between the mountains and through their shadows and up, ever up, to Storm Pass, and thence to the thick green forests of the Rain Wilds. But we would not go so far as that, but would stop at Jhaampe, which was as close to a city as the Mountain Kingdom possessed.
In some ways, it was an unremarkable journey, if one discounts all that inevitably goes with such journeys. After the first three days or so, things settled into a remarkably monotonous routine, varied only by the different countryside we passed. Every little village or hamlet along our road turned out to greet us and delay us, with official best wishes and felicitations for the Crown Prince’s wedding festivities.
But after we reached the wide plains of Farrow, such hamlets were few and far between. Farrow’s rich farms and trading cities were far to the north of our path, along the Vin River. We traveled Farrow’s plains, where people were mostly nomadic herders, creating towns only in the winter months when they settled along the trade routes for what they called the “green season.” We passed herds of sheep, or goats, or horses, or more rarely, the dangerous, rangy swine they called haragars, but our contact with the people of that region was usually limited to the sight of their conical tents in the distance, or some herder standing tall in his saddle and holding aloft his crook in greeting.
Hands and I became reacquainted. We would share food and a small cook fire in the eveni
ngs, and he would regale me with tales of Sevrens’s nattering worries of dust getting into silk robes or bugs getting into fur collars and velvet getting chafed to pieces during the long trek. Grimmer were his complaints about Rowd. I myself had no fond memories of the man, and Hands found him an oppressive traveling companion, for he seemed to constantly suspect Hands of trying to steal from the packs of Regal’s belongings. One evening Rowd even found his way to our fire, where he laboriously delivered a vague and indirect warning against any who might conspire to steal from his master. But other than such unpleasantness, our evenings were peaceful.
The fair weather held, and if we sweated by day, it was mild by night. I slept atop my blanket and seldom bothered with any other shelter. Each night I checked over the contents of my trunk and did my best to keep the roots from becoming completely desiccated, and to keep the shifting from putting wear on the scrolls and tablets. There was one night I awoke to a loud whinnying from Sooty and thought that the cedar chest had been moved slightly from where I had placed it. But a brief check of its contents proved all was in order, and when I mentioned it to Hands, he merely asked if I was catching Rowd’s disease.
The hamlets and herds we passed frequently provided us with fresh foods and were most generous in their allocation of it, so we had little hardship on the journey. Open water was not as plentiful as we could have wished as we crossed Farrow, but each day we found some spring or dusty well to water at, so even that was not as bad as it might have been.
I saw very little of Burrich. He arose earlier than the rest of us and preceded the main caravan, that his charges might have the best grazing and the cleanest water. I knew he would want his horses in prime condition when they arrived at Jhaampe. August, too, was almost invisible. While he was technically in charge of our expedition, he left the running of it to the captain of his honor guard. I could not decide if he did this out of wisdom or laziness. In any event, he kept mostly to himself, although he did allow Sevrens to tend him and share his tent and meals.
For me, it was almost a return to a sort of childhood. My responsibilities were very limited. Hands was a genial companion, and it took very little encouragement to have him telling from his vast store of tales and gossip. I often went for almost the whole day before I would recall that at the end of this journey, I would kill a prince.
Such thoughts usually came on me when I awoke in the dark part of the night. Farrow’s sky seemed to be much thicker with stars than the night over Buckkeep, and I would stare up at them and mentally rehearse ways to put an end to Rurisk. There was another chest, a tiny one, packed carefully within the bag that held my clothing and personal items. I had packed it with much thought and anxiety. For this assignment must be carried out perfectly. It must be done cleanly, with not even the tiniest suspicion raised. And timing was critical. The Prince must not die while we were at Jhaampe. Nothing must cast the slightest shadow upon the nuptials. Nor must he die before the ceremonies were observed at Buckkeep and the wedding safely consummated, for that might be seen as an ill omen for the couple. It would not be an easy death to arrange.
Sometimes I wondered why it had been entrusted to me instead of to Chade. Was it a test of some sort, one that if I failed would see me put to death? Was Chade too old for this challenge, or too valuable to be risked for this? Could he simply not be spared from tending Verity’s health? And when I reined my mind away from these questions, I was left wondering whether to use a powder that would irritate Rurisk’s damaged lungs so he might cough himself to death. Perhaps I might treat his pillows and bedding with it. Should I offer him a pain remedy, one that would slowly addict him and lure him into a sleeping death? I had a blood-thinning tonic. If his lungs were chronically bleeding already, it might be enough to send him on his way. I had one poison, swift and deadly and tasteless as water, if I could devise a way to be sure he would encounter it at a safely distant time. None of these were thoughts conducive to sleep, and yet the fresh air and the exercise of riding all day were usually sufficient to counter them, and I often awoke eager for the next day of travel.
When we finally sighted Blue Lake, it was like a miracle in the distance. It had been years since I had been so far from the sea for so long, and I was surprised how welcome the sight of water was to me. Every animal in our baggage train filled my thoughts with the clean scent of water. The country became greener and more forgiving as we approached the great lake, and we were hard put to keep the horses from overgrazing themselves at night.
Hordes of sailboats plied their merchant trade on Blue Lake, and their sails were colored so as to tell not only what they sold but what family they sailed for. The settlements along Blue Lake were built out on pilings into the water. We were well greeted there, and feasted with freshwater fish, which tasted odd to my sea-trained tongue. I felt myself quite the traveler, and Hands and I were nearly overwhelmed with our opinions of ourselves when some green-eyed girls from a grain-trading family came giggling to our fireside one night. They had brought with them small, brightly colored drums, each toned differently, and they played and sang for us until their mothers came scolding to find them and lead them home. It was a heady experience, and I did not think of Prince Rurisk at all that night.
West and north we traveled now, ferried across Blue Lake on some flat-bottomed barges I trusted not at all. On the far side, we found ourselves suddenly in forest lands, and the hot days of Farrow became a fond memory. Our path led us through immense stands of cedar, pricked here and there with groves of white paper birch and seasoned in burned areas with alder and willow. Our horses’ hooves thudded on the black earth of the forest trail, and the sweet smells of the autumn were all around us. We saw unfamiliar birds, and once I glimpsed a great stag of a color and kind I had never seen before or since. Night grazing for the horses was not good, and we were glad of the grain we had bought from the lake people. We lit fires at night, and Hands and I shared a tent.
Our way led steadily uphill now. We wound our way between the steepest slopes, but we were unmistakably making our way up into the mountains. One afternoon we met with a deputation from Jhaampe, sent to greet us and guide us on our way. After that, we seemed to travel faster, and every evening we were entertained with musicians, poets, and jugglers, and feasted with their delicacies. Every effort was made to welcome us and to honor us. But I found them passing strange and almost frightening in their differences. Often I was forced to remind myself of what both Burrich and Chade had taught me about the courtesies, while poor Hands withdrew almost totally from these new companions.
Physically, most of them were Chyurda, and were as I had expected them to be: a tall, pale people, light of hair and eye, and some with hair as red as a fox. They were a brawny people, the women as well as the men. All seemed to carry a bow or a sling, and they were obviously more comfortable afoot than on horseback. They dressed in wool and leather, and even the humblest wore fine furs as if they were no more than homespun. They strode alongside us, mounted as we were, and seemed to have no difficulty keeping up with the horses all day. They sang as they walked, long songs in an ancient tongue that sounded almost mournful, but were interspersed with shouts of victory or delight. I was later to learn they were singing us their history, that we might know better what kind of a people our prince was joining us to. I gathered that they were, for the most part, minstrels and poets, the “hospitable” ones, as their language translated it, traditionally sent to greet guests and to make them glad they had come even before they arrived.
As the next two days passed, our trail widened, for other paths and roads fed into it the closer we came to Jhaampe. It became a broad tradeway, sometimes paved with a crushed white stone. And the closer we came to Jhaampe, the greater our procession became, for we were joined by contingents from villages and tribes, pouring in from the outer reaches of the Mountain Kingdom to see their Princess pledge herself to the powerful Prince from the lowlands. Soon, with dogs and
horses and some sort of goat they used as pack beasts, with wains of gifts and folk of every walk and degree trailing in families and knots behind us, we came to Jhaampe.
Chapter
20
Jhaampe
“…and so let them come, the people of who I am, and when they reach the city, let them always be able to say, ‘This is our city and our home, for however long we wish to stay.’ Let there always be spaces left, let [words obscured] of the herds and flocks. Then there will be no strangers in Jhaampe, but only neighbors and friends, coming and going as they will.” And the will of the Sacrifice was observed in this, as in all things.
* * *
So I read years later, in a fragment from a Chyurda holy tablet, and so finally came to understand Jhaampe. But that first time, as we rode up the hills toward Jhaampe, I was both disappointed and awed at what I saw.
The temples, palaces, and public buildings reminded me of the immense closed blossoms of tulips, both in color and shape. The shape they owe to the once traditional stretched-hide shelters of the nomads who founded the city; the colors purely to the mountain folk’s love of color in everything. Every building had been recently restained in preparation for our coming and the Princess’s nuptials, and thus they were almost garishly bright. Shades of purple seemed to dominate, set off by yellows, but every color was represented. It is best compared, perhaps, to chancing upon a patch of crocus, pushing up through snow and black earth, for the bare black rocks of the mountains and the dark evergreens made the bright colors of the buildings even more impressive. Additionally, the city itself is built on an area fully as steep as Buckkeep Town, so that when one beholds it from below, the color and lines of it are presented in layers, like an artful arrangement of flowers in a basket.
But as we drew closer we were able to see that between and among the great buildings were tents and temporary huts and tiny shelters of every kind. For at Jhaampe, only the public buildings and the royal houses are permanent. All else is the ebb and flow of folk coming to visit their capital city, to ask judgment of the Sacrifice, as they call the King or Queen who rules there, or to visit the repositories of their treasures and knowledge, or simply to trade and visit with other nomads. Tribes come and go, tents are pitched and inhabited for a month or two, and then one morning, all is bare-swept earth where they were, until another group moves in to claim the spot. Yet it is not a disorderly place, for the streets are well defined, with stone stairs set into the steeper places. Wells and bath houses and steams are located at intervals throughout the city, and the strictest rules are observed about garbage and offal. It is also a green city, for the outskirts of it are pastures, for those who bring their herds and horses with them, with tenting areas defined by the shade trees and wells there. Within the city are stretches of gardens, flowers, and sculpted trees, more artfully tended than anything I had ever seen in Buckkeep. The visiting folk leave their creations among these gardens, and they may take the form of stone sculptures or carvings of wood, or brightly painted pottery creatures. In a way, it put me in mind of the Fool’s room, for in both places were color and shape set out simply for the pleasure of the eye.