Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (48 page)

Then, one early spring morning, we reported to
our ship for yet another practice. We functioned well as a crew now
in maneuvering our ship. This exercise was to have us rendezvous
with the Constance at an undisclosed location. It was a Skill
exercise that so far we had not succeeded at. We were resigned to a
frustrating day, save for Justin, who was stonily intent on
succeeding. Arms crossed on his chest, dressed all in dark blue (I
believe he thought the blue robe made him appear more Skilled), he
stood on the dock and stared out into the thick fog that blanketed
the ocean. I was forced to pass him as I put a keg of water aboard.
.

To you, Bastard, it's an opaque blanket. But to
me, all is as clear as a mirror.

How unfortunate for you, I said kindly, ignoring
his use of the word bastard. I had all but forgotten how much sting
could be put into a word. I'd rather see the fog than your face of
a morning. Petty, but satisfying. I had the additional satisfaction
of watching his robe bind about his legs as he boarded. I was
sensibly dressed, in snug leggings, an undershirt of soft cotton,
and a leather jerkin over that. I had considered some sort of mail,
but Burrich had shook his head over it. Better to die cleanly from
a weapon's wound than fall overboard and drown, he'd advised
me.

Verity had quirked a smile at that. Let's not
burden him with too much overconfidence, he suggested wryly, and
even Burrich had smiled. After a moment.

So I had abandoned any thought of mail or armor.
At any rate, today would be a rowing day, and what I wore was
comfortable for that. No shoulder seams to strain against, no
sleeves to catch on my forearms. I was inordinately proud of the
chest and shoulders I was developing. Even Molly had expressed an
astonished approval. I settled into my seat and rolled my
shoulders, smiling as I thought of her. I'd had far too little time
with her lately. Well, only time would cure that. Summer brought
the Raiders. As the long fair days came on I'd have even less time
with her. Autumn could not come too soon for me.

We settled in, a full complement of rowers and
warriors. At some moment, as ropes were cast off and the steersman
took his post and the oars began their steady beat, we became one
animal. It was a phenomenon I had noted before. Perhaps I was more
sensitized to it, nerves abraded clean by my Skill sharing with
Verity. Perhaps it was that all the men and women onboard shared a
single purpose, and that for most of them it was vengeance.
Whatever it was, it lent a unity to us that I had never sensed
before in a group of folk. Perhaps, I thought, this was a shadow of
what it was to belong to a coterie. I felt a pang of regret, of
opportunities lost.

You are my coterie. Verity, like a whisper
behind me. And somewhere, from the distant hills, something less
than a sigh. Are we not pack?

I do have you, I thought back to them. Then I
settled in and paid attention to what I was doing. Oars and backs
dipped and rose in unison and the Rurisk went nosing boldly out
into the fog. Our sail hung limp. In a moment we were a world unto
ourselves. Sounds of water, of the rhythmic unity of our breathing
as we rowed. A few of the fighters spoke softly among themselves,
their words and thoughts muffled by the mist. Up in the bow, Justin
stood beside the master, staring out into the fog. His brow was
lined, his eyes distant, and I knew he reached for Carrod aboard
the Constance. Almost idly, I reached out, too, to see if I could
sense what he Skilled.

Stop that! warned Verity, and I drew back
feeling as if he slapped my hand. I'm not ready for anyone to have
suspicions about you yet.

There was a lot behind that warning, more than I
could devote myself to just now. As if what I had begun to do were
actually a very dangerous action. I wondered what he feared, but I
concentrated on the steady rhythm of my rowing, and let my eyes
stare into the infinite gray. Most of that morning passed in a
mist. Several times Justin asked the master to have the steersman
change his course. It made little difference that I could see, save
in the texture of the rowing. All of the inside of a fog bank looks
much the same. The steady physical effort, the lack of anything to
focus on put me into a waking dream about nothing.

The cries of the young watchman broke my trance.
'Ware treachery! he cried out, his shrill voice deepening as blood
engulfed it. We are attacked!

I leaped up from my rowing bench, staring wildly
all about. Fog. Only my oar dangling and skipping on the surface of
the water, while my fellow oarsmen glared at me for breaking the
rhythm. You, Fitz! What ails you? the master demanded. Justin stood
at his side, clear-browed and self-righteous.

I ... my back cramped. Sorry. I stooped to my
oar again.

Kelpy, relieve him. Stretch and move about a
bit, boy, then take your oar back, the mate directed in his thick
accent.

Aye, sir. I acknowledged his order and stood to
let Kelpy have my bench and oar. It did feel good to pause. My
shoulders cracked when I rolled them. But I was ashamed, too, to
take a rest when the others did not. I rubbed my eyes and gave my
head a rattle, wondering what nightmare had seized me so firmly.
What watchman? Where?

Antler Island. They came in under the fog's
cover. No town there, but the signal tower. I think they intend to
slaughter the watchers, and then do their best to destroy the
towers. A brilliant strategy. Antler Island is one of our first
lines of defense. The outer tower watches the sea, the inner tower
passes on the signals to both Buckkeep and Neatbay. Verity's
thoughts, almost calm with the same steadiness that seizes one as a
weapon is brought to the ready. Then, after a moment: The
single-minded slug is so intent on reaching Carrod, he won't let me
through. Fitz. Go to the master. Tell him Antler Island. If you get
into the channel, the current will practically fly you to the cove
where the tower is. The Raiders are there already, but they'll have
to beat against the current to get out again. Go now, and you may
catch them on the beach. NOW!

Easier to give orders than to obey them, I
thought, and then hurried forward. Sir? I requested, and then stood
an eternity waiting for the master to turn and speak to me, while
the mate glared at me for going straight to the master rather than
through him.

Oarsman? the master said at last.

Antler Island. If we make for it now, and catch
the current in the channel, we'll practically fly to the cove where
the tower is.

That's true. Do you read currents, then, boy?
It's a useful skill. I thought I was the only man onboard with an
idea of where we actually are.

No, sir. I took a deep breath. Verity had
ordered this. We should go there, sir. Now.

The now drew his brows together in a
frown.

What is this nonsense! Justin demanded angrily.
Are you trying to make me look a fool? You'd sensed that we were
getting close to each other, didn't you? Why do you want me to
fail? So you won't feel so alone?

I wanted to kill him. Instead I drew myself
straight and told the truth. A secret order from the
King-in-Waiting, sir. One I was to pass on to you at this time. I
addressed only the master. He dismissed me with a nod and I
returned to my bench arid took my oar back from Kelpy. The master
stared dispassionately into the mist.

Jharck. Have the steersman swing her about and
catch the current. Take her a bit deeper into the
channel.

The mate nodded stiffly, and in an instant we
had changed course. Our sail bellied slightly, and it was as Verity
had said it would be. The current combined with our rowing sent us
skating down the channel. Time passes oddly in a fog. All senses
are distorted in it. I don't know how long I rowed, but soon
Nighteyes whispered that there was a tinge of smoke in the air, and
almost immediately we became aware of the cries of men in battle,
carrying clear but ghostly through the fog. I saw Jharck the mate
exchange glances with the master. Put your backs into it! he
snarled suddenly. We've got a Red-Ship attacking our
tower.

Another moment and the stink of the smoke was
distinguishable in the fog, as were the battle cries and screams of
men. Sudden strength leaped in me, and about me I saw the same, the
clenched jaws, the muscles that knotted and sprang as we rowed,
even a different tang to the sweat of those who labored around me.
If we had been one creature before, we were now part of the same
enraged beast. I felt the leap of the heating anger igniting and
spreading. It was a Wit thing, a surging of hearts on the animal
level that flooded us with hate.

We drove the Rurisk forward, sending her
skimming up finally into the shallows of the cove, and then we
leaped out and ran her up the beach just as we had practiced. The
fog was a treacherous ally, concealing us from the attackers that
we would in turn attack, but concealing from us also the lay of the
land and a view of exactly what was happening. Weapons were seized
and we rushed toward the sounds of the fighting. Justin stayed with
the Rurisk, standing and staring into the fog toward Buckkeep
earnestly, as if that would help him Skill the news to
Serene.

The Red-Ship was drawn up on the sand, just as
the Rurisk was. Not far from her were the two small boats that
served as ferries to the mainland. Both had been stove in. There
had been Six Duchies men down here on the beach when the Red-Ships
arrived. Some of them were still there. Carnage. We ran past
crumpled bodies leaking blood into the sand. All of them seemed to
be our own folk. Suddenly the Antler Island inner tower loomed gray
above us. Atop it her signal fire burned a ghostly yellow in the
fog. The tower was besieged. The Raiders were dark muscular men,
wiry rather than massive. Most were heavily bearded and their hair
hung black and wild to their shoulders. They wore body armor of
plaited leather and carried heavy blades and axes. Some wore helms
of metal. Their bared arms were marked in coils of scarlet, but
whether this was tattoo or paint I could not tell. They were
confident, swaggering, laughing, and talking like workmen
completing a task. The guardians of the tower were cornered; the
structure had been built as a basis for a signal light, not as a
defensible rampart. It was a matter of time before all the cornered
men were dead. The Outislanders did not look back toward us as we
came pouring up the rocky incline. They believed they had nothing
to fear from behind them. One tower gate hung on its hinges, a
huddle of men inside barricaded behind a wall of bodies. As we
advanced they sent a thin hail of arrows out toward the encircled
Raiders. None of them hit.

I gave a cry between a whoop and a howl,
terrible fear and vengeful joy merged into one sound. The emotions
of those who ran beside me found vent in me, and spurred me on. The
attackers turned to see us as we closed with them.

We caught the Raiders between us. Our ship's
crew outnumbered them, and at sight of us, the beleaguered
defenders of the tower took heart and poured forth themselves.
Scattered bodies about the tower gate attested to several efforts
before this one. The young watchman still lay where I had seen him
fall in my dream. Blood had spilled from his mouth and soaked into
his embroidered shirt. A dagger thrown from behind had taken him.
An odd detail to note as we rushed forward to join in the
melee.

There was no strategy, no formation, no plan
of-battle. Simply a group of men and women suddenly offered the
opportunity for vengeance. It was more than enough.

If I thought I had been one with the crew
before, I was now engulfed in them. Emotions battered and thrust me
forward. I will never know how much or which feelings were my own.
They overwhelmed me, and FitzChivalry was lost in them. I became
the emotions of the crew. Ax raised, roaring, I led the way. I had
no desire for the position I had seized. Instead I was thrust
forward by the crew's extreme desire for someone to follow. I
suddenly wanted to kill as many Raiders as I could, as fast as I
could. I wanted my muscles to crack with each swing, I wanted to
fling myself forward through a tide of dispossessed souls, to tread
on the bodies of fallen Raiders. And I did.

I had heard legends of berserks. I had thought
them animalistic brutes, powered by bloodlust, insensitive to the
damage they wrought. Perhaps, instead, they were oversensitized,
unable to defend their own minds from the emotions that rushed in
to drive them, unable to heed the pain signals of their own bodies.
I do not know.

I have heard tales of myself on that day. Even a
song. I do not recall that I frothed and roared as I fought. But
neither do I recall that I did not. Somewhere, within me, were both
Verity and Nighteyes, but they, too, were drowned in the passions
of those around me. I know I killed the first Raider that went down
before our mad rush. I also know that I finished the last standing
man, in a battle we fought ax to ax. The song says it was the
master of the Red-Ship vessel. I suppose it could have been. His
leather surcoat was well made, and spattered with the blood of
other men. I don't recall another thing about him except how my ax
crushed his helm deep into his skull, and how the blood gouted from
beneath the metal as he sank to his knees.

So the battle ended, and defenders rushed forth
to embrace our crew, to shout the victory and pound one another's
backs. The change was too much for me. I stood, leaning on my ax,
and wondered where my strength had fled. The anger had abandoned me
as suddenly as carris seed leaves an addict. I felt drained and
disoriented, as if I had wakened from one dream into another. I
could have dropped and slept among the bodies, so totally exhausted
was I. It was Nonge, one of the Outislanders in the crew, who
brought me water, and then walked me clear of the bodies so I could
sit down to drink it. Then he waded back in among the carnage to
join in the looting. When he came back to me a while later, he held
out to me a bloodied medallion. It was hammered gold, on a silver
chain. A crescent moon. When I did not reach to take it from him,
he looped it over the gory head of my ax. It was Harek's, he said,
finding the Six Duchies words slowly. You fought him well. He died
well. He'd want you to have it. He was a good man, before the
Korriks took his heart. I did not even ask him which one had been
Harek. I did not want any of them to have names.