Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (5 page)

Stop! I commanded him. Stop it! I beg you,
stop.

He paused and drew a breath. His eyes came back
to me, focused on me. Stop it? He sighed. He put his face into his
hands, spoke through muffling fingers. Stop it? So shrieked the
women of Siltbay. But it is done already, my liege. We cannot stop
what's already happening. Once it's come to pass, it's too late. He
lifted his face from his hands. He looked very weary.

Please, I begged him. Cannot you tell me of the
one woman I saw? I suddenly could not recall her name, only that
she was very important to me.

He shook his head, and the small silver bells on
his cap jingled wearily. The only way to find out would be to go
there. He looked up at me. If you command it, I shall do
so.

Summon Verity, I told him instead. I have
instructions for him.

Our soldiers cannot arrive in time to stop this
raid, he reminded me. Only to help to douse the fires and assist
the folk there in picking from the ruins what is left to
them.

Then so they shall do, I said
heavily.

First, let me help you return to your bed, my
king. Before you take a chill. And let me bring you
food.

No, Fool, I told him sadly. Shall I eat and be
warm, while the bodies of children are cooling in the mud? Fetch me
instead my robe and buskins. And then be off to find
Verity.

The Fool stood his ground boldly. Do you think
the discomfort you inflict on yourself will give even one child
another breath, my liege? What happened at Siltbay is done. Why
must you suffer?

Why must I suffer? I found a smile for the Fool.
Surely that is the same question that every inhabitant of Siltbay
asked tonight of the fog. I suffer, my fool, because they did.
Because I am king. But more, because I am a man, and I saw what
happened there. Consider it, Fool. What if every man in the Six
Duchies said to himself, `Well, the worst that can befall them has
already happened. Why should I give up my meal and warm bed to
concern myself with it?' Fool, by the blood that is in me, these
are my folk. Do I suffer more tonight than any one of them did?
What is the pain and trembling of one man compared with what
happened at Siltbay? Why should I shelter myself while my folk are
slaughtered like cattle?

But two words are all I need say to Prince
Verity. The Fool vexed me with more words. `Raiders' and `Siltbay,'
and he knows as much as any man needs to. Let me rest you in your
bed, my lord, and then I shall race to him with those
words.

No. A fresh cloud of pain blossomed in the back
of my skull. It tried to push the sense from my thoughts, but I
held firm. I forced my body to walk to the chair beside the hearth.
I managed to lower myself into it. I spent my youth defining the
borders of the Six Duchies to any who challenged them. Should my
life be too valuable to risk now, when there is so little left of
it, and all of that riddled with pain? No, Fool. Fetch my son to me
at once. He shall Skill for me, since my own strength for it is at
an end this night. Together, we shall consider what we see, and
make our decisions as to what must be done. Now go. GO!

The Fool's feet pattered on the stone floor as
he fled.

I was left alone with myself. Myselves: I put my
hands to my temples. I felt a painful smile crease my face as I
found myself. So, boy. There you are. My king slowly turned his
attention to me. He was weary, but he reached his Skill toward me
to touch my mind as softly as blowing spiderweb. I reached
clumsily, attempting to complete the Skill bond and it all went
awry. Our contact tattered, fraying apart like rotten cloth. And
then he was gone.

I hunkered alone on the floor of my bedchamber
in the Mountain Kingdom, uncomfortably close to the hearth fire. I
was fifteen, and my nightclothes were soft and clean. The fire in
the hearth had burned low. My blistered fingers throbbed angrily.
The beginnings of a Skill headache pulsed in my temples.

I moved slowly, cautiously as I rose. Like an
old man? No. Like a young man whose health was still mending. I
knew the difference now.

My soft, clean bed beckoned, like a soft clean
tomorrow.

I refused them both. I took the chair by the
hearth and stared into the flames, pondering.

When Burrich came at first light to bid me
farewell, I was ready to ride with him.

CHAPTER TWO

BUCKKEEP HOLD OVERLOOKS the finest deep-water
harbor in the Six Duchies. To the north, the Buck River spills into
the sea, and with its waters carries most of the goods exported
from the interior Duchies of Tilth and Farrow' Steep black cliffs
provide the seat for the castle, which overlooks the river mouth,
the harbor, and the waters beyond. The town of Buckkeep clings
precariously to those cliffs, well away from the great river's
floodplain, with a good portion of it built on docks and quays. The
original stronghold was a log structure built by the original
inhabitants of the area as a defense against Outislander raids. It
was seized in ancient time, by a raider named Taker, who with the
seizing of the fort became a resident. He replaced the timber
structure with walls and towers of black stone quarried from the
cliffs themselves, and in the process sank the foundations of
Buckkeep deep into the stone. With each succeeding generation of
the Farseer line, the walls were forted and the towers built taller
and stouter. Since Taker, the founder of the Farseer line, Buckkeep
has never fallen to enemy hands.

Snow kissed my face, wind pushed the hair back
from my forehead. I stirred from a dark dream to a darker one, to a
winterscape in forestland. I was cold, save where the rising heat
of my toiling horse warmed me. Beneath me, Sooty was plodding
stolidly along through wind-banked snow. I thought I had been
riding long. Hands the stable boy was riding before me. He turned
in his saddle and shouted something back to me.

Sooty stopped, not abruptly, but I was not
expecting it, and I nearly slid from the saddle. I caught at her
mane and steadied myself. Steadily falling flakes veiled the forest
around us. The spruce trees were heavy with accumulated snow, while
the interspersed birches were bare black silhouettes in the clouded
winter moonlight. There was no sign of a trail. The woods were
thick around us. Hands had reined in his black gelding in front of
us, and that was why Sooty halted. Behind me Burrich sat his roan
mare with the practiced ease of the lifelong horseman.

I was cold, and shaky with weakness. I looked
around dully, wondering why we had stopped. The wind gusted
sharply, snapping my damp cloak against Sooty's flank. Hands
pointed suddenly. There! He looked back at me. Surely you saw
that?

I leaned forward to peer through snow that fell
like fluttering lace curtains. I think so, I said, the wind and
falling snow swallowing my words. For an instant I had glimpsed
tiny lights. They had been yellow and stationary, unlike the pale
blue will o' the wisps that still occasionally plagued my
vision.

Do you think it's Buckkeep? Hands shouted
through the rising wind.

It is, Burrich asserted quietly, his deep voice
carrying effortlessly. I know where we are now. This is where
Prince Verity killed that big doe about six years ago. I remember
because she leaped when the arrow went in, and tumbled down that
gully. It took us the rest of the day to get down there and pack
the meat out.

The gully he gestured to was no more than a line
of brush glimpsed through the falling snow. But suddenly it all
snapped into place for me. The lay of this hillside, the types of
trees, the gully there, and so Buckkeep was that way, just a brief
ride before we could clearly see the fortress on the sea cliffs
overlooking the bay and Buckkeep Town below. For the first time in
days, I knew with absolute certainty where we were. The heavy
overcast had kept us from checking our course by the stars, and the
unusually deep snowfall had altered the lay of the land until even
Burrich had seemed unsure. But now I knew that home was but a brief
ride away. In summer. But I picked up what was left of my
determination.

Not much farther, I told Burrich.

Hands had already started his horse. The stocky
little gelding surged ahead bravely, breaking trail through the
banked snow. I nudged Sooty and the tall mare reluctantly stepped
out. As she leaned into the hill I slid to one side. As I scrabbled
futilely at my saddle Burrich nudged his horse abreast of mine. He
reached out, seized me by the back of my collar, and dragged me
upright again. It's not much farther, he agreed. You'll make
it.

I managed a nod. It was only the second time
he'd had to steady me in the last hour or so. One of my better
evenings, I told myself bitterly. I pulled myself up straighter in
the saddle, resolutely squared my shoulders. Nearly
home.

The journey had been long and arduous. The
weather had been foul, and the constant hardships had not improved
my health. Much of it I remembered like a dark dream; days of
jolting along in the saddle, barely cognizant of our path, nights
when I lay between Hands and Burrich in our small tent and trembled
with a weariness so great I could not even sleep. As we had drawn
closer to Buck Duchy I had thought our travel would become easier.
I had not reckoned on Burrich's caution.

At Turlake, we had stopped a night at an inn. I
had thought that we'd take passage on a river barge the next day,
for though ice might line the banks of the Buck River, its strong
current kept a channel clear year-round. I went straight to our
room, for I had not much stamina. Burrich and Hands were both
anticipating hot food and companionship, to say nothing of ale. I
had not expected them to come soon to the room. But scarcely two
hours had passed before they both came up to ready themselves for
bed.

Burrich was grim and silent, but after he had
gone to bed, Hands whispered to me from his bed how poorly the King
was spoken of in this town. Had they known we were from Buckkeep, I
doubt they would have spoken so freely. But clad as we are in
Mountain garments, they thought us traders or merchants. A dozen
times I thought Burrich would challenge one of them. In truth, I do
not know how he contained himself. All complain about the taxes for
defending the coast. They sneer, saying that for all the taxes they
bleed, the Raiders still came unlooked for in autumn, when the
weather lasted fine, and burned two more towns. Hands had paused,
and uncertainly added, But they speak uncommonly well of Prince
Regal. He passed through here escorting Kettricken back to
Buckkeep. One man at the table called her a great white fish of a
wife, fit for the coast King. And another spoke up, saying that at
least Prince Regal bore himself well despite his hardships, and
looked ever as a Prince should. Then they drank to the Prince's
health and long life.

A cold settled in me. I whispered back, The two
Forged villages. Did you hear what ones they were?

Whalejaw up in Bearns. And Siltbay in Buck
itself.

The darkness settled darker around me, and I lay
watching it all night.

The next morning we left Turlake. On horseback.
Overland. Burrich would not even let us keep to the road. I had
protested in vain. He listened to me complain, then took me aside,
to fiercely demand, Do you want to die?

I looked at him blankly. He snorted in disgust.
.

Fitz, nothing has changed. You're still a royal
bastard, and Prince Regal still regards you as an obstacle. He's
tried to be rid of you, not once, but twice. Do you think he's
going to welcome you back to Buckkeep? No. Even better for him if
we never make it back at all. So let's not make easy targets of
ourselves. We go overland. If he or his hirelings want us, they'll
have to hunt us through the woods. And he's never been much of a
hunter.

Wouldn't Verity protect us? I asked
weakly.

You're a King's Man, and Verity is
king-in-waiting, Burrich had pointed out shortly. You protect your
king, Fitz. Not the reverse. Not that he doesn't think well of you,
and would do all he could to protect you. But he has weightier
matters to attend. Red-Ships. A new bride. And a younger brother
who thinks the crown would sit better on his own head.

No. Don't expect the King-in-Waiting to watch
over you. Do that for yourself.

All I could think of was the extra days he was
putting between me and my search for Molly. But I did not give that
reason. I had not told him of my dream. Instead, I said, Regal
would have to be crazy to try to kill us again. Everyone would know
he was the murderer.

Not crazy, Fitz. Just ruthless. Regal is that.
Let's not ever suppose that Regal abides by the rules we observe,
or even thinks as we do. If Regal sees an opportunity to kill us,
he'll take it. He won't care who suspects so long as no one can
prove it. Verity is our king-in-waiting. Not our king. Not yet.
While King Shrewd is alive and on the throne, Regal will find ways
around his father. He will get away with many things. Even
murder.

Burrich had reined his horse aside from the
well-traveled road, plunged off through drifts and up the unmarked
snowy hillside beyond, to strike a straight course for Buckkeep.
Hands had looked at me as if he felt ill. But we had followed. And
every night when we had slept, bundled all together in a single
tent for warmth instead of in beds in a cozy inn, I had thought of
Regal. Every floundering step up each hillside, leading our horses
more often than not, and every cautious descent, I had thought of
the youngest Prince. I tallied every extra hour between Molly and
me. The only times I felt strength surge through me were during my
daydreams of battering Regal into ruin. I could not promise myself
revenge. Revenge was the property of the crown. But if I could not
have revenge, Regal would not have satisfaction. I would return to
Buckkeep, and I would stand tall before him, and when his black eye
fell upon me, I would not flinch. Nor, I vowed, would Regal ever
see me tremble, or catch at a wall for support, or pass a hand
before my blurry eyes. He would never know how close he had come to
winning it all.

So at last we rode to Buckkeep, not up the
winding seacoast road, but from the forested hills behind her. The
snow. dwindled, then ceased. The night winds blew the clouds aside,
and a fine moon made Buckkeep's stone walls shine black as jet
against the sea. Light shone yellow in her turrets and beside the
side gate. We're home, Burrich said quietly. We rode down one last
hill, struck the road at last, and rode around to the great gate of
Buckkeep.

A young soldier stood night guard. He lowered
his pike to block our way and demanded our names.

Burrich pushed his hood back from his face, but
the lad didn't move. I'm Burrich, the stablemaster! Burrich
informed him incredulously. The stablemaster here for longer than
you've been alive, most likely. I feel I should be asking you what
your business is here at my gate!

Before the flustered lad could reply, there was
a tumble and rush of soldiers from the guardhouse. It is Burrich!
the watch sergeant exclaimed. Burrich was instantly the center of a
cluster of men, all shouting greetings and talking at once while
Hands and I sat our weary horses at the edge of the hubbub. The
sergeant, one Blade, finally shouted them to silence, mostly so he
could speak his own comments easily. We hadn't looked for you until
spring, man, the burly old soldier declared. And even then, we was
told you might not be the man that left here. But you look good,
you do. A bit cold, and outlandishly dressed, and another scar or
two, but yourself for all that. Word was that you was hurt bad, and
the Bastard like to die. Plague or poison, the rumors
was.

Burrich laughed and held out his arms that all
might admire his Mountain garb. For a moment I saw Burrich as they
must have seen him, his purple-and-yellow quilted trousers and
smock and buskins. I no longer wondered at how we had been
challenged at the gate. But I did wonder at the rumors.

Who said the Bastard would die? I demanded
curiously.

Who's asking? Blade demanded in return. He
glanced over my garments, looked me in the eye, and knew me not.
But as I sat up straighter on my horse, he gave a start. To this
day, I believe he knew Sooty and that was how he recognized me. He
did not cover his shock.

Fitz? There's hardly half of you left! You look
like you've had the Blood Plague. It was my first inkling of just
how bad I looked to those who knew me.

Who said I had been poisoned, or afflicted with
plague? I repeated the question quietly.

Blade flinched and glanced back over his
shoulder. Oh, no one. Well, no one in particular. You know how it
is. When you didn't come back with the others, well, some supposed
this and some that, and pretty soon it was almost like we knew it.
Rumors, guardroom talk. Soldiers gossip. We wondered why you didn't
come back, that was all. No one believed anything that was said. We
spread too many rumors ourselves to give gossip any credence. We
just wondered why you and Burrich and Hands hadn't come
back.

He finally realized he was repeating himself and
fell silent before my stare. I let the silence stretch long enough
to make it plain that I didn't intend to answer this question. Then
I shrugged it away. No harm done, Blade. But you can tell them all
the Bastard isn't done for yet. Plagues or poisons, you should have
known Burrich would physick me through it. I'm alive and well; I
just look like a corpse.

Oh, Fitz, lad, I didn't mean it that way. It's
just that-

I said, no harm done, Blade. Let it
go.

Good enough, sir, he replied.