Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (99 page)

That?

This. This is yours, Changer.

It smells bad. It is spoiled meat, we do not
want it. There is better meat by the pond than that.

Come here. Come closer.

This is not a good idea. We will come no closer.
He looks at us and grips us with his eyes. He edges closer to us,
bringing it with him. It flops in his arms.

Easy. Easy. This is yours, Changer. Come
closer.

We snarl, but he does not look away. We cower,
tail to belly, wanting to leave, but he is strong. He takes its
hand and puts it on our head. He holds the scruff of our neck to
still us.

Come back. You must come back. He is so
insistent.

We cower down, digging claws into the snowy
earth. Humping our back, we try to pull away, struggle to take one
step backward. He still holds on to the scruff of our neck. We
gather strength to wheel and break away.

Let him go, Nighteyes. He is not yours. A hint
of teeth in those words, his eyes stare at us too hard.

He is not yours, either, Nighteyes
says.

Whose am I, then?

A moment of teetering, of balancing between two
worlds, two realities, two fleshes. Then a wolf wheels and flees,
tail tucked, over the snow, running away alone, fleeing from too
much strangeness. Atop a hill he stops, to point his nose at the
sky and howl. Howl for the unfairness of it all.

I do not have a memory of that frozen graveyard
that is my own. I have a sort of dream. I was wretchedly cold,
stiff, and the raw taste of brandy burned, not just in my mouth,
but all through me. Burrich and Chade would not leave me alone.
They didn't care how much they were hurting me, they just kept on
rubbing my hands and feet, careless of the old bruises, the scabs
on my arms. And every time I closed my eyes, Burrich would seize me
and shake me like a rag. Stay with me, Fitz, he kept saying. Stay
with me, stay with me. Come on, boy. You're not dead. You're not
dead. Then suddenly he hugged me to him, his bearded face bristling
against mine and his hot tears falling on my face. He rocked me
back and forth, sitting in the snow at the edge of my grave. You're
not dead, son. You're not dead.

EPILOGUE

IT WAS A thing Burrich had heard of, in a tale
told by his grandmother. A tale of a Witted one who could leave her
body, for a day or so, and then come back to it. And Burrich had
told it to Chade, and Chade had mixed the poisons that would take
me to the brink of death. They told me I had not died, that my body
had but slowed to an appearance of death.

I do not believe that.

And so I lived once more in man's body. Though
it took me some days and time to remember that I had been a man.
And sometimes, still, I doubt it.

I did not resume my life. My life as
FitzChivalry lay in smoking ruins behind me. In all the world, only
Burrich and Chade knew I had not died. Of those who had known me,
few remembered me with smiles. Regal had killed me, in every way
that mattered to me as a man. To present myself to any of those who
had loved me, to stand before them in my human flesh would have
only been to give them proof of the magic I had tainted myself
with.

I had died in my cell, a day or two after that
final beating. The Dukes had been wroth about my death, but Regal
had had enough evidence and witnesses to my Wit magic to save face
with them. I believe that his guards saved themselves from the lash
by testifying that I had attacked Will with the Wit, and that was
why he lay ill so long. They said they had had to beat me to break
my Wit hold on him. In the face of so many witnesses, the Dukes not
only abandoned me, but witnessed Regal's coronation, and the
appointment of Lord Bright as castellan for Buckkeep and all of
Buck's coast. Patience had begged that my body not be burned, but
be buried whole. The Lady Grace had also sent word on my behalf,
much to her husband's disgust. Only those two stood by me, in the
face of Regal 's proof of my Wit taint. But I do not think it was
out of any consideration for them that he gave me up, but only that
by dying ahead of time, I had spoiled the spectacle that hanging
and burning would have afforded. Cheated of his full vengeance,
Regal simply lost interest. He left Buckkeep to go inland to
Tradeford. Patience claimed my body to bury me.

To this life did Burrich awaken me, to a life in
which there was nothing left for me. Nothing save my king. The Six
Duchies would crumble in the months to come, the Raiders would
possess our good harbors almost at will, our folk were driven from
their homes, or brought to slavery while the Outislanders squatted
there. Forgings flourished. But as my prince Verity had done, I
turned my back on all of it, and went inland. But he went to be a
King, and I went, following my queen, seeking my king. Hard days
followed.

Yet even now, when the pain presses most heavily
and none of the herbs can turn its deep ache, when I consider the
body that entraps my spirit, I recall my days as a Wolf, and know
them not as a few but as a season of living. There is a comfort in
their recalling, as well as a temptation. Come, hunt with me, the
invitation whispers in my heart. Leave the pain behind and let your
life be your own again. There is a place where all time is now, and
the choices are simple and always your own.

Wolves have no Kings.