Royal Assassin (UK)

by Robin Hobb

  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 grey. 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 de­fence. 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 on board 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 and 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 la­boured 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 prac­tised. The fog was a treach­er­ous ally, con­ceal­ing us from the at­tack­ers that we would in turn at­tack, but con­ceal­ing from us also the lie 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 grey above us. On top of 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 ar­mour of plaited leather and car­ried heavy blades and axes. Some wore helms of metal. Their bared arms were marked with 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 for­war
d to join in the mêlée.

  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. Axe 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 axe to axe. 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 axe 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 axe, 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 amongst 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 axe. ‘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.

  After a time, I began to feel alive again. I helped to clear the bod­ies from the door of the tower, and then from the bat­tle­field. The Raid­ers we burned, the Six Duch­ies men we laid out and covered, for kin to claim. I re­mem­ber odd things about that long af­ter­noon. How a dead man’s heels leave a snak­ing trail in the sand when you drag him. How the young watch­man with the dag­ger in him wasn’t quite dead when we went to gather him up. Not that he las­ted long af­ter­wards. He soon was just one more body to add to a row that was too long already.

  We left our war­ri­ors with what was left of the tower guard, to help fill up the watches un­til more men could be sent out. We ad­mired the ves­sel we’d cap­tured. Ver­ity would be pleased, I thought to my­self. An­other ship. A very well-made one. I knew all these things, but felt noth­ing about any of them. We re­turned to the Rurisk, where a pale Justin awaited us. In a numbed si­lence, we launched the Rurisk and took our places at the oars and headed back to Buck­keep.

  We en­countered other boats be­fore we were halfway there. A hast­ily-or­gan­ized flo­tilla of fish­ing ves­sels laden with sol­diers hailed us. The King-in-Wait­ing had sent them, at Justin’s ur­gently Skilled be­hest. They seemed al­most dis­ap­poin­ted to find that the fight­ing was over, but our mas­ter as­sured them they would be wel­comed at the tower. That, I think, was when I real­ized I could no longer sense Ver­ity. And hadn’t for some time. I groped after Nighteyes im­me­di­ately, as an­other man might grope after his purse. He was there. But dis­tant. Ex­hausted, and awed. Never have I smelt so much blood, he told me. I agreed. I still stank of it.

  Ver­ity had been busy. We were scarcely off the Rurisk be­fore there was an­other crew aboard to take her back to Antler Is­land tower. Watch sol­diers and an­other crew of row­ers set her heavy in the wa­ter. Ver­ity’s prize would be tied up at his home dock by this night. An­other open boat fol­lowed them, to bring our slain home. The mas­ter, the mate and Justin de­par­ted on provided horses to re­port dir­ectly to Ver­ity. I felt only re­lief that I hadn’t been summoned also. In­stead, I went with my crew­mates. Faster than I would have thought pos­sible, word of the battle and our prize spread through Buck­keep Town. There was not a tav­ern that was not anxious to pour us full of ale and hear our ex­ploits. It was al­most like a second battle frenzy, for wherever we went, folk ig­nited around us with sav­age sat­is­fac­tion in what we had done. I felt drunk on the sur­ging emo­tions of those around me long be­fore the ale over­whelmed me. Not that I held back from that. I told few tales of what we had done, but my drink­ing more than made up for it. I threw up twice, once in an al­ley, and later in the street. I drank more to kill the taste of the vomit. Some­where in the back of my mind, Nighteyes was frantic. Poison. That wa­ter is poisoned. I couldn’t frame a thought to re­as­sure him.

  Some time be­fore morn­ing, Burrich hauled me out of a tav­ern. He was stonily sober, and his eyes were anxious. In the street out­side the tav­ern, he stopped by a dy­ing torch in a street sconce. ‘There’s still blood on your face,’ he told me, and stood me up straight. He took out his handker­chief, dipped it in a rain bar­rel, and wiped my face as he had not since I was a child. I swayed un­der his touch. I looked into his eyes, and forced my gaze to fo­cus.

  ‘I’ve killed be­fore,’ I said help­lessly. ‘Why is this so dif­fer­ent? Why does it sicken me like this, af­ter­ward?’

  ‘Be­cause it does,’ he said softly. He put an arm around my shoulders, and I was sur­prised we were of a height. The walk back to Buck­keep was steep. Very long. Very quiet. He sent me to the baths, and told me to go to bed af­ter­wards.

  I should have stayed in my own bed, but I had not the sense. Luck­ily the castle was abuzz, and one more drunk clam­ber­ing up a stair­case was not re­mark­able. Stu­pidly, I went to Molly’s room. She let me in. But when I tried to touch her, she pulled away from me. ‘You’re drunk,’ she told me, al­most cry­ing. ‘I told you, I prom­ised my­self to never kiss a drunk. Or be kissed by one.’

  ‘But I’m not drunk that way,’ I in­sisted.

  ‘There’s only one way to be drunk,’ she told me. And turned me out of her rooms, un­touched.

  By noon the next day, I knew how much I had hurt her by not com­ing straight to her to find com­fort. I could un­der­stand what she felt. But I also knew that what I had car­ried that night was noth­ing to take home to someone you loved. I wanted to ex­plain that to her. But a boy came run­ning up to me, to tell me I was needed on the Rurisk, and right now. I gave him a penny for his troubles and watched him dash off with it. Once, I had been the boy earn­ing the penny. I thought of Kerry. I tried to re­mem­ber him as the boy with the penny in his hand, run­ning at my side, but forever now he was the Forged one dead on a table. No one, I told my­self, had been taken for For­ging yes­ter­day.

  Then I headed down to the docks. On the way I stopped at the stable. I
gave the cres­cent moon over into Burrich’s hands. ‘Keep this safe for me,’ I asked him. ‘And there will be a bit more, my crewshare from the raid. I want to have you hold it for me … what I make at do­ing this. It’s for Molly. So if ever I don’t come back, you be cer­tain she gets it. She doesn’t like be­ing a ser­vant.’

  I hadn’t spoken so plainly of her to Burrich in a long time. A line creased his brow, but he took the blood­ied moon. ‘What would your father say to me?’ he wondered aloud as I turned wear­ily away from him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I told him bluntly. ‘I never knew him. Only you.’

  ‘FitzChiv­alry.’

  I turned back to him. Burrich met my eyes as he spoke. ‘I don’t know what he’d say to me. But I know I can say this for him, to you. I’m proud of you. It’s not the kind of work a man does that says he can be proud or not. It’s how he does it. Be proud of your­self.’

  ‘I will try,’ I told him quietly. I went back to my ship.

  Our next en­counter with a Red Ship was a less de­cis­ive vic­tory. We met them on the sea, and they were not sur­prised for they had seen us com­ing. Our mas­ter stood the course, and I think they were sur­prised when we began the en­gage­ment by ram­ming them. We sheared off a num­ber of their oars, but missed the steer­ing oar we had tar­geted. There was little dam­age to the ship it­self; the Red Ships were as flex­ible as fish. Our grapples flew. We out­numbered them, and the mas­ter in­ten­ded to use that ad­vant­age. Our war­ri­ors boarded them, and half our oars­men lost their heads and jumped in too. It be­came a chaos that spread briefly to our own decks. It took every bit of will I could muster to with­stand the vor­tex of emo­tions that en­gulfed us, but I stayed with my oar as I had been ordered. Nonge, at his oar, watched me strangely. I gripped my oar and ground my teeth un­til I could find my­self. I muttered a curse when I dis­covered that I’d lost Ver­ity again.