by Robin Hobb
Not quite, my king. I reined my mind back from thinking of Kettricken safely on her way to the mountains. Instead, I repeated, There is still Will. And Burl and Carrod. We must be circumspect, my prince.
A shade of warmth. I shall. But you know the depths of my thanks. Perhaps we paid highly, but what we bought was worth it. To me, at least.
To me, also. I sensed the weariness in him, and the resignation. Are you giving up?
Not yet. But like yours, my future does not seem promising. The others are all dead or fled. I will go on. But I don’t know how much farther I must go. Or what I must do when I get there. And I am so very tired. To give in would be so easy.
Verity read me with ease, I knew. But I had to reach for him and for all he was not conveying to me. I sensed the great cold that surrounded him, and an injury that made it painful to breathe. His aloneness, and the pain of knowing that those who had died had died so far from home, and for him. Hod, I thought, my own grief echoing his. Charim. Gone for ever. And something else, something he could not quite convey. A temptation, a teetering at the brink. A pressure, a plucking, very similar to the Skillish plucking I had felt from Serene and Justin. I tried to push past him, to look at it more closely, but he held me back.
Some dangers become more dangerous when confronted, he warned me. This is one of them. But I am sure it is the path I must follow, if I am to find the Elderlings.
‘Prisoner!’
I jolted out of my trance. A key turned in the lock of my door and it swung open. A girl stood in the doorway. Regal was beside her, one hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Two guards, Inlanders both by the cut of their clothes, flanked them. One leaned forward to thrust a torch into my cell. I cowered back inadvertently, then sat blinking in the unaccustomed light. ‘Is that him?’ Regal asked the girl gently. She peered at me fearfully. I peered back, trying to decide why she looked familiar.
‘Yes, sir, lord prince, king, sir. That’s him. I went to the well that morning, had to, had to have water, or the baby would die, just as sure as if the Raiders killed him. And it had been quiet a while, all Neatbay as quiet as the dead. So I went to the well in the early morning, creeping like through the mist, sir. Then there was this wolf there, right by the well, and he starts up and stares at me. And the wind moves the mist, and the wolf is gone, he’s a man now. That man, sir. Your majesty king.’ She continued to stare at me wide-eyed.
I recalled her now. The morning after the battle for Neatbay and Bayguard. Nighteyes and I had paused to rest by the well. I recalled how he had jostled me awake as he fled at the girl’s approach.
‘You’re a brave girl,’ Regal praised her, and patted her shoulder again. ‘Here, guard, take her back above to the kitchens, and see she gets a good meal and a bed somewhere. No, leave me the torch.’ They backed out of the door, and the guard shut it firmly behind him. I heard departing footsteps, but the light outside the door stayed. After the footsteps had dwindled, Regal spoke again.
‘Well, Bastard, it looks as if this game is played out. Your champions will abandon you fairly quickly, I suspect, once they understand what you are. There are other witnesses, of course. Ones who will speak of how there were wolf tracks and men dead of bites everywhere you fought at Neatbay. There are even some of our own Buckkeep guard, who, when put to oath, must admit that when you have fought Forged ones, some of the bodies have borne the marks of teeth and claws.’ He heaved a great sigh of satisfaction. I heard the sounds of him setting the torch into a wall sconce. He came back to the door. He was just tall enough to peer in at me. Childishly I stood, and approached the door to look down at him. He stepped back. I felt petty satisfaction.
It had tweaked his temper. ‘You were so gullible. Such a fool. You came limping home from the mountains with your tail between your legs, and thought that Verity’s favour would be all you needed to survive. You and all your foolish plottings. I knew of them all. All of them, Bastard. All your little chats with our queen, the tower-garden bribes to turn Brawndy against me. Even her plans to leave Buckkeep. Take warm things, you told her. The King will go with you.’ He stood on tip-toe to be sure I could see his smile. ‘She left with neither, Bastard. Not the King, nor the warm things she had packed.’ He paused. ‘Not even a horse.’ His voice caressed the last words as if he had been saving them for a long time. He watched my face avidly.
I suddenly knew myself for nine kinds of a fool. Rosemary. Sweet, sleepy child, always nodding off in a corner. So bright one could trust her with any errand. So young one forgot she was even there. Yet I should have known. I was no older when Chade had first begun to teach me my trade. I felt ill, and it must have shown on my face. I could not recall what I had or had not said in front of her. I had no way of knowing what secrets Kettricken had confided over that little, dark, curly head. What talks with Verity had she witnessed, what chats with Patience? The Queen and the Fool were missing. That only I knew for certain. Had they ever got out of Buckkeep alive? Regal was grinning, well satisfied with himself. The barred door between us was the only thing that kept my promise to Shrewd intact.
He left, still grinning.
Regal had his proof that I had the Wit. The Neatbay girl was the binding knot for that. All that remained now was for him to torture from me a confession that I had killed Shrewd. He had plenty of time for that. However much time as it would take, he had.
I sank down onto the floor. Verity had been right. Regal had won.
THIRTY-ONE
Torture
But nothing would satisfy the Wilful Princess but that she rode the Piebald Stallion to the hunt. All her ladies warned her, but she turned aside her head and would not hear them. All the lords warned her, but she scoffed at their fears. Even the Stablemaster sought to say her nay, telling her, ‘Lady Princess, the stallion should be put down in blood and fire, for he was trained by Sly o’the Wit, and only to him is he true!’ Then the Wilful Princess grew wroth and said, ‘Are these not my stables and my horses, and may I not choose which of my beasts I shall ride?’ Then all grew silent before her temper, and she ordered the Piebald Stallion saddled for the hunt.
Forth they went, with a great baying of hounds and fluttering of colours. And the Piebald Stallion bore her well, and carried her far ahead of the field, and at last out of sight of the other hunters entirely. Then, when the Wilful Princess was far and away, over the hill and beneath the green trees, the Piebald Stallion bore her this way and that, until she was lost and the crying of the hounds but an echo in the hills. At last she stopped by a stream to sip the cool water, but lo, when she turned, the Piebald Stallion was gone, and in his place stood Sly o’the Wit, as mottled as his Wit-beast. Then he was with her as a stallion is with a mare, so that ere the year had turned, she went heavy with child. And when those who attended her birth saw the babe, all mottled on the face and shoulders, they cried aloud with fear. When the Wilful Princess saw him, she screamed, and gave up her spirit in blood and shame, that she had borne Sly’s Wit-child. So the Piebald Prince was born in fear and shame, and that was what he brought into the world with him.
– Legend of the Piebald Prince
The torch Regal had left set the shadows of the bars to dancing. I watched them for a time, thoughtless, hopeless. Knowledge of my own death numbed me. Gradually my mind began to work again, but without order. Was this what Chade had been trying to tell me? Without her horse; how much had Regal known about the horses? Had he known the destination? How had Burrich escaped detection? Or had he? Might not I meet him in the torturer’s chamber? Did Regal think Patience was connected to the escape plan? If he did, would he
still be content simply to abandon her, or would he take more direct vengeance? When they came for me, should I fight? No. I would go with dignity. No. I would kill as many of his Inland-bred curs as I could with my bare hands. No. I would go quietly, and wait for a chance at Regal. I knew he would be there, to watch me die. My promise to Shrewd, not to kill one of his own? It no longer bound me. Did it? No one could save me. Don’t even wonder if Chade would act, if Patience could do anything at all. After Regal had tortured a confession from me … would he keep me alive to hang and quarter before all? Of course he would. Why deny himself that pleasure? Would Patience come to watch me die? I hoped not. Maybe Lacey could keep her away. I had thrown my life away, sacrificed all for nothing. At least, I had killed Serene and Justin. Had it been worth it? Had my queen escaped at all, or was she still hidden somewhere within the castle walls? Was that what Chade had been trying to tell me? No. My mind paddled and scrabbled through thoughts like a rat fallen into a rain barrel. I longed to talk to someone, anyone. I forced myself to calmness, to rationality, and finally found a grip. Nighteyes. Nighteyes had said that he had taken them, had guided them to Burrich.
My brother? I reached for Nighteyes.
I am here. I am always here.
Tell me of that night.
What night?
The night you guided the people from the keep to Heart of the Pack.
Ah. I sensed him struggling. His ways were a wolf’s ways. A thing done was a thing done. He planned no further ahead than the next kill, recalled almost nothing of events that happened a month or a year ago, unless they touched most directly on his own survival. Thus he recalled the cage I had taken him from, but where he had hunted four nights ago was lost to him. General things he recalled: a well-used rabbit trail, a spring that did not freeze over, but specific details of how many rabbits he had killed three days ago were lost forever. I held my breath, hoping he could give me hope.
I took them all to Heart of the Pack. I wish you were here. I’ve a porcupine quill in my lip. I can’t paw it loose. It hurts.
And how did you get that? In the midst of all else, I still had to smile. He knew better but had not been able to resist the fat, waddling creature.
It isn’t funny.
I know. Truly, it was not funny. A quill was a nasty barbed thing that would only work deeper, festering all the way. It could get bad enough to keep him from hunting. I turned my attention to his problem. Until I had solved it for him, he would be able to focus on nothing else. Heart of the Pack would get it out for you, if you asked him nicely. You can trust him.
He pushed me when I spoke to him. But then he spoke to me.
Did he?
A slow working through of thought. That night. When I guided them to him. He said to me, Bring them here to me, not to the dog-fox place.
Picture me the place you went.
This was harder for him. But as he tried, he recalled the roadside, empty in the blowing snow, save for Burrich astride Ruddy and leading Sooty. I glimpsed the Female and the Scentless One, as he thought of them. Chade he remembered well, chiefly for a fat beef-bone bestowed on Nighteyes at their parting.
Did they speak to one another?
Overly much. I left them yipping to one another.
Try as I might, that was really all he had for me. It was enough that I knew the plans had changed drastically and at the last minute. Odd. I had been willing to lay down my life for Kettricken, but at the last accounting, I was not sure how I felt about giving up my horse. Then I recalled I would probably never ride a horse again, save the one that carried me to the hanging tree. At least Sooty had gone with someone I cared about. And Ruddy. Why those two horses? And only those two? Had Burrich been unable to get others out of the stable? Was that why he had not gone?
The quill hurts, Nighteyes reminded me. I cannot eat for the pain.
I wish I could come to help you, but I cannot. You must ask Heart of the Pack.
Cannot you ask him to do it? He does not push you.
I smiled to myself. He did once. It was enough, I learned from it. But if you go to him, asking for help, he will not repel you.
Cannot you ask him to help me?
I cannot speak to him as we speak. And he is too far away for me to yip at him.
I will try, then, Nighteyes said doubtfully.
I let him go. I thought of trying to make him understand my situation. I decided against it. There was nothing he could do; it would only distress him. Nighteyes would tell Burrich I had sent him; Burrich would know I was still alive. There was little else to convey that he would not already know.
A long, slow time passed then. I measured it in the small ways I could. The torch Regal had left burned out. The guard changed. Someone came and put food and water through my door. I had not asked for it. I wondered if that meant a very long time had passed since I had last eaten. The guard changed again. These were a chatty pair, a man and a woman. But they spoke in low voices, and all I heard were the murmurs, and the laughter. Some sort of a ribald flirtation between the two, I surmised. Interrupted by someone’s arrival.
The friendly chatter ceased suddenly. Low murmurs, in a very respectful tone. My stomach roiled cold inside me. Quietly I came to my feet, crept to my door. I peered through the bars toward the guard’s station.
He came like a shadow down the hall. Silently. Not furtive. He was so unobtrusive, he did not need to worry about being furtive. This was Skill as I had never seen it used before. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck hackle when Will stopped outside the door and looked in at me. He did not speak and I dared not. Even looking at him was giving him too much of an opening to myself. Yet I feared to look away. The Skill shimmered around him like an aura of awareness. I coiled deep inside myself, tighter and tighter, pulling back everything I felt or thought, slamming my walls up as swiftly as I could, but knowing, somehow, that even those walls told him much about me. Even my defences were a way for this one to read me. Even as my mouth and throat went dry with fear, a question hovered. Where had he been? What had been so important to Regal that he had set Will upon it rather than using him to secure the crown?
White ship.
The answer came to me from deep within me, founded on a connection so deep I could not unearth it. But I did not doubt it. I looked at him, considering him in conjunction with the white ship. He frowned. I felt an increase in the tension between us, a pressing of the Skill against my boundaries. He did not scrabble or pluck at me like Serene and Justin had. Rather, I could compare it to an engagement of blades, where one tests the strength of his opponent’s attack. I balanced myself against him, knowing that if I wavered, if for one instant I did not hold him out, he would slip past my guard and skewer my soul. His eyes widened and surprised me with a brief look of uncertainty. But he followed it with a smile as welcoming as a shark’s maw.
‘Ah,’ he sighed out. He seemed pleased. He stepped back from my door, stretched like a lazy cat. ‘They have underestimated you. I shall not make that mistake. Well I know the advantages one gains when your rival undervalues you.’ Then he left, neither abruptly nor slowly, but like smoke drifts away on a breeze. Here, and then gone.
After he was gone, I went back to my slab and sat. I took a deep breath and sighed it out to still the quivering inside me. I felt I had passed through a trial, and that this time, at least, I had held my own. I leaned back against the cold stone wall, and glanced once more at my door.
Will’s half-lidded eyes bored into me.
I leaped up so suddenly that the scabbed-over injury on my leg tore open afresh. I glared at my window. Nothing. He was gone. Heart ha
mmering, I forced myself to go to the tiny window and peer out. No one was there, that I could see. He was gone. But I could not make myself believe he was gone.
I limped back to my seat and sat down again, gathering Brawndy’s cloak about me. I stared at my window, looking for motion, for some change in the shadowy light from the guard’s torch, for anything to indicate that Will lurked outside my door. There was nothing. I longed to quest out, Wit and Skill, to see if I could feel him out there. I dared not. I could not venture out of myself without leaving a way for another to push in.
I set my guards about my thoughts, and a few moments later, reset them. The harder I tried to calm myself, the fiercer my panic became when it rose. I had been fearing physical torture. Now the sour fear-sweat trickled down my ribs and the sides of my face as I considered all that Will could do to me if he got past my walls. Once he got inside my head, I would stand before all the dukes and tell in detail how I had killed King Shrewd. Regal had invented for me something worse than merely dying. I could go to my death a self-proclaimed coward and traitor as well. I would cower at Regal’s feet and beg his forgiveness before all.
I think the time that passed was a night. I slept for none of it, save to doze off and then wake with a start from a dream of eyes at my window. I dared not even reach out to Nighteyes for comfort, and I hoped he would not try to reach me with thoughts. I came out of such a doze with a start, thinking I had heard footsteps down the hall. My eyes were sandy, my head ached with my vigilance, and my muscles were knotted from tension. I stayed where I was on the bench, conserving every bit of strength that I had.
