by Robin Hobb
He invited, nay, he entreated, he begged the Queen-in-Waiting to join King Shrewd there. She would be more safe, she would find it more comfortable, for Tradeford Castle had been built as a home, not a fortress. It would put the minds of her subjects at rest to know that the coming heir and his mother were well cared for and well away from the dangerous coast. He promised that every effort would be made to make her feel at home. He promised her a merry court would re-form there. Many many of the furnishings and treasures of Buckkeep were to be moved there when the King went, to make the move less upsetting for him. Regal smiled all the while that he relegated his father to a position of elderly idiot and Kettricken to broodmare. He dared to pause to hear her acceptance of her fate.
"I cannot," she said with great dignity. "Buckkeep is where my lord Verity left me, and before he did so, he commended it to my care. Here I shall stay. This is where my child will be born."
Regal turned his head, ostensibly to hide a smile from her, but actually to display it better to the assemblage. "Buckkeep shall be well guarded, my lady queen. My own cousin, Lord Bright, heir to Farrow, has expressed an interest in assuming the defense of it. The full militia will be left in place here, for we have no need of them at Tradeford. I doubt that they shall need the assistance of one more woman hampered by her skirts and a burgeoning belly."
The laughter that erupted shocked me. It was a crude remark, a witticism more worthy of a tavern brawny than a Prince in his own Keep. It reminded me of nothing so much as of Queen Desire when she was at her worst, inflamed with wine and herbs. Yet they laughed, at the High Table, and not a few at the lower tables joined them. Regal's charms and entertainments had served him well. No matter what insult or buffoonery he served up tonight, these fawners would sit and accept it with the meat and wine they gobbled at his table. Kettricken seemed incapable of speech. She actually rose and would have left the table, had not the King reached out a trembling hand. "Please, my dear," he said, and his faltering voice carried all too clearly. "Do not leave me. I wish you at my side."
"You see, it is the wish of your king," Regal hastily admonished her, and I doubt that even he could fully token the good luck that had led the King to make such a request of her at such a time. Kettricken sank back unwillingly in her seat. Her lower lip trembled and her face flushed. For one terrifying instant I thought she would burst into tears. It would have been the final triumph for Regal, a betrayal of her emotional weakness as a breeding female. Instead, she took a deep breath. She turned to the King and spoke low but audibly as she took his hand. "You are my king, to whom I am sworn. My liege, it shall be as you wish. I shall not leave your side."
She bowed her head, and Regal nodded affably, and a general outbreak of conversation congratulated itself on her agreement. Regal nattered on a bit longer when the din died down, but he had already achieved his goal. He spoke mostly of the wisdom of his decision, and how Buckkeep would be better able to defend itself without fearing for its monarch. He even had the audacity to suggest that by removing himself and the King and Queen-in-Waiting, he would be making Buckkeep a lesser target for the Raiders, as they would have less to gain by capturing it. It was all a nothing, a winding down for show. Not long after, the King was taken away, carted off back to his chamber, his display duty done. Queen Kettricken excused herself to accompany him. The feast broke down into a general cacophony of entertainments. Kegs of beer were brought out, along with casks of the lesser wines. Various inland minstrels held forth at opposite corners of the Great Hall, while the Prince and his cohorts chose the amusement of a puppet show, a bawdy piece entitled The Seduction of the Innkeeper's Son. I pushed back my plate and looked to Burrich. Our eyes met, and we rose as one.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX. Skilling
THE FORGED ONES appeared to be incapable of any emotion. They were not evil, they did not take joy in their wickedness or crimes. When they lost their capacity to feel anything for fellow humans, or any other creatures of the world, they lost their ability to be part of society. An unsympathetic man, a harsh man, an insensitive man still retains enough sensibilities to know that he cannot always express how little he cares for others, and still be accepted into the kinship of a family or a village. The Forged ones had lost even the ability to dissemble that they felt for their fellows. Their emotions did not simply stop; they were forgotten, lost to them so entirely that they could not even predict the behavior of other humans based on emotional reaction.
A Skilled one might be seen as the other end of this spectrum. Such a man can reach forth and tell from afar what others are thinking and feeling. He can, if strongly Skilled, impose his thoughts and feelings on others. In this increased sensitivity to the emotions and thoughts of others, he has a surfeit of what Forged ones lack entirely.
King-in-Waiting Verity confided that the Forged ones seemed immune to his Skilling abilities. That is, he could not feel what they felt, nor discover their thoughts. This does not, however, mean that they were insensible to the Skill. Could Verity's Skilling have been what drew them to Buckkeep? Did his reaching out awaken in them a hunger, a remembrance perhaps of what they had lost? Drawn as they were, through ice and flood, to travel always toward Buckkeep, the motivation must have been intense. And when Verity departed Buckkeep on his quest, the movement of Forged ones toward Buckkeep seemed to abate.
Chade Fallstar
We arrived at King Shrewd's door and knocked. The Fool opened it. I had marked well that Wallace was one of the feasters below, and had remained when the King had departed.
"Let me in," I said quietly while the Fool glared at me.
"No," he said flatly. He started to close the door.
I put my shoulder to it, and Burrich assisted. It was the first and last time I would ever use force against the Fool. I took no joy in proving that I was physically stronger than he was. The look in his eyes as I forced him aside was something no one should ever see in a friend's face.
The King was sitting before his hearth, vapidly mumbling. The Queen-in-Waiting sat desolately beside him, while Rosemary dozed at her feet. Kettricken rose from her seat to regard us with surprise. "FitzChivalry?" she asked quietly.
I went swiftly to her side. "I have much to explain, and a very little time in which to do it. For what I need to do must be done now, tonight." I paused, tried to decide how best to explain it to her. "Do you remember when you pledged yourself to Verity?"
"Of course!" She looked at me as if I were crazy.
"He used August, then, a coterie member, to come and stand with you in your mind, to show you his heart. Do you remember that?"
She colored. "Of course I do. But I did not think anyone else knew exactly what had happened then."
"Few did." I looked around, to find Burrich and the Fool following the conversation wide-eyed.
"Verity Skilled to you, through August. He is strong in the Skill. You know that, you know how he guards our coasts with it. It is an ancestral magic, a talent of the Farseer line. Verity inherited it from his father. And I inherited a measure of it from mine."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Because I do not believe Verity is dead. King Shrewd used to be strong in the Skill, I am told. That is no longer the case. His illness has stolen it away, as it has stolen so many other things. But if we can persuade him to try, if we can rouse him to the effort, I can offer him my strength to sustain him. He may be able to reach Verity."
"It will kill him." The Fool spoke his challenge flatly. "I have heard of what the Skill takes out of a man. My king has not that left to give."
"I don't think it will. If we reach Verity, Verity will break it off before it hurts his father. More than once he has drawn back from draining my strength, to be sure of not injuring me."
"Even a Fool can see the failure of your logic." The Fool tugged at the cuffs of his fine new shirt. "If you reach Verity, how will we know it is true, and not a show?"
I opened my mouth in an angry protest, but the Fool held up a for
bidding hand. "Of course, my dear, dear Fitz, we should all believe you, as you are our friend, who has only our very best interests at heart. But there may be a few others prone to doubt your word, or regard you as so selfless." His sarcasm bit at me like acid, but I managed to stand silent. "And if you don't reach Verity, what do we have? An exhausted and drained King to be further flaunted about as incapable. A grieving Queen, who must wonder, in addition to all her other pains, if perhaps she grieves for a man who is not dead yet. That is the worst type of grieving there is. No. We gain nothing, even if you succeed, for our belief in you would not be enough to stop the wheels that are already turning. And we have much to lose if you fail. Too much."
Their eyes were on me. There was question even in Burrich's dark eyes, as if he debated the wisdom of what he had urged me to do. Kettricken stood very still, trying not to pounce on the bare bone of hope that I had thrown at her feet. I wished that I had waited, to talk first with Chade. I suspected I would never have another chance after this night, to have these people in this room, Wallace out of the way, and Regal busy below. It had to be now or it would not be.
I looked at the only one who was not watching me. King Shrewd idly watched the leap and play of the flames in his hearth. "He is still the King," I said quietly. "Let us ask him, and let him decide."
"Not fair! He is not himself!" The Fool flung himself between us. He stood high on his feet to try to look me in the eye. "On the herbs fed him, he is as tractable as a plow horse. Ask him to cut his own throat, and he'll wait for you to hand him the knife."
"No." The voice quavered. It had lost its timbre and resonance. "No, my fool, I am not so far gone as that."
We waited, breathless, but King Shrewd spoke no more. At last I slowly crossed the room. I crouched down beside him, tried to make his eyes meet mine. "King Shrewd?" I begged.
His eyes came to mine, darted away, came back unwillingly. At last he looked at me.
"Have you heard all we have said? My king, do you believe Verity is dead?"
He parted his lips. His tongue was grayish behind them. He took a long breath. "Regal told me Verity is dead. He had word…"
"From where?" I asked gently.
He shook his head slowly. "A messenger… I think."
I turned to the others. "It would have to have come by messenger. From the Mountains, for Verity must be there by now. He was nearly to the Mountains when Burrich was sent back. I do not believe a messenger would come all the way from the Mountains, and not stay to convey such news to Kettricken herself."
"It might have come by relay," Burrich said unwillingly. "For one man and one horse, it is too exhausting a trip. A rider would have to exchange horses. Or pass on the word to another rider, who would go on, on a swift horse. The last is most likely."
"Perhaps. But how long would such word take to come to us all the way from the Mountains? I know Verity was alive on the day Bearns departed here. Because that was when King Shrewd used me to speak to him. That night when I all but fainted on this hearth. That was what had happened, Fool." I paused. "I believe I felt him with me during the battle at Neatbay."
I saw Burrich count back the days in his mind. He shrugged unwillingly. "It is still possible. If Verity were killed that day, and word were sent out immediately, and the riders and horses were both good… it could be so. Barely."
"I don't believe it." I turned to the rest of them, tried to force my hope into them. "I don't believe Verity is dead." I turned my eyes up to King Shrewd once more. "Do you? Do you believe your son could have died, and you not feel anything?"
"Chivalry… went like that. Like a fading whisper. `Father,' he said, I think. Father."
A silence seeped into the room. I waited, crouched on my heels, for my king's decision. Slowly his hand lifted, as if it had a life of its own. It crossed the small space to me, rested on my shoulder. For a moment; that was all. Just the weight of my king's hand on my shoulder. King Shrewd shifted slightly in his chair. He took a breath through his nostrils. I closed my eyes and we plunged into the black river again. Once more I faced the desperate young man trapped in King Shrewd's dying body. We tumbled together in the sweeping current of the world. "There's no one here. No one here but us anymore." Shrewd sounded lonely.
I couldn't find myself. I had no body, no tongue here. He held me under with him in the rush and the roar. I could hardly think at all, let alone remember what little of the Skill lessons I had retained from Galen's harsh instruction. It was like trying to recite a memorized speech while being throttled. I gave up. I gave it all up. Then from somewhere, like a feather floating in a breeze, or a mote dancing in a sunbeam, came Verity's voice telling me, "Being open is simply not being closed."
The whole world was a spaceless place, all things inside of all other things. I did not say his name aloud or think of his face. Verity was there, had always been right there, and joining him was effortless. You live!
Of course. But you won't, spilling all over like this. You're pouring out everything you have in one gush. Regulate your strength. Be precise. He steadied me, shaped me back into myself, then gasped in recognition.
Father!
Verity pushed at me roughly. Get back! Let go of him, he hasn't the strength for this. You're draining him, you idiot! Let go!
It was like being repelled, but rougher. When I found myself and opened my eyes, I was sprawled on my side before the fireplace. My face was uncomfortably close to it. I rolled over, groaning, and saw the King. His lips were puffing in and out with each breath, and there was a bluish cast to his skin. Burrich and Kettricken and the Fool were a helpless circle standing about him. "Do… something!" I gasped up at them.
"What?" demanded the Fool, believing I knew.
I floundered about in my mind, came up with the only remedy I could recall. "Elfbark," I croaked. The edges of the room kept turning black. I shut my eyes and listened to them panicking about. Slowly I understood what I had done. I had Skilled.
I had tapped my king's strength to do it.
"You will be the death of kings," the Fool had told me. A prophecy or a shrewd guess? A Shrewd guess. Tears came to my eyes.
I smelled elfbark tea. Plain strong elfbark, no ginger or mint to disguise it. I pried my eyes open a crack.
"It's too hot!" hissed the Fool.
"It cools quickly in the spoon," Burrich insisted, and ladled some into the King's mouth. He took it in, but I did not see him swallow. With the casual expertise of years in the stables, Burrich tugged gently at the King's lower jaw and then stroked his throat. He ladled another spoonful into his slack mouth. Not much was happening.
Kettricken came to crouch by me. She lifted my head to her knee, put a hot cup to my mouth. I sucked at it, too hot, I didn't care, I sucked in air with it, noisily. I swallowed it, fought choking against its bitterness. The darkness receded. The cup came back, I sipped again. It was strong enough to near numb my tongue. I looked up at Kettricken, found her eyes. I managed a tiny nod.
"He lives?" she asked softly.
"Yes." It was all I could manage.
"He lives!" She cried it out aloud to the others, joy in her voice.
"My father!" Regal shouted the words. He stood swaying in the door, face red with drink and anger. Behind him I glimpsed his guard, and little Rosemary peeping around the corner, wide-eyed. Somehow she managed to slip past the men, to race to Kettricken and clutch at her skirts. For an instant our tableau held.
Then Regal swept into the room, ranting, demanding, questioning, but giving no one a chance to speak. Kettricken kept a protective crouch beside me, or I swear Regal's guards would have had me again. Above me, in his chair, the King had a bit of color again in his face. Burrich put another spoonful of tea to his lips, and I was relieved to see him sip at it.
Regal was not. "What are you giving him? Stop that! I won't have my father poisoned by a stable hand!"
"The King had another attack, my prince," the Fool said suddenly. His voice cut through the ch
aos in the room, made a hole that became a silence. "Elfbark tea is a common restorative. I am sure that even Wallace has heard of it."
The Prince was drunk. He was not sure if he was being mocked or conciliated. He glared at the Fool, who smiled benignly back.
"Oh." He said it grudgingly, not really wishing to be mollified. "Well, what, then, of him?" He gestured at me in anger.
"Drunk." Kettricken stood up, letting my head drop to the floor with a convincing thump. Flashes of light marred my vision. There was only disgust in her voice. "Stablemaster. Get him out of here. You should have stopped him before he got this far. Next time, see that you use your judgment when he has none of his own."
"Our stablemaster is well-known for having his own taste for the cup, lady queen. I suspect they have been at it together." Regal sneered.
"The news of Verity's death hit him hard," Burrich said simply. He was true to himself, offering an explanation, but no excuse. He took hold of my shirtfront, jerked me from the floor. With no effort at playacting, I swayed on my feet until he gripped me more firmly. I caught a passing glimpse of the Fool hastily spooning another dose of elfbark into the King. I prayed no one would interrupt him. As Burrich ushered me roughly out of the room, I heard Queen Kettricken rebuking Regal, saying he should be below with his guests, and promising that she and the Fool could get the King to bed. As we were going up the stairs I heard Regal and his guard going down. He was still muttering and then ranting, complaining that he was not stupid, he could tell a plot when he saw one. It worried me, but I was fairly certain he had no real idea of what had been going on.
