by Robin Hobb
"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 suddenly ceased. 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 doors toward the guards' 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 defenses 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. More 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-lidd
ed eyes bored into me.
I leaped up so suddenly the scabbed-over injury on my leg tore open afresh. I glared at my window. Nothing. He was gone. Heart hammering, I forced myself to go to the tiny window and peer out it. 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.
The door was flung open. A guard thrust a torch into my cell, then cautiously followed it. Two other guards followed. "You. On your feet!" barked the one with the torch. Farrow was in his accent.
I saw no point in refusing to obey. I stood up, letting Brawndy's cloak fall back on the bench. Their leader made a curt gesture, and I fell in between the two guards. There were four others outside my cell, waiting. Regal was taking no chances. None of them were men I knew. They all wore the colors of Regal's guard. I could tell their orders by the looks on their faces. I gave them no excuses. They took me down the hall a short ways, past the deserted guard post, to the larger chamber that served once as a guardroom. It had been cleared of furniture, save for a comfortable chair. Every sconce boasted a torch, making the room painfully bright to my light deprived eyes. The guards left me standing in the middle of the room and joined others lining the walls. Habit more than hope made me assess my situation. I counted fourteen guards. Surely that was an excess, even for me. Both doors to the chamber were closed. We waited.
Waiting, standing, in a brightly lit room surrounded by hostile men can be underestimated as a form of torture. I tried to stand quietly, to shift my weight unobtrusively. I rapidly grew tired. It was frightening to discover how quickly starvation and inactivity had weakened me. I felt almost a sense of relief when the door finally opened. Regal entered, followed by Will. Will was quietly remonstrating with him.
"… unnecessary. Another night or so would be all I required."
"I prefer this," Regal said acidly.
Will bowed his head in silent assent. Regal was seated, and Will took a position behind his left shoulder. Regal considered me for a moment, then leaned back negligently in his chair. He cocked his head to one side and breathed out through his nose. He lifted a finger, indicated a man. "Bolt. You. I want nothing broken. When we have what we want, I'll want to make him presentable once more. You understand."
Bolt nodded briefly. He stripped off his winter cloak and let it fall, pulled off his shirt as well. The other men watched stony-eyed. From some long-ago discussion with Chade, a small bit of advice came to mind. "You can hold out longer under torture if you focus on what you will say rather than what you won't. I've heard of men repeating the same phrase, over and over, long past the point where they could hear the questions anymore. By focusing on what you will say, you make it less likely you'll say that which you don't wish to."
But his theoretical advice might not do much for me. Regal did not seem to have any questions to ask.
Bolt was taller than I was, heavier than I was. He looked as if his diet included a lot more than bread and water. He limbered and stretched as if we were going to wrestle for a Winterfest purse. I stood watching him. He met my look and smiled at me liplessly. I watched him pull on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. He'd come prepared for this. Then he bowed to Regal, and Regal nodded.
What's this?
Be silent! I ordered Nighteyes. But as Bolt stepped purposefully toward me I felt a snarl twitch at my upper lip. I dodged his first punch, stepped in to land one of my own, and then moved back as he swung again. Desperation lent me agility. I had not expected a chance to defend myself, I had expected to be bound and tormented. Of course, there was plenty of time for that. Regal had all the time he needed. Don't think of that. I had never been good in this kind of a fight. Don't think of that either. Bolt's fist grazed my cheek stingingly. Be wary. I was luring him to open up, taking his measure, when the Skill wrapped me. I reeled in Will's onslaught, and Bolt landed his next three blows effortlessly. Jaw, chest, and high on my cheek. All quick and solid. The style of a man who did this a lot. The smile of a man who enjoyed it.
There followed a timeless period for me. I could not both shield myself from Will and defend myself from Bolt battering me. I reasoned, if the thinking one does in such a state can be called reasoning, that my body had its own defenses against physical pain. I'd pass out, or die. Dying might be the only victory I could hope for here. So I chose to defend my mind rather than body.
I veer away from recalling that beating. My token defense was to move away from his blows and force him to pursue me, to keep my eyes on him, to block where I could as long as it did not distract me from my vigil against Will's Skill pressure. I heard the guards jeer at my supposed lack of spirit as I scarcely fought back. When one of his blows sent me staggering back against the soldiers who ringed us, their shoves and kicks drove me back toward Bolt again.
I could not devote my thoughts to strategy. When I swung, I swung wildly, and the few times my fists landed, it was with small impact. I longed to release myself, to tap my fury and just fling myself at Bolt and hammer at him any way I could. But that would have left me wide open to Will's intentions. No. I had to remain cool and endure. As Will increased his pressure on me, Bolt had a leisurely time of it. Eventually, I was reduced to two choices. I could use my arms to shelter either my head or my body. He merely shifted targets. The horror was that I knew the man was holding back, striking only to inflict pain and minor damage. I dropped my hands once and met Will's gaze face-on. I had the very brief satisfaction of seeing the sweat that streamed down his face. At that moment, Bolt's fist connected solidly with my nose.
Blade had once described to me the sound that he heard as his nose broke in a brawl. Words did not do it justice. A sickening sound combined with incredible pain. Pain so intense it was suddenly the only pain I was aware of. I blacked out.
I don't know how long I was out. I fluttered to the edge of consciousness, hovered there. Someone had flipped me over onto my back. Whoever it was straightened from inspecting me. "Nose is broke," he announced.
"Bolt, I said, nothing broken!" Regal remonstrated with him angrily. "I have to be able to show him intact. Bring me some wine," he added irritably in an aside to someone else.
"Not a problem, King Regal," someone assured him. That person bent over me, took a firm grip on the bridge of my nose, and dragged it straight again. That crude setting of it hurt worse than the breaking, and once more I dipped down into unconsciousness. I lingered there, hearing the voices discuss me for some time before they resolved into words and the words into sense.
Regal's voice. "So what is he suppos
ed to be able to do? Why hasn't he done it yet?"
"I know only what Serene and Justin told me, Your Majesty." Will's voice was tired. "They claimed he was weary from Skilling, and Justin was able to force his way into him. Then the Bastard… fought back in some way. Justin said he believed himself attacked by a great wolf. Serene said she actually saw the marks of claws on Justin, but that they faded shortly afterward."
I heard the creak of wood as Regal flung himself back in his chair. "Well, make him do it. I wish to see this Wit for myself" A pause. "Or are not you strong enough? Perhaps Justin was the one I should have held in reserve."
"I am stronger than Justin was, Your Majesty," Will asserted calmly. "But Fitz is aware of my intent. He was not expecting Justin's attack." More quietly he added, "He is stronger far than I was led to believe."
"Just do it!" Regal commanded in disgust.
So Regal wanted to see the Wit? I drew a breath, gathered what little strength was inside me. I tried to focus my anger at Regal, to repel at him hard enough to drive him through the wall. But I could not. I was too riddled with pain to concentrate. My own walls defeated me. All Regal did was start, and then look at me more closely.
"He's awake," he observed. Again his finger lifted lazily. "Verde. You may have him. But have a care to his nose. Leave his face alone. The rest of him is easily covered."
Verde devoted some little time to hauling me to my feet so he could knock me down again. I wearied of that repetition long before he did. The floor did as much damage as his fists. I could not seem to keep my feet under me, nor lift my arms to shield myself. I retreated inside myself, smaller and smaller, huddling there until sheer physical pain would force me to alertness and make me struggle again. Usually just before I passed out again. I became aware of another thing. Regal's enjoyment. He did not want to bind me and cause me pain. He wanted to watch me struggle, to see me attempt to fight back and fail. He watched his guard, too, noting, no doubt, which ones turned their eyes away from this sport. He used me to take their measure. I forced myself not to care that he took pleasure from my pain. All that truly mattered was keeping my walls up and keeping Will out of my head. That was the battle I had to win.
