by Robin Hobb
I gave one final glance around before descending from the barrow. As I did so, my eye caught something, not a shape, but a movement beyond a cluster of trees. I crouched low and stared at it, trying to resolve what I had seen. In a few moments, the animal emerged. A horse. Black and tall. Myblack. She stared toward me. Slowly I stood again. She was too far off to go chasing after her. She must have fled when the Piebalds captured Nighteyes and the Fool. I wondered what had become of Malta. I watched her for a moment longer, but she only stood and stared back at me. I turned my back on her and descended to the Prince.
He was no more coherent, but at least had reacted to the chill rain by drawing into a ball and shivering. My apprehension for him was mixed with a guilty hope. Perhaps in his present condition, he could not use his Wit to let the Piebalds know where we were. I set my hand to his shoulder and tried to make my voice gentle as I told him, "Let's get you up and walking. It will warm both of us."
I don't know if my words made sense to him. He stared ahead blankly as I pulled him to his feet. Once up, he hunched over his crossed arms. The shivering did not abate. "Let's walk," I suggested, but he did not move until I put an arm around him and told him, "Walk with me. Now." Then he did, but it was a stumbling, staggering gait. At a snail's pace, we traversed the wet hillside.
Very gradually, I became aware of the thud of hooves behind us. A glance back showed Myblack following us, but when I stopped, she stopped also. When I let go of the Prince, he sagged toward the earth and the horse immediately became suspicious. I dragged the Prince back to his feet. As we plodded on again, I could hear her uneven hoof-beats behind us again.
I ignored Myblack until she had nearly caught up with us. Then I sat down and let Dutiful lean against me until her curiosity overcame her native wariness. I paid no attention to her until her breath was actually warm on the back of my neck. Even then I did not turn to her, but snaked a hand stealthily around to catch hold of the dangling reins.
I think she was almost glad to be caught. I stood slowly and stroked her neck. Her coat was streaked with dried lather, and all her tack was damp. She had been grazing around her bit. Mud was crusted into one side of the saddle where she had tried to roll. I led her in a slow circle and confirmed what I feared. She was lamed. Something, perhaps the Wit-hounds, had tried to run her down, but her fleetness had saved her. I was amazed that she had even stayed in the area, let alone come back to me when she saw me. Yet there would be no wild gallop to safety for any of us. The best we would do was a halting walk.
I spent some little time trying to cajole the Prince into standing and mounting the horse. It was only when I lost my patience and ordered him to get to his feet and get on the damned horse that he obeyed me. Dutiful did not respond to conversation, but he obeyed simple orders from me. Then I appreciated how deep that jolt of Skill-command had gone, and how firmly linked we remained. "Don't fight me," I had charged him, and some part of him interpreted that as "don't disobey me." Even with his cooperation, the mount was an awkward maneuver. As I heaved him up into the saddle, I feared he would topple off the other side. I didn't try to ride behind him. I doubted that Myblack would have tolerated it. Instead I led her. The Prince swayed with Myblack's hitching gait but did not fall. He looked terrible. All the maturity had been stripped from his features, leaving him a sick child, his dark-circled eyes wide, his mouth drooping. He looked as if he could die. The full impact of that possibility seized my heart in a cold grip. The Prince dead. The end of the Farseer line and the shattering of the Six Duchies. A messy and painful death for Nettle. I could not let it happen that way. We entered a strip of open woods, startling a crow who rose, cawing like a prophet of doom. It seemed an ill omen.
I found myself talking to both Prince and horse as we walked. I spoke in Burrich's soothing cadence, using his reassuring words, in a calming ritual remembered from my childhood. "Come along now, we're all going to be fine, there, there, the worst part is over, that's right, that's right." From that I progressed to humming, and again it was some tune that Burrich had often hummed when he worked on injured horses or laboring mares. I think the familiar song calmed and settled me more than it did the horse or the Prince. After a time, I found myself talking aloud, as much to myself as to them. "Well, it looks as if Chade was right. You're going to Skill whether you're taught to or not. And I'm afraid the same holds true for the Wit. It's in your blood, lad, and unlike some, I don't think it can be beaten out of you. I don't think it should be. But it shouldn't be indulged the way you've indulged it, either. It's not that different from the Skill, really. A man has to set limits on his magic and on himself. Setting limits is part of being a man. So if we come out of this alive and intact, I'll teach you. I guess I'll teach myself as well. It's probably time for me to look into all those old Skill scrolls and find out what's really in them. It scares me, though. In the last two years, the Skill has come back on me like some sort of spreading ulcer. I don't know where it's taking me. And I fear what I don't know. That's the wolf in me, I guess. And Eda's breath, let him be safe right now, and my Fool. Don't let them be in pain or dying simply because they knew me. If anything happens to either of them… it's strange, isn't it, how you don't know how big a part of you someone is until they're threatened? And then you think that you can't possibly go on if something happens to them, but the most frightening part is that, actually, you will go on, you'll have to go on, with them or without them. There's just no telling what you'll become. What will I be, if Nighteyes is gone? Look at Small Ferret, all those years ago. He went on and on, even though the only thing left in his little mind was to kill - "
"What about my cat?"
His voice was soft. Relief washed through me that he had enough mind left to speak. At the same time, I hastily reviewed my thoughtless rambling and hoped he had not been paying too much attention. "How do you feel, my Prince?"
"I can't feel my cat."
A long silence followed. I finally said, "I can't feel my wolf, either. Sometimes he needs to be separate from me."
He was silent for so long that I feared he wasn't going to reply. Then he said, "It doesn't feel like that. She's holding us apart. It feels as if I am being punished."
"Punished for what?" I kept my voice even and light, as if we discussed the weather.
"For not killing you. For not even trying to kill you. She can't understand why I don't. I can't explain why I don't. But it makes her angry with me." There was a simplicity to his heart-spoken words, as if I conversed with the person behind all the manners and artifice of society. I sensed that our journey through the Skill-pillar had stripped away many layers of protection from him. He was vulnerable right now. He spoke and reasoned as soldiers do when they are in great pain, or when ill men try to speak through a fever. All his guards were dropped. It seemed as if he trusted me, that he spoke of such things. I counseled myself not to hope for that, nor believe it. It was only the hardships he had been through that opened him to me like this. Only that. I chose my words carefully. "Is she with you now? The woman?"
He nodded slowly. "She is always with me now. She won't let me think alone." He swallowed and added hesitantly, "She doesn't want me to talk to you. Or listen. It's hard. She keeps pushing me."
"Do you want to kill me?"
Again there was that pause before he spoke. It was as if he had to digest the words, not simply hear them. When he spoke, he didn't answer my question.
"You said she was dead. It made her very angry."
"Because it is true."
"She said she would explain. Later. She said that should be enough for me." He was not looking at me, but when I gazed at him, he turned his whole head aside as if to be sure he would not see me. "Then she… she was me. And she attacked you with the knife. Because I… hadn't." I couldn't tell if he was confused or ashamed.
"Wouldn't kill me?" I suggested the word.
"Wouldn't," the Prince admitted. I was amazed at how grateful I was for the small piece of knowledge. He
had refused to kill me. I had thought only my Skill-command had stopped him. "I wouldn't obey her. Sometimes I've disappointed her. But now she is truly angry with me."
"And they're punishing you for that disobedience. By leaving you alone."
He gave his head one slow, grave shake. "No. The cat does not care if I kill you or not. She would always be with me. But the woman… she is disappointed that I am not more loyal. So she… separates us. Me from the cat. The woman thinks that I should have been willing to show that I was worthy of her. How can they trust me if I refuse to prove my loyalty?"
"And you prove your loyalty by killing when you're told to kill?"
He was silent for a long time. It gave me time to reflect. I had killed when I was told to kill. It had been part of my loyalty to my King, part of my bargain with my grandfather. He would educate me if I would be loyal to him. I discovered I did not want Kettricken's son to be that loyal to anyone.
He sighed. "It was… even more than that. She wants to make the decisions. All the decisions. Every time. Just as she told the cat what to hunt, and when, and took her kills away. When she holds us close, it feels like love. But she can also hold back from us, and yet we are still held…" He could see that I did not understand. After a time he added quietly, "I didn't like it when she used my body against you. Even if she hadn't been trying to kill you, I wouldn't have liked it. She pushed me to one side, just like…" He didn't want to admit it. I admired that he forced himself to it. "Just like I've felt her push the cat aside, when she didn't want to do cat things. When she was tired of grooming, or didn't want to play. The cat doesn't like it, either, but she doesn't know how to push back. I did. I pushed her back and she didn't like it. She didn't like that the cat felt me do it, either. I think that's the biggest reason why I'm being punished. That I pushed her back." He shook his head, baffled himself, and then said, "She's so real. How can you be sure she's dead?"
I found I could not lie to him. "I… feel it. So does Nighteyes. He says the cat is riddled with her, as if she were parasites worming through her flesh. He felt sorry for the cat."
"Oh." The word was very small. I glanced back at him, and thought he looked more gray than pale now. His eyes went distant and his thoughts traveled back. "When I first got her, she loved for me to groom her. I kept her coat like silk. But after we left Buckkeep… sometimes the cat would want to be brushed, but the woman always said there was no time for that. Cat lost weight and her fur was rough. I worried, but she always set my worry aside. She said it was just the season, that it would pass. And I believed her. Even though the cat wanted to be brushed." He looked stricken. "I took no pleasure in telling you that. I suppose it doesn't matter now."
For a long time, I led the horse in silence as I tried to puzzle out what his last words meant. Didn't matter that I was sorry, or didn't matter that she was dead?
"I believed so many things she told me. But I already knew that... They're coming now. The crow has fetched them." A sudden note of remorse came into his voice. His words were halting. "They knew to watch the standing stone. From all the legends of such stones. But she wouldn't let me tell you that. Until now. When it doesn't matter. She finds it humorous, now." He suddenly sat up straight in the saddle. Life came back into his face. "Oh, cat!" he breathed.
Panic raced over me. I tried to set it aside. A quick scan of all horizons showed me no one, nothing. But he had said they were coming, and I was sure he had not lied. As long as he was with me and linked to the cat, I could not hope to hide from them. I could mount Myblack behind him, and run her to death, and we still would not escape. We were too far from Buckkeep, and I had no other safe place, no other allies. And a crow keeping watch for them. I should have guessed.
I dropped all restraint and reached out for my wolf. At least I would know he was alive.
I touched him. But the wave of pain that immersed me was scalding. I had discovered the only thing worse than not knowing his fate. He was alive and he suffered, and he still excluded me from his thoughts. I threw myself against his walls, but he had locked me out. In the fierceness of his defense, I wondered if he was even aware of me. It reminded me of a soldier clutching his sword beyond his ability to use it or of wolves, jaws locked on each other's throats, dying together.
In the space of that moment, in the tortured drawing of a breath, the Piebalds appeared. They crested the hillside above us, and some emerged from the forest to our left. Behind us, they came across the wild meadows, perhaps six of them. The big man on the warhorse rode with them. The crow sailed over us once, and this time his caw was mocking. I looked in vain for a gap in their circle that might permit escape. There were none. By the time I mounted Myblack and charged toward an opening, the others could effortlessly close it. Death rode toward me from every direction. I halted and drew my sword. The foolish thought came to me that I would rather have died with Verity's sword in my hand instead of this guardsman's blade. I waited.
They did not race toward me. Rather, they came at a steady pace like the slow closing of a noose. Perhaps it amused them to think of me standing there, watching them come. It gave me far too much time to think. I sheathed my sword and took out my knife instead. "Get down," I said quietly. Dutiful looked down at me in vague confusion. "Get off the horse," I ordered him, and he obeyed, though I had to steady him before his second foot hit the ground. I wrapped an arm around his chest and carefully set the knife to his throat. "I'm sorry," I told him with great sincerity. Conviction was running through my veins like icy water. "But you are better dead than what the woman plans for you."
He stood quite still in my grip. I didn't know if he didn't want to risk resistance or if he didn't care to resist. "How do you know what she intends for me?" he asked me evenly.
"Because I know what I would do."
That statement wasn't quite true, I told myself. I'd never take over another person's body and mind simply for the sake of extending my life. I was too noble for that. So noble that I'd kill my Prince before I'd let him be used that way. So noble that I'd kill him, knowing my daughter must then die, as well. I didn't want to look too closely at that reasoning. So I held my knife to the throat of Verity's only heir and watched the Piebalds come. I waited until they were within shouting distance, and then I raised my voice. "Come any closer and I kill him."
The big man on the warhorse was their leader. He lifted his hands to stop the advance of the others, but then he himself rode slowly forward as if to test my resolve. I watched him come and my grip on the Prince tightened. "It takes one motion of my hand and the Prince is dead," I warned him.
"Oh, come, you're being ridiculous," the big man replied. He continued to walk his horse toward me. Myblack snorted a query at his beast. "For what will you do if we obediently halt here? Stand in our midst and starve to death?"
"Let us go, or I'll kill him," I amended.
"Equally silly. Where's the benefit to us in that? If we can't have him, he might as well be dead." His voice was deep and resonant and it carried well. He had a dark, handsome face and sat his horse like a warrior. In another time and place, I would have looked at him and judged him a man worthy of my friendship. Now his followers laughed aloud at my pathetic efforts to defy him. He and his horse came closer still. The big horse stepped high as he came and his eyes shone with their Witbond. "And consider what happens if you do kill him as I advance. Once he's dead, we'll all be very annoyed with you. And you still won't have a chance of escape. I doubt that you can even make us kill you swiftly. So. That's my counteroffer. Give us the boy and I'll kill you quickly. You have my word on that."
Such a kind offer. His grave manner and careful speech convinced me he would honor it. Quick death sounded very appealing when I considered the alternatives. But I hated dying without having the last word.
"Very well," I conceded. "But he costs you more than my life. Release the wolf and the tawny man. Then I'll give you your Prince, and you can kill me."
The Prince stood motionless
in the circle of my arm and knife. I scarcely felt him breathe, and yet I could feel him listening, as if my words soaked into him like water into dry earth. The fine web of Skill between us warned me that there was something else going on. He reached out with his unholy combination of Wit and Skill to someone. I readied my muscles lest the woman wrest control of his body from him.
"Are you lying?" Dutiful asked me so softly that I scarcely heard him. But was the question from Dutiful or the cat's woman?
"I'm telling the truth," I lied sincerely. "If they release Lord Golden and the wolf, I'll free you." To your death. And the second throat I'd cut would be mine.
The big man on the big horse gave what might have been a chuckle. "Too late for that, I'm afraid. They're already dead."
"No. They aren't."
"Aren't they?" He rode his horse closer.
"I'd know if the wolf died."
He no longer needed to shout for his voice to reach me. He spoke in a confidential manner. "And that is why it is so unnatural that you should oppose us. I confess, having you answer that one question alone is enough to make me postpone your death." Warmth for me shone in his eyes and genuine curiosity came into his voice. "Why, in the name of the life and death that Eda and El encircle, do you stand like this against your own kind? Do you like what is done to us? The floggings, the hangings, the quartering and burning? Why do you support it?"
