Assassin's Quest (Farseer Trilogy, #3)

by Robin Hobb

‘Perhaps it is a graveyard,’ I ventured. ‘Perhaps there are tombs beneath these creatures. Perhaps this is some strange heraldry, marking the burial places for different families.’ Kettricken looked about us, considering. ‘Perhaps it is so. But why would that be marked on the map?’ ‘Why would a garden?’ I countered.

We found a great many more animals. There were all kinds and a variety of styles, but all were winged and sleeping. And they had been here a very long time. A closer examination showed me that these great trees had grown arou...

I wondered what it was like, if it was like solving the game puzzles that Kettricken set for me.

Wrong name? They are Kettle's game problems i thought???

I sprang after it, going doubled over to follow it on the game trail.

‘He always gives up the meat to you like that?’ Starling asked me. ‘He doesn’t give it up. He lets me carry it. He knows that now is the best hunting, and so he hopes to kill again swiftly. If not, he knows I will keep meat safe for him, and that we will share later.’

Even while the Raiders were raping me, they seemed to take no pleasure in it. At least, not the kind of pleasure … They mocked my pain and struggling. Those who watched were laughing as they waited.’

‘It was as if they were driven, but not by any lust or greed that could be sated. It was a thing they could do to me, so they did it. I had always believed, perhaps childishly, that if you followed the rules, you would be protected, that things like that would not happen to you. Afterwards, I felt … tricked. Foolish. Gullible, that I had thought ideals could protect me. Honour and courtesy and justice … they are not real, Fitz. We all pretend to them, and hold them to us like shields. But they guard only against folk who carry the same shields. Against those who have discarded them, they are no shields at all, but only additional weapons to use against their victims.’

I lifted her hand and softly kissed the fingers that had been broken on my account. ‘I do not confuse what was done to you with who you are,’ I offered. ‘When I look at you, I see Starling Birdsong the minstrel.’ She nodded her face against me, and I knew it was as I surmised. She and I shared that fear. We would not live as victims.

She followed me into the tent. I pulled off my boots and sank gratefully into my bedding. When I felt her settle herself against my back a few moments later, I was not very surprised. I decided it meant she had forgiven me. It did not make it easy to fall asleep.

There are a number of old ‘White Prophecies’ that relate to the betrayal of the Catalyst.

‘The heart of the Catalyst is bared to a trusted one. All confidence is given, and all confidence betrayed. The child of the Catalyst is given into his enemies’ hands by one whose love and loyalty are above question.’

‘Did you see me?’ he asked very quietly. ‘I’m not sure.’ I suddenly felt very uneasy, speaking about it. ‘Where you were, there was someone else. She was like you, in a way. No colour to her, and behaving, I think, as a jester. You spoke of her crown, carved like rooster heads and tails.’

There is only the one, and he is not even close to us. Use your nose, if not your brain, Nighteyes scathingly reassured me. Shall I kill him for you? he offered casually. Please. But be careful of yourself. Nighteyes snorted softly in disdain. He is fatter far than that wild pig I killed. He puffs and sweats just to walk down the trail. Lie still, little brother, while I get rid of him. Silent as death, the wolf moved off through the forest.

race up to the column, one hand outstretched pleadingly. His palm slapped the shining stone, and Burl suddenly vanished into the column.

‘They reached for you and seized him instead. He has not the faintest idea of how to protect himself. For all I know, they have him still.’ ‘What? How?’ I asked numbly. ‘Back there at the plaza. You two were Skill-linked, however briefly, by the strength of the stone and the strength of who you are. It leaves a … sort of a path. The more often two are linked, the stronger it becomes. With frequency it becomes a bond, like a coterie bond. Others who are Skilled can see such bonds, if they look for them. Often they are like back doors, unguarded ways into a Skilled one’s mind. This time, however, I would say they found the Fool in your stead.’

Rather than attempt to seize him, I surrounded him. I made no effort to invade or capture, but simply to encompass all that I saw of him and hold it separate from harm.

I steadied the Fool as he gathered himself back into himself.

‘Did they let him go? Or did a Skill blast shake them loose? And if so, whose power was that?’ ‘Verity,’ I said with sudden certainty. Comprehension washed over me. ‘They attacked Verity tonight as well! And he defeated them!’

‘Not a song of heroic strength and mighty-thewed warriors. No. A song of two, graced only with friendship’s strength. Each possessed of a loyalty to a king that would not be denied. And that in the refrain … “Green of manhood”, something, ah …’ The Fool caught my eye, glanced meaningfully down at himself. ‘Green manhood? I really should have showed her,’ he said quietly.

‘Then why was it used traditionally for years for just that purpose? Given to a royal bastard young enough, it could destroy any potential for Skill use. Often enough was that done.’ I shook my head defiantly. ‘I’ve used it for years, to restore my strength after Skilling. So has Verity. And it has never …’

‘Elfbark is well known among Skilled ones as a thing to avoid,’ she said quietly. I heard every word, for no one in the tent even seemed to be breathing. ‘It deadens a man to Skill, so that he can neither use the Skill himself, nor may others reach through its fog to Skill to him. It is said to stunt or destroy Skill talent in the young, and to impede its development in older Skill-users.’ She looked at me with pity in her eyes. ‘You must have been strongly talented, once, to retain even a semblance of Skilling.’ ‘It cannot be …’ I said faintly.

Like a lightning bolt was the immense knowledge that Chade had made a mistake in giving it to Verity and me. Chade had made a mistake. It had never occurred to me, somehow, that Chade could be wrong or mistaken. Chade was my master, Chade read and studied and knew all the old lore. But he had never been taught to Skill. A bastard like myself, he had never been taught to Skill.

‘His wolf watches with him,’ Kettricken told her confidently. ‘He can aid Fitz against this false coterie as no one else can.’ I wondered how she knew that, but dared not ask her.

In truth, I believe the Wit is as natural a magic as a man can claim. It is the Wit that lets a flock of birds in flight suddenly wheel as one, or a school of fingerlings hold place together in a swiftly flowing stream. It is also the Wit that sends a mother to her child’s bedside just as the babe is awakening. I believe it is at the heart of all wordless communication, and that all humans possess some small aptitude for it, recognized or not.

I would, but the high bitch has asked me to watch you. So I shall. Kettricken? So you name her. How asked you? He gave me a puzzled glance. As you would. She looked at me and I knew her mind. She worried that you were alone. Does she know you hear her? Does she hear you? Almost, at times. He lay down abruptly on the sward and stretched, curling his pink tongue. Perhaps when your mate bids you set me aside, I shall bond to her. Not funny.

The Fool seemed a bit taken aback at this. ‘But, that is, I meant for your sake. To see for myself that she is well provided for.’ I felt oddly touched. ‘I don’t know what to say,’ I told him. ‘Say nothing, then. Tell me only where I may find her,’ he suggested with a smile.

Weaker? I think not. Nighteyes considered. Not weaker, my brother. But different. Fashioned more like a Wit-bond than a Skill-joining. He looked up at the Fool as the Fool came out of the tent. After a time, the Fool frowned to himself and looked down at Nighteyes. You see, said the wolf. He senses me. Not clearly, but he does. Hello, Fool. My ears itch. Outside the tent, the Fool reached down suddenly to scratch the wolf’s ears.

There are legends, among the Mountain folk, of an ancient race, much gifted with magic and knowing many things now lost to men forever. These tales are in many ways similar to the tales of elves

I think the wolf and I sensed it at the same time. ‘There’s something alive back there,’ I said quietly. ‘Deeper in the quarry.’ ‘What is it?’ the Fool asked me. ‘I don’t know.’ A shivering ran all over me. My Wit-sense of whatever was back there ebbed and flowed. The more I tried for a feel of what it was, the more it eluded me. ‘Verity?’ Kettricken asked. It broke my heart to see hope quicken once more in her eyes. ‘No,’ I told her gently. ‘I don’t think so. It doesn’t feel like a human. It’s like nothing I’ve ever sensed before.’

Someone had carved, in heart-breaking detail, a mired dragon. The thing’s wings were half spread and its half-lidded eyes were rolled up in agony. A human rider, a young woman, bestrode it. She clutched the undulant neck and leaned her cheek against it. Her face was a mask of agony, her mouth open and the lines of her face taut, the muscles of her throat standing out like cords. Both the girl and the dragon had been worked in detailed colours and lines. I could see the woman’s eyelashes, the individual hairs on her golden head, the fine green scales about the dragon’s eyes, even the droplets of saliva that clung to its lips.

It was another dragon. This one was the size of a ship. It was all of black stone, and it sprawled sleeping upon the block of stone it was emerging from. Chips and chunks and grindings of rock dust surrounded the ground around the block. Even from a distance, it impressed me. Despite its sleep, every line of the creature spoke of both strength and nobility. The wings folded alongside it were like furled sails while the arch of the powerful neck put me in mind of a battle charger. I had looked at it for some moments before I saw the small grey figure that sprawled alongside it. I stared at him and tried to decide if the flickering life I sensed came from him or the stone dragon.

He was old and thin, grey of both hair and beard. His ragged garments were grey with stone dust, and a smear of grey coated one of his cheeks. The knees that showed through the legs of his trousers were scabbed and bloody from kneeling on broken stone. His feet were wrapped in rags. He gripped a much-notched sword in a grey-gauntleted hand, but he did not bring it up to the ready. I felt it taxed his strength to hold the blade at all. Some instinct made me lift my arms wide of my body, to show him I held no weapon. He looked at me dully for a bit; then he slowly lifted his eyes to my face. For a time we stared at one another. His peering, near-blind gaze reminded me of Harper Josh. Then his mouth gaped wide in his beard, baring surprisingly white teeth. ‘Fitz?’ he said hesitantly. I knew his voice, despite the rust. He had to be Verity.

‘Verity, what are you doing?’ I asked softly. He did not even glance up at me. ‘Carving a dragon,’ he replied.

But that did not explain to me how Verity could have bonded with a statue, nor why he persisted in scraping at it with his sword.

Of course, hands are poor tools for working stone. But once you have cut away all the excess, down to where the dragon waits, then he can be awakened with your touch. I draw my hands over the stone, and I recall to it the dragon.

‘Did you give him a name? Our son?’ ‘I named him according to the customs of your land.’ She took a breath. The word was so soft I scarce heard it. ‘Sacrifice,’ she breathed. She clung to him tightly and I saw his thin shoulders convulse in a sob.

‘Is your tongue hinged in the middle so that it flaps at both ends? You talk too much!’ Kettle rebuked me.

‘The dragons are the Elderlings,’ the Fool said softly. ‘But Verity could not wake them. So he carves his own dragon, and when it is finished, he will waken it, and then he will go forth to fight the Red Ships. Alone.’

‘All the Elderlings were dragons?’ I asked. My mind went back to all the fanciful drawings and weavings of Elderlings I had ever seen. Some had been dragon-like, but … ‘No. The Elderlings are dragons. Those carved creatures back in the stone garden. Those are the Elderlings.

‘I don’t know. I don’t think Verity himself knows. He blunders toward it, blind and groping. He shapes the stone, and gives it his memories. And when it is finished, it will come to life. I suppose.’

I was exuberant and joyful, for not only was I announcing Realder’s dragon, but he was going to fly me on it. I felt I was a bit in love with him, you know. That sort of lift to the heart. But …’ he faltered. ‘I cannot recall if I loved Realder or his dragon. In my dream, they are mingled … I think. Recalling dreams is so hard.

She insisted the Fool must sleep on his back, his bared fingers upturned so they touched nothing. As the Fool usually slept huddled in a ball, he was not overly pleased.

A trick of the moonlight made it look as if the girl’s stone eyes looked down at her. Light sparkled silver on a stone tear, and glistened on the tears on Kettricken’s face. Nighteyes padded lightly up, leaped weightlessly upon the dais and leaned his head against Kettricken’s leg with a tiny whine. ‘Hush,’ she told him softly. ‘Listen. Can you hear her weeping? I can.’ I did not doubt it, for I could feel her questing out with the Wit, more strongly than I had ever sensed it from her before.

‘Sacrifice,’ she breathed, and I did not know if she named her child or defined her life.

In time I felt her quiet, and realized it was Wit as much as words I had been giving her. The feeling I had for her had mingled with the wolf’s and joined us. Gentler than a Skill-bond, more warm and natural, I held her in my heart as much as in my arms. Nighteyes pressed up against her, telling her he would guard her, that his meat would ever be her meat, that she need fear nothing that had teeth, for we were pack, and always would be.

And then a shiver of fear as I realized its source. The girl on the dragon had shared our embrace, her Wit-misery briefly consoled by our closeness.

The wolf gave me an apologetic glance and then followed Kettricken into the tent. I assured him I approved.

The sooner I find what I can and cannot do with my right hand, the better.’ He grinned wickedly, and made a suggestive gesture toward himself.

‘Ah, Fitz,’ he said quietly a moment later, ‘you do not know how much it means to me that I can still make you laugh. If I can stir you to laughter, I can laugh myself.’

‘When you can either laugh or cry, you might as well laugh,’ he replied.