Assassin's Apprentice (The Farseer Trilogy, #1)

by Robin Hobb

I know you meant no harm by it, boy. But men don’t talk about times spent among the pillows with a lady. And assassins don’t talk about…our business.” “Not even teacher to pupil?” Chade looked away from me, to a dark corner of the ceiling. “No.” After a moment more he added, “Two weeks from now, you’ll perhaps understand why.” And that was all we ever said about it. By my count, I was thirteen years old.

The imperial hand is about to reconcile their differences. They must both be left wishing they had never had any differences at all. That is the trick of good government. To make folk desire to live in such a way that there is no need for its intervention.”

It was an impressive display of good food abused in the name of fashionable cooking.

As if Chade were whispering in my ear, I heard his judgment. “There is a duke whose mind is not upon the governing of his Duchy.” I suspected Lady Grace was wearing the required road repairs and the wages of those soldiers who would have kept his trade routes policed against brigands. Perhaps the jewels that dangled from her ears should have gone to pay to man Watch Island’s towers.

The Fool was almost certainly born of the human race, though not entirely of human parentage. Stories that he was born of the Other Folk are almost certainly false, for his fingers and toes are completely free of webbing and he has never shown the slightest fear of cats. The unusual physical characteristics of the Fool (lack of coloring, for instance) seem to be traits of his other parentage, rather than an individual aberration, though in this I well may be mistaken.

“Lady Thyme?” I asked softly. “What’s wrong?” “Boy.” The voice came quietly from a dark corner of the room. “Chade,” I said, and instantly felt more foolish than I care to remember. “There’s no time to explain all the reasons. Don’t feel bad, boy. Lady Thyme has fooled many folk in her time, and will continue to. At least I hope so.

I will never forget that night ride. Not because it was a wild gallop to the rescue, but because it was not. Chade guided us and used the horses as if they were game pieces on a board. He did not play swiftly, but to win. And so there were times when we walked the horses to breathe them, and places on the trail where we dismounted and led them to get them safely past treacherous places.

“Luck. Same luck your father had. Your kitchen diplomacy may be enough to turn the situation around, if that is all there is to it. The little gossip I heard agreed. Well. Kelvar was a good duke before this, and it sounds like all that happened was a young bride going to his head.”

I wish I knew exactly what message he Skilled to Verity. They say that in the old days, when more men trained in the Skill, a man could tell what his leader was thinking about just by being silent and listening for a while. But that may be no more than a legend. Not many are taught the Skill, anymore. I think it was King Bounty who decided that. Keep the Skill more secret, more of an elite tool, and it becomes more valuable.

“She” lived in the women’s wing, and though I devoted myself in the days to come to hear any and all gossip about her, I heard nothing except that she was reclusive and difficult. How Chade had created her and maintained her fictitious existence, I never completely discovered.

Not even Forge could completely eclipse Lady Grace’s performance. The story was told and retold, with minstrels vying to see whose recounting would become the standard. I heard that Duke Kelvar actually went down on one knee and kissed the tips of her fingers after she had spoken, very eloquently, about making the towers the grand jewels of their land.

Croft folk, too, had been taken hostage. The council of the town had, like Shrewd, been mystified by the Red-Ships’ ultimatum that they pay tribute or their hostages would be returned. They had not paid. And like Forge, their hostages had been returned, mostly sound of body, but bereft of any of the kinder emotions of humanity.

“When you cut pieces out of the truth to avoid looking like a fool, you end up sounding like a moron instead.

“Well, Fitz, you have a way of presenting yourself to the very people you should most ardently avoid. I am sure there will be consequences from this, but I have not the slightest idea what they will be.

“You can hurt her, if you choose,” he offered me. “She feels such guilt at how alone you have been. And you look so like Chivalry, anything you say will be as if it came from his lips. She’s like a gem with a flaw. One precise tap from you, and she will fly all to pieces. She’s half-mad as she is, you know. They would never have been able to kill Chivalry if she hadn’t consented to his abdication. At least, not with such blithe dismissal of the consequences. She knows that.”

“Another spoke before I could. Galen was accused, by the girl’s cousin, who happened to work here in the stables. Galen would not deny it. They went out to the Witness Stones and fought one another for El’s justice, which always prevails there. Higher than the King’s court is the answer to a question settled there, and no one may dispute it. The boy died. Everyone said it was the El’s justice, that the boy had accused Galen falsely. One said it to Galen. And he replied that El’s justice was that the girl had died before she bred, and her tainted cousin, too.”

A question once decided at the Witness Stones could not be raised again. That was more than law, it was the very will of the gods. So I was to be taught by a man who was a murderer, a man who would try to kill me if he suspected I had the Wit.

There is something I have observed about skinny men. Some, like Chade, seem so preoccupied with their lives that they either forget to eat, or burn every bit of sustenance they take in the fires of their passionate fascination with life. But there is another type, one who goes about the world cadaverously, cheeks sunken, bones jutting, and one senses that he so disapproves of the whole of the world that he begrudges every bit of it that he takes inside himself. At that moment I would have wagered that Galen had never truly enjoyed one bite of food or one swallow of drink in his life.

The skill, at its simplest, is the bridging of thought from person to person.

And so they fought, in much the same way that a bull fights a bale of straw when he tosses and stamps and gores it. And when he was done, the stablemaster bent and whispered something to the Skillmaster, before he and all others turned and left the man lying there, with the Stones witness to his whimpering and bleeding.”

To the southwest of our borders, beyond the Rain Wilds where no one ruled, were the Spice Coasts. A princess from there would offer few defensive advantages, but some argued for the rich trading agreements she might bring with her.

I had lived among them all my life. I should have known better. No, I had known better. But my hunger to set myself higher, to prove beyond doubt my right to that royal magic had made me willing to accept any nonsense he might choose to present me. Something clicked within me, as if the key piece to a wood puzzle had suddenly slid into place. I had been bribed with the offer of knowledge as another man might have been bribed with coins.

But on a certain night, months after I had endured Galen’s test, I awoke to find my bed surrounded by robed and hooded figures. Within the dark hoods I glimpsed the masks of the Pillars.

The name is in the old tongue, which has no letters and cannot be written. Nor have I ever found any with whom I chose to share the knowledge of my Man name. But its ancient meaning, I think, I can divulge here. Catalyst. The Changer.

Nothing takes the heart out of a man more than the expectation of failure.

“Do they tell you to watch over me so, boy, even when I sleep? What do they fear, then?” “Naught that I know, Verity. They tell me only to bring you food, and see as best I can that you eat it. No more than that.” “And blankets and cushions, and pots of sweet flowers?” “My own doing, my prince. No man should live in such a desert as this.” And in that moment I realized we were not speaking aloud, and sat bolt upright and looked at him.

This coterie is the first group Galen has trained since Chivalry and I were boys. And I do not find them well taught. No, they are trained, as monkeys and parrots are taught to mimic men, with no understanding of what they do. But they are what I have.”

Someone convinced you that you could not Skill.” “Galen.” I spoke with certainty. I almost knew the moment. He had slammed into me that afternoon, and from that time nothing had been the same. I had been living in a fog, all those months….

My memories all reordered themselves, and in a surge of anger, I knew all that had been done to me. Were it not for Smithy, I’d have dashed my life out at the base of the tower that night. Galen had tried to kill me, just as surely as if he’d had a knife. No one would even have known of how he’d beaten me, save his loyal coterie. And while he’d failed at that, he had taken from me the chance to learn Skilling. He’d crippled me,

“In the old days,” he said conversationally, “a king would draw on his coterie. Half a dozen men or more, and all in tune with one another, able to pool strength and offer it as needed. That was their true purpose. To provide strength to their king, or to their own key man. I don’t think Galen quite grasps that. His coterie is a thing he has fashioned. They are like horses and bullocks and donkeys, all harnessed together. Not a true coterie at all. They lack the singleness of mind.” “You drew strength from me?” “Yes.

“Shrewd. He sets things in motion, wheels turning, pendulums swaying. It is no accident you are the one to bring me my meals, boy. He was making you available to me.” He took a swift turn about the room, then stopped, standing over me. “It will not happen again.”

“It was not so bad,” I said faintly. “No? Why don’t you try to stand, then? Or even sit up? You’re just one boy, alone, not a coterie. Had I not realized your ignorance and drawn back, I could have killed you. Your heart and breath would just have stopped. I’ll not drain you like this, not for anyone.

“FitzChivalry Farseer.” I halted, frozen by the words. I turned slowly. “It’s your name, boy. I wrote it myself, in the military log, on the day you were brought to me. Another thing I had thought you knew. Stop thinking of yourself as the bastard, FitzChivalry Farseer.

You know I have never relished this, Father. It never seemed to me worthy of a warrior, to skulk and spy about in men’s minds. Give me a sword and I’ll willingly explore their guts. I’d rather unman a man with a blade than turn the hounds of his own mind to nipping at his heels.”

I had long since recovered from Verity tapping my strength. It was taking me longer to grasp completely what Galen’s misting of my mind had done to me. I believe I would have confronted him, despite Verity’s counsel, except that Galen had left Buckkeep.

“Are you afraid I won’t be able to do it?” I asked him softly. “Do what?” he asked absently. “Kill the mountain Prince. Rurisk.” Chade turned to look at me full face. The silence held for a long moment.

“I’m only the toolmaker,” he said at last, quietly. “Another man uses what I make.”

“Boy,” Chade remarked quietly. “Never pretend we are anything but what we are. Assassins. Not merciful agents of a wise king. Political assassins dealing death for the furtherance of our monarchy. That is what we are.”

“Verity has made complaint, on your behalf,” Chade said suddenly. “Complaint?” I asked weakly. “To Shrewd. First, that Galen had mistreated you and cheated you. This complaint he made formally, saying that he had deprived the kingdom of your Skill, at a time when it would have been most useful.

“And Verity made another complaint to the King as well. He accused Shrewd and me, quite bluntly, of being willing to sacrifice you for the sake of the kingdom.”

“You are saying he would sacrifice me. Without a qualm.” He did not take his eyes from the fireplace. “You. Me. Even Verity, if he thought it necessary for the survival of the kingdom.” Then he did turn to look at me. “Never forget that,”

“You are not usually, when you travel, in danger of being poisoned.” “Is there something you’d like to tell me?” I tried to make my tone light and bantering. I missed the Fool’s usual wry faces and mockeries from this conversation. “Only that you’d be wise to eat lightly, or not at all, of any food you do not prepare yourself.” “At all the feasts and festivities that will be there?” “No. Only at the ones you wish to survive.”

“Take some advice, and you may survive this trip. When considering a man’s motives, remember you must not measure his wheat with your bushel. He may not be using the same standard at all.”

For me, it was almost a return to a sort of childhood. My responsibilities were very limited. Hands was a genial companion, and it took very little encouragement to have him telling from his vast store of tales and gossip. I often went for almost the whole day before I would recall that at the end of this journey, I would kill a prince.

The Prince must not die while we were at Jhaampe. Nothing must cast the slightest shadow upon the nuptials. Nor must he die before the ceremonies were observed at Buckkeep and the wedding safely consummated, for that might be seen as an ill omen for the couple. It would not be an easy death to arrange.

It was occurring to me, belatedly, that Prince Rurisk had shown none of the signs of injury or illness that Regal had reported. I needed to withdraw from the situation and reevaluate it. There was more, much more, going on than I had been prepared for.

“You give me heart,” she muttered, and then straightened herself as if she had admitted some weakness. Looking at me gravely, she asked, “Why does Regal not speak of his brother so? I thought I went to an old man, shaking of hand, too burdened by his duties to see a wife as anything other than another duty.”

The next day Regal begged me to believe it had been the fancies of the wine rather than the facts he had shared with me. But one thing he had said that night was too icy a fear for me to entirely lay aside. He said that if the King did send you or Lady Thyme, it would be to poison my brother so that I might be the sole heir to the Mountain Kingdom.”

Jonqui was at his shoulder, hurrying after him, and as the second and unmistakable wave of dizziness hit me, I thought she looked too knowing. And, I asked myself, what step would Chade have taken if someone had sent a poisoner to Shrewd’s court to eliminate Verity? All too obvious.

Back in my room, I dug out the seapurge the Fool had given me. How long, I wondered, had it been since I had eaten the honey cakes? For that was the venue I would have chosen. Fatalistically, I decided I would trust the ewer of water in my room. A tiny part of me said that was foolish, but as wave after wave of giddiness washed over me, I felt incapable of any further thought. With shaking hands I crumbled the seapurge into water. The dried herb absorbed the water and became a green sticky wad, which I managed to choke down. I knew it would empty my stomach and bowels. The only question was, would it be swift enough, or was the Chyurda poison too widespread in me?