Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (21 page)

Twice shall be thrice, Wall Ass, dear, and your
presence replaced with my presents. Toddle off hence, and tell
Regal all your tattling. If walls have ears, then so must you, for
you've already the Wall's Ass. Such ears are filled to overflowing
with the King's business. You might physick our dear prince while
you enlighten him. For the darkness of his glance, methinks,
betokens that his bowels have backed up so far as to blind
him.

Dare you speak so of the Prince? Wallace
sputtered. The Fool was already inside the door and I on his heels.
He shall hear of this.

Speak so? Speak, sow. I doubt not that he hears
all that you do. Do not vent your wind at me, Wall Ass dear. Save
that for your prince, who delights in such puffing. He is at his
smokes now, I believe, and you might gust at him and he shall
drowse and nod and think you speak wisely and your airs most
sweet.

The Fool continued his advance as he nattered
on, the laden tray like a shield before him. Wallace gave ground
readily, and the Fool forced him back, through the sitting room and
into the King's bedchamber. There the Fool set the tray down at the
King's bedside while Wallace retreated to the other door of the
chamber. The Fool's eyes grew brighter.

Ah, not abed at all, our king, unless you've
hidden him under coverlets, Wall Ass, my sweet. Come out, come out,
my king, my Shrewd one. King Shrewd you are, not king of shrews to
hide and creep about the walls and under the bedding. The Fool
began to poke so assiduously among the obviously empty bed and
coverlets, and to send his rat scepter peeping up among the bed
curtains, that I could not contain my laughter.

Wallace leaned back against the inner door, as
if to guard it from us, but at that instant it opened from within,
and he all but tumbled into the King's arms. He sat down heavily on
the floor. Mind him! the Fool observed to me. See how he seeks to
put himself in my place before the King's feet, and to play the
fool with his clumsy pratfalls. Such a man deserves the title Fool,
but not the post!

Shrewd stood there, robed as for rest, a frown
of vexation on his face. He looked down in puzzlement at Wallace on
the floor, and up at the Fool and me waiting for him, and then
dismissed whatever the situation was. He spoke to Wallace as he
scrabbled to his feet. This steam does me no good at all, Wallace.
It but makes my head ache all the more, and leaves a foul taste in
my mouth as well. Take it away, and tell Regal I think his new herb
might drive flies away,but not sickness. Take it away now, before
it stinks up this room as well. Ah, Fool, you are here. And Fitz,
you have finally come to report as well. Come in, sit down.
Wallace, do you hear me? Remove that wretched pot! No, do not bring
it through here, take it out the other way. And with a wave of his
hand, Shrewd swatted the man away as if he had been an annoying
fly.

Shrewd shut the door to his bathing room firmly,
as if to keep the stink from spreading into his bedchamber, and
came to take a straight-backed chair by the fire. In a moment the
Fool had drawn a table up beside it, the cloth covering the food
had become a tablecloth, and he had set out food for the King as
prettily as any serving maid could have done. Silverware and a
napkin appeared, a sleight of hand that had even Shrewd smiling,
and then the Fool folded himself up on the hearth, knees nearly to
his ears, chin cupped in his long-fingered hands, pale skin and
hair picking up red tones from the fire's dancing flames. His every
move was as graceful as a dancer's and the pose he struck now was
artful as well as comical. The King reached down to smooth his
flying hair as if the Fool were a kitten.

I told you I was not hungry, Fool.

That you did. But you did not tell me not to
bring food.

And if I had?

Then I should tell you this is not food, but a
steaming pot such as Wall Ass afflicts you with, to fill your
nostrils with a scent at least more pleasing than his. And this be
not bread, but a plaster for your tongue, which you should apply at
once.

Ah. King Shrewd drew his table a bit closer and
took up a spoonful of the soup. Barley shouldered against bits of
carrot and meat in it. Shrewd tasted, and then began to
eat.

Am I not at least as good a physician as Wall
Ass? the Fool purred, well pleased with himself.

Well you know Wallace is not a physician, but
simply my servant.

Well I know it, and well do you, but Wall Ass
knows it not, and hence you are not well.

Enough of your nattering. Step up, Fitz, don't
stand there grinning like a simpleton. What have you to tell
me?

I glanced at the Fool, and then decided I would
insult neither King nor Fool by asking if I could report freely in
front of him. So I did, a simple report, with no mention of my more
clandestine actions other than their results. Shrewd listened
gravely, and at the end he had no comment, other than to rebuke me
mildly for poor manners at the Duke's table. He then asked if Duke
Brawndy of Bea
rn
s seemed
well and content with the peace in his Duchy. I replied that he had
when I left. Shrewd nodded. Then he requested the scrolls I had
copied. These I took out and displayed for him, and was rewarded by
a compliment on the gracefulness of my handiwork. He told me to
take them to Verity's map room, and be sure Verity knew of them. He
asked if I had viewed the Elderling's relic. I described it to him
in detail. And all the while the Fool perched on the hearthstones
and watched us silent as an owl. King Shrewd ate his soup and bread
under the Fool's watchful eyes as I read the scroll aloud to him.
When I was finished, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. So,
let's see this scrollwork of yours, he commanded, and puzzled, I
surrendered it to him. Once more he looked it over carefully, then
re-rolled it. As he gave it back to me he said, You've a graceful
way with a pen, boy. Well lettered and well done. Take it to
Verity's map room, and see that he knows of it.

Of course, my king. I faltered, confused. I did
not understand his motive in repeating himself, and was unsure if
he were waiting for some other response from me. But the Fool was
rising, and I caught from him something less than a glance; not
quite the lift of an eyebrow, not quite the turn of a lip, but
enough to bid me to silence. The Fool gathered up the dishes, all
the while making merry talk with the King, and then both of us were
dismissed together. As we left, the King was staring into the
flames.

Out in the hall, we exchanged glances more
openly. I began to speak, but the Fool commenced to whistle, and
did not cease until we were halfway down the stairs. Then he paused
and caught at my sleeve, and we halted on the stairway, betwixt
floors. I sensed he had chosen this spot carefully. None could see
or hear us speak here, save that we saw them also. Still, it was
not even the Fool that spoke to me, but the rat atop the scepter.
He brought it up before my nose and squeaked in the rat's voice,
Ah, but you and I, we must remember whatever he forgets, Fitz, and
keep it safe for him. It costs him much to show as strong as he did
tonight. Do not be deceived about that. What he said to you, twice,
you must cherish and obey, for it means he held it twice as hard in
his mind to be sure he would say it to you.

I nodded and resolved to deliver the scroll that
very night to Verity. I do not much care for Wallace, I commented
to the Fool.

'Tis not Wall's Ass you should have a care for,
but Wall's Ears, he replied solemnly. Abruptly he balanced the tray
on one long-fingered hand and lofted it high over his head, and
went capering off down the stairs before me, leaving me alone to
think.

I delivered the scroll that night, and in the
days that followed, I took up the tasks Verity had assigned me
earlier. I used fat sausage and smoked fish as the vehicles for my
poisons, wrapped in small bundles. These I might easily scatter as
I fled, in the hopes there would be sufficient for all who pursued
me. Each morning I studied the map in Verity's map room, and then
saddled Sooty and took myself and my poisons out where I thought it
most likely I would be set upon by Forged ones. Remembering my
previous experiences, I carried a short sword on these riding
expeditions, something that afforded both Hands and Burrich some
amusement at first. I gave it out that I was scouting for game in
case Verity wished to plan a winter hunt. Hands accepted it easily,
Burrich with a tightened mouth that showed he knew I lied, and knew
also that I could not tell him the truth. He did not pry, but
neither did he like it.

Twice in ten days I was set upon by Forged ones,
and twice fled easily, letting my poisoned provisions tumble from
my saddlebags as I went. They fell upon them greedily, scarcely
unwrapping the meat before stuffing it into their mouths. I
returned to each site the following day, to document for Verity how
many I had slain and the details of their appearances. The second
group did not match any description we had received. We both
suspected this meant there were more Forged ones than we had
heard.

I did my task, but I took no pride in it. Dead,
they were even more pitiful than alive. Ragged, thin creatures,
frostbitten and battered by their fights among themselves they
were, and the savagery of the quick harsh poisons I used twisted
their bodies into caricatures of men. Frost glistened on their
beards and eyebrows, and the blood from their mouths made red
clumps like frozen rubies in the snow. Seven Forged ones I killed
this way, and then heaped the frozen bodies with pitchpine, and
poured oil on them and set them aflame. I cannot say what I found
most distasteful, the poisoning, or the concealing of my deed. Cub
had initially begged to go with me when he understood that I was
riding out each day after feeding him, but at one point, as I stood
over the frozen stickmen I had slain, I heard, This is not hunting,
this. This is no pack's doing. This is man's doing. His presence
was gone before I could rebuke him for intruding into my mind
again.

Evenings I returned to the Keep, to hot fresh
food and warm fires, dry clothes and a soft bed, but the specters
of those Forged ones stood between me and those comforts. I felt
myself a heartless beast that I could enjoy such things after
spreading death by day. My only comfort was a prickly one, that at
night when I slept, I dreamed of Molly, and walked and talked with
her, unhaunted by Forged ones or their frost rimed
bodies.

Came a day I rode out later than I had intended,
for Verity had been in his map room and had kept me overlong in
talk. A storm was coming up, but it did not seem too severe of one.
I had not intended to go far that day. But I found fresh sign
instead of my prey, and sign of a larger group of them than I had
expected. And so I rode on, ever at the alert with my five senses,
for the sixth of the Wit was no help at all in finding Forged ones.
The gathering clouds stole the light from the sky more swiftly than
I had expected and the sign led me down game trails where Sooty and
I found it slow going. When I finally glanced up from my tracking,
admitting that they had eluded me this day, I found myself much
farther from Buckkeep than I had intended and well off any traveled
road.

The wind began to blow, a nasty cold one that
foretold snow to follow. I wrapped my cloak more tightly about
myself and turned Sooty's head toward home, relying on her to pick
her path and pace. Darkness fell before we'd gone far, and snow
with it. Had I not traversed this area so frequently of late, I
would surely have been lost. But we pressed on, going always, it
seemed, into the teeth of the wind. The cold soaked right through
me, and I began to shiver. I feared the shivering might actually be
the beginnings of trembling and a fit such as I had not suffered
for a long time.

I was grateful when the winds finally tore a
rent in the cloud cover, and moonlight and starlight leaked through
to gray our way. We made a better pace then, despite the fresh snow
that Sooty waded through. We broke out of a thin birch forest, onto
a hillside that lightning had burned off a few years ago. The wind
was stronger here with nothing to oppose it, and I gathered my
cloak and turned up the collar again. I knew that once I crested
the hill, I would see the lights of Buckkeep, and that another hill
away and a vale would find a well-used road to take me home. So I
was of better cheer as we cut our way across the hill's smooth
flank.

Sudden as thunder, I heard the hoofbeats of a
horse struggling to make speed, but somehow encumbered. Sooty
slowed, then threw back her head and whinnied. At the same moment I
saw a horse and rider break out of the cover, downhill of me and to
the south. The horse carried a rider, and two other people clung to
it, one to its breast strap and one to the rider's leg. Light
glinted on a blade that rose and fell, and with a cry the man
clutching at the rider's leg fell away to wallow and shriek in the
snow. But the other figure had caught the horse's headstall, and as
he tried to drag the beast to a halt, two other pursuers burst from
the trees to converge on the struggling horse and rider.
.

The moment of recognizing Kettricken is
inseparable from the moment I set heels to Sooty. What I saw made
no sense to me, but that did not prevent my responding. I did not
ask myself what my queen-in-waiting was doing out here, at night,
unaccompanied and set upon by robbers. Rather, I found myself
admiring how she kept her seat and set her horse to wheeling as she
kicked and slashed at the men who tried to drag her down. I drew my
sword as we closed on the struggle, but I do not recall that I made
any sound. My recollection of the whole struggle is a strange one,
a battle of silhouettes, done in black and white like a mountain
shadow play, soundless save for the grunts and cries of the Forged
ones as one after another they fell.