Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (7 page)

As I made my way from the kitchen to the hall,
and then to the Great Hall, I was mystified by what I saw. Did the
tapestries glow more brightly than they once had? Had the strewing
herbs always smelled so sweet, the carved woodwork by each doorway
always gleamed so warmly? Briefly I put it down to my relief at
finally being home. But when I paused at the foot of the great
stair to take up a candle to light my way up to my chamber, I
noticed that the table there was not bespattered with wax, and
more, that an embroidered cloth graced it.

Kettricken.

There was a Queen at Buckkeep now. I found
myself smiling foolishly. So. This great fortress castle had had a
going-over in my absence. Had Verity bestirred himself and his folk
before her arrival, or had Kettricken herself demanded this vast
scrubbing out? It would be interesting to find out.

As I climbed the great staircase I noticed other
things. The ancient soot marks above each sconce were gone. Not
even the corners of the steps held dust. There were no cobwebs. The
candelabra at each landing were full and bright with candles. And a
rack at each landing held blades, ready for defense. So this was
what it meant to have a Queen in residence. But even when Shrewd's
queen had been alive, I didn't recall that Buckkeep had looked or
smelled so clean or been so brightly lit.

The guard at King Shrewd's door was a dour-faced
veteran I had known since I was six. A silent man, he peered at me
closely, then recognized me. He allowed me a brief smile as he
asked, Anything critical to report, Fitz?

Only that I'm back, I said, and he nodded
sagely. He was used to my coming and going here, often at some very
odd hours, but he was not a man to make assumptions or draw
conclusions, or even speak to those who might. So he stepped
quietly inside the King's chamber, to pass the word to someone that
Fitz was here. In a moment the word came back that the King would
summon me at his convenience, but also that he was glad I was safe.
I stepped quietly away from his door, making more of his message
than if those words had come from any other man. Shrewd never
mouthed polite nothings.

Farther down the same corridor were Verity's
chambers. Here again I was recognized, but when I requested the man
let Verity know I was back and wished to report, he replied only
that Prince Verity was not within his chamber.

In his tower, then? I asked, wondering what he
would be watching for at this time of year. Winter storms kept our
coast safe from Raiders for at least these few months of the
year.

A slow smile stole over the guard's face. When
he saw my puzzled glance, it became a grin. Prince Verity is not in
his chambers just now, he repeated. And then added: I shall see
that he gets your message as soon as he awakes in the
morning.

For a moment longer I stood, stupid as a post.
Then I turned and walked quietly away. I felt a sort of wonder.
This, too, was what it meant for there to be a Queen in
Buckkeep.

I climbed another two flights of stairs,
and went down the hall to my own chamber. It smelled stale, and
there was no fire in the hearth. It was cold with disuse, and
dusty. No touch of a woman's hand here. It seemed as bare and
colorless as a cell. But it was still warmer than a tent in the
snow, and the feather bed was as soft and deep as I remembered it.
I shed my travel-stained garments as I walked toward it. I fell
into it and sleep.

CHAPTER THREE

Renewing Ties

THE OLDEST REFERENCE to the Elderlings in the
Buckkeep library is a battered scroll. Vague discolorations upon
the vellum suggest that it came from a parti-colored beast, one
mottled in a way unfamiliar to any of our hunters. The lettering
ink is one derived from squid ink and bell root. It has stood the
test of time well, much better than the colored inks that
originally supplied illustrations and illuminations for the text.
These have not only faded and bled, but in many places have drawn
the attentions of some mite that has gnawed and stiffened the
once-supple parchment, making parts of the scroll too brittle to
unroll.

Unfortunately, the damage was concentrated most
at the innermost parts of the scroll, which deal with portions of
King Wisdom's quest that were not recorded elsewhere. From these
fragmented remains, one can glean that sore need drove him to seek
the homeland of the Elderlings. His troubles are familiar ones;
ships raided his coastline mercilessly. Tatters hint that he rode
off toward the Mountain Kingdom. We don't know why he suspected
that way would lead him to the home of the mythical Elderlings.
Unfortunately the final stages of his journey and his encounter
with the Elderlings seem to have been richly illustrated, for here
the parchment is reduced to a lacy web of tantalizing word bits and
body parts. We do not know anything of this first encounter. Nor
have we even an inkling as to how he induced the Elderlings to
become his allies. Many songs, rich in metaphor, tell how the
Elderlings descended, like storms, like tidal waves, like vengeance
gone gold, and wrath embodied in flesh of stone to drive the
Raiders away from our shores. Legends also tell that they swore to
Wisdom that if ever the Six Duchies had need of their aid, they
would rise again to our defense. One may conjecture; many have, and
the variety of legends that surround this alliance are proof of
that. But King Wisdom's scribe's recounting of the event has been
lost to mildew and worms forever.

My chamber had a single tall window that looked
out over the sea. In winter a wooden shutter closed out the storm
winds, and a tapestry hung over that gave my room an illusion of
cozy warmth. So I awakened to darkness, and for a time lay quietly
finding myself. Gradually the subtle sounds of the Keep filtered in
to me. Morning sounds. Very early morning sounds. Home, I realized.
Buckkeep. And in the next instant, Molly, I said aloud to the
darkness. My body was weary and aching still. But not exhausted. I
clambered from my bed into the chill of my room.

I stumbled to my long-disused hearth and kindled
a small fire. I needed to bring up more firewood soon. The dancing
flames lent the room a fickle yellow light. I took clothing from
the chest at the foot of my bed, only to find the garments oddly
ill-fitting. My long illness had wasted the muscle from my frame,
but I had still somehow managed to grow longer in the legs and
arms. Nothing fit. I picked up my shirt from yesterday, but a night
in clean bedding had refreshed my nose. I could no longer abide the
smell of the travel-stained garment. I dug in my clothes chest
again. I found one soft brown shirt that had once been too long in
the sleeve for me, and now just fit. I put it on with my green
quilted mountain trousers and buskins. I had no doubt that as soon
as I encountered the Lady Patience or Mistress Hasty, I would be
attacked and the situation remedied. But not, I hoped, before
breakfast and a trip into Buckkeep Town. There were several places
there where I might get word of Molly.

I found the castle stirring but not yet fully
awake. I ate in the kitchen as I had when a child, finding that
there, as always, the bread was freshest and the porridge sweetest.
Cook exclaimed to see me, one minute commenting on how much I had
grown, and the next lamenting how thin and worn I looked. I
surmised that before the day was out, I would be heartily sick of
these observations. As traffic in the kitchen increased I fled,
carrying off a thick slice of bread well buttered and laden with
rosehip preserves. I headed back toward my room to get a winter
cloak.

In every chamber I passed through, I found more
and more evidence of Kettricken's presence. A sort of tapestry,
woven of different-colored grasses and representing a mountain
scene, now graced the wall of the Lesser Hall. There were no
flowers to be had this time of year, but in odd places I
encountered fat pottery bowls full of pebbles, and these held bare
but graceful branches, or dried thistles and cattails. The changes
were small but unmistakable.

I found myself in one of the older sections of
Buckkeep, and then climbing the dusty steps to Verity's watchtower.
It commanded a wide view of our seacoast, and from its tall windows
Verity kept his summer vigil for raiding ships. From here he worked
the Skill magic that kept the Raiders at bay, or at least gave us
some warning of their coming. It was a thin defense at times. He
should have had a coterie of underlings trained in the Skill to
assist him. But I myself, despite my bastard blood, had never been
able to control my random Skill abilities. Galen, our Skill master,
had died before he had trained more than a handful in the Skill.
There was no one to replace him, and those he had trained lacked a
true communion with Verity. So Verity Skilled alone against our
enemies. It had aged him before his time. I worried that he would
overspend himself upon it, and succumb to the addicting weakness of
those who Skilled too much.

By the time I reached the top of the spiraling
tower steps, I was winded and my legs ached. I pushed at the door
and it gave easily on oiled hinges. From long habit, I stepped
quietly as I entered the room. I had not really expected to find
Verity or anyone else there. The sea storms were our watchmen in
winter, guarding our coasts from Raiders. I blinked in the sudden
gray light of morning that was flooding in from the unshuttered
tower windows. Verity was a dark silhouette against a gray storm
sky. He did not turn. Shut the door, he said quietly. The draft up
the stairs makes this room as windy as a chimney.

I did so, and then stood shivering in the chill.
The wind brought the scent of the sea with it, and I breathed it in
as if it were life itself. I had not expected to find you here, I
said.

He kept his eyes on the water. Didn't you? Then
why did you come? There was amusement in his voice.

It jolted me. I don't really know. I headed back
to my room .... My voice dwindled away as I tried to recall why I
had come here.

I Skilled you, he said simply.

I stood silent and thought. I felt
nothing.

I didn't intend that you should. It is as I told
you a long time ago. The Skill can be a soft whisper in a man's
ear. It doesn't have to be a shout of command.

He slowly turned to face me, and as my eyes
adjusted to the light my heart leaped with joy at the change I saw
in the man. When I had left Buckkeep at harvest time, he had been a
withered shadow, worn thin by the weight of his duties and his
constant watchfulness. His dark hair was still salted with gray,
but there was muscle once more on his stocky frame, and vitality
snapped in his dark eyes. He looked every bit a King.

Marriage seems to agree with you, my prince, I
said inanely.

That flustered him. In some ways, he conceded as
a boyish flush rose on his cheeks. He turned back quickly to his
window. Come and see my ships, he commanded.

It was my turn to be baffled. I stepped to the
window beside him and looked out over the harbor, and then over the
sea itself. Where? I asked in bewilderment. He took me by the
shoulders and turned me toward the shipyard. A long barn of a
building of new yellow pine had been erected there. Men were coming
and going from it as smoke rose from chimneys and forges there.
Dark against the snow were several of the immense timbers that had
been Kettricken's bride offering to him.

Sometimes, when I stand up here on a winter
morning, I look out to sea and I can almost see the Red-Ships. I
know they must come. But sometimes, too, I can see the ships we
shall have to meet them. They will not find their prey so helpless
this spring, my boy. And by next winter I intend to teach them what
it is to be raided. He spoke with a savage satisfaction that would
have been frightening, had I not shared it. I felt my grin mirror
his as our eyes met.

And then his look changed. You look terrible, he
offered. As bad as your clothes. Let's go somewhere warmer and find
you some mulled wine and something to eat.

I've eaten, I told him. And I'm much better than
I was a few months ago, thank you.

Don't be prickly, he admonished me. And don't
tell me what I already know. Nor lie to me. The climb up the stairs
has exhausted you, and you're shivering as you stand
there.

You're using the Skill on me, I accused him, and
he nodded.

I've been aware of your approach for some days
now. I tried several times to Skill to you, but could not make you
aware of me. I was concerned when you left the road, but I
understand Burrich's concern. I am pleased that he has looked after
you so well; not just in bringing you home safe, but in all that
went on at Jhaampe. I am at a loss as to how to reward him. It
would have to be subtle. Given who was involved, a public
recognition would not do. Have you any suggestions?

Your word of thanks would be all he would
accept. He would bridle that you thought he needed more. My own
feelings are that no object you gave him would be a match for what
he did for me. The way to handle him is to tell him to take his
pick of the likely two-year-olds, for his horse is growing old.
He'd understand that. I considered it carefully. Yes. You might do
that.

Might I? Verity asked me dryly. There was an
acid edge to the amusement in his voice.

I was suddenly amazed at my own boldness. I
forgot myself, my prince, I said humbly.