Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (95 page)

He came like a shadow down the hall. Silently.
Not furtive. He was so unobtrusive, he did not need to worry about
being furtive. This was Skill as I had never seen it used before. I
felt the hairs on the back of my neck hackle when Will stopped
outside the door and looked in at me. He did not speak and I dared
not. Even looking at him was giving him too much of an opening to
myself. Yet I feared to look away. The Skill shimmered around him
like an aura of awareness. I coiled deep inside myself, tighter and
tighter, pulling back everything I felt or thought, slamming my
walls up as swiftly as I could, but knowing, somehow, that even
those walls told him much about me. Even my defenses were a way for
this one to read me. Even as my mouth and throat went dry with
fear, a question hovered. Where had he been? What had been so
important to Regal that he had set Will upon it rather than using
him to secure the crown?

White ship.

The answer came to me from deep within me,
founded on a connection so deep I could not unearth it. But I did
not doubt it. I looked at him, considering him in conjunction with
the white ship. He frowned. I felt an increase in the tension
between us, a pressing of the Skill against my boundaries. He did
not scrabble or pluck at me like Serene and Justin had. More I
could compare it. to an engagement of blades, where one tests the
strength of his opponent's attack. I balanced myself against him,
knowing that if I wavered, if for one instant I did not hold him
out, he would slip past my guard and skewer my soul. His eyes
widened and surprised me with a brief look of uncertainty. But he
followed it with a smile as welcoming as a shark's maw.

Ah, he sighed out. He seemed pleased. He stepped
back from my door, stretched like a lazy cat. They have
underestimated you. I shall not make that mistake. Well I know the
advantages one gains when your rival undervalues you. Then he left,
neither abruptly nor slowly, but like smoke drifts away on a
breeze. Here, and then gone.

After he was gone, I went back to my slab and
sat. I took a deep breath and sighed it out to still the quivering
inside me. I felt I had passed through a trial, and that this time,
at least, I had held my own. I leaned back against the cold stone
wall and glanced once more at my door.

Will's half-lidded eyes bored into
me.

I leaped up so suddenly the scabbed-over injury
on my leg tore open afresh. I glared at my window. Nothing. He was
gone. Heart hammering, I forced myself to go to the tiny window and
peer out it. No one was there, that I could see. He was gone. But I
could not make myself believe he was gone.

I limped back to my seat and sat down again,
gathering Brawndy's cloak about me. I stared at my window, looking
for motion, for some change in the shadowy light from the guard's
torch, for anything to indicate that Will lurked outside my door.
There was nothing. I longed to quest out, Wit and Skill, to see if
I could feel him out there. I dared not. I could not venture out of
myself without leaving a way for another to push in.

I set my guards about my thoughts and, a few
moments later, reset them. The harder I tried to calm myself, the
fiercer my panic became when it rose. I had been fearing physical
torture. Now the sour fear sweat trickled down my ribs and the
sides of my face as I considered all that Will could do to me if he
got past my walls. Once he got inside my head, I would stand before
all the Dukes and tell in detail how I had killed King Shrewd.
Regal had invented for me something worse than merely dying. I
could go to my death a self-proclaimed coward and traitor as well.
I would cower at Regal's feet and beg his forgiveness before
all.

I think the time that passed was a night. I
slept for none of it, save to doze off and then wake with a start
from a dream of eyes at my window. I dared not even reach out to
Nighteyes for comfort, and I hoped he would not try to reach me
with thoughts. I came out of such a doze with a start, thinking I
had heard footsteps down the hall. My eyes were sandy, my head
ached with my vigilance, and my muscles were knotted from tension.
I stayed where I was on the bench, conserving every bit of strength
that I had.

The door was flung open. A guard thrust a torch
into my cell, then cautiously followed it. Two other guards
followed. You. On your feet! barked the one with the torch. Farrow
was in his accent.

I saw no point in refusing to obey. I stood up,
letting Brawndy's cloak fall back on the bench. Their leader made a
curt gesture, and I fell in between the two guards. There were four
others outside my cell, waiting. Regal was taking no chances. None
of them were men I knew. They all wore the colors of Regal's guard.
I could tell their orders by the looks on their faces. I gave them
no excuses. They took me down the hall a short ways, past the
deserted guard post, to the larger chamber that served once as a
guardroom. It had been cleared of furniture, save for a comfortable
chair. Every sconce boasted a torch, making the room painfully
bright to my light deprived eyes. The guards left me standing in
the middle of the room and joined others lining the walls. Habit
more than hope made me assess my situation. I counted fourteen
guards. Surely that was an excess, even for me. Both doors to the
chamber were closed. We waited.

Waiting, standing, in a brightly lit room
surrounded by hostile men can be underestimated as a form of
torture. I tried to stand quietly, to shift my weight
unobtrusively. I rapidly grew tired. It was frightening to discover
how quickly starvation and inactivity had weakened me. I felt
almost a sense of relief when the door finally opened. Regal
entered, followed by Will. Will was quietly remonstrating with
him.

... unnecessary. Another night or so would be
all I required.

I prefer this, Regal said acidly.

Will bowed his head in silent assent. Regal was
seated, and Will took a position behind his left shoulder. Regal
considered me for a moment, then leaned back negligently in his
chair. He cocked his head to one side and breathed out through his
nose. He lifted a finger, indicated a man. Bolt. You. I want
nothing broken. When we have what we want, I'll want to make him
presentable once more. You understand.

Bolt nodded briefly. He stripped off his winter
cloak and let it fall, pulled off his shirt as well. The other men
watched stony-eyed. From some long-ago discussion with Chade, a
small bit of advice came to mind. You can hold out longer under
torture if you focus on what you will say rather than what you
won't. I've heard of men repeating the same phrase, over and over,
long past the point where they could hear the questions anymore. By
focusing on what you will say, you make it less likely you'll say
that which you don't wish to.

But his theoretical advice might not do much for
me. Regal did not seem to have any questions to ask.

Bolt was taller than I was, heavier than I was.
He looked as if his diet included a lot more than bread and water.
He limbered and stretched as if we were going to wrestle for a
Winterfest purse. I stood watching him. He met my look and smiled
at me liplessly. I watched him pull on a pair of fingerless leather
gloves. He'd come prepared for this. Then he bowed to Regal, and
Regal nodded.

What's this?

Be silent! I ordered Nighteyes. But as Bolt
stepped purposefully toward me I felt a snarl twitch at my upper
lip. I dodged his first punch, stepped in to land one of my own,
and then moved back as he swung again. Desperation lent me agility.
I had not expected a chance to defend myself, I had expected to be
bound and tormented. Of course, there was plenty of time for that.
Regal had all the time he needed. Don't think of that. I had never
been good in this kind of a fight. Don't think of that either.
Bolt's fist grazed my cheek stingingly. Be wary. I was luring him
to open up, taking his measure, when the Skill wrapped me. I reeled
in Will's onslaught, and Bolt landed his next three blows
effortlessly. Jaw, chest, and high on my cheek. All quick and
solid. The style of a man who did this a lot. The smile of a man
who enjoyed it.

There followed a timeless period for me. I could
not both shield myself from Will and defend myself from Bolt
battering me. I reasoned, if the thinking one does in such a state
can be called reasoning, that my body had its own defenses against
physical pain. I'd pass out, or die. Dying might be the only
victory I could hope for here. So I chose to defend my mind rather
than body.

I veer away from recalling that beating. My
token defense was to move away from his blows and force him to
pursue me, to keep my eyes on him, to block where I could as long
as it did not distract me from my vigil against Will's Skill
pressure. I heard the guards jeer at my supposed lack of spirit as
I scarcely fought back. When one of his blows sent me staggering
back against the soldiers who ringed us, their shoves and kicks
drove me back toward Bolt again.

I could not devote my thoughts to strategy. When
I swung, I swung wildly, and the few times my fists landed, it was
with small impact. I longed to release myself, to tap my fury and
just fling myself at Bolt and hammer at him any way I could. But
that would have left me wide open to Will's intentions. No. I had
to remain cool and endure. As Will increased his pressure on me,
Bolt had a leisurely time of it. Eventually, I was reduced to two
choices. I could use my arms to shelter either my head or my body.
He merely shifted targets. The horror was that I knew the man was
holding back, striking only to inflict pain and minor damage. I
dropped my hands once and met Will's gaze face-on. I had the very
brief satisfaction of seeing the sweat that streamed down his face.
At that moment, Bolt's fist connected solidly with my
nose.

Blade had once described to me the sound that he
heard as his nose broke in a brawl. Words did not do it justice. A
sickening sound combined with incredible pain. Pain so intense it
was suddenly the only pain I was aware of. I blacked
out.

I don't know how long I was out. I fluttered to
the edge of consciousness, hovered there. Someone had flipped me
over onto my back. Whoever it was straightened from inspecting me.
Nose is broke, he announced.

Bolt, I said, nothing broken! Regal remonstrated
with him angrily. I have to be able to show him intact. Bring me
some wine, he added irritably in an aside to someone
else.

Not a problem, King Regal, someone assured him.
That person bent over me, took a firm grip on the bridge of my
nose, and dragged it straight again. That crude setting of it hurt
worse than the breaking, and once more I dipped down into
unconsciousness. I lingered there, hearing the voices discuss me
for some time before they resolved into words and the words into
sense.

Regal's voice. So what is he supposed to be able
to do? Why hasn't he done it yet?

I know only what Serene and Justin told me, Your
Majesty. Will's voice was tired. They claimed he was weary from
Skilling, and Justin was able to force his way into him. Then the
Bastard ... fought back in some way. Justin said he believed
himself attacked by a great wolf. Serene said she actually saw the
marks of claws on Justin, but that they faded shortly
afterward.

I heard the creak of wood as Regal flung himself
back in his chair. Well, make him do it. I wish to see this Wit for
myself A pause. Or are not you strong enough? Perhaps Justin was
the one I should have held in reserve.

I am stronger than Justin was, Your Majesty,
Will asserted calmly. But Fitz is aware of my intent. He was not
expecting Justin's attack. More quietly he added, He is stronger
far than I was led to believe.

Just do it! Regal commanded in
disgust.

So Regal wanted to see the Wit? I drew a breath,
gathered what little strength was inside me. I tried to focus my
anger at Regal, to repel at him hard enough to drive him through
the wall. But I could not. I was too riddled with pain to
concentrate. My own walls defeated me. All Regal did was start, and
then look at me more closely.

He's awake, he observed. Again his finger lifted
lazily. Verde. You may have him. But have a care to his nose. Leave
his face alone. The rest of him is easily covered.

Verde devoted some little time to hauling me to
my feet so he could knock me down again. I wearied of that
repetition long before he did. The floor did as much damage as his
fists. I could not seem to keep my feet under me, nor lift my arms
to shield myself. I retreated inside myself, smaller and smaller,
huddling there until sheer physical pain would force me to
alertness and make me struggle again. Usually just before I passed
out again. I became aware of another thing. Regal's enjoyment. He
did not want to bind me and cause me pain. He wanted to watch me
struggle, to see me attempt to fight back and fail. He watched his
guard, too, noting, no doubt, which ones turned their eyes away
from this sport. He used me to take their measure. I forced myself
not to care that he took pleasure from my pain. All that truly
mattered was keeping my walls up and keeping Will out of my head.
That was the battle I had to win.

The fourth time I awoke, I was on the floor of
my cell. A terrible snuffling, wheezing sound was what had wakened
me. It was the sound of my breathing. I remained where they had
dumped me. After a time I lifted a hand and pawed Brawndy's cloak
down from the bench. It fell partially atop me. I lay a time
longer. Regal's guards had listened to him. Nothing was broken.
Everything hurt, but no bones were broken. All they had given me
was pain. Nothing I could die from.