Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (14 page)

He glanced up at the crow. The bird had huffed
its feathers against the storm and sidled into the shelter of a
chimney. He'd never catch that bird again. Behind me, the wolf
whined suddenly.

Nine coppers! the merchant offered suddenly,
desperately. He'd sold nothing that day, I'd wager.

I told you, I've no way to take him home! I
countered. I tugged up my hood, glanced at the sky. Storm's here, I
announced as the thick wet flakes began to fall. This would be
nasty weather, too warm to freeze, too cold to melt. By daylight,
the streets would be shining with ice. I turned to go.

Give me your six damned coppers, then! the
merchant bellowed in frustration.

I fumbled them out hesitatingly. And will you
cart him to where I live? I asked as he snatched them out of my
hand.

Carry him yourself, boy. You've robbed me and
you know it.

With that, he seized up his cage of doves and
pigeons and heaved it into the cart. The empty crow's cage
followed. He ignored my angry remonstrance as he climbed up on the
seat and shook the pony's reins. The old beast dragged the creaking
cart off, into the thickening snow and dusk. The market around us
was abandoned. The only traffic now were folk hurrying home through
the storm, collars and cloaks tight against the wet wind and
blowing snow.

Now what am I to do with you? I asked the
wolf.

Let me out. Free me.

I can't. Not safe. If I turned a wolf loose here
in the heart of town, he'd never find his way to the woods alive.
There were too many dogs that would pack up to bring him down, too
many men who would shoot him for his hide. Or for being a wolf. I
bent toward the cage, intending to heft it and see how heavy it
was. He lunged at me, teeth bared.

Get back! I was instantly angry. It was
contagious.

I'll kill you. You're the same as he was, a man.
You'd keep me in this cage, would you? I'll kill you, I'll rip your
belly out and tussle with your guts.

You'll get back! I pushed at him, hard, and he
cowered away again. He snarled and whined his confusion at what I
had done, but he shrank away from me into the corner of his cage. I
seized the cage, lifted it. It was heavy, and the frantic shifting
of his weight didn't make it any easier. But I could carry it. Not
very far, and not for long. But if I took it in stages, I could get
him out of the town. Full grown, he'd probably weigh as much as I
did. But he was skinny, and young. Younger than I had guessed at
first glance.

I heaved the cage up, held it against my chest.
If he went for me now, he could do some damage. But he only whined
and cowered back from me into the far corner. It made it very
awkward to carry him.

How did he catch you?

I hate you.

How did he catch you?

He remembered a den, and two brothers. A mother
who brought him fish. And blood and smoke and his brothers and
mother became smelly hides for the boot man. He was dragged out
last and thrown into a cage that smelled like ferrets, and kept
alive on carrion. And hate. Hate was what he had throve
upon.

You were whelped late, if your mother was
feeding you on the fish runs.

He sulked at me.

All the roads were uphill, and the snow was
starting to stick. My worn boots slid on the icy cobbles, and my
shoulders ached with the awkward burden of the cage. I feared I
would start trembling. I had to stop frequently to rest. When I
did, I firmly refused to think about what I was doing. I told
myself that I would not bond with this wolf, or any other creature.
I had promised myself. I was just going to feed this cub up and
then turn him loose somewhere. Burrich need never know. I would not
have to face his disgust. I hefted the cage up again. Who would
have thought such a mangy little cub could be so heavy?

Not mangy. Indignant. Bugs. The cage is full of
bugs.

So I wasn't imagining that itching on my chest.
Wonderful. I'd have to bathe again tonight, unless I wanted to
share my bed with fleas the rest of the winter.

I had reached the edge of Buckkeep Town. From
here, there were only a scattering of houses, and the road would be
steeper. Much steeper. Once again I lowered the cage to the snowy
ground. The cub huddled in it, small and miserable without anger
and hate to sustain him. He was hungry. I made a
decision.

I'm going to take you out. I'm going to carry
you.

Nothing from him. He watched me steadily as I
worked the catch on the cage and swung the door open. I had thought
he would charge past me and vanish into the night and the falling
snow. Instead he crouched where he was. I reached into the cage and
seized him by the scruff to drag him out. In a flash he was on me,
driving into my chest, jaws going wide for my throat. I got my arm
up just in time to shove my forearm crossways into his jaws. I kept
my grip on the scruff of his neck and pushed my arm hard into his
mouth, deeper than he liked. His hind legs tore at my belly, but my
jerkin was thick enough to divert most of the damage. In an instant
we were rolling over and over in the snow, both snapping and
snarling like mad things. But I had the weight and the leverage and
the experience of tussling with dogs for years. I got him on his
back and held him there, helpless, while his head thrashed back and
forth and he called me vile names that humans have no words for.
When he had exhausted himself I leaned forward over him. I gripped
his throat and leaned down to stare into his eyes. This was a
physical message he understood. I added to it. I am the Wolf. You
are the Cub, You will obey me!

I held him there staring into his eyes. He
quickly looked away, but still I held him, until he looked back up
at me and I saw the change in them. I let go of him and stood up
and stepped away. He lay still. Get up. Come here. He rolled over
and came to me, belly low to the ground, tail between his legs.
When he got close to me, he fell over on his side and then showed
his belly. He whined softly.

After a moment I relented. It's all right. We
just had to understand each other. I don't intend to hurt you. Come
with me now. I reached over to scratch his chest, but when I
touched him, he yelped. I felt the red flash of his
pain.

Where are you hurt?

I saw the brass-bound club of the cage man.
Everywhere.

I tried to be gentle as I felt him over. Old
scabs, lumps on his ribs. I stood, and kicked the cage savagely
aside from our path. He came and leaned against my leg. Hungry.
Cold. So tired. His feelings were bleeding over into mine again.
When I touched him, it was difficult to separate my thoughts from
his. Was it my outrage over how he had been treated, or his own? I
decided it didn't matter. I gathered him up carefully and stood.
Without the cage, held close to my chest, he didn't weigh nearly as
much. He was mostly fur and long growing bones. I regretted the
force I'd used on him, but also knew that it was the only language
he would have recognized. I'll take care of you, I forced myself to
say aloud.

Warm, he thought gratefully, and I took a moment
to pull my cloak over him. His senses were feeding mine. I could
smell myself, a thousand times stronger than I wanted to. Horses
and dogs and wood smoke and beer and a trace of Patience's perfume.
I did my best to block out my awareness of his senses. I snugged
him to me and carried him up the steep path to Buckkeep. I knew of
a disused cottage. An old pig man had once lived in it, out back
behind the granaries. No one lived there now. It was too
tumbledown, and too far from everyone else at Buckkeep. But it
would suit my purposes. I'd put him there, with some bones to gnaw
and some boiled grain, and some straw to bed down in. A week or
two, maybe a month, and he'd be healed up and strong enough to care
for himself. Then I'd take him out west of Buckkeep and turn him
loose.

Meat?

I sighed. Meat, I promised. Never had any beast
sensed my thoughts so completely, or expressed his own to me so
clearly. It was good that we would not be around one another for
long. Very good that he'd be leaving soon.

Warm, he contradicted me. He set his head atop
my shoulder and fell asleep, his muzzle snuffling damply against my
ear.

CHAPTER FIVE

Gambit

CERTAINLY THERE IS an ancient code of
conduct, certainly its customs were harsher than ours today. But I
would venture that we have not wandered so far from those customs
so much as put a veneer over them. A warrior's word is still his
bond, and among those who serve side by side, there is nothing so
foul as one who lies to his comrades, or leads them into dishonor.
The laws of hospitality still forbid those who have shared salt at
a man's table to shed blood on his floor.

Winter deepened around Buckkeep Castle. The
storms came in off the sea, to pound us with icy fury and then
depart. Snow usually fell in their wake, great dumps of it that
iced the battlements like sweet paste on nut cakes. The great darks
of the long nights grew longer, and on clear nights the stars
burned cold over us. After my long journey home from the Mountain
Kingdom, the ferocity of the winter didn't threaten me as it once
had. As I went my daily rounds to the stable and to the old pig
hut, my cheeks might burn with cold and my eyelashes cling together
with frost, but I always knew that home and a warm hearth were
close by. The storms and the deep colds that snarled at us like
wolves at the door were also the watch beasts that kept the
Red-Ships away from our shores.

Time dragged for me. I called on Kettricken each
day, as Chade had suggested, but our restiveness was too much alike
for us. I am sure I irritated her as much as she did me. I dared
not spend too many hours with the cub, lest we bond. I had no other
fixed duties. There were too many hours to the day, and all were
filled with my thoughts of Molly. Nights were the worst, for then
my sleeping mind was beyond my control, and my dreams were full of
my Molly, my bright red-skirted candlemaker, now gone so demure and
drab in serving-girl blue. If I could not be near her by day, my
dreaming self courted her with an earnestness and energy that my
waking self had never mustered the courage for. When we walked the
beaches after a storm, her hand was in mine. I kissed her
competently, without uncertainty, and met her eyes with no secrets
to hide. No one could keep her from me. In my dreams.

At first, Chade's training of me seduced me into
spying upon her. I knew which room on the servants' floor was hers,
I knew which window was hers. I learned, without intention, the
hours of her comings and goings. It shamed me to stand where I
might hear her step upon the stairs and catch a brief glimpse of
her going out on her market errands, but try as I might, I could
not forbid myself to be there. I knew who her friends were among
the serving women. Though I might not speak to her, I could greet
them, and have a chance bit of talk with them, hoping always for
some stray mention of Molly. I yearned after her hopelessly. Sleep
eluded me, and food held no interest for me. Nothing held any
interest for me.

I was sitting one evening in the guardroom off
the kitchen. I had found a place in the corner where I could lean
against the wall and prop my boots up on the opposite bench to
discourage company. A mug of ale that had gone warm hours ago sat
in front of me. I lacked even the ambition to drink myself into a
stupor. I was looking at nothing, attempting not to think, when the
bench was jerked out from under my propped feet. I nearly fell from
my seat, then recovered to see Burrich seating himself opposite me.
What ails you? he asked without niceties. He leaned forward and
pitched his voice for me alone. Have you had another
seizure?

I looked back at the table. I spoke as quietly.
A few trembling fits, but no real seizures. They only seem to come
on me if I strain myself.

He nodded gravely, then waited. I looked up to
find his dark eyes on me. The concern in them touched something in
me. I shook my head, my voice suddenly gone. It's Molly, I said
after a moment.

You haven't been able to find where she
went?

No. She's here, at Buckkeep, working as a maid
for Patience. But Patience won't let me see her. She says
...

Burrich's eyes had widened at my first words.
Now he glanced around us, then tossed his head at the door. I arose
and followed him as he led me back to his stables, and then up to
his room. I sat down at his table, before his hearth, and he
brought out his good Tilth brandy and two cups. Then he set out his
leather-mending tools. And his perpetual pile of harness to be
mended. He handed me a halter that needed a new strap. For himself,
he laid out some fancy work on a saddle skirt. He drew up his own
stool and looked at me. This Molly. I've seen her then, in the
washer courts with Lacey? Carries her head proud? Red glint to her
coat?

Her hair, I corrected him grudgingly.

Nice wide hips. She'll bear easily, he said with
approval.

I glared at him. Thank you, I said
icily.

He shocked me by grinning. Get angry. I'd rather
you were that than self-pitying. So. Tell me.

And I told him. Probably much more than I would
have in the guardroom, for here we were alone, the brandy went warm
down my throat, and the familiar sights and smells of his room and
work were all around me. Here, if anywhere in my life, I had always
been safe. It seemed safe to reveal to him my pain. He did not
speak or make any comments. Even after I had talked myself out, he
kept his silence. I watched him rub dye into the lines of the buck
he had incised in the leather.