Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (67 page)

With the Inland Duchies. The only ones he cares
about, the only ones with which he has a mutual loyalty. It would
give him a vast perimeter of land as an insulation against anything
the Red-Ships might do. And like you, perhaps, he may believe they
are not after territory, but only a raiding grounds. They are sea
folk. They will not come that far inland to trouble him. And the
Coastal Duchies will be too busy fighting the Red-Ships to turn on
Regal.

If the Six Duchies loses her seacoast, she loses
her trade, her shipping. How pleased will his Inland Dukes be with
that?

I shrugged. I do not know. I have not all the
answers, Chade. But this is the only theory I've been able to put
together in which almost all the pieces fit.

He rose, to pour steaming water from the kettle
into a fat brown pot. He rinsed it well with the boiling water,
then dumped in the paper of herbs he had compounded. I watched him
pour the boiling water over the herbs. The scent of a garden filled
his chambers. I took the image of the old man putting the lid on
the pot, wrapped up the homey simple moment of him setting the pot
on the tray with some cups, and stowed it carefully somewhere in my
heart. Age was creeping up on Chade, just as surely as disease
devoured Shrewd. His deft movements were no longer quite so sure,
his bird alertness not as quick as it once had been. My heart ached
suddenly with my glimpse of the inevitable. As he set a warm cup of
steaming tea in my hand, he frowned at my expression.

What's wrong? he whispered. Do you want some
honey in that?

I shook my head to his questions, took a sip of
tea, and near scalded my tongue. A pleasant taste overlay the bite
of the elfbark. After a few moments I felt my mind clear and a pain
I had scarcely been aware of went back to sleep. That's much
better. I sighed, and Chade sketched a bow at me, pleased with
himself.

He leaned close again. It is still a weak
theory. Perhaps we simply have a self-indulgent Prince, who pleases
himself with entertainments for his flatterers while the heir is
away. He neglects protecting his coastline because he is
shortsighted, and because he expects his brother will come home and
tidy up his mess. He raids the treasury and sells off horses and
cattle to amass wealth to himself while there is no one to stop
him.

Then why paint Bea
rn
s as a traitor? And set up Kettricken as
an outsider? Why spread rumors of ridicule about Verity and his
quest?

Jealousy. Regal has always been his father's
spoiled pet. I do not think he would turn on Shrewd. Something in
Chade's voice made me realize this was what he desperately wished
to believe. I supply the herbs that Wallace administers to Shrewd
for his pain.

I do not doubt your herbs. But I think others
are added to them.

What would be the point? Even if Shrewd dies,
Verity is still the heir.

Unless Verity dies first. I held up my hand as
Chade opened his mouth to protest. It need not really happen. If
Regal controls the coterie, he can supply word of Verity's death at
any time. Regal becomes king-in-waiting. Then ... I let my words
trail off.

Chade let out a long sigh. Enough. You have
given me enough to ponder. I will look into these ideas, with my
own resources. For now, you must watch over yourself. And
Kettericken. And the Fool. If there is even a drop of truth in your
theories, you all become obstacles to Regal's goal.

And what of you? I asked quietly. What is this
caution we now must suffer?

There is a chamber, whose wall adjoins this one.
Always before, it was left empty. But one of Regal's guests is now
ensconced in it. Bright, Regal's cousin, and heir to Farrow Duchy.
The man is a very light sleeper. He has complained to the servants
of rats squeaking in the walls. Then, last night, Slink overset a
kettle, with quite a clatter. It awoke him. The man is overly
curious as well. He asks servants now if spirits have ever been
known to walk in Buckkeep. And I have heard him tapping at the
walls. I think he suspects this chamber. It need not concern us all
that much; soon he will be leaving, I'm sure. But a bit more
caution is called for.

I felt there was more, but whatever he did not
wish to say would not be gained by questions. I asked one more,
however. Chade. Are you still able to see the King once a
day?

He glanced down at his hands and shook his head
slowly. Regal seems to suspect my existence. I will admit that to
you. At least, he suspects something, and seems always to have some
of his folk lurking about. It makes life difficult. But enough of
our worries. Let us try to think of how things may go
right.

And then Chade began a long discussion of
Elderlings, based on what little we knew of them. We chatted of how
it would be if Verity succeeded, and speculated what form the
Elderlings' aid would take. Chade seemed to speak with great hope
and sincerity, even enthusiasm. I tried to share it, but my belief
was that the salvation of the Six Duchies depended on eliminating
the viper in our midst. It was not long before he sent me back to
my own room. I lay down on the bed, intending to rest for just a
few minutes before facing the day, but instead fell into a deep
sleep.

We were blessed with storms for a time. Each day
that I woke to driving wind and rain against my shutters was a day
to be treasured. I tried to be unobtrusive about the Keep, avoiding
Regal even if it meant taking all my meals in the watch room,
drifting out of any room that Justin and Serene might enter. Will,
too, had returned from his Skill post at the Red Tower in
Bea
rn
s. On rare
occasions I saw him in company with Serene and Justin. More often
he dawdled in the hall at table, his half-lidded eyes always
seeming on the verge of closing. His dislike of me was not the
focused hatred that Serene and Justin shared for me, but all the
same I avoided him as well. I told myself I was wise, but feared
myself a coward. I attended my king as often as I was allowed to.
It was not often enough.

Came a morning when I was jolted awake to
someone pounding on my door and yelling my name. I stumbled from my
bed and jerked the door open. A white-faced stable boy stood
shaking on my doorstep. Hands says come to the stables. Right
now!

He gave me no time to reply to his urgent
message, but raced off as if seven kinds of demons were after
him.

I pulled on yesterday's clothes. I thought of
splashing my face with water, or smoothing my hair back into its
tail afresh, but those thoughts occurred to me halfway down the
stairs. As I raced across the courtyard I could already hear the
raised voices of a quarrel in the stable. I knew Hands would not
have called me for a simple squabble among stable hands. I could
not imagine what he would call me for. I pushed open the stable
doors, then shoved my way past a gaggle of stable boys and grooms
to get to the center of the commotion.

It was Burrich. He was no longer shouting.
Travel worn and weary, he now stood silent. Hands was beside him,
white-faced but standing firm. I had no choice, he said quietly in
answer to something Burrich had said. You would have had to do the
same.

Burrich's face looked ravaged. His eyes were
unbelieving, empty with shock. I know, he said after a moment. I
know. He turned to look at me. Fitz. My horses are gone. He swayed
slightly on his feet.

It wasn't Hands's doing, I said quietly. Then I
asked, Where is Prince Verity?

His brows knit and he looked at me oddly. You
did not expect me? He paused, said more loudly, Messages were sent
ahead of me. Didn't you get them?

We've heard nothing. What happened? Why are you
back?

He looked around at the gaping stable boys, and
something of the Burrich I knew came into his eyes again. If you
have not heard yet, then it is not for gossip and common talk. I
must go straight to the King. He drew himself up straight, looked
around again at the boys and grooms. The old whiplash was back in
his voice as he demanded, Have you no work to do? I shall be
looking over how you have cared for things in my absence as soon as
I return from the Keep.

Like fog in the sunlight, the workers
dissipated. Burrich turned to Hands. Would you care for my horse?
Poor Ruddy's been poorly treated these last days. Treat him well,
now that he's home.

Hands nodded. Of course. Shall I send for the
healer? I could have him waiting here for you when you come
back.

Burrich shook his head. What can be done for
this, I can do for myself. Come, Fitz. Give me your arm.

In disbelief, I offered my arm and Burrich took
it, leaning on me heavily. For the first time I glanced down. What
I had taken to be heavy winter leggings at first glance was
actually a thick wrap of bandaging on his bad leg. He favored it,
putting most of his weight on me as he limped along. I could feel
the exhaustion thrumming through him. Up close, I could smell the
sweat of pain on him. His clothing was stained and torn, his hands
and face begrimed. This was as unlike the man I knew as anything I
could imagine. Please, I said quietly as I helped him toward the
castle. Is Verity all right?

He gave me a ghost of a smile. You think our
prince could be dead, and I still be alive? You insult me. Besides,
use your wits. You'd know if he was dead. Or injured. He paused and
studied me carefully. Wouldn't you?

It was plain what he spoke of. Ashamedly, I
admitted, Our link is not reliable. Some things are clear. Some are
not. Of this, I knew nothing. What's happened?

He looked thoughtful. Verity said he would try
to send word through you. If you've relayed no tidings to Shrewd,
then this information should first go to the King.

I asked no more questions.

I had forgotten how long it had been since
Burrich had seen King Shrewd. Mornings were not the King's best
times, but when I mentioned this to Burrich, he said he would
rather report immediately at a bad time than delay information. So
we knocked and, to my surprise, were admitted. Once within, I
realized this was because Wallace was nowhere about.

Instead, as I entered, the Fool asked me
graciously, Back for more Smoke? Then, as he caught sight of
Burrich, the mocking grin faded from his face. His eyes met mine.
The Prince?

Burrich has come to report to the
King.

I shall try to rouse him. Though the way he has
been of late, one might as well report to him sleeping as awake. He
takes as much notice either way.

Accustomed as I was to the Fool's mockery, this
still jarred me. The sarcasm bit wrong, for there was too much
resignation in his voice. Burrich looked at me worriedly. He
whispered, What is wrong with my king?

I shook my head at him for quiet and tried to
get him to take a seat.

I stand before my king, until he bids me be
seated, he said stiffly.

You are injured. He would understand.

He is my king. That is what I
understand.

So I gave off urging him. We waited for a time,
and more than a time. At last the Fool came out of the King's
bedchamber. He is not well, he cautioned us. It has taken me a time
to make him understand who is here. But he says he will hear your
report. In his chambers.

So Burrich leaned on me as we went into the
dimness and smoke of the King's bedchamber. I saw Burrich wrinkle
his nose in distaste. Acrid fumes of Smoke hung heavy here, and
several small censers burned. The Fool had drawn back the bed
curtains, and as we stood he patted and poked cushions and pillows
behind the King's back until Shrewd waved him aside with a small
gesture.

I looked at our monarch and wondered how I had
not seen the signs of his disease. They were plainly there when one
looked. The general wasting of his body, the sour edge of his
sweat, the yellow in the whites of his eyes: these were the least
things I should have seen. The shock on Burrich's face told me
plainly that the change since Burrich had last seen him was
immense. But he covered it well and drew himself up
straight.

My king, I have come to report, he said
formally.

Shrewd blinked slowly. Report, he said vaguely,
and I was not sure if he gave Burrich an order, or simply repeated
the word. Burrich took it as a command. He was as thorough and
exact as he had always insisted I be. I stood, and he supported his
weight on my shoulder as he told of journeying with Prince Verity
through the winter snows, traveling always toward the Mountain
Kingdom. He did not mince words, but spoke plainly. The journey had
been full of hardships. Despite messengers sent ahead of Verity's
expedition, hospitality and aid along the way had been poor. Those
nobles whose homes lay along their route professed to have known
nothing of Verity's coming. In many cases, they found only servants
to greet them, and the hospitality no more than what would have
been offered to any ordinary traveler. Supplies and extra horses
that should have been waiting for them at assigned locations were
not. The horses had suffered more grievously than the men. The
weather had been savage.

As Burrich reported I felt a tremor run through
him from time to time. The man was at the edge of complete
exhaustion. But each time he shook, I felt him take a deep breath,
steady himself, and go on.