Assassin's Apprentice (50 page)

About the Author

Robin Hobb lives in Washington State.

B
ANTAM
B
OOKS
by
Robin Hobb

T
HE
F
ARSEER:
A
SSASSIN’S
A
PPRENTICE

T
HE
F
ARSEER:
R
OYAL
A
SSASSIN

And be sure not to miss the exciting new volume
in Robin Hobb’s
The Farseer Saga

ROYAL ASSASSIN

Months have passed. Young Fitz has recovered from his harrowing
ordeal in the Mountain Kingdom and has returned to Buckkeep to pick up the
scattered threads of his existence. Only all is not well in the Six Dutchies.
The Red-Ship Raiders are growing bolder, Forging their victims ever closer to
the king. And Fitz himself, embittered from his trials, is beginning to
question the validity of his calling, wondering if there isn’t some better way
to serve his court than by the slaying of its enemies. Still, who better to
risk his life spreading poisons among the Forged: a cold and thankless
task.

But whatever threat the Forged may pose, there is another danger in
Fitz’s life, in many ways greater and more insidious. For in a world terrified
by the mystical powers of the Wit, Fitz has acquired a new companion:
Nighteyes, a half-wild wolf pup who refuses to be tamed—and who refuses
to be turned away from the Bonding. It is Fitz’s greatest secret, and also his
greatest danger, for surely his life would be forfeit were it discovered.

And every day, it seems, brings that discovery
closer. . . .

I spent little time in my room that morning. The
fire had gone out,
but
the chill I felt there was more than that of an unwarmed room. This room was an empty shell of a life soon to be left behind. It seemed more barren than ever. I stood, bared to the waist, and shivered as I washed myself with unwarmed water, and belatedly changed the bandaging on my arm and neck. I did not deserve for those wounds to look as clean as they did. Nonetheless, they were healing well.

I dressed warmly, a padded mountain shirt going on under a heavy leather jerkin. I pulled on heavy leather overtrousers and laced them close to my legs with strips of leather. I took down my work blade and armed myself with a short dagger as well. From my working kit, I took a small pot of powdered death’s cap. Despite all this, I felt unprotected, and equally foolish, as I left my room.

I went straight to Verity’s tower. I knew he would be awaiting me, expecting to work with me on Skilling.
Wishing this day were over,
I stopped outside the door and rapped loudly. I felt rather than heard Verity’s permission to enter. I pushed open the door and went inside. I shut the door behind me.

Physically, the room was still. A cool breeze sprang in from the open window and Verity sat enthroned before it on his old chair. His hands rested idly on the windowsill and his eyes were fixed on the distant horizon. His cheeks were pink, his dark hair mussed by the wind’s fingers. Save for the soft current from the window, the room was still and silent. Yet I felt as if I had stepped into a whirlwind. Verity’s consciousness washed against me and I was drawn into his mind, swept along with his thoughts and his Skilling far out to sea. He carried me with him on a dizzying tour of every ship within the range of his mind. Here we brushed the thoughts of a merchant captain, “. . . if the price is good enough, load up with oil for the return trip. . . .” and then skipped from him to a net mender patching hastily, her fid flying, grumbling to herself as the captain railed at her to be faster about her task. We found a pilot worrying about his pregnant wife at home, and three families out digging clams in the dim morning light before the tide came in to cover the beds again. These and a dozen others we visited before Verity suddenly recalled us to our own bodies and place. I felt as giddy as a small boy who has been boosted aloft by his father to perceive the whole chaos of the fair before being returned to his own feet and his child’s view of knees and legs.

I approached the window to stand beside Verity. He still stared out over the water to the horizons. But I suddenly understood his maps and why he created them. The network of lives he had touched so briefly for me were as if he had opened his palm to reveal he cupped a handful of priceless gems. People. His people. It was not some rocky coast or rich pastureland that he stood watch over. It was these folk, these bright glimpses of other lives unlived by him, but cherished all the same. This was Verity’s kingdom. Geographical boundaries marked on parchment enclosed them for him. For a moment I shared his bafflement that anyone could wish harm on these people, and shared, too, his fierce determination that not one more life should be lost to the Red-Ships.

The world steadied around me, as vertigo passing, and all was still in the tower top. Verity did not look at me as he spoke. “So. Hunting today.”

I nodded, not caring that he did not see the gesture. It didn’t matter. “Yes. The Forged ones are closer than we suspected even.”

“Do you expect to fight them?”

“You told me to go prepared. I will try the poison first. But they may not be as eager to gobble it down. Or they may still try to attack me. So I’m taking my blade, in case.”

“So I surmised. But take this one instead.” He lifted a sheathed sword from beside his chair and gave it into my hands. For a moment I could only look at it. The leather was fancifully tooled, the hilt had that beautiful simplicity possessed by weapons and tools made by a master. At Verity’s nod, I drew the blade in his presence. The metal gleamed and shimmered, the hammering and folding that had given it strength recalled as a watery rippling of light down its length. I held it out and felt it perch in my hand, weightless and waiting. It was a much finer sword than my skill deserved. “I should present it to you with pomp and ceremony, of course. But I give it to you now, lest for the lack of it you can’t return later. During Winterfest, I might ask it back of you so that I may present it to you properly.”

I slipped it back into its sheath, then drew it out, swift as an indrawn breath. I had never possessed anything so finely made. “I feel as if I should swear it to you or something,” I said awkwardly.

Verity permitted himself a smile. “No doubt Regal would require some such oath. As for me, I don’t think a man need swear his sword to me when he has already sworn me his life.”

Guilt assaulted me. I took my courage in both hands. “Verity, my prince. I go forth today to serve you as an assassin.”

Even Verity was taken aback. “Direct words,” he mused guardedly.

“It is time for direct words, I think. That is how I serve you today. But my heart has grown weary of it. I have sworn my life to you, as you say, and if you command it, so must I continue. But I ask that you find for me another way to serve you.”

Verity was silent for what seemed a long time. He rested his chin on his fist and sighed. “Were it only I you were sworn to, perhaps I could answer swiftly and simply. But I am only king-in-waiting. This request must be made of your king. However,
there may be something I can do about it. You might not have time to function as a . . . diplomat, if you were given other duties. Duties more valuable to us.”

“Such as?” I asked cautiously.

“My ships grow, day by day, taking shape under their masters’ hands. And again, I am denied what I most desire. I will not be allowed to sail on them. There is much common sense to that. Here, I am able to look out over all and direct all. Here, my life is not risked to the violence of the Red-Ship pirates. Here, I can coordinate the attacks of several vessels at once, and dispatch aid where it is most needed.” He cleared his throat. “On the other hand, I will not feel the wind or hear it snapping in the sail, and I will never be allowed to fight the Raiders as I long to, with a blade in my hand, killing swiftly and cleanly, taking blood for the blood they have taken.” Cold fury rode his features as he spoke. After a moment’s pause he went on more calmly. “So. For those ships to function best, there must be someone aboard each one who can at least receive my information. Ideally, that one would also be able to relay to me detailed information as to what is going on aboard the ship. You have seen, this day, how I am limited. I can tell the thoughts of certain folk, yes, but I cannot direct them as to what they think about. Sometimes, I am able to find one more susceptible to my Skill, and influence his thoughts. But this is not the same thing as having a quick response to a direct question.

“Have you ever considered sailing, FitzChivalry?”

To say I was taken aback would be an
understatement. “I . . . you have just reminded me that my ability with the Skill is erratic, sir. And reminded me, yesterday, that in a fight, I am more a brawler than a swordsman, despite Hod’s training|”

“And I now remind you that it is midwinter. There are not many months until spring. I have told you it is a possibility, no more than that. I will be able to give you only the barest help with what you need to master by then. I am afraid it is entirely up to you, FitzChivalry. Can you, by spring, learn to control both your Skill and your blade?”

“As you said to me, my prince. I cannot promise, but it will be my intention.”

“Fine.” Verity looked at me steadily for a long moment. “Will you begin today?”

“Today? Today I have to hunt. I dare not neglect that duty, even for this.”

“They need not exclude each other. Take me with you, today.”

I stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded assent. I had thought he would arise, to go and put on winter clothes and fetch a sword. Instead, he reached out toward me and took hold of my forearm.

As his presence flowed into me it was instinct to struggle against him. This was not like other times when he had shuffled through my thoughts as a man sorts scattered papers on a desk. This was a true occupation of my mind. I had not been so invaded since Galen had brutalized me. I tried to jerk free of his grip, but it was like iron on my wrist. Everything paused.
You have to trust me. Do you?
I stood sweating and shuddering like a horse with a snake in its stall.

I don’t know.

Think about it,
he bade me. He withdrew a trifle.

I could still sense him, waiting, but knew he was holding himself apart from my thoughts. My mind raced frantically. There were too many things to juggle. This was a thing I must do if I wished to win myself free from a life as an assassin. It was a chance to make all the secrets old
secrets. I had to take it. But how could I do this, and keep secret from him Nighteyes and all that we shared? I quested toward Nighteyes.
Our bond is a secret. I must keep it so. Today, then, I must hunt alone. Do you understand?

No. It is stupid and dangerous. I shall be there, but you may trust me to be unseen and unknowable.

“What did you do, just then?” It was Verity, speaking aloud. His hand was on my wrist. I looked down into his eyes. There was no harshness to his question. He asked it as I might ask it of a small child found carving on the woodwork. I stood frozen inside myself. I longed to unburden myself, to have one person in the world who knew all about me, everything that I was.

You already do,
Nighteyes objected.

It was true. And I could not endanger him. “You must trust me, also,” I found myself saying to my king-in-waiting. And when he remained looking up at me consideringly, I asked, “My prince. Do you?”

“Yes.”

With one word, he gave me his trust, and with it his confidence that whatever I had been doing would not bring him harm. It sounds a simple thing, but for a King-in-Waiting to permit his own assassin to keep secrets from him was a staggering act. Years ago, his father had bought my loyalty, with a promise of food and shelter and education and a silver pin thrust into my shirtfront. Verity’s simple act of trust was suddenly more to me than any of these things. The love I had always felt for him suddenly knew no bounds. How could I not trust him?

He smiled sheepishly. “You can Skill, when you’ve heart to.” With no more than that, he entered my mind again. As long as his hand was on my wrist, the joining of thoughts was effortless. I felt his curiosity and tinge of woe at looking down at his own face through my eyes.
A looking glass is kinder. I have aged.

With him ensconced in my mind, it would have been useless to deny the truth of what he said. So,
it was a necessary sacrifice,
I agreed.

He lifted his hand from my wrist. For a moment I had dizzying double vision, looking at myself, looking at him, and then it settled. He turned carefully to set his own eyes once more on the horizon, and then sealed that vision from me. Without his touch, this clasping of minds was a different thing. I left the room slowly and went down the stairs as if I were balancing a wineglass full to the brim.
Exactly. And in both cases, it is easier to do if you do not look at it and think about it so heavily. Just carry.

I went down to the kitchens, where I ate a solid breakfast and tried to behave normally. Verity was right. It was easier to maintain our contact if I didn’t focus on it. While everyone there was busied at other tasks, I managed to slip a plateful of biscuits into my carry sack. “Going hunting?” Cook asked me as she turned about. I nodded.

“Well, be careful. What are you going after?”

“Wild boar,” I improvised. “Just to locate one, not to attempt a kill today. I thought it might be a fine amusement during Winterfest.”

“For who? Prince Verity? You won’t budge him out of the Keep, pet. Keeps too much to his rooms these days, he does, and poor old King Shrewd hasn’t taken a real meal with us in weeks. I don’t know why I keep cooking his favorites, when the tray comes back as full as I sent it. Now, Prince Regal, he might go, long as it didn’t muss his curls.” There was a general clucking of laughter among the kitchen maids at that. My cheeks burned at Cook’s boldness.
Steady. They don’t know I’m here, boy. And naught of what is said to you shall be held against them by me. Don’t betray us now.
I sensed Verity’s amusement, and also his concern. So I permitted myself a grin, thanked Cook for the pasty she insisted I take, and left the Keep kitchen.

Sooty was restive in her stall, more than eager for an outing. Burrich passed by as I was saddling her. His dark eyes took in my leathers and the tooled sheath and fine hilt of the sword. He cleared his throat, but then stood silent. I had never been able to decide exactly how much Burrich knew of my work. “Be careful,” he said at last, gruffly. “Don’t you let that mare come to harm.”