Authors: Robin Hobb
Tags: #Action & Adventure, #Adult, #Dragons, #Epic, #Fantasy, #Fiction, #Magic, #Science Fiction
He screamed as my blade bit deeper, opening a gash in his neck. Careful. Not yet.
“Strange,” I said quietly when he ran out of wind. I moved my knife up to his face. He lifted his hands. I shook my head. “My women gave this meaning to my life: I hurt those who hurt mine. Without regard for their imaginary honor. Warriors who rape and kill the helpless have no honor. They possess no honor when they hurt children. If it were not for my women, the women of my household, and my serving men, I would think it dishonorable for me to do this to you. Tell me. How long did it take you to rape one of the women of my household? As long as my knife has been playing with your face?”
He bucked away from me, cutting his own face as he did so. I stood over him and picked up Verity's sword. He was squeezed dry of all information. Time to end it. He looked at me and knew it.
“That night, that night they all ran away. Kerf might know. He fancied the woman in the red dress, mooned about her like a baby that wants his mother. We mocked him. He watched her all the time. Sneaking around in the bushes to watch her pee.”
“Kerf.” One tiny bit of information. “The magic-boy and the woman who commanded him. What became of them?”
“I don't know. It was all madness and fighting and blood. Maybe they were killed. Maybe they ran away.” He gave a sudden sob. “I'm going to die here in the Six Duchies! And I don't even remember why I came here!”
Two things happened simultaneously. I heard a horse whinny and the picketed animals answered it. And the crow screamed, “'Ware your back!”
My quenched Wit had not warned me. The old training kicked in. Never leave an enemy behind you. I cut Hogen's throat, and went low and to the side as I spun around.
I'd underestimated the old man. Working his hands loose of my sling cord must have limbered his arms, for the stolen sword rang loudly against mine. He was a sight, his wet gray hair wild around his face, his teeth bared in fury. The glancing blow of my stone had purpled his brow and shot one eye with blood. Blood had darkened a swath of his shirt. I had a knife to his sword. I could see Verity's sword behind him, still sheathed in the snowbank where I'd stupidly left it. He grunted, our blades screamed a kiss, and then he disengaged, caught a breath, and swung again. I parried him, but not without effort, and stepped forward and pushed him back hard with my blade. I leapt back. He smiled and took a step forward. I was going to die. He had the reach.
I gave ground and he grinned as he advanced. Ellik was old but he was powered by battered pride and a thirst for vengeance. And, I decided as he made yet another reckless attack, the desire to die as a warrior. I had no wish to assist him in that. I gave ground again. Bloodied as he was, I was fairly certain that I could simply let him attack until he exhausted himself. Fairly certain. Not absolutely certain. I tried to back toward Verity's sword and he cut me off. His smile grew broader. He wasted none of his laboring breath on words. He surprised me with a sudden leap forward. I had to both duck and retreat.
Hoofbeats, muffled by snow. I was not at all certain that I could hold out against the number of riders I could now hear coming. I dared not look to see if they were Chalcedean or the Ringhill Guard. Then someone shouted, “Get the horses!” In Chalcedean.
Ellik looked aside for an instant. “To me!” he shouted to his men. “To me!”
I forced myself to believe that they could not and would not respond to his shout. I had to do something he didn't expect, something stupid in any other setting. I stepped in, beat my knife-blade hard on his sword, and very nearly disarmed him, but he managed to step forward and shove me off with a display of strength I had not expected. It so startled me that I felt a moment of giddiness. I sprang back from him, disengaging, and had to endure his mocking grin. He shouted then, “Men! To me! To me!”
As the Chalcedeans swept in on horseback, I doubted that any of them gave him so much as a moment's thought. The riders appeared completely unaware of Ellik. One even passed so close behind him that he was nearly trampled. They must have seen me and yet none of them took time to challenge me, for they were fleeing for their lives. I heard a more distant shout of “This way, they went this way!” and decided that the Ringhill Guard unit was after them.
The Chalcedean mercenaries were intent only on winning fresh mounts for themselves. They rode straight for the picketed horses, flinging themselves from their spent mounts and each racing to try to seize a horse and be gone. The picketed horses were spooked by the frenzy and danced and pulled at their leads, near-trampling the men in their distress. There were not enough fresh horses for all of them.
“FitzChivalry! Prince FitzChivalry!” The shout came from behind me, and I knew the voice. Perseverance was charging toward me.
“Perseverance! Wait!” And that was Riddle's voice, with panic in his warning.
“Stay back!” I shouted. While I'd been distracted, Ellik had seized his opportunity. He leapt in recklessly, determined to either slay me or force me to kill him. I tried to fall back from him but deep snow and a tangle of brush were behind me. A terrible wave of vertigo swept over me. I barely kept to my feet. I staggered sideways, the deeper snow clutching at me. The weariness that now claimed me could not be denied. I felt a general slackening of all my muscles. My sword fell from my limp hand as my knees folded under me. I stumbled backward and the snow and the brambles received me.
Ellik never questioned his good fortune. He staggered forward, and the sword from my own home darted toward my chest.
“My lord! FitzChivalry!” And with that shout, I found myself looking up at Perseverance. He'd ridden in and somehow snatched Verity's sword from the snowbank where it had stood. He clutched it as if it were a poker; I saw that he'd never held a weapon before. “Get back!” I shouted because Ellik was turning and lifting his sword to meet the boy's charge. Verity's sword was too heavy for the stable boy. It wasn't skill. The weight carried the blade down and the horse's charge provided momentum. He more speared than stabbed Ellik. The would-be duke dropped his blade and clutched at the one going into his chest. Perseverance screamed and I saw fury and horror in his face. He came off the horse, clinging to the sword, falling with the weapon onto the collapsing Ellik.
The carris seed was failing me. My heart was leaping like a hooked fish in my chest. I gasped for air as I fought my way free of snow. I could hear men shouting but could barely make sense of what was happening. I knew only one solution. I dropped my knife and groped at my waist for the pouch there. A twist of paper, a tiny cone of seeds left in the bottom. I tipped some into my mouth and ground them between my teeth. I shuddered and thought I would vomit. The world went white and spun. It was all noise and cold and then everything was suddenly bright and light and clear.
I reached for Perseverance, seizing him by the collar and hauling him off the dying Ellik and back to his feet. I stooped, groped in the snow for my knife, and sheathed it. I turned, trying to take in what was happening. I saw Lant swing his fancy sword and take off a Chalcedean's arm, sword and all. More shocking was that Riddle was on the ground. The Chalcedean had dragged him off his horse and tried to seize his mount. Lant had saved him.
I stooped and pulled Verity's sword out of Ellik's chest. The man made a sound. He wasn't quite dead. Another thrust finished him. Perseverance was staring at me. His mouth was hanging open, his chest heaving, and I feared he would cry. “Pick up that sword!” I bellowed at him. “To me! To me, lad!” For a wonder, he obeyed. He picked up the wall-sword and stepped away from Ellik's body. “Follow me,” I commanded him, and he came behind me as I moved toward Riddle and Lant. They had dispatched the Chalcedean who had tried for Lant's horse. Per whistled and his mount came to him. Priss followed, nostrils and eyes wide. “Secure those horses,” I ordered him. To Lant I said, “Help him. I don't want any of those bastards riding off on fresh mounts.”
I heard wild shouting and turned to see my Rousters sweeping in behind the Ringhill Guard. Two lengths behind them came Foxglove and the rest of my guard.
“Capture! Don't kill!” I shouted with all my strength. But one of the Chalcedeans had already gone down, caught between two of the Ringhill soldiers and slashed from both sides. Before I could draw breath to shout again, I saw two more fall. The final man got a horse loose and nearly managed to get onto the panicky animal. As I started toward the melee, he fell and was trampled.
“Stop!” I shouted. If anyone heard me, they paid no heed. One of my Rousters was off her horse. She'd put her sword through two of the downed men before I reached her. The third did not require a killing thrust. He was dead.
“'Ware!” shouted Riddle. “Prince FitzChivalry! Guards! Put up your swords!”
I'd never heard him shout like that. He had regained his horse and was thrusting his mount between me and the battle-maddened men I'd heedlessly charged.
“Prince Fitz!” someone else shouted, and suddenly my Rousters were turning to me, grinning and shaking bloody swords, as proud as puppies that had just killed the barn cat. I stared at them. A tremor of fatigue, of giddiness, of drugs, and of despair passed through me. I reached up to seize hold of Riddle's thigh. I didn't fall.
“Is Bee here? Is she safe?” Perseverance's voice had gone high and boyish again in his anxiety.
“No,” I said. “No Bee. No Shine. At least not here.” I summoned every bit of strength that was left to me. My knees were shaky. I drew breath and felt the carris seed surge. “We organize a search. Now.”
Of the naturally bred one named Beloved, we have only a brief genealogy. This was due to carelessness of the part of the Servant who received the child at the gates. Although he claimed that he took a complete account of his parentage and siblings, the document either does not exist or was separated from the child and misplaced during his acceptance and orientation time. Some have suggested the candidate himself stole and destroyed the document, but I find this unlikely. His cleverness has been overestimated by far too many of his caretakers.
While at first the child was cheerful and obedient as his family had assured him that Clerres was where he belonged and he would be cared for, as days passed, he became morose and impassive. He shared little with those who attempted to ascertain his lineage. We can say with relative certainty that he had lived with his parents for over twenty years, that all three of his parents were elderly and becoming unable to continue to care for themselves or Beloved. He initially asserted that he had two sisters whom he missed badly. Later, he denied having any siblings. An effort to locate them and harvest their offspring for interbreeding with our established pool of those who carry White lineage was not successful.
Thus Beloved remains the only member of his lineage that we have in our records. Our efforts to have Beloved contribute a child to our stock have been in vain. He is stubborn, occasionally violent, argumentative, and incites like behaviors in the other Whites if allowed to be in contact with them. When it was decided that he should be marked for easy identification no matter where he might go, he resisted the tattooing process, even attempting to burn the completed markings from his own back.
While it is an extreme solution, in my opinion he should be eliminated. Even the accounts of his dreams should be excised from the regular listings and placed separately in our records as I judge them to be unreliable reports. His rebellion knows no bounds and he exhibits no respect. It is my considered opinion that he will never be useful to us. On the contrary, he will be destructive, kindle rebellion, and disrupt the order and peace of Clerres.
âYarielle, Servant
The first day and a half of fleeing from Dwalia were brutal for Shun and me. We found a tree-well the first night and huddled together there, shaking as much from terror as cold. Close to the trunk of the massive spruce tree, the earth was bare of snow but carpeted thickly with generations of fallen needles. The down-swooping branches were like the walls of a tent. We'd been unable to hide the tracks we made crawling into that space. We could only hope that no one would attempt to track us.
In the distance we could hear screams, angry shouts, and a peculiar sound that I could not at first identify. “Is that sword against sword?” I whispered to Shun.
“The pale people didn't carry swords.”
“Maybe they snatched some up.”
“I doubt it. Here. Put your coat on the ground for us to sit on. I'll open my coat and you sit on my lap and get inside it with me. We might be warmer that way.”
The kindness of the offer startled me as much as how pragmatic it was. As we arranged ourselves, I asked, “How did you learn this?”
“Once, when I was very small, my grandmother was taking me home from a visit when our carriage wheel hit a pothole and broke something. It was winter and night and our coachman had to ride off to get help for us. She took me inside her coat to keep me warm.” She spoke to the top of my head.
So. Her childhood had included rides in carriages and a kind grandmother. “Not all of your life has been horrid, then,” I said.
“Not all of it. Only the last four or five years.”
“I wish it had been nicer for you,” I whispered, and strange to say I meant it. I felt closer to her, as if I were older this night or she were younger.
“Sshhh,” she warned me, and I kept silent. Excited and angry cries still tore the forest night. A long scream rose and fell and rose again. I thought it would never stop and I buried my face in Shun's shoulder and she gripped me close. Despite how we huddled, we were still cold. The dark and the forest seemed so huge that I felt we were a stubborn nut that it clutched and tried to crack with cold. I heard a horse galloping; it passed us, and though it was not at all near, I still trembled with fear. At any moment I expected to hear someone shout that they had found us. They would seize us and drag us out and this time there would be no Dwalia to protect us. Or Vindeliar and Dwalia would come with his misting lies and her soft, cruel hands and claim us to be Servants. I closed my eyes tightly and wished I could close my ears.
No, cub. The ears keep watch while the eyes sleep. So sleep now, but be wary.
“We should sleep if we can,” I whispered. “Tomorrow we will need to move far and fast.”
Shun settled her back against the tree. “Sleep, then,” she said. “I'll keep watch.”
I wondered if there was any sense in keeping watch. If they found us, could we fight and escape? But maybe it would only be one or two of them. Maybe we could run. Or turn and fight. And kill them. I was cold and shaking, but somehow I fell asleep.
I woke once in the night to Shun shaking me. “Move off me. My legs are numb!” she breathed by my ear.
I didn't want to get off her lap. When I moved, it opened her coat and the little warmth my body had stored around itself slipped away into the night. She shifted around, grunting a little as she did, and settled her legs into a different position. “Sit next to me,” she directed. She slipped one arm out of the white fur coat and I crawled inside it. I put my arm down the empty sleeve and she put her arm around me. My bottom did not like the hard, cold earth. I tugged at my coat and found enough slack to fold an edge up around us. We huddled. The night had become colder, darker, and much more quiet. Two owls began a conversation, and I slid into shivering sleep again.
I woke shaking all over. My toes were numb, my bottom ached, and my spine was painful ice in my back. I had buried my face in the fur of the coat, but one of my ears was painfully cold. Morning light was fingering its way through the snow-laden branches that had sheltered us for the night. I listened but heard only the morning challenges of birds.
“Shun. Are you awake?” She did not stir and I felt a bolt of terror that she had frozen to death in the night. “Shun!” I shook her, gently but insistently. She abruptly lifted her head and stared at me without recognition. Then she gave her head a sudden shake and knew me.
“Listen!” she hissed at me.
“I did.” I kept my voice low. “Nothing but birdsong. I think we should get up and try to get as far from here as we can.”
We both began to move stiffly. We could not stand upright under the branches. It was hard for me to untangle myself from her coat, and harder for me to pull my coat from under her and wallow my way into it. It was cold and full of fallen needles. I was suddenly hungry and thirsty.
I led the way out of the tree-well and Shun wallowed up after me. The winter day was bright and clear and for a moment I stood blinking. Then I scooped a handful of snow and put it in my mouth. It melted into a very small amount of water. I stooped for more.
“Don't take too much at once. You'll chill yourself even worse.”
Shun's advice made sense. I could not have explained why it irritated me. I took a smaller scoop and put it in my mouth. She spoke again. “We have to make our way home. We can't follow the sleigh tracks back. If they're looking for us, that will be the first thing they'll expect us to do.”
“If they're looking for us?”
“The soldiers quarreled with the Servants, I think. The Servants will still want you, if any of them survived. But we can hope the soldiers won't care about us.”
“Can't we go to that town and ask for help? Or one of those houses?”
She shook her head slowly. “They were doing bad things in that town. Making people forget they were there. I don't think we should go there. Because I think that's what they'll expect us to do. And the same for knocking on someone's door and asking for help. I think that today we should walk as far as we can, away from here, but not on a road where we can be seen. They might ask people if they've seen us.”
Everything she said made sense but I didn't want her to be in charge of all our plans. I thought hard, trying to be as clever as she was being. “We should go by ways where it would be hard for a sleigh to follow. Or a horse. Through brushy places. Up and down steep places.”
“Which way is home, do you think?”
“I'm not sure,” I said. I looked up at the overcast sky.
She looked around us and then, almost randomly, said, “We'll go that way.”
“What if it takes us deeper and deeper into the forest and we die of cold and hunger?”
She gave me a look. “I'd prefer that to what will happen if they find us. If you want to retrace our tracks and see if they'll take you back, go ahead. I'm going this way.”
And she started off. After a moment, I followed her. It was slightly easier to walk in her broken trail than to force my own way through the snow. The path she had chosen led us up one hill and down the next and away from the mercenaries' camp, and all seemed like good things at the time. As we continued, the hillside grew steeper and the brambles thicker. “There will be a stream at the bottom of this,” I predicted, and “Maybe,” she agreed. “But the sleighs can't come this way, and I don't think the horses would do well here, either.”
Before we reached the bottom, the incline was steep enough that we slid several times. I feared sliding all the way and ending up in water, but when we did reach the bottom, we found a narrow stream that was mostly frozen. The thread of moving water we easily jumped. It reminded me of my thirst, but I took another mittenful of snow rather than put my bare hand in the water. My heavy fur coat was like walking in a tent. The bottom hem gathered snow and added to my burden.
Shun led us along the path of the stream, moving against the current, until she found an easier place for us to try to climb the opposite bank. While it was easier than it might have been, it certainly was not easy, and the brambles on this side of the stream were savagely thorned. By the time we reached the top of the steep bank, we were both sweating and I opened the neck of my coat.
“I'm so hungry,” I said.
“Don't talk about it,” she advised me, and we hiked on.
As we crested the second hill, my hunger began to tear at my insides as if I'd swallowed a cat. I felt weak and angry and then nauseated. I tried to be a wolf. I looked around the white-swept landscape and tried to find something I could eat. This hill was cleared and in summer was probably used as pasturage for sheep. Not even a seedhead of wild grass peeped up above the snow, and nothing sheltered us from the wind that swept across it. If I had seen a mouse, I think I would have pounced on it and eaten it whole. But there were no mice and a useless tear dared to track down my face. The salt stung on my cold, chapped cheeks.
It will pass,
Wolf-Father breathed to me.
“Being hungry will pass?” I wondered aloud.
“Yes. It does.” I was startled when Shun answered. “First you get very hungry. Then you think you will puke, but there's nothing to vomit up. Sometimes you feel weepy. Or angry. But if you just keep on going, the hunger goes away. For a time.”
I toiled along behind her. She led me across a craggy hilltop and then down into a forested vale. As we reached the trees, the wind grew less. I scooped a bit of snow to wet my mouth. My lips were cracked and I tried not to lick them. “How do you know about hunger?”
Her voice held little emotion. “When I was little, if I was naughty my grandfather would send me to my bedroom in the middle of the day, with no supper. When I was your age, I thought it the worst punishment of all, for at that time we had a magnificent cook. His ordinary dinners were better than the best holiday feast you have ever tasted.”
She trudged on. The hillside was steep and so we were cutting across the face of it. At the bottom of the hill, she turned to follow the flat land instead of crossing it and clambering up the next snowy hill. I was grateful but I had to ask, “Are we trying to find our way home?”
“Eventually. Right now I am just trying to get us as far away from our kidnappers as I can.”
I wanted to be walking back to Withywoods. I wanted each step to be taking me closer to my home and my warm bed and a piece of toasted bread with butter on it. But I did not want to clamber up any more snowy hills and so I kept my peace. After a short time, she spoke.
“But I was never truly that hungry in my grandparents' home. It was after they died and I was sent to live with my mother and her husband that I went days without food. If I said or did anything that my mother's husband thought was disrespectful, he sent me to my room and locked me in. And left me there. Sometimes for days. Once I thought I would die, so after three days I jumped out my window. But it was winter and the snow was deep over the bushes below. I was scratched and bruised and limped for ten days, but it didn't kill me. My mother was worried. Not for me, but for what her friends would say if I died. Or simply vanished. She had marriage plans for me. One suitor was older than my grandfather had been, a man with a loose wet mouth who stared at me as if I were the last sweet on the plate. And another family had a son who had no wish for the company of women but was willing to marry me so his parents would leave him and his friends in peace.”
I had never heard Shun speak so much. She did not look at me as she talked, but stared ahead and spoke her words to the cadence of her trudge. I kept silent and she talked on, speaking of being slapped for insolence, of a younger brother who tormented her with surreptitious pinches and shoves. She'd spent more than a year being miserable there, and when she adamantly refused the attentions of both her suitors, her stepfather expressed his interest, cupping a buttock as he passed, standing over her if she sat reading a book, trailing his fingers over her bosom as he became bolder. She had retreated to her room, spending most of her hours there and latching the door.