The Farseer Series Books 2 and 3: Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest

‘No.’ A fresh cloud of pain blossomed in the back of my skull. It tried to push the sense from my thoughts, but I held firm. I forced my body to walk to the chair beside the hearth. I managed to lower myself into it. ‘I spent my youth defining the borders of the Six Duchies to any who challenged them. Should my life be too valuable to risk now, when there is so little left of it, and all of that riddled with pain? No, Fool. Fetch my son to me at once. He shall Skill for me, since my own strength for it is at an end this night. Together, we shall consider what we see, and make our decisions as to what must be done. Now go. GO!’

The Fool’s feet pattered on the stone floor as he fled.

I was left alone with myself. Myselves. I put my hands to my temples. I felt a painful smile crease my face as I found myself. So, boy. There you are. My king slowly turned his attention to me. He was weary, but he reached his Skill towards me to touch my mind as softly as blowing spider web. I reached clumsily, attempting to complete the Skill bond and it all went awry. Our contact tattered, frayed apart like rotten cloth. And then he was gone.

I hunkered alone on the floor of my bedchamber in the Mountain Kingdom, uncomfortably close to the hearth fire. I was fifteen, and my nightclothes were soft and clean. The fire in the hearth had burned low. My blistered fingers throbbed angrily. The beginnings of a Skill headache pulsed in my temples.

I moved slowly, cautiously, as I rose. Like an old man? No. Like a young man whose health was still mending. I knew the difference now.

My soft, clean bed beckoned, like a soft clean tomorrow.

I refused them both. I took the chair by the hearth and stared into the flames, pondering.

When Burrich came at first light to bid me farewell, I was ready to ride with him.

TWO (#ulink_b36e5964-45d2-5c2e-93dd-c0681a967a35)

The Homecoming (#ulink_b36e5964-45d2-5c2e-93dd-c0681a967a35)

Buckkeep Hold overlooks the finest deep water harbour in the Six Duchies. To the north, the Buck River spills into the sea, and with its waters carries most of the goods exported from the interior Duchies of Tilth and Farrow. Steep black cliffs provide the seat for the castle which overlooks the river mouth, the harbour and the waters beyond. The town of Buckkeep clings precariously to those cliffs, well away from the great river’s flood plain, with a good portion of it built on docks and quays. The original stronghold was a log structure built by the inhabitants of the area as a defence against Outislander raids. It was seized in ancient time, by a Raider named Taker, who with the seizing of the fort became a resident. He replaced the timber structure with walls and towers of black stone quarried from the cliffs themselves, and in the process sank the foundations of Buckkeep deep into the stone. With each succeeding generation of the Farseer line, the walls are fortified and the towers built toller and stouter. Since Taker, the founder of the Farseer line, Buckkeep has never fallen to enemy hands.

Snow kissed my face, wind pushed the hair back from my forehead. I stirred from a dark dream to a darker one, to a winterscape in forest land. I was cold, save where the rising heat of my toiling horse warmed me. Beneath me, Sooty was plodding stolidly along through wind-banked snow. I thought I had been riding long. Hands, the stable-boy, was riding before me. He turned in his saddle and shouted something back to me.

Sooty stopped, not abruptly, but I was not expecting it, and I nearly slid from the saddle. I caught at her mane and steadied myself. Falling flakes veiled the forest around us. The spruce trees were heavy with accumulated snow, while the interspersed birches were bare black silhouettes in the clouded winter moonlight. There was no sign of a trail. The woods were thick around us. Hands had reined in his black gelding in front of us, and that was why Sooty halted. Behind me Burrich sat his roan mare with the practised ease of the lifelong horseman.

I was cold, and shaky with weakness. I looked round dully, wondering why we had stopped. The wind gusted sharply, snapping my damp cloak against Sooty’s flank. Hands pointed suddenly. ‘There!’ He looked back at me. ‘Surely you saw that?’

I leaned forward to peer through snow that fell like fluttering lace curtains. ‘I think so,’ I said, the wind and snow swallowing my words. For an instant I had glimpsed tiny lights, yellow and stationary, unlike the pale blue will o’the wisps that still occasionally plagued my vision.

‘Do you think it’s Buckkeep?’ Hands shouted through the rising wind.

‘It is,’ Burrich asserted quietly, his deep voice carrying effortlessly. ‘I know where we are now. This is where Prince Verity killed that big doe about six years ago. I remember because she leaped when the arrow went in, and tumbled down that gully. It took us the rest of the day to get down there and pack the meat out.’

The gully he gestured to was no more than a line of brush glimpsed through the falling snow. But suddenly it all snapped into place for me. The lie of this hillside, the types of trees, the gully there, and so Buckkeep was that way, just a brief ride before we could clearly see the fortress on the sea-cliffs overlooking the bay and Buckkeep Town below. For the first time in days, I knew with absolute certainty where we were. The heavy overcast had kept us from checking our course by the stars, and the unusually deep snowfall had altered the lay of the land until even Burrich had seemed unsure. But now I knew that home was but a brief ride away. In summer. But I picked up what was left of my determination.

‘Not much farther,’ I told Burrich.

Hands had already started his horse. The stocky little gelding surged ahead bravely, breaking trail through the banked snow. I nudged Sooty and the tall mare reluctantly stepped out. As she leaned into the hill, I slid to one side. As I scrabbled futilely at my saddle, Burrich nudged his horse abreast of mine. He reached out, seized me by the back of my collar and dragged me upright again. ‘It’s not much farther,’ he agreed. ‘You’ll make it.’

I managed a nod. It was only the second time he’d had to steady me in the last hour or so. One of my better evenings, I told myself bitterly. I pulled myself up straighter in the saddle, resolutely squared my shoulders. Nearly home.

The journey had been long and arduous. The weather had been foul, and the constant hardships had not improved my health. Much of it I remembered like a dark dream; days of jolting along in the saddle, barely cognizant of our path, nights when I lay between Hands and Burrich in our small tent and trembled with a weariness so great I could not even sleep. As we had drawn closer to Buck Duchy, I had thought our travel would become easier. I had not reckoned on Burrich’s caution.

At Turlake, we had stopped a night at an inn. I had thought that we’d take passage on a river barge the next day, for though ice might line the banks of the Buck River, its strong current kept a channel clear year round. I went straight to our room, for I had not much stamina. Burrich and Hands were both anticipating hot food and companionship, to say nothing of ale. I had not expected them to come soon to the room. But scarcely two hours had passed before they both came up to ready themselves for bed.

Burrich was grim and silent, but after he had gone to bed, Hands whispered to me from his bed how poorly the King was spoken of in this town. ‘Had they known we were from Buckkeep, I doubt they would have spoken so freely. But clad as we are in Mountain garments, they thought us traders or merchants. A dozen times I thought Burrich would challenge one of them. In truth, I do not know how he contained himself. All complain about the taxes for defending the coast. They sneer, saying that for all the taxes they bleed, the Raiders still came unlooked for in autumn, when the weather lasted fine, and burned two more towns.’ Hands had paused, and uncertainly added, ‘But they speak uncommonly well of Prince Regal. He passed through here escorting Kettricken back to Buckkeep. One man at the table called her a great white fish of a wife, fit for the Coast King. And another spoke up, saying that at least Prince Regal bore himself well despite his hardships, and looked ever as a prince should. Then they drank to the Prince’s health and long life.’

A cold settled in me. I whispered back, ‘The two Forged villages. Did you hear which ones they were?’

‘Whale-jaw up in Bearns. And Siltbay in Buck itself.’

The darkness settled darker around me, and I lay watching it all night.

The next morning we left Turlake. On horseback. Overland. Burrich would not even let us keep to the road. I had protested in vain. He had listened to me complain, then taken me aside to demand fiercely, ‘Do you want to die?’

I looked at him blankly. He snorted in disgust.

‘Fitz, nothing has changed. You’re still a royal bastard, and Prince Regal still regards you as an obstacle. He’s tried to be rid of you, not once, but thrice. Do you think he’s going to welcome you back to Buckkeep? No. Even better for him if we never make it back at all. So let’s not make easy targets of ourselves. We go overland. If he or his hirelings want us, they’ll have to hunt us through the woods. And he’s never been much of a hunter.’

‘Wouldn’t Verity protect us?’ I asked weakly.

‘You’re a King’s Man, and Verity is King-in-Waiting,’ Burrich had pointed out shortly. ‘You protect your king, Fitz. Not the reverse. Not that he doesn’t think well of you, and would do all he could to protect you. But he has weightier matters to attend. Red Ships. A new bride. And a younger brother who thinks the crown would sit better on his own head. No. Don’t expect the King-in-Waiting to watch over you. Do that for yourself.’

All I could think of was the extra days he was putting between me and my search for Molly. But I did not give that reason. I had not told him of my dream. Instead, I said, ‘Regal would have to be crazy to try to kill us again. Everyone would know he was the murderer.’

‘Not crazy, Fitz. Just ruthless. Regal is that. Let’s not ever suppose that Regal abides by the rules we observe, or even thinks as we do. If Regal sees an opportunity to kill us, he’ll take it. He won’t care who suspects so long as no one can prove it. Verity is our King-in-Waiting. Not our king. Not yet. While King Shrewd is alive and on the throne, Regal will find ways around his father. He will get away with many things. Even murder.’

Burrich had reined his horse aside from the well travelled road, plunged off through drifts and up the unmarked snowy hillside beyond, to strike a straight course for Buckkeep. Hands had looked at me as if he felt ill. But we had followed. And every night when we had slept, bundled all together in a single tent for warmth instead of in beds at a cosy inn, I had thought of Regal. Every floundering step up each hillside, leading our horses more often than not, and during every cautious descent, I had thought of the youngest prince. I tallied every extra hour between Molly and me. The only times I felt strength surge through me were during my day-dreams of battering Regal into ruin. I could not promise myself revenge. Revenge was the property of the crown. But if I could not have revenge, Regal would not have satisfaction. I would return to Buckkeep, and I would stand tall before him, and when his black eye fell upon me, I would not flinch. Nor, I vowed, would Regal ever see me tremble, or catch at a wall for support, or pass a hand before my blurry eyes. He would never know how close he had come to winning it all.

So at last we rode to Buckkeep, not up the winding sea-coast road, but from the forested hills behind her. The snow dwindled, then ceased. The night winds blew the clouds aside, and a fine moon made Buckkeep’s stone walls shine black as jet against the sea. Light shimmered yellow in her turrets and at the side gate. ‘We’re home,’ Burrich said quietly. We rode down one last hill, struck the road at last, and rode around to the great gate of Buckkeep.

A young soldier stood night-guard. He lowered his pike to block our way and demanded our names.

Burrich pushed his hood back from his face, but the lad didn’t move. ‘I’m Burrich, the Stablemaster!’ Burrich informed him incredulously. ‘The Stablemaster here for longer than you’ve been alive, most likely. I feel I should be asking you what your business is here at my gate!’

Before the flustered lad could reply, there was a tumble and rush of soldiers from the guard house. ‘It is Burrich!’ the watch sergeant exclaimed. Burrich was instantly the centre of a cluster of men, all shouting greetings and talking at once while Hands and I sat on our weary horses at the edge of the hubbub. The sergeant, one Blade, finally shouted them to silence, mostly so he could speak his own comments easily. ‘We hadn’t looked for you until spring, man,’ the burly old soldier declared. ‘And even then, we was told you might not be the man that left here. But you look good, you do. A bit cold, and outlandishly dressed, and another scar or two, but yourself for all that. Word was that you was hurt bad, and the Bastard like to die. Plague or poison, the rumours was.’

Burrich laughed and held out his arms that all might admire his Mountain garb. For a moment I saw Burrich as they must have seen him, his purple and yellow quilted trousers and smock and buskins. I no longer wondered at how we had been challenged at the gate. But I did wonder at the rumours.

‘Who said the Bastard would die?’ I demanded curiously.

‘Who’s asking?’ Blade demanded in return. He glanced over my garments, looked me in the eye, and knew me not. But as I sat up straighter on my horse, he gave a start. To this day, I believe he knew Sooty and that was how he recognized me. He did not cover his shock.

‘Fitz? There’s hardly half of you left! You look like you’ve had the blood plague.’ It was my first inkling of just how bad I looked to those who knew me.

‘Who said I had been poisoned, or afflicted with plague?’ I repeated the question quietly.

Blade flinched and glanced back over his shoulder. ‘Oh, no one. Well, no one in particular. You know how it is. When you didn’t come back with the others, well, some supposed this and some that, and pretty soon, it was almost like we knew it. Rumours, guard-room talk. Soldiers gossip. We wondered why you didn’t come back, that was all. No one believed anything that was said. We spread too many rumours ourselves to give gossip any credence. We just wondered why you and Burrich and Hands hadn’t come back.’

He finally realized he was repeating himself and fell silent before my stare. I let the silence stretch long enough to make it plain that I didn’t intend to answer this question. Then I shrugged it away. ‘No harm done, Blade. But you can tell them all the Bastard isn’t done for yet. Plagues or poisons, you should have known Burrich would physick me through it. I’m alive and well; I just look like a corpse.’

‘Oh, Fitz, lad, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that …’

‘I said, no harm done, Blade. Let it go.’

‘Good enough, sir,’ he replied.

I nodded, and looked at Burrich to find him regarding me strangely. When I turned to exchange a puzzled glance with Hands, I met the same startlement on his face. I could not guess the reason.