Assassin 3 - Royal Assassin (91 page)

There was a semicircle of chairs set up around a
tall table. A fat candle burned in the center of it. For focus, I
imagined. Only two of the chairs were occupied. Justin and Serene
sat side by side, hands clasped, eyes closed, heads lolled back in
the throes of Skilling. No Will. I had hoped to find him here as
well.

For the barest instant I looked at their faces.
Perspiration gleamed on them, and I was flattered that they put so
much effort to breaking down my walls. Their mouths twitched in
small smiles, resisting the ecstasy of the Skill user, focusing on
the object rather than on the pleasure of the pursuit. I did not
hesitate. Surprise! I said softly. I jerked Serene's head back and
pulled the King's blade across her exposed throat. She jerked once,
and I let her fall to the floor. There was a remarkable amount of
blood.

Justin leaped to his feet with a shriek and I
braced myself for his onslaught. He fooled me, though. He fled
squealing down the hall and I followed, knife in hand. He sounded
just like a pig, and he was incredibly fast. No fox tricks for
Justin, he favored the most direct route to the Great Hall,
shrieking all the way. I laughed as I ran. Even now it seems to me
incredible to recall that, but I cannot deny it. Did he suppose
Regal would draw sword to defend him? Did he think, having killed
my king, that anything in the world could stand between me and
him?

In the Great Hall, musicians had been playing
and folk dancing, but Justin's entrance put an end to that. I had
gained on him, so that there were scarce a score of steps between
us when he caromed into one of the laden tables. Folk were still
standing shocked at his entrance when I leaped on him and pulled
him down. I punched the knife in and out of him half a dozen times
before anyone thought they should interfere. As Regal's Farrow-bred
guards reached for me I flung his twitching body into them, found a
table at my back, and leaped onto it. I held up my dripping blade.
The King's knife! I told them, and showed it 'round. Taking blood
in vengeance for the King's death. That is all!

He's mad! someone cried. Verity's death has
driven him mad!

Shrewd! I cried in fury. King Shrewd has fallen
to treachery this night!

Regal's Inlander guards hit my table in a wave.
I had not thought there were that many of them. We all went down in
a wave of food and crockery. Folk were screaming, but as many
surged forward to witness as retreated in horror. Hod would have
been proud of me. With the king's belt knife, I held off three men
with short swords. I danced, I leaped, I pirouetted. I was much too
fast for them and the cuts they did inflict on me caused me no
pain. I scored two good slashes on two of them, simply because they
did not think I would dare lunge close enough to inflict
them.

Somewhere back in the crowd, someone raised a
cry. Arms! To the Bastard! They are killing FitzChivalry! A
struggle began, but I could not see who was involved, nor give it
any attention at all. I stabbed one of the guards in the hand and
he dropped his blade. Shrewd! someone cried above the din. King
Shrewd is slain! By the sounds of the other struggle, more folk
were becoming involved. I could not look to see. I heard another
table crash to the floor, and a scream across the room. Then
Buckkeep's own guard came pouring into the room. I heard Kerf's
voice raised above the general din. Separate them! Quell it! Try
not to spill blood in the King's own hall! I saw my attackers
ringed, saw Blade's look of consternation as he saw me and then
cried out over his shoulder, It's FitzChivalry! They're trying to
take down the Fitz!

Separate them! Disarm them! Kerf butted heads
with one of Regal's guards, dropping him. Beyond him I saw knots of
struggling break out as Buck guards fell on Regal's personal guard,
battering blades down and demanding that swords be sheathed. I had
space for a breath, and could lift my eyes from my own struggle to
see that, indeed, a great many folk had become involved, and not
just guards. Fistfights had broken out among the guests as well. It
looked to become both brawl and riot when suddenly Blade, one of
our own guardsmen, shouldered between two of my attackers, sending
them sprawling to the floor. He leaped forward and confronted
me.

Blade! I greeted him with delight, thinking him
an ally. Then, as I noticed his defensive stance, I told him, You
know I would not draw blade against you!

I know that well, lad, he told me sadly, and the
old soldier flung himself forward to trap me in a bear hug. I do
not know who hit me on the back of the head, or with
what.

CHAPTER
THIRTY

Dungeons

IF A HOUNDSMAN suspects that a dog boy is using
the Wit to defile and divert the hounds to his own ends, he should
be watchful for these signs. If the boy speaks not overmuch to his
fellows, be wary. If the hounds perk up before the boy is in sight,
or whine before he has left, be watchful. If a hound will leave off
his snuffing for a bitch in season, or turn aside from a blood
trail and lie quiet at the boy's word, be certain. Let the boy be
hanged, over water if possible, well away from the stables, and his
body burned. Let every hound he has trained be drowned, as well as
all sired by defiled hounds. A hound who has known the Wit use will
neither fear nor respect any other master, but is sure to turn
vicious when deprived of the Witted one. A Witted boy cannot be
trusted to beat an unruly hound, nor will he suffer his Wit hound
to be sold away, or used as bear bait, no matter how old the dog. A
Wit boy will turn his master's hounds to his own purposes, and
never has any true loyalty to his master, but only to his Wit
hound.

I woke up sometime. Of all the cruel jests fate
had recently played on me, I decided that awakening was the
cruelest. I lay still and cataloged my various discomforts. The
exhaustion from my carris-seed frenzy combined well with the
exhaustion from my Skill battle with Justin and Serene. I had taken
some nasty sword cuts to my right forearm, and one to my left thigh
that I recalled not at all. None of them had been dressed; my
sleeve and trousers were matted to my skin with dried blood.
Whoever had knocked me unconscious had made sure of his work with
several more blows. Other than that, I was fine. I told myself this
a number of times, ignoring the trembling in my left leg and arm. I
opened my eyes.

The room I was in was small and stone. There was
a pot in the corner. When I finally decided I could move, I craned
my head enough to see that there was a door, with a small barred
window in it. This was the light source, fed by a torch somewhere
down a hallway outside. Oh. Yes. The dungeons. My curiosity
satisfied, I closed my eyes again and slept. Nose to tail, I rested
safe in a deep den covered over by the blowing snow. The illusion
of safety was as much as Nighteyes could offer me. So weak I was
that even his thoughts to me seemed misty. Safe. That was as much
as he could convey.

I awoke again. I could tell time had passed by
how much thirstier I was. Other than that, everything was
remarkably the same. This time I determined that the bench I was
lying on was also made of stone. There was nothing between me and
the stone save the clothes I wore. Hey! I called. Guards! There was
no answer. Everything seemed a bit vague. After a time I could not
recall if I had already cried out, or if I was summoning the
strength to do so. After a bit more time I decided I did not have
the strength. I went back to sleep. I couldn't imagine doing
anything else.

I awoke to Patience's voice arguing. Whoever she
was arguing with wasn't answering much, and wasn't giving in. It's
ridiculous. What are you afraid I'll do? A silence. I've known him
since he was a child. Another silence. He's hurt. What possible
damage can it do for me to at least look at his injuries? You can
hang him whole as easily as you can wounded, can't you? Another
silence.

After a time I decided I might be able to move.
I had a lot of bruises and scrapes I couldn't account for, probably
gained on the journey between the Great Hall and here. The worst
part of moving was that it tugged my clothing against the scabbed
over cuts. I decided I could stand it. For such a small room, it
was a very long way from the bed to the door. When I got there, I
discovered I could just see out the little barred window. What I
could see was the stone wall on the opposite side of the narrow
corridor. I gripped the bars with my good left hand.

Patience? I croaked.

Fitz? Oh, Fitz, are you all right?

Such a question. I started to laugh and coughed
instead, finishing with the taste of blood in my mouth. I didn't
know what to say. I wasn't fine, but it wasn't healthy for her to
be too interested in me. Even as fuddled as I was, I knew that. I'm
all right, I croaked at last.

Oh, Fitz, the King is dead! she called to me
from down the hall. The words tumbled from her in her haste to tell
me all. And Queen Kettricken is missing, and King-in-Waiting Regal
says you are at the bottom of all of it. They say-

Lady Patience, you'll have to leave now, the
guard attempted to break in. She ignored him.

-you went crazy in grief over Verity's death,
and killed the King and Serene and Justin, and they don't know what
you've done with the Queen, and no one can-

You cannot speak to the prisoner, madam! He
spoke with conviction, but she paid no mind.

-find the Fool. Wallace, he's the one, he said
he saw you and the Fool quarreling over the King's body, and then
he saw the Pocked Man, come to carry his spirit away. The man is
crazy! And Regal accuses you, too, of the low magic, of having the
soul of a beast! That's how he said you killed the King.
And-

Madam! You have to leave now, or I will have to
have you taken away.

Then do that, Patience spat at him. I just dare
you to try. Lacey, this man is bothering me. Ah! You dare to think
of touching me! I, who was Chivalry's queen-in-waiting! Now, Lacey,
do not hurt him, he's only a boy. A mannerless boy, but a boy
nonetheless.

Lady Patience, I beg you .... A change in tone
from the guard.

You can't very well drag me away from here
without leaving your post. Do you think I'm so stupid I can't see
that? What will you do? Attack two old women with your
sword?

Chester! Chester, where are you? the guard on
duty bellowed. Damn you, Chester! I could hear the frustration in
his voice as he yelled for his partner, who had taken a break. He
was probably up in the watch room off the kitchen. Drinking cold
beer. Eating hot stew. A wave of dizziness passed over
me.

Chester? The guard's voice was fading. He had
actually been fool enough to leave Lady Patience by his post and go
looking for his comrade. In a moment I heard the light patter of
her slippers outside my door. I felt the touch of her fingers on my
hand that gripped the bar. She was not tall enough to look in, and
the corridor was so narrow she could not step back where I could
see her. But the touch of her hand was as welcome as
sunlight.

Keep watch for him coming back, Lacey, she
directed, then spoke to me. How are you, really? She spoke low,
pitching her voice for my ears alone.

Thirsty. Hungry. Cold. In pain. I saw no point
in lying to her. What is happening in the Keep?

Complete disorder. The Buckkeep guards broke up
the riot in the Great Hall, but then, outside, there was a brawl
between some of the Inlanders that Regal brought in and the
Buckkeep guard. Queen Kettricken's guard drove a wedge between
them, and their officers beat their troops back into line. Still,
it's tense. The fighters weren't all soldiers. Many a guest has a
black eye or walks with a limp still. Luckily, no one amongst the
guests took serious harm. Blade took about the worst injuries, they
say. He went down keeping the Farrow men off you. Cracked his ribs
and blacked his eyes, did something to one of his arms. But Burrich
says he will be all right. The lines have been drawn, however, and
the Dukes walk about bristling at one another like dogs.

Burrich? I asked hoarsely.

Did not get involved at all, she said
reassuringly. He's fine. If being ill-tempered and surly to all is
fine. Which, for him, I suppose is normal.

My heart thundered inside me. Burrich. Why
wasn't he gone? I dared ask no more about him. One question too
many, and Patience would get curious. So. And Regal? I
asked.

She snorted. One gets the feeling that what
really irritates Regal is that he no longer has an excuse to
abandon Buckkeep. Before, you know, he was taking King Shrewd and
Kettricken inland so they would be safe, and gutting the castle so
they might have familiar things about them. He has no such excuse
now, and the Coastal Dukes have demanded he stay and defend the
Keep, or at least put in that place a man of their choosing. He has
offered his cousin Lord Bright of Farrow, but the Coastal Dukes do
not like him. Now that Regal finds himself suddenly a King, I do
not think he is enjoying it as much as he expected to.

Has he crowned himself, then? A roaring
threatened my ears. I stood by gripping the bars. Must not faint, I
told myself. The guard would be back soon. I had only this time to
hear what was going on.

We have all been much too busy burying the King,
and then searching for the Queen. When the King was found dead, we
were sent to wake her, but found her doors locked and no answer to
our knocking. Finally Regal resorted to his men and axes again. The
inner-chamber door was closed and locked as well. But the Queen was
gone. It is a great mystery to all of us.