Assassin's Quest (36 page)

I started to go back to my sheep. Then I paused and looked back around the camp. The guards were silhouettes around the fire now, lounging and talking, while a single one of them stood slightly back of the group keeping a general watch. He was looking toward the other fire. I followed his gaze. I could not decide if Tassin was looking back at him, or simply staring off at the other guards about their fire. Either way, I suspected I knew what was on her mind.

I turned aside and went to the back of Madge’s wagon. She was scooping out beans and peas from sacks and measuring them into a soup kettle. I touched her lightly on the arm, and she jumped.

“Beg pardon. Could you use some help with that?”

She raised an eyebrow at me. “Why would I?”

I glanced down at my feet and chose my lie carefully. “I didn’t care for how they looked at the tinker woman, ma’am.”

“I know how to handle myself among rough men, shepherd. I couldn’t be a caravan master if I didn’t.” She measured salt into the kettle, then a handful of seasonings.

I nodded my head and said nothing. It was too obviously true for me to protest. But I did not leave, either, and after a few moments, she handed me a bucket and told me to fetch her some clean water. I obeyed her willingly, and when I brought it back, I stood holding it until she took it from me. I watched her fill the soup kettle and stood at her elbow until she told me with some asperity to get out from under her feet. I apologized and backed away, upsetting her water bucket as I did so. So I took it and fetched her more fresh water in it.

After that, I went and got a blanket from Damon’s cart, and rolled up in it for a few hours. I lay under the cart as if sleeping and watched, not the guardsmen, but Starling and Tassin. I noticed she did not take out her harp that night, as if she did not wish to call any attention to herself either. That somewhat reassured me about her. It would have been easy enough for her to visit their fire with her harp, to ingratiate herself with a few songs, and then offer to sell me. Instead she seemed as intent on watching Tassin as I was. Tassin rose once to leave on some excuse. I did not hear what Starling said quietly, but Tassin glared at her and Master Dell angrily ordered her back to her place. Certainly Dell wanted nothing to do with the guards in any way. But even after they had all gone off to bed, I could not relax. When it came time to relieve Creece on watch, I went reluctantly, not at all sure that Tassin would not choose the small hours of night in which to seek out the guards.

I found Creece sound asleep, and had to wake him to send him back to the cart. I sat down, my blanket around my shoulders, and thought of the six men down below, now sleeping around their fire. I had cause for true hatred of only one of them. I recalled Bolt to myself as he had been then, smirking as he drew on his leather gloves to beat me, sulking when Regal reprimanded him for breaking my nose lest it make me less presentable if the dukes wished to see me. I recalled the disdainful way he had performed his task for Regal, hammering easily past my token defense as I strove to keep Will and his Skill out of my mind.

Bolt hadn’t even known me. He’d run his eyes over me and dismissed me, not even recognizing his own handiwork. I sat thinking for a bit about that. I supposed I had changed that much. Not just the scars he’d given me. Not just the beard and the workman’s garb and the dirt of the road on me and my gauntness. FitzChivalry wouldn’t have lowered his eyes before his gaze, would not have stood silent and let the tinkerfolk fend for themselves. FitzChivalry would not, perhaps, have poisoned all six guards for the sake of killing one. I wondered if I had grown wiser or wearier. Both, perhaps. It did not make me proud.

The Wit-sense gives me an awareness of other living things, all other living things, around me. I am seldom startled by anyone. So they did not take me by surprise. The dawn had just begun to blanch the blackness from the sky when Bolt and his guards came for me. I sat still, first feeling and then hearing their stealthy approach. Bolt had roused all five of his soldiers for the task.

With a sinking dismay, I wondered what had gone wrong with my poison. Had it lost its potency from being carried about so long? Been rendered useless by the cooking with the soup? I swear that for a moment my uppermost thought was that Chade would not have made this error. But I had no time to think about it. I glanced about at the gently undulating, near-featureless plain. Scrub brush and a few rocks. Not even a gully or a mound for cover.

I could have run, and perhaps lost them for a time in the darkness. But in the end, that game was theirs. I’d have to come back for water eventually. If they did not track me down on the flat land by daylight on horseback, they could simply sit by the waterhole and wait me out. Besides, to flee was to admit I was FitzChivalry. Tom the shepherd would not run.

And so I looked up, startled and anxious when they came for me, but not, I hoped, betraying the heart-pounding fear I felt. I came to my feet, and when one seized me by an arm, I did not struggle but only looked up at him incredulously. Another guard came up from the other side, to take both my knife and my sword. “Come down to the fire,” she told me gruffly. “Captain wants a look at you.”

I went quietly, almost limply, and when they had reassembled at the campfire to present me to Bolt, I looked fearfully from one face to another, being careful not to single out Bolt. I was not sure I could look at him full face at close range and betray nothing. Bolt stood up, kicked at the fire to stir up the flames, and then came to inspect me. I caught a glimpse of Tassin’s pale face and hair peeking at me around the end of the puppeteer’s wagon. For a time Bolt just stood looking at me. After a time, he pursed his mouth and gave his guards a disgusted look. With a small shake of his head, he let them know I wasn’t what he’d wanted. I dared to take a deeper breath.

“What’s your name?” Bolt suddenly demanded of me sharply.

I squinted at him across the fire. “Tom, sir. Tom the shepherd. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Haven’t you? Then you’re the only man in the world who hasn’t. You sound like a Buckman, Tom. Take off your kerchief.”

“I am, sir. From Buck, sir. But times are hard there.” I hastily dragged my kerchief off, then stood clutching and wringing it. I hadn’t taken Starling’s advice about staining my hair. That wouldn’t have done any good during a close inspection. Instead, I had used my looking glass and plucked out a good portion of the white hairs. Not all of them, but what I had now appeared more as a scattering of gray hair above my brow rather than a white streak. Bolt came around the fire to have a closer look at it. I flinched when he gripped me by the hair and tilted my head back to stare down into my face. He was as big and muscled as I remembered him. Every evil memory I had of him suddenly flooded my mind. I swear I even recalled the smell of him. The wretched sickness of fear filled me.

I offered him no resistance as he glared down at me. Nor did I meet his eyes, but rather shot frightened looks at him and then glanced away as if beseeching help. I noticed that Madge had come from somewhere and was standing, arms crossed on her chest, regarding us.

“Got a scar on your cheek, don’t you, man?” Bolt demanded of me.

“Yes, sir, I do. Got it when I was a boy, fell out of a tree and a branch cut me. . . .”

“You break your nose then, too?”

“No, sir, no, that was a tavern brawl, that was, about a year ago. . . .”

“Take off your shirt!” he demanded.

I fumbled at the neck of it, then dragged it off over my head. I had thought he would look at my forearms and was prepared with my nail story for that. Instead he leaned over to look at a place between my shoulder and my neck, where a Forged one had bitten a chunk out of me in a long-ago fight. My bowels turned to water. He looked at the gnarled scar there, then suddenly threw his head back and laughed.

“Damn. I didn’t think it was you, Bastard. I was sure it wasn’t. But that’s the mark I remember seeing, the first time I drove you into the floor.” He looked at the men standing around us, surprise and delight still on his face. “It’s him! We’ve got him. The King’s got his Skill-wizards spread from the Mountains to the coast looking for him, and he falls like fruit into our hands.” He licked his lips as he ran his eyes over me gloatingly. I sensed a strange hunger in him, one he almost feared. He seized me suddenly by the throat and hauled me up on my toes. He brought his face close to mine as he hissed, “Understand me. Verde was a friend. It’s not a hundred gold pieces for you alive that keeps me from killing you here. It’s only my faith that my king can come up with more interesting ways for you to die than I can improvise here. You’re mine again, Bastard, in the circle. Or as much of you as my king leaves for me anyway.”

He shoved me violently away from him into the fire. I stumbled through it and was immediately seized by two men on the other side. I looked from one to the other wildly. “It’s a mistake!” I cried out. “A terrible mistake!”

“Shackle him,” Bolt ordered them hoarsely.

Madge stepped suddenly forward. “You’re certain of this man?” she asked him directly.

He met her eyes, captain to captain. “I am. It’s the Wit-Bastard.”

A look of total disgust crossed Madge’s face. “Then take him and welcome to him.” She turned on her heel and walked away.

My guards had been watching the conversation between Madge and their captain rather than paying attention to the trembling man between them. I chanced it all, breaking toward the fire as I snapped my arms free of their careless grips. I shouldered a startled Bolt aside and fled like a rabbit. I wove through the camp, past the tinker’s wagon, and saw only wide-open country before me. Dawn had grayed the plain to a featureless rumpled blanket. No cover, no destination. I just ran.

I had expected men on foot after me, or men on horses. I hadn’t expected a man with a sling. The first rock hit me on the flat of my left shoulder, numbing my arm. I kept running. I thought at first I’d taken an arrow. Then the bolt of lightning hit me.

When I woke up, my wrists were chained. My left shoulder ached horribly, but not as badly as the lump on my head. I managed to wiggle up to a sitting position. No one paid much attention to me. A shackle on each of my ankles was hooked to the length of chain that ran up and through a loop forged onto the chain that shackled my wrists together. A second, much shorter chain between my ankles was not even enough to let me take a full step. If I’d been able to stand.

I said nothing, did nothing. Shackled, I had no chance against six armed men. I didn’t want to give them any excuse to brutalize me. Still, it took every bit of my will to sit quietly and consider my situation. The sheer weight of the chain was daunting, as was the chill of the iron biting into my flesh in the cold night air. I sat, head bowed, looking at my feet. Bolt noticed I was awake. He came to stand looking down at me. I kept my eyes on my own feet.

“Say something, damn you!” Bolt ordered me suddenly.

“You’ve got the wrong man, sir,” I said timidly. I knew there would be no convincing him of that, but perhaps I could shake his men’s belief.

Bolt laughed. He went and sat back down by the fire. Then he lay back on his elbows. “If I have, it’s just too damn bad for you. But I know I don’t. Look at me, Bastard. How was it you didn’t stay dead?”

I shot him a fearful glance. “I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

It was the wrong response. He was tigerish in his speed, coming up from his reclining position to fly across the fire at me. I scrabbled to my feet but there was no escaping him. He seized me by my chains, drew me up, and slapped me stingingly. Then, “Look at me,” he ordered.

I brought my eyes back to his face.

“How was it you didn’t die, Bastard?”

“It wasn’t me. You’ve got the wrong man.”

I got the back of his hand the second time.

Chade had once told me that, under torture, it is easier to resist questioning if you focus your mind on what you will say, rather than what you must not. I knew it was stupid and useless to tell Bolt I was not FitzChivalry. He knew I was. But having adopted that course, I stuck to it. The fifth time he hit me, one of his men spoke out behind me.

“With all respect, sir?”

Bolt flashed a furious look at the man. “What is it?”

The man wet his lips. “The captive was to be alive, sir. For the gold to be paid.”

Bolt turned his eyes back to me. It was unnerving to see the hunger in him, a craving such as Verity had for the Skill. This man liked to give pain. Liked to kill slowly. It only made him hate me all the more that he could not. “I know that,” he said brusquely to the man. I saw his fist coming, but there was no way to avoid it.

When I came awake, it was full morning. There was pain. For a time, that was all I really knew. Pain, bad pain in one shoulder, and down my ribs on the same side. He’d probably kicked me, I decided. I didn’t want to move any part of my face. Why, I wondered, is pain always worse when you’re cold? I felt curiously detached from my situation. I listened for a time, with no desire at all to open my eyes. The caravan was getting ready to move on. I could hear Master Dell yelling at Tassin, who was crying that it was her money by right, that if he’d only help her get it, he could have his apprentice fee back and full welcome to it. He ordered her to get in the wagon. Instead I heard her footsteps crunching across the dry earth as she hurried over to me. But it was Bolt she spoke to in a whining voice. “I was right. You didn’t believe me, but I was right. I found him for you. If it weren’t for me, you’d have ridden off after looking right at him. That gold is mine, by right. But I’ll give you half and be more than happy. That’s better than fair for you, you know it is.”

“I’d get in that wagon, were I you,” Bolt answered her coldly. “Otherwise, once it leaves and we leave, you’re left with nothing but a long walk.”

She had the sense not to argue with him, but she muttered dirty names to herself all the way back to the wagon. I heard Dell tell her she was nothing but trouble and he’d be well rid of her at Blue Lake.