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He resumed a stunned silence.
As the path led up and up, I wondered if I had chosen well. The few trees we passed were twisted and gaunt, the leaves hanging limp in the hovering storm’s aura. The flesh of the earth gave way to bony stones. I knew my refuge when I saw it. It was not a true cave, but was more a deep undercut in a cliff. We had to dismount to coax our horses the rest of the way up to it. I led Myblack in. It was cooler beneath the undercut and water oozed from the rockface at the back. Perhaps at some times of the year it had been responsible for carving the undercut, but now it did little more than leave a damp, green streak on the cave floor before it dribbled away down the hillside. There was no feed for the horses. It could not be helped. It offered us the best shelter and it looked defensible.
‘We’ll spend the night here,’ I announced quietly. I wiped sweat from my brow and neck. The storm was lowering and the air thick with the threat of rain. I pointed to a spot near the back of the cavern. ‘Get down and sit there,’ I told my prisoner. He spoke not a word, but sat, staring down at me. I gave him no second chance. I reached up, seized the front of his shirt, and jerked him off the horse. Anger has always multiplied my strength. I let him almost stand, then flung him hard from me, so that he hit the back wall of the cave and then slid down it to sit flat on the floor, half-stunned. ‘There’s worse to come,’ I promised him harshly.
Laurel stared, white-faced and wide-eyed, probably shocked at my taking command. I took her horse from her and Lord Golden helped her ease herself down. My captive showed no inclination to try to flee, and so I ignored him as I unsaddled the horses and set up our makeshift camp. Myblack lipped and then sucked at the traces of water. I scraped away sand to deepen the depression at the bottom of the wall and, gratifyingly, water began to pool there. Lord Golden was seeing to Laurel’s shoulder. Deft as the Fool had always been, he had cut and peeled the clothing back from the injury. Now he held a dampened cloth to it. The blood on the cloth looked dark rather than bright. Their heads were bowed together over it in quiet talk. I drew closer. ‘How bad is it?’ I asked quietly.
‘Bad enough,’ Lord Golden replied succinctly, but it was Laurel’s glance that shocked me. She stared at me as if I were a rabid beast. It was far more than the affront she might take at one who had rudely interrupted a private conversation. I withdrew, wondering if the baring of her shoulder before me was what bothered her. Yet she seemed to have no qualms about Lord Golden touching her. Well, I had other things to tend, and would intrude no further.
I considered the small supply of food that remained to us. Bread and apples made up most of it. There was little enough for three, and not enough for four. I coldly decided our prisoner could do without. Like as not, he’d had his own provisions, and had probably eaten better today than we had. Thinking of him made me decide to check on him. He was sitting awkwardly, his hands still bound behind him, considering his lacerated ankle. I glanced at it, but offered no sympathy. I stood silently over him until he spoke.
‘Can I have some water?’
‘Turn around,’ I ordered him and was impassive as he struggled to obey. I untied his wrists. He made a small sound as I jerked the leather thong free of the clotted blood there. Slowly he moved his hands around in front of him. ‘You can get water over there, when the horses are satisfied.’
He nodded slowly. I knew well how badly his shoulders ached by now. My own was still throbbing from striking the tree branch. His scraped face had darkened and scabbed from the damage taken in our fall. One blue eye was shot with blood. Somehow, his injuries made him look even younger. He studied the forearm the wolf had mangled. By the set of his jaw, I knew he was afraid even to touch his injury. Slowly he lifted his eyes to me, and then looked past me.
‘Where is your wolf?’ he asked me.
I nearly backhanded him. He flinched at my aborted gesture. ‘You don’t ask questions,’ I told him coldly. ‘You answer them. Where are they taking the Prince?’
He looked at me blankly and I cursed my own clumsiness. Perhaps he had not known the Prince’s identity. Well, too late to call the words back. I’d probably have to kill him anyway. I recognized that thought as Chade’s and set it aside. ‘The boy who rides with the cat,’ I clarified. ‘Where are they taking him?’
He swallowed dryly. ‘I don’t know,’ he lied sullenly.
I wanted to throttle the truth out of him. He threatened me in too many ways. I stood up abruptly before I could give in to my temper. ‘Yes, you do. I’ll give you some time to think about all the ways that I could make you tell me. Then I’ll be back.’ I walked a few steps away from him before I forced a grin onto my face and turned. ‘Oh. And if you think this is a good time to make a run for it…well, two or three steps outside, and you’d no longer be wondering where my wolf is.’
A white blast of light suddenly flared into our shelter. The horses screamed, and two heartbeats later, thunder shook the earth. I blinked, momentarily blinded, and then outside the mouth of the cave, the rain came down as if someone had overturned a bucket. Abruptly, it was dark outside. A puff of wind carried rain into our cave mouth, and then shifted away. The warmth of the day departed.
I took food over to Lord Golden and Laurel. She looked a bit dazed. He had dragged one of the saddles and a blanket over to make a backrest for her. She pushed her straggling hair back from her face with her left hand. Her right lay in her lap. She had bled more than I thought, for blood had trickled down to clot between her fingers and outline her nails. Lord Golden accepted the bread and apples for both of them.
I glanced at the downpour outside the cave’s mouth and shook my head. ‘This storm will wash every bit of trail away. The good of that is that perhaps the villagers will just take their dead and go home. The bad is that we lose the Prince’s trail, too. Making our ambusher talk is our only hope of finding the Prince now. I’ll tend to that when I get back.’ I unbuckled my sword belt and held it out. When neither reached for it, I drew the blade and set it on the ground beside them. I lowered my voice.
‘You might have to use it. If you do, don’t hesitate. Kill him. If he gets away and manages to warn his friends, we’ll have no chance of recovering the Prince. I’m letting him think for a bit. Then I’ll get the truth out of him. Meanwhile, I’m going out to get a bit of firewood while there’s any still dry. And I’ll check to see if anyone is following our trail.’
Laurel lifted her good hand to cover her mouth. She suddenly looked sick. Lord Golden’s glance went to the prisoner, and then met mine. His eyes were troubled, but surely he knew I had to look for Nighteyes. ‘Take my cloak,’ he suggested.
‘It would only get as wet as the rest of me. I’ll change into dry things when I get back.’
He didn’t tell me to be careful, but it was in his look. I nodded to it, steeled myself, and walked out into the pouring rain. It was every bit as cold and unpleasant as I expected it to be. I stood, eyes squinted and shoulders hunched to it, peering out through the grey downpour. Then I took a breath and resolutely changed my expectations. As Black Rolf had once shown me, much discomfort was based on human expectations. As a man, I expected to be warm and dry when I chose to be. Animals did not harbour any such beliefs. So it was raining. That part of me that was wolf could accept that. Rain meant being cold and wet. Once I acknowledged that and stopped comparing it to what I wished it to be, the conditions were far more tolerable. I set out.
The rain had turned the pathway up to the cave into a milky stream. The footing was treacherous as I went down it. Even knowing that our tracks were there, I had a hard time seeing them. I allowed myself to hope that rain, dark, and the lack of a trail to follow would send our pursuers back to town. Some would have undoubtedly turned back to the village to bear the tidings of the deaths. Did I dare to hope they all had, bearing the bodies with them?
At the foot of the hill, I paused. Cautiously, I quested out. Where are you?
There was no answer. Lightning cracked in the distance, and thunder rumbled a few moments later. The fury of the rain renewed itself in a roar. I thought of my wolf as I had last seen him, battered and tired and old. I threw aside all caution and howled my fear to the sky. Nighteyes!
Be quiet. I’m coming. He was as disgusted with me as if I were a yelping cub. I closed down my Wit, but still sighed in deep relief. If he could be that irritated with me, then he was not in as bad a way as I had feared.
I watched for wood, and found some that was almost dry in the shelter of a long fallen tree. I took handfuls of the pithy wood from the rotting trunk, and broke dead branches into manageable lengths. I pulled off my shirt and bundled my tinder and fuel into it in the hopes of keeping it marginally drier. As I toiled back up the hill to the cavern, the rain ceased as abruptly as it had begun. The pattering of second-hand drops from the tree branches and the trickling sounds of water seeking to soak into the earth filled the evening. Somewhere in the near distance, a night bird sang a cautious two notes.
‘It’s me,’ I said quietly as I approached the overhang of stone. Myblack snorted a soft reply. I could barely see the others within, but after a few moments, my eyes adjusted. Lord Golden had set out my flint-box for me. Luck was with me, and in a few moments, I had a tiny fire kindled in the back of the cave. The smoke crawled along the stony roof until it found its way out. I stepped outside to check that it was not too visible from the hillside below. Satisfied, I returned, to build the fire to a respectable size.
Laurel sat up and then scooted closer to the friendly light. She looked a bit better, but her pain was still evident on her face. I watched her steal a sidelong glance at the archer. There was accusation in her eyes, but also misplaced pity. I hoped she wouldn’t try to interfere in what I had to do.
Lord Golden was already muttering through his pack. A moment later, he pulled out one of my blue servant shirts and offered it to me. ‘Thanks,’ I muttered. At the edge of the firelight, my prisoner sat with his shoulders hunched. I noticed the neat bandaging on his ankle and wrist and recognized the Fool’s knots. Well, I had not told him to leave the man alone; I should have known he would tend to him. I dropped my sodden shirt on the cave floor. As I shook out the dry shirt, Laurel spoke softly from the shadows.
‘That’s quite a scar.’
‘Which one?’ I asked without thinking.
‘Centre of your back,’ she replied as quietly.
‘Oh. That one.’ I tried to keep my voice light. ‘That was an arrow whose head didn’t come out with the shaft.’
‘So that was your concern earlier. Thank you.’ She smiled at me.
It was almost an apology. I could think of no reply. Her words and gentle smile had made me self-conscious. Then I became aware of Jinna’s charm exposed at my throat. Ah. I finished putting on the dry shirt. Then I took the leggings that Lord Golden handed me and stepped into the shadows behind the horses to change. The dribble of water down the inside wall had swelled to a steady trickle, and a tiny stream was now venturing past the horses and out the mouth of the cave. Well, at least they would have water tonight, if not grass. I tasted a scooped handful. It was earthy but not foul.
Back by the fire, Lord Golden solemnly offered me a hunk of bread and an apple. I had not realized how hungry I was until I took the first bite. All of it would not have filled me, but I ate only the apple and half the bread. Unfortunately, by the last bite, I still felt just as hungry. I ignored that as I had the rain earlier. It was another human-based assumption, that one had the right to a full belly at regular intervals. It was a comforting idea, but not truly necessary to survival. I repeated that several times to myself. I looked up from the flames to find Lord Golden eyeing me. Laurel had tugged a blanket over herself and dozed off. I spoke quietly. ‘Did he say anything while you were bandaging him?’
Lord Golden considered. Then a smile broke through the façade. ‘Ouch?’ the Fool offered.
I grinned back, then forced myself to face the eventuality. Despite Laurel’s shut eyes, I lowered my voice, pitching it only for the Fool’s ears. ‘I have to know everything he knows about their plans. They’re organized and they’re ruthless. There’s more to this than Witted folk helping a runaway boy. I have to make him tell us where they’ve taken the Prince.’
The smile faded from the Fool’s face, but Lord Golden’s hauteur did not replace it. ‘How?’ he asked in dread.
‘However I must,’ I replied coldly. I felt a sick anger that he would make this harder for me. The Prince and his well-being were what mattered. Not his squeamishness, nor the life of the Old Blood boy who sat by the cavern wall. Not even my own feelings mattered in this. I was doing this for Chade, for my queen, for the Farseer line, for the Prince himself. This dirty little task was what I had been schooled to do; it was all part of the ‘quiet work’ of an assassin’s training. My guts clenched inside me. I pulled my eyes away from the Fool’s anxious gaze and stood up. Get it over with. Make him talk. Then kill him. I dared not let him go and we certainly couldn’t be hindered by taking him with us. It wouldn’t be the first time I’d killed for the Farseers. I’d never had to beat information out of my victim first, but I knew how to do that, too. I’d learned those lessons first-hand in Regal’s dungeon. I only wished the circumstances had left me another choice.
I turned away from the light and walked into the darkness where the young man waited. He was sitting on the ground, his back to the cavern wall. For a time, I just stood over him, looking down on him. I hoped his dread of this encounter was as great as mine. When he finally gave in and looked up at me, I growled, ‘Where are they taking him?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said, but the words had no strength in them.
I kicked him hard, the toe of my boot catching him under his ribs. I’d gauged it to drive the air from his lungs without doing permanent damage. It wasn’t time for that yet. He yelped and curled over his injury. Before he could recover at all, I reached down, grabbed him by the shirtfront and jerked him to his feet. I had the advantage of height, so I gritted my teeth and held him on his toes. His hands caught at my wrists and tugged feebly. He was still gasping for air.
‘Where?’ I demanded flatly. Outside, the rain resumed in a sudden hissing roar.
‘They…didn’t…say,’ he wheezed, and all Eda’s mercy made me long to believe him. I dared not. I slammed him hard against the cavern wall, so that the back of his head bounced off it. The impact made my bruised shoulder shout at me. I saw him bite his lip against his own pain. Behind me, I heard a muffled sound from Laurel but didn’t turn to it.
‘You can tell me now or you can tell me later,’ I warned him as I held him hard against the wall. I hated what I was doing, yet somehow his stupid resistance was fuelling my anger towards him. I drew on it, trying to build the will I needed to continue. Quickest was kindest; harshest was actually most merciful. The sooner he talked, the sooner it would be over. He had chosen the path that led him to this. He was a traitor in league with those who had lured Kettricken’s son from her side. The heir to the Six Duchies throne might even now be in mortal danger, and what this man knew could let me rescue him. Whatever I did to him now, he had brought upon himself.
Something like a boy’s sob shook him. He caught a breath. ‘Please,’ he said quietly.
I hardened my heart and drew back my fist.
But you promised. Never again. No more of the killing that brings no meat and Forges the heart. Nighteyes was aghast.
Stay out of this, my brother. I have to do this.
No. You don’t. I come. I come as swift as I can. Wait for me, my brother, please. Wait.
I broke free of the wolf’s thoughts. Time to end this. Break him. But the stubborn traitor looked very much like a boy fighting desperately to keep his secret. Tears cut clean streaks down his cheeks. The wolf’s thoughts had stolen my determination. I found I had set him back on his feet. I had never had any passion for this sort of thing. Some men, I knew well, took pleasure in breaking another man’s spirit, but the torture I had endured in Regal’s dungeon had locked me forever into the role of victim. Whatever I did to this young man, I would feel. Worse, I would see myself through his eyes, as I became to him what Bolt had been to me. I looked aside before he could see the weakness in my eyes, but it did me no good, for the Fool stood, but an arm’s length away, and all the horror I tried to suppress was in his gaze. The pity mixed with his horror stung me. He saw. He saw despite all the years, the beaten boy that still huddled within me, and always would. Somewhere I forever cowered, somewhere I was endlessly unmanned by what had been done to me. It was intolerable that anyone should know that. Even my Fool. Perhaps especially him.
‘Don’t interfere,’ I told him harshly, in a voice I had not known I owned. ‘Go tend to the Huntswoman.’
It was as if I had struck him. His mouth opened but no sound came out. I set my own jaw. I made myself cold. I tightened my grip slowly on my captive’s collar. He struggled to swallow and then his breath wheezed in his throat. His blue eyes flickered over my scar and broken nose. It was not the face of a merciful, civilized man. Traitor, I reminded myself as I gazed at him. You betray your prince, just as Regal betrayed Verity. How often had I fantasized about what I would have done to Regal, had I ever been given a chance for vengeance? This boy deserved it just as richly. He would bring the Farseer line to an end if I let him keep his secret. I breathed slowly, staring at him, letting those thoughts come to the front of my mind. I felt them change the set of my mouth and my eyes. My resolve firmed. Time to end this, one way or another. ‘Last chance,’ I warned harshly as I took out my knife. I watched my hands as if they belonged to someone else. I put the tip of the bared blade just below his left eye. I let it dig into the skin there. He clenched the eye shut, but we both knew that would not protect it. ‘Where?’
‘Stop him,’ Laurel pleaded in a shaking voice. ‘Please, Lord Golden, make him stop.’ At her words, I felt the man in my grip start to tremble. How frightening for him, that even my companions dreaded what I would do to him. A smile took over my face and froze it in a rictus.
‘Tom Badgerlock!’ Lord Golden addressed me imperiously. I didn’t even turn to his words. He had dragged me into this just as much as Chade and Kettricken had. It was all inevitable now. Let him watch and see where the road led. If he didn’t like it, he could avert his eyes. I couldn’t. I’d have to live it.
No. You don’t. And I refuse to. I won’t be bonded to that. I won’t allow it.
I felt him before I saw him. A moment later, the faint reach of the firelight picked out his silhouette, and then my wolf tottered in. Water dripped from him; the guardhairs of his coat had gone to downward points. He came a few steps farther into the cave, and then paused to shake himself. The touch of his mind on mine was like a firm hand on my shoulder. He turned my thoughts to him, and to us, pushing aside all other concerns. My brother. Changer. I am so weary. I am cold and wet. Please. I need your help. He ventured closer still, and then he leaned against my leg, asking quietly, Food? With the physical touch, he pushed aside a darkness that I had not known lived within me, to fill me with his wolfness and the now.
I let go of my prisoner and he sagged away from me. He tried to stand, but his knees gave out and he sat down heavily on the floor. His head fell forwards and I thought I heard a muffled sob. He didn’t matter right now. I pushed that FitzChivalry Farseer away to become the wolf’s partner.
I took a breath. I felt weak with relief at seeing Nighteyes. I clutched at his presence and felt it sustain me. I saved you some bread.
Better than nothing. He pressed his shaking body against my leg as he led me back to the fire and its welcome warmth. He waited patiently while I found the chunk of bread for him. I sat down close beside him, heedless of his wet fur, and handed him the bread a bit at a time. When he had finished eating, I smoothed my hand along his back. My touch slicked away rain. The wet had not penetrated his coat, but I could sense his pain and his weariness. Yet his vast love for me was what wrapped me and made me myself again.
I found a thought worth sharing. How are those scratches healing?
Slowly.
I slipped my hand down to the flesh of his belly. Mud had spattered on his belly and contaminated the wounds. He was cold, but the swollen scratches were hot. They were festering. Lord Golden’s pot of unguent was still in my saddlepack. I fetched it and amazingly, Nighteyes let me apply it to the long, raised welts. Honey, I knew, was a drawing thing. It might suck the heat from his wounds. I glanced up, suddenly aware of the Fool beside us. He knelt down and put both his hands on the wolf’s head like a benediction. He looked deep into Nighteyes’ eyes as he said, ‘I am so relieved to see you, old friend.’ I heard the edge of tears in his voice. Wariness haunted his voice as he cautiously asked me, ‘When you are finished with the ointment, might I have some for Laurel’s shoulder?’
‘Of course,’ I said quietly. I dabbed a last bit onto Nighteyes, then gave the pot to the Fool. As he leaned closer to take it, he whispered softly, ‘I have never been so frightened in my life. And there was nothing I could do. I think only he could have called you back.’
As he stood, the back of his hand brushed my cheek. I didn’t know if he sought to reassure himself or me. I felt an instant of misery for both of us. It was not ended, only put off.
With a sigh, Nighteyes suddenly stretched out beside me. He rested his head on my leg. He stared out towards the mouth of the cave. No. It is ended. I forbid it, Changer.
I have to find the Prince. He knows where he is. I have no choice.
I am your choice. Believe in me. I’ll track the Prince for you.
I doubt this storm has left any trail to follow.
Trust me. I’ll find him for you. I promise. Only do not do this thing.
Nighteyes, I can’t let him live. He knows too much.
He ignored that thought, or seemed to. Instead, he bade me, Before you kill him, think of what you take from him. Remember what it is to be alive.
Before I could reply, he trapped me in his senses and swept me into his wolf’s ‘now’. FitzChivalry Farseer and all his concerns were banished. We stared out into the black night outside the cave mouth. The falling rain had wakened all the scents of the hills and he read them for me. The rain was a steady hiss against the ground, masking all other sounds. Beside us, the fire was subsiding. I was peripherally aware of the Fool tending it, feeding it bits of firewood to keep it alive but hoarding our supply against the long night to come. I smelled the smoke, the horses, the other humans.
His intent was to take me away from being a man with a man’s cares and back to being a wolf. In that, he succeeded better than he planned. Perhaps Nighteyes was wearier than he knew, or perhaps the hissing rain lulled us both into the closeness of puppies that set no boundaries. I drifted into him, into his mind and spirit and then into his body.
Slowly I came to awareness of the flesh that enclosed him. He had no reserves left. The weariness that filled him pushed out all else. He was dwindling, like the fire, taking in sustenance but none the less, growing ever smaller.
Life is a balance. We tend to forget that as we go blithely from day to day. We eat and drink and sleep and assume that we will always rise up the next day, that meals and rest will always replenish us. Injuries we expect to heal, and pain to lessen as times go by. Even when we are faced with wounds that heal more slowly, with pain that lessens by day only to return in full force at nightfall, even when sleep does not leave us rested, we still expect that somehow tomorrow all will come back into balance and that we will go on. At some point, the exquisite balance has tipped, and despite all our flailing efforts, we begin the slow fall from the body that maintains itself to the body that struggles, nails clawing, to cling to what it used to be.
I stared at the darkness before us. It suddenly seemed that each of the wolf’s exhalations was longer than the breaths he drew in. Like a foundering ship, he sank each day deeper into an acceptance of routine pain and decreased vitality.
He slept heavily now, all wariness forgotten, his broad-skulled head on my lap. I drew a stealthy breath and then gently set my hand to his brow.
As a lad, I had been a source of strength for Verity. He had set his hand to my shoulder, and by his Skill, drawn off the strength he desperately needed to fight the Red-Ships. I thought back to the day on the riverbank, and what I had done to the wolf then. I had reached him with the Wit, but mended him with the Skill. I had known for some time that the two magics could mingle. I had even feared that my use of the Skill must always be contaminated by the Wit. Now that fear became a hope that I could use the two magics together for my wolf. For one could not just take strength with the Skill; one could lend it.
I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing. The wolf’s barriers were down, my Farseer concerns pushed from my mind. Only Nighteyes mattered. I opened myself and willed my strength, my vitality, the days of my life into him. It was like a long exhalation of breath, a flow of life leaving my body and seeping into his. I felt dizzied, yet I sensed him growing steadier, like a wick given a fresh supply of oil. I sent another exhalation of life into him, feeling fatigue seep through me as I did so. It did not matter. What I had given him had steadied him but not restored him; he needed more of my strength. I could eat and sleep and regain my vitality later. Right now, his need was greater.
Then his awareness flared up like a leaping flame, and NO! He forbade it, jerking his body away from mine. He separated himself from me, throwing up walls that nearly sealed me out. Then his thoughts blasted my mind. If ever you attempt that again, I will leave you. Completely and forever. You will not see my body, you will not touch my thoughts, and you will not even catch my scent near your trails. Do you understand me?
I felt like a puppy, shaken and flung aside. The abruptness of the severing left me disoriented. The world swung around me. ‘Why?’ I asked shakily.
Why? He seemed amazed that I could ask.
At that moment, I heard a furtive footfall grating sand. I turned to catch sight of my prisoner darting out the mouth of the cave. I sprang to my feet and leapt after him. In the darkness and rain, I collided with him, and then we were rolling over and over down the rocky hillside in front of the cave. He yelped once as we fell. Then I seized him, and did not let go until we skidded to a halt in the brush and scree at the foot of the slope. Bruised and shaken, we lay panting together as loosened stones bounced past us. My knife was under me, the hilt digging into my hip. I seized the archer by the throat.
‘I should kill you right now,’ I snarled at him. From above, in the darkness, I heard questioning voices. ‘Be quiet!’ I roared at them, and they ceased. ‘Get up,’ I told my prisoner savagely.
‘I can’t.’ His voice shook.
‘Get up!’ I demanded. I staggered upright without letting go of him, and then half-hauled him to his feet. ‘Move!’ I told him. ‘Up the hill, back to the cave. Try to run again, and I’ll pound you bloody.’
He believed me. The reality was that my efforts with Nighteyes had drained me. I could barely keep pace with him as we clambered back up the rain-slick slope. As we scrabbled and slid, a Skill-headache painted bolts of lightning on my eyelids. We were both caked with mud before we regained the cave. Once inside, I ignored Lord Golden’s anxious expression and Laurel’s questions while I securely trussed my prisoner’s wrists behind his back and bound his ankles together. I handled him viciously, the pounding pain in my skull spurring me on. I could feel Laurel and the Fool watching me. It made me feel both angry and ashamed of what I did. ‘Sleep well,’ I hissed at him when I was finished. I stepped back from him and drew my knife from its sheath. I heard Laurel’s gasp and the prisoner gave a sudden sob. But I only walked to the trickle of water to clean the mud from the hilt and sheath. I sloshed mud off my hands and then rubbed my face with cold water. I’d wrenched my back in the struggle. Nighteyes whined low in his throat, a worried sound at my pain. I clenched my teeth and tried to block it away from him. As I stood up, my prisoner spoke. ‘You’re a traitor to your own kind.’ Fear of death gave the boy a false courage. He flung his words at me, but I wouldn’t even look at him. His voice rose in shrill accusation. ‘What did they pay you to betray us? What reward is there for you and your wolf if you bring back the Prince? Do they hold a hostage? A mother? Your sister? Do they swear that if you do this, they’ll let you and your family live? They lie, you know. They always lie.’ His shaking voice was gaining volume. ‘Old Blood hunts Old Blood, and for what? So the Farseers can deny that the blood of the Piebald Prince runs in their line? Or do you work for those who hate the Queen and her son? Will you take him back so that he can be denounced as Old Blood, and the Farseers brought down by those who think they could rule better than they?’
I should have been focused on what he was saying about the Farseers. Instead I heard only his denunciation of what I was. He spoke with certainty. He knew. I tried to brush his words aside. ‘Your wild accusations mean nothing. I am sworn to the Farseers. I serve my queen,’ I replied, though I knew it was stupid to be baited into talking to him. ‘I will rescue the Prince, regardless of who holds him, or what they are to me –’
‘Rescue? Ha! Return him to slavery, you mean.’ The archer had transferred his glare to Laurel as if to convince her. ‘The boy with the cat rides with us to safety, not as a prisoner, but as one coming home to his own kind. Better a free Piebald than a prince in a cage. So you betray him doubly, for he is a Farseer that you are sworn to serve, and Old Blood kin as truly as you are. Will you drag him back to be hanged and quartered and burned, as so many of us have been? As they killed my brother but two nights ago?’ His voice was suddenly choked. ‘Arno was only seventeen. He had not even the magic, himself. But he was kin to Old Blood, and chose to stand with us, even to giving up his life for us. He declared himself a Piebald and rode with us. Because he knew he was one of us, even if the magic did not work for him.’ He looked back at me. ‘Yet there you stand, as Old Blood as I am, you and your Wit-wolf beside you, and you would hunt us to the death. Lie all you wish, for you only shame yourself. Do you think I cannot sense you speaking to him?’
I stared at him. My throbbing head calculated what he had just done to me. By betraying me in front of Laurel, he had not only endangered me; he had taken Buckkeep from me once more. I could not return there now; not with Laurel knowing what I was. Horror had drained all colour from her face. She looked as if she would be ill. I saw a shifting in her eyes when I glanced at her, a rearranging of her opinion of me. The Fool’s face was very still. It was as if he struggled to conceal so many emotions that he was left wearing no expression at all. Had he already discerned what I must do? It was like a spreading poison. They knew I was Witted. Now it was not just the archer I’d have to kill, but Laurel as well. If I didn’t, I’d always be vulnerable.
Yet if I did, it would destroy all that was between the Fool and me as well. The assassin’s conclusion to that was to kill him, too, so that he would never look at me with those deaths in his eyes.
And then you could kill me, and then you could kill yourself, and no one would ever know of all we had shared. It would remain our shameful secret, taken to the grave with both of us. Kill us all, rather than admit to anyone what we are.
As unerring as a cold pointing finger, the thought jabbed me in the terrible division that had plagued me since we had captured the archer…no, since I had first realized, for the sake of my Farseer oath, I must set myself against the Old Blood and against the Prince’s wishes for himself.
‘Are you Witted?’ Laurel asked me slowly. Her voice was quiet but the question rang in my ears.
The others were still staring at me. I reached for the lie, but could not utter it. To speak it would be to deny the wolf. I was alienated from the Old Blood, yet there was still a kinship that went deeper than emotion or learned loyalties. I might not live as Old Blood, but the threats that hovered over their heads menaced me as well.
But I was sworn to the Farseers, and that, too, was my bloodline.
What must I do?
What is right. Be what you are, Farseer and Old Blood both. Even if it kills us, it will be easier than these endless denials. I’d rather die being true to ourselves.
