15

Kettle

Queen Kettricken was carrying Verity’s child when she fled King-in-Waiting Regal to return to her Mountains. Some have criticized her, saying if she had remained at Buck and forced Regal’s hand, the child would have been born safely there. Perhaps if she had, Buckkeep Castle would have rallied to her, perhaps all of Buck Duchy would have presented a more unified resistance to the OutIslander Raiders. Perhaps the Coastal Duchies would have fought harder if they had had a queen at Buck. So some say.

The general belief of those who lived in Buckkeep Castle at the time and were well informed of the internal politics of the Farseer Regency is very different. Without exception, they believed that both Kettricken and her unborn child would have met with foul play. It can be substantiated that even after Queen Kettricken had removed herself from Buckkeep, those who supported Regal as king did all that they could to discredit her, even to saying that the child she carried was not Verity’s at all, but had been fathered by his bastard nephew FitzChivalry.

Whatever suppositions might be made about what would have happened if Kettricken had remained at Buckkeep are but useless speculations now. The historical fact is that she believed her child would have the best chance of surviving if born in her beloved Mountain Kingdom. She also returned to the Mountains in the hope of being able to find Verity and restore her husband to power. Her search efforts, however, only yielded her grief. She found the battle site of his companions against unidentified attackers. The unburied remains were little more than scattered bones and draggled bits of clothing after the scavengers had finished with them. Among those remains, however, she found the blue cloak Verity had worn when she had last seen him, and his sheath knife. She returned to the royal residence at Jhaampe and mourned her husband as dead.

More distressing to her was that for months afterward she received reports of sightings of folk in the garb of Verity’s Guard in the mountains beyond Jhaampe. These individual guards were seen wandering alone by Mountain villagers. They seemed reluctant to have conversation with the villagers and despite their ragged condition often refused offers of aid or food. Without exception, they were described by those who saw them as “pathetic” or “piteous.” Some few of these men trickled in to Jhaampe from time to time. They seemed unable to answer her questions about Verity and what had become of him coherently. They could not even recall when they had parted company with him or under what circumstances. Without exception, they seemed almost obsessed with returning to Buckkeep.

In time she came to believe that Verity and his Guard had been attacked, not only physically but by magic. The ambushers who struck at him with arrow and sword, and the false coterie that disheartened and confused his Guard were, she surmised, in the employ of his younger brother, Prince Regal. This is what precipitated her unceasing ill will toward her brother-in-law.

I awoke to a hammering on the door. I shouted something back as I sat up disoriented and cold in the dark. “We leave in an hour!” was the reply.

I fought my way clear of weltering blankets and Starling’s sleepy embrace. I found my boots and pulled them on, and then my cloak. I snugged it around me against the chilly room. Starling’s only move had been to immediately burrow into the warm place where I had lain. I leaned over the bed. “Starling?” When there was no response, I reached down and shook her slightly. “Starling! We leave in less than an hour. Get up!”

She heaved a tremendous sigh. “Go ahead. I’ll be ready.” She shouldered deeper into the blankets. I shrugged my shoulders and left her there.

Downstairs in the kitchen Pelf had stacks of griddle cakes keeping warm by the cooking hearth. She offered me a plate with butter and honey and I was only too glad to accept. The house, so quiet a place the day before, was now thronged with folk. From the strong resemblances, this was a family business. The small boy with the spotted kid was sitting at a stool by the table, feeding the goat bits of griddle cake. From time to time, I caught him staring at me. When I smiled back, the boy’s eyes got wide. With a serious expression he arose and carried his plate off, with the goat skittering after him.

Nik strode through the kitchen, black wool cloak swirling about his calves. It was dotted with fresh snowflakes. He caught my eye in passing. “Ready to go?”

I gave a nod.

“Good.” He gave me a glance on his way out. “Dress warmly. Storm is just beginning.” He grinned. “Perfect traveling weather for you and me.”

I told myself I had not expected to enjoy the trip. I had finished my breakfast before Starling came down the stairs. When she reached the kitchen, she surprised me. I had expected her to be sleepy. Instead she was brightly alert, her cheeks flushed and mouth laughing. As she came into the kitchen she was trading quips with one of the men, and getting the best of it. She did not hesitate when she got to table, but helped herself to a hearty serving of everything. When she looked up from her empty plate, she must have seen the surprise on my face.

“Minstrels learn to eat well when food is offered,” she said, and held her cup out to me. She was drinking beer with her breakfast. I filled her cup from the pitcher on the table. She had just set her mug down with a sigh when Nik came through the kitchen looking like a storm cloud. He caught sight of me and stopped in midstride. “Ah. Tom. Can you drive a horse?”

“Certainly.”

“Well?”

“Well enough,” I said quietly.

“Good, then, we’re ready to go. My cousin Hank was to drive, but he’s breathing like a bellows this morning, took a cough in the night. His wife won’t let him go. But if you can drive a cart …”

“He’ll expect you to adjust your fee,” Starling broke in suddenly. “By driving a horse for you, he’s saved you the cost of a horse for himself. And what your cousin would have eaten.”

Nik was taken aback for a moment. He glanced from Starling to me. “Fair is fair,” I observed. I tried not to smile.

“I’ll make it right,” he conceded, and hastened out of the kitchen again. In a short time he was back. “The old woman says she’ll try you. It’s her horse and wagon, you see.”

It was still dark outside. Torches spluttered in the wind and snow. Folk hurried about, hoods up and cloaks well fastened. There were four wagons and teams. One was full of people, about fifteen of them. They huddled together, bags on their laps, heads bowed against the cold. A woman glanced toward me. Her face was full of apprehension. At her side, a child leaned against her. I wondered where they had all come from. Two men loaded a cask into the last wagon, then stretched a canvas over the whole load.

Behind the wagon loaded with passengers was a smaller two-wheeled cart. A little old woman swathed all in black sat erect on the seat. She was well bundled in cloak, hood, and shawl, with a traveling blanket thrown across her knees as well. Her sharp black eyes watched me carefully as I walked around her rig. The horse was a speckled mare. She didn’t like the weather and her harness was binding her. I adjusted it as best as I could, persuading her to trust me. When I was finished, I looked up to find the old woman watching me closely. Her hair was glistening black where it peeped from her hood, but not all of the white in it was snow. She pursed her lips at me but said nothing, even when I stowed my pack under the seat. I gave her “Good day” as I climbed up on the seat beside her and took up the reins. “I think I’m supposed to be driving for you,” I said genially.

“You think. Don’t you know?” She peered at me sharply.

“Hank has been taken ill. Nik asked if I would drive your mare. My name is Tom.”

“I don’t like changes,” she told me. “Especially not at the last minute. Changes say you weren’t really ready in the first place, and now you’re even less ready.”

I suspected I knew why Hank was suddenly feeling poorly. “My name is Tom,” I introduced myself again.

“You already said that,” she informed me. She stared off into the falling snow. “This whole trip was a bad idea,” she said aloud, but not to me. “And no good is going to come of it. I can see that right now.” She kneaded her gloved hands in her lap. “Damn old bones,” she said to the falling snow. “If it weren’t for my old bones, I’d not need a one of you. Not a one.”

I could think of nothing to reply to that, but was saved by Starling. She reined in beside me. “Will you look at what they’ve given me to ride?” she challenged me. Her mount shook her black mane and rolled her eyes at me as if demanding that I look at what she was expected to carry.

“Looks fine to me. She’s Mountain stock. They’re all like that. But she’ll go all day for you, and most of them have sweet tempers.”

Starling scowled. “I told Nik that for what we’re paying, I expected a proper horse.”

Nik rode past us at that moment. His mount was no larger than Starling’s. He looked at her and then away, as if wary of her tongue. “Let’s go,” he said in a quietly carrying voice. “It’s better not to talk, and it’s best to stay close to the wagon in front of you. It’s easier to lose sight of each other in this storm than you might think.”

For all his soft voice, the command was instantly obeyed. There were no shouted commands nor calls of farewell. Instead the wagons in front of us rolled silently away from us. I stirred the reins and clucked to the horse. The mare gave a snort of disapproval, but stepped out to the pace. We moved forward in near silence through a perpetual curtain of falling snow. Starling’s pony tugged restlessly at her bit until Starling gave her her head. Then she trotted swiftly up to join the other horses at the front of the group. I was left sitting by the silent old woman.

I soon found the truth to Nik’s warning. The sun came up, but the snow continued to fall so thickly the light seemed milky. There was a mother-of-pearl quality to the swirling snow that both dazzled and wearied the eye. It seemed an endless tunnel of white that we traveled through with only the tail of the other wagon to guide us.

Nik did not take us by the road. We went crunching off across the frozen fields. The thickly falling snow soon filled in the tracks we left. In no time, there would be no trace of our passage. We traveled cross-country until past noon, with the riders dismounting to take down fence railings and then restoring them in our wake. I glimpsed another farmhouse once through the swirling storm, but its windows were dark. Shortly after midday a final fence was opened for us. With a creak and a jolt, we came out of the field onto what had once been a road but was now little more than a trail. The only tracks on it were those we made ourselves, and the snow swiftly erased those.

And all that way, my companion had been as chilly and silent as the falling snow itself. From time to time, I watched her from the corner of my eye. She stared straight ahead, her body swaying to the motion of the wagon. She kneaded her hands restlessly in her lap as if they pained her. With little else to amuse myself, I spied upon her. Buck stock, obviously. The accent of my home was on her tongue still, though faded by many years of travel in other places. Her headscarf was the work of Chalced weavers, but the embroidery along the edges of her cloak, done black on black, was totally unfamiliar to me.

“You’re a long way from Buck, boy,” she observed abruptly. She stared straight ahead as she said it. Something about her tone set my back up.

“As are you, old woman,” I replied.

She turned her whole face to look at me. I was not sure if I glimpsed amusement or annoyance in her bright crow eyes. “That I am. Years and distance alike, a long way.” She paused, then asked abruptly, “Why are you bound for the Mountains?”

“I want to see my uncle,” I replied truthfully.

She gave a snort of disdain. “A Buck boy has an uncle in the Mountains? And you want to see him enough to put your head at risk?”

I looked over at her. “He’s my favorite uncle. You, I understand, go to Eda’s shrine?”

“The others do,” she corrected me. “I’m too old to pray for fertility. I seek a prophet.” Before I could speak, she added, “He’s my favorite prophet.” Almost, she smiled at me.

“Why don’t you travel with the others in the wagon?” I asked her.

She gave me a chill look. “They ask too many questions,” she replied.

“Ah!” I said, and grinned at her, accepting the rebuke.

After a few moments, she spoke again. “I’ve been a long time on my own, Tom. I like to go my own way and keep my own counsel and decide for myself what I’ll eat for my supper. Those ones, they’re nice enough folk, but they scratch and peck like a flock of chickens. Left to themselves, not a one of them would make this journey alone. They all need the others to say, Yes, yes, this is what we should be doing, it’s worth the risk. And now that they’ve decided it, the decision is bigger than all of them. Not a one of them could turn back on their own.”

She shook her head at that, and I nodded thoughtfully. She said nothing more for a long time. Our trail had found the river. We followed it upstream, through a scanty cover of brush and very young trees. I could scarcely see it through the steadily falling snow, but I could smell it and hear the rush of its passage. I wondered how far we’d go before we tried to cross it. Then I grinned to myself. I was certain Starling would know when I saw her this evening. I wondered if Nik was enjoying her company.

“What are you smirking about?” the old woman demanded suddenly.

“I was thinking on my friend the minstrel. Starling.”

“And she makes you smile like that?”

“Sometimes.”

“She’s a minstrel, you say. And you? Are you a minstrel?”

“No. Just a shepherd. Most of the time.”

“I see.”

Our talk died off again. Then as evening began to fall, she told me, “You may call me Kettle.”

“I’m Tom,” I replied.

“And that’s the third time you’ve told me,” she reminded me.

I had expected we would camp at nightfall, but Nik kept us moving. We halted briefly while he took out two lanterns and hung them from a couple of the wagons. “Just follow the light,” he told me tersely as he rode past us. Our mare did just that.

The light was gone and the cold getting intense when the wagon in front of us turned off the road and jolted into an opening in the trees by the river. Obediently I turned our mare to follow, and we bumped down off the road with a thud that made Kettle curse. I smiled; there were few Buckkeep guardsmen who could have done better.

In a short time we halted. I kept to my seat, wondering, for I could not see a thing. The river was a black sweeping force somewhere to our left. The wind off it added a new note of damp to the cold. The pilgrims in the wagon ahead of us were shifting restlessly and talking in soft whispers. I heard Nik’s voice speaking and saw a man lead his horse past us. He took the lantern from the tail of the wagon as he went by. I followed its passage. In a moment man and horse had passed into a long, low building that had been invisible in the dark.

“Get down, go inside, we’ll spend the night here,” Nik instructed us as he rode past us again. I dismounted and then waited to help Kettle down. As I offered her my hand, she looked almost startled.

“I thank you, kind sir,” she said quietly as I helped her down.

“You’re welcome, my lady,” I replied. She took my arm as I guided her toward the building.

“Pretty damn well-mannered for a shepherd, Tom,” she observed in an entirely different voice. She gave a snort of laughter at the door and went inside, leaving me to go back and unhitch the mare. I shook my head at myself, but had to smile. I liked this old woman. I slung my pack over my shoulder and led the mare into the building where the others had gone. As I lifted her harness from her, I glanced around. It was one long open room. A fire had been kindled in a hearth at one end. The low-ceilinged building was of river rock and clay with an earthen floor. The horses were at one end, crowding around a manger full of hay. As I turned our mare in with the others, one of Nik’s men came bringing buckets of water to fill a trough. The depth of manure at that end of the room told me this building was frequently used by the smugglers.

“What was this place originally?” I asked Nik as I joined the others around the hearth.

“Sheep camp,” he told me. “The shelter was for the early lambing. Then later, we’d shear here, after we’d washed the sheep in the river.” His blue eyes were afar for a time. Then he gave a harsh laugh. “That was a long time ago. Now there’s not enough feed for a goat, let alone sheep like we had.” He gestured at the fire. “Best eat and sleep while you can, Tom. Morning comes early for us.” His glance seemed to linger on my earring as he passed me.

Food was simple. Bread and smoked fish. Porridge. Hot tea. Most of it was from the pilgrims’ supplies, but Nik put in enough that they did not object to feeding his men and Starling and me. Kettle ate by herself, from her own stores, and brewed her own pot of tea. The other pilgrims were polite to her and she was courteous in return but there was plainly no bond between them save that they were all going to the same place. Only the three children of the party seemed unafraid of her, begging dried apples and stories from her until she warned them they would all be sick.

The shelter soon warmed, from the horses and folk in it as much as from the hearth. Door and window shutters were closed tight, to keep in light and sound as well as warmth. Despite the storm and lack of other travelers on our path, Nik was taking no chances. I approved of that in a smuggler. The meal had given me my first good look at the company. Fifteen pilgrims, of mixed age and gender, not counting Kettle. About a dozen smugglers, of whom six had enough resemblance to Nik and Pelf that they were at least cousins. The others looked a mixed bunch, professionally tough and watchful. At least three were on watch at all times. They spoke little and knew their tasks well enough that Nik directed them very little. I found myself feeling confident that I would see at least the other side of the river, and probably the Mountain border. It was the most optimistic I’d felt in a long time.

Starling showed to her best advantage in such a company. As soon as we had eaten, she took out her harp, and despite Nik’s frequent cautions to us to speak softly, he did not forbid the soft music and song she gave us. For the smugglers she sang an old ballad about Heft the highwayman, probably the most dashing robber that Buck had ever known. Even Nik was smiling at that song, and Starling’s eyes flirted with him as she sang. To the pilgrims she sang about a winding river road that carried folk home, and finished with a lullaby for the three children in our midst. By then more than just the children were stretched out on bedrolls. Kettle had peremptorily sent me out to fetch hers from the back of her cart. I wondered when I had been promoted from driver to servant, but said nothing as I fetched it for her. I supposed there was something about me that made all elderly folk assume my time was at their disposal.

I unrolled my own blankets next to Kettle’s and lay down to seek sleep. Around me most of the others were already snoring. Kettle curled in her blankets like a squirrel in its nest. I could imagine how much her bones ached with the cold, but there was little I could do for her. Over by the hearth, Starling sat talking to Nik. From time to time, her fingers wandered lightly over her harp strings, their silvery notes a counterpoint to her low voice. Several times she made Nik laugh.

I was almost asleep.

My brother?

My whole body jerked with the shock of it. He was near.

Nighteyes?

Of course! Amusement. Or do you have another brother now?

Never! Only you, my friend. Where are you?

Where am I? Outside. Come to me.

I rose hastily and redonned my cloak. The man guarding the door frowned at me, but asked me no questions. I walked into the darkness, beyond the pulled-up wagons. The snow had ceased and the blowing wind had cleared a patch of starlit sky. Snow silvered the branches of every bush and tree. I was casting about for his presence when a solid weight hit me in the back. I was flung face-first in the snow and would have cried out, save that my mouth was full of snow. I managed to roll over and was trampled several times by a joyous wolf.

How did you know where to find me?

How do you know where to scratch when it itches?

I suddenly knew what he meant. I was not always aware of our bond. But to think of him now and to find him was suddenly no more difficult than to bring my two hands together in the dark. Of course I knew where he was. He was a part of me.

You smell like a female. You have taken a new mate?

No. Of course not.

But you share a den?

We travel together, as a pack. It is safer so.

I know.

For a time we sat in stillness of mind and body, simply adjusting to one another’s physical presence again. I felt whole once more. I had peace. I had not known I had worried so much about him until the sight of him put my mind at rest. I sensed his unwilling agreement to that. He knew I had faced hardship and dangers alone. He had not thought I could survive them. But he had also missed me. He had missed my form of thinking, the sorts of ideas and discussions that wolves never shared amongst themselves. Is that why you came back to me? I asked him.

He stood up suddenly and shook himself all over. It was time to come back, he replied evasively. Then he added, I ran with them. They finally allowed me to be part of their pack. We hunted together, we killed together, we shared meat. It was very good.

But?

I wanted to be the leader. He turned and looked at me over his shoulder, his tongue lolling out. I am used to being the leader, you know.

Are you? And they would not accept you?

Black Wolf is very large. And quick. I am stronger than he is, I think, but he knows more tricks. It was much like when you fought Heart of the Pack.

I laughed quietly and he spun on me, lifting his lips in a mock snarl.

“Be easy,” I said quietly, warding him off with open hands. “So. What happened?”

He flung himself down beside me. He is still the leader. He still has the mate and the den. He considered and I sensed him wrestling with the concept of the future. It could be different, another time.

“It could be,” I agreed. I scratched him gently behind the ear and he all but fell over in the snow. “Will you go back to them, someday?”

He was having difficulty focusing on my words while I scratched his ears. I stopped and asked him again. He cocked his head to one side and regarded me with amusement. Ask me on the someday, and I will be able to answer.

One day at a time, I agreed with him. I am glad you are here. But I still don’t understand why you came back to me. You could have stayed with the pack.

His eyes met mine, and even in the darkness they gripped me. You are called, are you not? Did not your king howl to you, “Come to me”?

I nodded unwillingly. I am called.

He stood suddenly, shook himself all over. He looked off into the night. If you are called, I am called, too. He did not admit it willingly.

You do not have to come with me. This call from my king binds me, not you.

In that, you are wrong. What binds you, binds me.

I do not understand how that could be, I said carefully.

Nor do I. But it is so. “Come to me,” he called to us. And for a time, I could ignore it. But no more.

I am sorry. I groped for a way to express it. He has no right to you. I know that. I do not think he intended to call you. I do not think he intended to bind me. But it happened, and I must go to him.

I stood up and dusted off the snow that was starting to melt on me. I felt ashamed. Verity, a man whom I trusted, had done this to me. That was bad enough. But through me it was imposed on the wolf. Verity had no right to put any demands on Nighteyes. For that matter, I had no right to put any demands on him. What had been between us had always been entered into voluntarily, a mutual giving on both sides with no laying-on of obligations. Now, through me, he was entrapped as surely as if I had caged him.

We share a cage, then.

I wish it were otherwise. I wish there were some way I could free you of this. But I do not even know how to free myself. Not knowing how you are bound, I do not know how to loose you. You and I, we share the Wit. Verity and I share the Skill. How could his Skill-sending have gone through me to seize you? You were not even with me when he summoned me.

Nighteyes sat very still in the snow. The wind had come up, and in the faint starlight I could see it ruffling his coat. I am always with you, brother. You may not always be aware of me, but I am always with you. We are one.

We share many things, I agreed. Uneasiness itched at me.

No. He turned to face me squarely, met my eyes as no wild wolf would have. We do not share. We are one. I am no longer a wolf, you are no longer a man. What we are together, I have no name for. Perhaps the one who spoke to us of the Old Blood would have a word to explain it. He paused. See how much a man I am, that I speak of having a word for an idea? No word is needed. We exist, and we are whatever we are.

I would set you free if I could.

Would you? I would not part from you.

That is not what I meant. I meant I would have for you a life of your own.

He yawned, then stretched. I will have for us a life of our own. We shall win it together. So. Do we travel by night or by day?

We travel by day.

He sensed what I meant. You will stay with this huge pack to travel? Why not break free of it and run with me? We shall go faster.

I shook my head. It is not that simple. To travel where we must, I will need shelter, and I have none that is mine alone. I need the aid of this pack to survive in this weather.

There followed a difficult half hour, as I tried to explain to him that I would need the support of the others in the caravan to reach the Mountains. Had I had a horse and provisions of my own, I would not have hesitated to trust to luck and strike out with the wolf. But on foot with only what I could carry myself, facing the deep snows and deeper cold of the Mountains, not to mention a river crossing? I would not be that great a fool.

We could hunt, Nighteyes insisted. We would curl together in the snow at night. He could take care of me as he always had. With persistence, I was able to convince him that I must continue to travel as I did. Then I shall have to continue to sneak along like a stray dog, following all these folk?

“Tom? Tom, are you out there?” There was irritated annoyance and worry in Nik’s voice.

“Right here!” I stepped out of the bushes.

“What were you doing?” he demanded suspiciously.

“Pissing,” I told him. I made a sudden decision. “And my dog has followed me from town and caught up with us here. I left him with friends, but he must have chewed his rope. Here, boy, come to heel.”

I’ll chew your heel off for you, Nighteyes offered savagely, but he came, following me out into the cleared yard.

“Damn big dog,” Nik observed. He leaned forward. “Looks more than half a wolf to me.”

“Some in Farrow have told me that. It’s a Buck breed. We use them for herding sheep.”

You will pay for this. I promise you.

In answer I leaned down to pat his shoulder and then scratch his ears. Wag your tail, Nighteyes. “He’s a loyal old dog. I should have known he wouldn’t be left behind.”

The things I endure for you. He wagged his tail. Once.

“I see. Well. You’d best get yourself inside and get some sleep. And next time, don’t go off by yourself. For anything. At least, not without letting me know first. When my men are on watch, they get jumpy. They might cut your throat before they knew you.”

“I understand.”

I walked right past two of them.

“Nik, you don’t mind, do you? The dog, I mean.” I tried to act affably abashed. “He can stay outside. He’s a real good watchdog, actually.”

“Just don’t expect me to feed him for you,” Nik growled. “And don’t let him be any trouble to us.”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t. Will you, boy?”

Starling chose that moment to come to the door. “Nik? Tom?”

“We’re right here. You were right, he was just pissing,” Nik said quietly. He took Starling’s arm and began to guide her back into the shed.

“What’s that?” she demanded, sounding almost alarmed.

I suddenly had to wager everything on her quick wits and our friendship. “Just the dog,” I said quickly. “Nighteyes must have chewed his rope. I warned Creece to watch him when I left him there, that he’d want to follow me. But Creece didn’t listen, and here he is. I guess I’ll have to take him to the Mountains with us after all.”

Starling was staring at the wolf. Her eyes were as wide and black as the night sky above us. Nik tugged at her arm and she finally turned back to the door. “I suppose so,” she said faintly.

I silently thanked Eda and any other god that might be listening. To Nighteyes I said, “Stay and guard, there’s a good fellow.”

Enjoy it while you can, little brother. He flung himself down by the cart. I doubted that he’d stay there for more than a few heartbeats. I followed Starling and Nik inside. Nik shut the door firmly behind us and dropped the bolt in place. I pulled off my boots and shook out my snow-laden cloak before I wrapped myself in my blankets. Sleep was suddenly very close as I grasped the full relief I felt. Nighteyes was back. I felt whole. Safe, with the wolf at the door.

Nighteyes. I’m glad you’re here.

You’ve an odd way of showing it, he replied, but I could sense he was more amused than upset.

Black Rolf sent me a message. Regal seeks to turn those of Old Blood against us. He offers them gold to hunt us down for him. We should not speak overly much.

Gold. What is gold to us, or those like us? Do not fear, little brother. I am here to take care of you again.

I closed my eyes and sank into sleep, hoping he was right. For an instant, as I teetered on the edge of wakefulness, I noticed that Starling had not spread her blankets by mine. She sat on her blankets on the other side of the room. By Nik. Heads together, they spoke softly about something. She laughed. I could not hear the words she next said, but the tone was a teasing challenge.

I almost felt a pang of jealousy. I rebuked myself for it. She was a companion, no more. What was it to me how she spent her nights? Last night she had slept against my back. This night she would not. I decided it was the wolf. She couldn’t accept it. She was not the first. Knowing I was Witted was not the same thing as confronting my bond-animal. Well. That was how that was.

I slept.

Sometime in the night I felt a gentle groping. It was the barest brushing of the Skill across my senses. I came alert, but still, waiting. I felt nothing. Had I imagined it, dreamed it? A more chilling thought came to me. Perhaps it was Verity, too weakened to do more than reach for me. Perhaps it was Will. I lay still, longing to reach out, and fearing to. I wanted so badly to know that Verity was all right; since he had blasted Regal’s coterie that night, I had felt nothing of him. Come to me, he had said. What if that had been his dying wish? What if all my seeking would yield me were bones? I pushed the fear away and tried to be open.

The mind I felt brush mine was Regal’s.

I had never Skilled to Regal, had only suspected he was able to Skill. Even now, I doubted what I sensed. The strength of the Skill seemed Will’s, but the feel of the thoughts was Regal’s. And you have not found the woman either? The Skilling was not meant for me. He reached for someone else. I grew bolder, venturing closer. I tried to be open to his thoughts without reaching for them.

Not as of yet, my king. Burl. Hiding his trembling behind formality and courtesy. I knew Regal could sense it as clearly as I could. I even knew that he enjoyed it. Regal had never been able to grasp the difference between fear and respect. He had no belief in a man’s respect for him unless it was tainted with fear. I had not thought he would extend that to his own coterie. I wondered what the threat was that he held over them.

And nothing of the Bastard? Regal demanded. There was no mistaking it now. Regal Skilled, using Will’s strength. Did that mean he could not Skill by himself?

Burl steeled himself. My king, I have found no sign of him. I believe he is dead. Truly dead, this time. He cut himself with a poisoned blade; the despair he felt at that moment of decision was absolute. No man could have pretended it.

Then there should be a body, should there not?

Somewhere, my king, I am sure there is. Your guards have simply not found it yet. This from Carrod, who did not tremble with fear. He hid his fear even from himself, pretending it was anger. I understood how he might need to do that, but doubted the wisdom of it. It forced him to stand up to Regal. Regal did not appreciate a man who spoke his mind.

Perhaps I should put you in charge of riding the roads, looking for it, Regal suggested pleasantly. At the same time, you might find the man who killed Bolt and his patrol.

My lord king … Carrod began, but SILENCE! Regal overrode him. He drew freely on Will’s strength to do it. The effort cost him nothing.

I believed him dead once before, and my trust in the word of others nearly got me killed. This time I will see him, see him hacked in pieces before I rest. Will’s feeble attempt to trap the Bastard into betraying himself failed miserably.

Perhaps because he is already dead, Carrod ventured foolishly.

Then I witnessed a thing I wished I had not. A needle of pain, hot and piercing, he sent to Carrod with Will’s Skill. In that sending, I finally glimpsed the whole of what they had become. Regal rode Will, not like a man rides a horse, to be thrown by the horse in anger, but as a tick or a leech bites into its victim and clings and sucks life from him. Waking or asleep, Regal was with him always, had access always to his strength. And now he spent it viciously, caring nothing for what it would cost Will. I had not known pain could be inflicted with Skill alone. A numbing blast of strength such as Verity had spent upon them, that I knew. But this was different. This was no show of force or temper. This was a display of purest vindictiveness. Somewhere, I knew, Carrod fell to the floor and thrashed in wordless agony. Linked as they were, Burl and Will must have shared a shadow of that pain. It surprised me that a member of a coterie was even capable of doing that to another. But then, it was not Will who sent the pain. It was Regal.

It passed, after a time. Perhaps in reality it only lasted an instant. For Carrod, it certainly lasted long enough. I sensed from him a faint mental whimpering. He was capable of no more than that just now.

I do not believe the Bastard died. I dare not believe it until I’ve seen his body. Someone killed Bolt and his men. So find his body and bring it to me, whether alive or dead. Burl. Remain where you are, and redouble your efforts. I am certain he is bound that way. Let no traveler pass you unchallenged. Carrod, I think perhaps you should join Burl. An indolent life does not seem to agree with your temperament. Be on your way tomorrow. And as you travel, do not be lazy. Keep your minds upon your task. We know that Verity lives; he proved that to all of you most effectively. The Bastard will try to get to him. He must be stopped before he does so, and then my brother must be eliminated as a threat. These are the only tasks I have given you; why cannot you do them? Have you no thought for what will become of us should Verity succeed? Search for him, with Skill and men. Do not let folk forget what I have offered for his capture. Do not let them forget the punishment for aiding him. Am I understood?

Of course, my lord king. I shall spare no effort. Burl was quick to reply.

Carrod? I hear nothing from you, Carrod. The threat of punishment hung over them all.

Please, my lord king. I shall do all, everything. Alive or dead, I shall find him for you. I shall.

Without even an acknowledgment, Will and Regal’s presence vanished. I felt Carrod collapse. Burl lingered a moment longer. Did he listen, did he grope back toward my presence? I let my thoughts float free, my concentration dissipate. Then I opened my eyes and lay staring at the ceiling, thinking. The Skilling had left me queasy and trembling.

I am with you, my brother, Nighteyes assured me.

And I am glad that you are. I rolled over and tried to find sleep.