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 gray downpour. Then I took a breath and resolutely changed my expecta' tions. 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 harbor 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 Jtrê
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 longfallen tree. I took handfuls of the pithy wood from the rotting trunk, and broke dead branches into manageable length. 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 secondhand 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 leg 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 to the floor. As I shook out the dry shirt, Laurel spoke softly from the shadows. - ê.
“That's quite a scar.”
“Which one?” I asked without thinking.
“Center 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 selfconscious. 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. Iêignored that as I had the rain earlier. It was another humanbased 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 facade. “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 jb-.
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 must,” I replied coldly. I felt a sick anger that he would make this harder for me. The Prince and his wellbeing 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 firsthand 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 strengthin 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 fueling my anger toward 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 stteaks 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,” 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. let it dig irvto the skitv tKete. He clencKed tKe eye shut, hut we hoth knew that would not ptotect 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 guard hairs 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 forward 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 scratcheshealing?
Slowly.
I slipped my hand down to the flesh of his belly. Mud had spattered on it 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 saddle pack. 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 words. 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, onlyput off.
With a sigh, Nighteyes suddenly stretched out beside me. He rested his head on my leg. He stared out toward the mouth of the cave. No. It is ended. I forbid it, Changer.
I have to find die Prince. He knows where he is. I have no choice.
lam your choice. Believeinme. 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, nonetheless, 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 goes 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 broadskulled 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, will leave you. Completely and jotever. 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.