CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Skilling

    THE FORGED ONES appeared to be incapable of any emotion. They were not evil, they did not take joy in their wickedness or crimes. When they lost their capacity to feel anything for fellow humans, or any other creatures of the world, they lost their ability to be part of society. An unsympathetic man, a harsh man, an insensitive man still retains enough sensibilities to know that he cannot always express how little he cares for others, and still be accepted into the kinship of a family or a village. The Forged ones had lost even the ability to dissemble that they felt for their fellows. Their emotions did not simply stop; they were forgotten, lost to them so entirely that they could not even predict the behavior of other humans based on emotional reaction.

    A Skilled one might be seen as the other end of this spectrum. Such a man can reach forth and tell from afar what others are thinking and feeling. He can, if strongly Skilled, impose his thoughts and feelings on others. In this increased sensitivity to the emotions and thoughts of others, he has a surfeit of what Forged ones lack entirely.

    King-in-Waiting Verity confided that the Forged ones seemed immune to his Skilling abilities. That is, he could not feel what they felt, nor discover their thoughts. This does not, however, mean that they were insensible to the Skill. Could Verity's Skilling have been what drew them to Buckkeep? Did his reaching out awaken in them a hunger, a remembrance perhaps of what they had lost? Drawn as they were, through ice and flood, to travel always toward Buckkeep, the motivation must have been intense. And when Verity departed Buckkeep on his quest, the movement of Forged ones toward Buckkeep seemed to abate.

    -Chade Fallstar

    We arrived at King Shrewd's door and knocked. The Fool opened it. I had marked well that Wallace was one of the feasters below, and had remained when the King had departed.

    "Let me in," I said quietly while the Fool glared at me.

    "No," he said flatly. He started to close the door.

    I put my shoulder to it, and Burrich assisted. It was the first and last time I would ever use force against the Fool. I took no joy in proving that I was physically stronger than he was. The look in his eyes as I forced him aside was something no one should ever see in a friend's face.

    The King was sitting before his hearth, vapidly mumbling. The Queen-in-Waiting sat desolately beside him, while Rosemary dozed at her feet. Kettricken rose from her seat to regard us with surprise. "FitzChivalry?" she asked quietly.

    I went swiftly to her side. "I have much to explain, and a very little time in which to do it. For what I need to do must be done now, tonight." I paused, tried to decide how best to explain it to her. "Do you remember when you pledged yourself to Verity?"

    "Of course!" She looked at me as if I were crazy.

    "He used August, then, a coterie member, to come and stand with you in your mind, to show you his heart. Do you remember that?"

    She colored. "Of course I do. But I did not think anyone else knew exactly what had happened then."

    "Few did." I looked around, to find Burrich and the Fool following the conversation wide-eyed.

    "Verity Skilled to you, through August. He is strong in the Skill. You know that, you know how he guards our coasts with it. It is an ancestral magic, a talent of the Farseer line. Verity inherited it from his father. And I inherited a measure of it from mine."

    "Why are you telling me this?"

    "Because I do not believe Verity is dead. King Shrewd used to be strong in the Skill, I am told. That is no longer the case. His illness has stolen it away, as it has stolen so many other things. But if we can persuade him to try, if we can rouse him to the effort, I can offer him my strength to sustain him. He may be able to reach Verity."

    "It will kill him." The Fool spoke his challenge flatly. "I have heard of what the Skill takes out of a man. My king has not that left to give."

    "I don't think it will. If we reach Verity, Verity will break it off before it hurts his father. More than once he has drawn back from draining my strength, to be sure of not injuring me."

    "Even a Fool can see the failure of your logic." The Fool tugged at the cuffs of his fine new shirt. "If you reach Verity, how will we know it is true, and not a show?"

    I opened my mouth in an angry protest, but the Fool held up a forbidding hand. "Of course, my dear, dear Fitz, we should all believe you, as you are our friend, who has only our very best interests at heart. But there may be a few others prone to doubt your word, or regard you as so selfless." His sarcasm bit at me like acid, but I managed to stand silent. "And if you don't reach Verity, what do we have? An exhausted and drained King to be further flaunted about as incapable. A grieving Queen, who must wonder, in addition to all her other pains, if perhaps she grieves for a man who is not dead yet. That is the worst type of grieving there is. No. We gain nothing, even if you succeed, for our belief in you would not be enough to stop the wheels that are already turning. And we have much to lose if you fail. Too much."

    Their eyes were. on me. There was question even in Burrich's dark eyes, as if he debated the wisdom of what he had urged me to do. Kettricken stood very still, trying not to pounce on the bare bone of hope that I had thrown at her feet. I wished that I had waited, to talk first with Chade. I suspected I would never have another chance after this night, to have these people in this room, Wallace out of the way, and Regal busy below. It had to be now or it would not be.

    I looked at the only one who was not watching me. King Shrewd idly watched the leap and play of the flames in his hearth. "He is still the King," I said quietly. "Let us ask him, and let him decide."

    "Not fair! He is not himself!" The Fool flung himself between us. He stood high on his feet to try to look me in the eye. "On the herbs fed him, he is as tractable as a plow horse. Ask him to cut his own throat, and he'll wait for you to hand him the knife."

    "No." The voice quavered. It had lost its timbre and resonance. "No, my fool, I am not so far gone as that."

    We waited, breathless, but King Shrewd spoke no more. At last I slowly crossed the room. I crouched down beside him, tried to make his eyes meet mine. "King Shrewd?" I begged.

    His eyes came to mine, darted away, came back unwillingly. At last he looked at me.

    "Have you heard all we have said? My king, do you believe Verity is dead?"

    He parted his lips. His tongue was grayish behind them. He took a long breath. "Regal told me Verity is dead. He had word.... "

    "From where?" I asked gently.

    He shook his head slowly. "A messenger ... I think."

    I turned to the others. "It would have to have come by messenger. From the Mountains, for Verity must be there by now. He was nearly to the Mountains when Burrich was sent back. I do not believe a messenger would come all the way from the Mountains, and not stay to convey such news to Kettricken herself."

    "It might have come by relay," Burrich said unwillingly. "For one man and one horse, it is too exhausting a trip. A rider would have to exchange horses. Or pass on the word to another rider, who would go on, on a swift horse. The last is most likely."

    "Perhaps. But how long would such word take to come to us all the way from the Mountains? I know Verity was alive on the day Beams departed here. Because that was when King Shrewd used me to speak to him. That night when I all but fainted on this hearth. That was what had happened, Fool." I paused. "I believe I felt him with me during the battle at Neatbay."

    I saw Burrich count back the days in his mind. He shrugged unwillingly. "It is still possible. If Verity were killed that day, and word were sent out immediately, and the riders and horses were both good ... it could be so. Barely."

    "I don't believe it." I turned to the rest of them, tried to force my hope into them. "I don't believe Verity is dead." I turned my eyes up to King Shrewd once more. "Do you? Do you believe your son could have died, and you not feel anything?"

    "Chivalry ... went like that. Like a fading whisper. `Father,' he said, I think. Father."

    A silence seeped into the room. I waited, crouched on my heels, for my king's decision. Slowly his hand lifted, as if it had a life of its own. It crossed the small space to me, rested on my shoulder. For a moment; that was all. Just the weight of my king's hand on my shoulder. King Shrewd shifted slightly in his chair. He took a breath through his nostrils. I closed my eyes and we plunged into the black river again. Once more I faced the desperate young man trapped in King Shrewd's dying body. We tumbled together in the sweeping current of the world. "There's no one here. No one here but us anymore." Shrewd sounded lonely.

    I couldn't find myself. I had no body, no tongue here. He held me under with him in the rush and the roar. I could hardly think at all, let alone remember what little of the Skill lessons I had retained from Galen's harsh instruction. It was like trying to recite a memorized speech while being throttled. I gave up. I gave it all up. Then from somewhere, like a feather floating in a breeze, or a mote dancing in a sunbeam, came Verity's voice telling me, "Being open is simply not being closed."

    The whole world was a spaceless place, all things inside of all other things. I did not say his name aloud or think of his face. Verity was there, had always been right there, and joining him was effortless. You live!

    Of course. But you won't, spilling all over like this. You're pouring out everything you have in one gush. Regulate your strength. Be precise. He steadied me, shaped me back into myself, then gasped in recognition.

    Father!

    Verity pushed at me roughly. Get back! Let go of him, he hasn't the strength for this. You're draining him, you idiot! Let go!

    It was like being repelled, but rougher. When I found myself and opened my eyes, I was sprawled on my side before the fireplace. My face was uncomfortably close to it. I rolled over, groaning, and saw the King. His lips were puffing in and out with each breath, and there was a bluish cast to his skin. Burrich and Kettricken and the Fool were a helpless circle standing about him. "Do ... something!" I gasped up at them.

    "What?" demanded the Fool, believing I knew.

    I floundered about in my mind, came up with the only remedy I could recall. "Elfbark," I croaked. The edges of the room kept turning black. I shut my eyes and listened to them panicking about. Slowly I understood what I had done. I had Skilled.

    I had tapped my king's strength to do it.

    "You will be the death of kings," the Fool had told me. A prophecy or a shrewd guess? A Shrewd guess. Tears came to my eyes

    I smelled elfbark tea. Plain strong elfbark, no ginger or mint to disguise it. I pried my eyes open a crack.

    "It's too hot!" hissed the Fool.

    "It cools quickly in the spoon," Burrich insisted, and ladled some into the King's mouth. He took it in, but I did not see him swallow. With the casual expertise of years in the stables, Burrich tugged gently at the King's lower jaw and then stroked his throat. He ladled another spoonful into his slack mouth. Not much was happening.

    Kettricken came to crouch by me. She lifted my head to her knee, put a hot cup to my mouth. I sucked at it, too hot, I didn't care, I sucked in air with it, noisily. I swallowed it, fought choking against its bitterness. The darkness receded. The cup came back, I sipped again. It was strong enough to near numb my tongue. I looked up at Kettricken, found her eyes. I managed a tiny nod.

    "He lives?" she asked softly.

    "Yes." It was all I could manage.

    "He lives!" She cried it out aloud to the others, joy in her voice.

    "My father!" Regal shouted the words. He stood swaying in the door, face red with drink and anger. Behind him I glimpsed his guard, and little Rosemary peeping around the corner, wide-eyed. Somehow she managed to slip past the men, to race to Kettricken and clutch at her skirts. For an instant our tableau held.

    Then Regal swept into the room, ranting, demanding, questioning, but giving no one a chance to speak. Kettricken kept a protective crouch beside me, or I swear Regal's guards would have had me again. Above me, in his chair, the King had a bit of color again in his face. Burrich put another spoonful of tea to his lips, and I was relieved to see him sip at it.

    Regal was not. "What are you giving him? Stop that! I won't have my father poisoned by a stable hand!"

    "The King had another attack, my prince," the Fool said suddenly. His voice cut through the chaos in the room, made a hole that became a silence. "Elfbark tea is a common restorative. I am sure that even Wallace has heard of it."

    The Prince was drunk. He was not sure if he was being mocked or conciliated. He glared at the Fool, who smiled benignly back.

    "Oh." He said it grudgingly, not really wishing to be mollified. "Well, what, then, of him?" He gestured at me in anger.

    "Drunk." Kettricken stood up, letting my head drop to the floor with a convincing thump. Flashes of light marred my vision. There was only disgust in her voice. "Stablemaster. Get him out of here. You should have stopped him before he got this far. Next time, see that you use your judgment when he has none of his own."

    "Our stablemaster is well-known for having his own taste for the cup, lady queen. I suspect they have been at it together." Regal sneered.

    "The news of Verity's death hit him hard," Burrich said simply. He was true to himself, offering an explanation, but no excuse. He took hold of my shirtfront, jerked me from the floor. With no effort at playacting, I swayed on my feet until he gripped me more firmly. I caught a passing glimpse of the Fool hastily spooning another dose of elfbark into the King. I prayed no one would interrupt him. As Burrich ushered me roughly out of the room, I heard Queen Kettricken rebuking Regal, saying he should be below with his guests, and promising that she and the Fool could get the King to bed. As we were going up the stairs I heard Regal and his guard going down. He was still muttering and then ranting, complaining that he was not stupid, he could tell a plot when he saw one. It worried me, but I was fairly certain he had no real idea of what had been going on.

    At my door, I was well enough to work my latches. Burrich followed me in. "If I had a dog that was sick as often as you are, I'd put it down," he observed kindly. "Do you need more elfbark?"

    "It wouldn't hurt me any. But in a gentler dose. Do you have any ginger or mint or rose hips?"

    He gave me a look. I sat on my chair while he poked at the pathetic embers in my fireplace until he got them to glow. He built up a fire, put water in the kettle, and set it to heat. He found a pot and put in the flaked elfbark, then found a mug and wiped the dust out of it. He set the things out ready, then looked about himself. Something like disgust was on his face. "Why do you live like this?" he demanded.

    "Like what?"

    "In so bare a room, with so little care for it? I've seen winter-quarter tents that were homier than this room. It's as if you've never expected to stay here more than a night or two longer."

    I shrugged. "I've never given it much thought."

    There was a silence for a bit. "You should," he said unwillingly. "And you should think about how often you're hurt, or sick."

    "This, what happened tonight, this couldn't be helped."

    "You knew what it would do to you, but you went ahead with it anyway," he pointed out.

    "I had to." I watched him pour steaming water over the elfbark in the pot.

    "Did you? It seemed to me the Fool had a pretty convincing argument against it. Yet you went ahead. You and King Shrewd, both of you."

    "So."

    "I know a bit about the Skill," Burrich said quietly. "I was king's man to Chivalry. Not often, and it did not leave me as bad as you are now, save for once or twice. But I've felt the excitement of it, the-" He groped for words, sighed. "The completion of it. The oneness with the world. Chivalry once spoke to me about it. A man can get addicted, he said. So that he looks for excuses to Skill, and then finally he is absorbed into it." He added after a moment, "It is not unlike the rush of battle, in some ways. The sense of moving unhampered by time, of being a force more powerful than life itself."

    "As I cannot Skill alone, I daresay it is not a danger to me."

    "You offer yourself very often to those who can." Bluntly spoken. "As often as you willingly plunge yourself into dangerous situations that offer that same kind of excitement. In a battle, you go into a frenzy. Is that what happens to you when you Skill?"

    I had never considered the two together in such a light. Something like fear nibbled at me. I pushed it aside.

    "To be a King's Man is my duty. Besides, was not this evening your suggestion?"

    "It was. But I would have let the Fool's words dissuade us from it. You were determined. You put no value at all on what it would do to you. Perhaps you should have a care for yourself."

    "I know what I'm doing." I spoke more sharply than I intended, and Burrich did not reply. He poured the tea he had made, and handed it to me with a "see what I mean" look on his face. I took the mug and stared into the fire. He sat down on my clothing chest.

    "Verity is alive," I said quietly.

    "So I heard the Queen say. I had never believed he was dead." He accepted it very calmly. As calmly, as he added, "But we have no proof."

    "Proof? I spoke to him. The King spoke to him. Isn't that enough?"

    "For me, more than enough. For most other folks, well ..."

    "When the King recovers, he will bear me out. Verity lives."

    "I doubt it will be enough to prevent Regal from proclaiming himself King-in-Waiting. The ceremony is scheduled for next week. I think he would have done it tonight, save that every Duke must be present to witness it."

    Elfbark battling with exhaustion, or simply the unrelenting march of events, suddenly made the room tilt around me. I felt I had thrown myself in front of a wagon to stop it, and instead it had rolled over me. The Fool had been right. What I had done tonight counted for little, save the peace of mind it brought Kettricken. A sudden welling of despair filled me. I set down my empty cup. The Six Duchies kingdom was falling apart. My king-in-waiting, Verity, would return to a mockery of what he had left: a sundered country, a ravaged coastline, a plundered and empty Keep. Perhaps if I had believed in Elderlings, I could have found some way to believe it would all come out right. All I could see now was my failure.

    Burrich was looking at me oddly. "Go to bed," he suggested. "A bleak spirit is sometimes what follows an overindulgence in elfbark. Or so I have heard."

    I nodded. To myself, I wondered if that might account for Verity's often dour moods.

    "Get some real rest. In the morning, things may look better." He gave a bark of laughter and smiled wolfishly. "Then again, they may not. But the rest will at least leave you better prepared to face them." He paused, sobering. "Molly came to my room, earlier."

    "Is she all right?" I demanded to know.

    "Bringing candles she knew I did not need," Burrich went on as if I had not spoken. "Almost as if she wanted an excuse to speak to me ..."

    "What did she say?" I rose from my chair.

    "Not very much. She is always very correct with me. I am very direct with her. I simply told her you missed her."

    "And she said?"

    "Nothing." He grinned. "But she blushes very prettily." He sighed, suddenly serious. "And, as directly, I asked her if anyone had given her any further cause to fear. She squared her little shoulders and tucked in her chin like I was trying to force a bit in her teeth. She said she thanked me kindly for my concern, as she had before, but that she was capable of seeing to herself." In a quieter voice, he asked, "Will she ask for help if she needs it?"

    "I don't know," I confessed. "She has her own store of courage. Her own way of fighting. She turns and confronts things. Me, I slink about and try to hamstring them when they aren't looking. Sometimes, she makes me feel a coward."

    Burrich stood up, stretching so that his shoulders cracked. "You're no coward, Fitz. I'll vouch for you there. Perhaps you just understand odds better than she does. I wish I could put your mind at rest about her. I can't. I'll watch over her as well as I can. As much as she'll let me." He gave me a sideways glance. "Hands asked me today who the pretty lady is who calls on me so often."

    "What did you tell him?"

    "Nothing. I just looked at him."

    I knew the look. There would be no more questions from Hands.

    Burrich left and I sprawled on my bed, trying to rest. I could not. I made my body be still, reasoning that at least my flesh would take some rest, even if my mind persisted in rattling on. A better man's thoughts would have been solely of his king's plight. I am afraid a good share of mine went to Molly, alone in her room. When I could stand it no more, I rose from my bed and ghosted out into the Keep.

    Sounds of dying revelry still drifted up from the Great Hall below. The corridor was empty. I ventured silently toward the stairs. I told myself I would be very, very careful, that all I would do was tap at her door, perhaps go in for a few moments, just to see she was all right. No more than that. Just the briefest of visits ...

    You are followed. Nighteyes' new caution of Burrich made his voice but the tiniest whisper in my head.

    I did not halt. That would have let my follower know I was suspicious. Instead I scratched my shoulder, making it an excuse to swivel my head about and glance behind me. I saw no one.

    Snuff.

    I did, a short breath followed by a deeper intake. A bare scent on the air. Sweat and garlic. I quested gently and my blood went cold. There, at the far end of the hall, concealed in a doorway. Will. Dark, slender Will, with his eyes always halflidded. The coterie member who had been recalled from Beams. Very cautiously I touched the Skill shield that hid him from me, a subtle bidding that I not notice him, a quiet scent of self-confidence sent my way to bolster me in doing whatever I wished to do. Very guileful. Very artful, much more delicate a touch than either Serene or Justin had ever shown me.

    A much more dangerous man.

    I went to the landing of the stairs and took candles from the extra ones stored there, then returned to my room as if that had been my sole errand.

    When I closed my door behind me, my mouth was dry. I sighed out a shuddering breath. I forced myself to examine the guards that warded my mind. He had not been in me, that I could tell. He was not sniffing out my thoughts, then, but only imposing his on me to make it easier for him to shadow me. Had it not been for Nighteyes, he would have followed me right to Molly's door tonight. I forced myself to lie down on my bed again, to try to recall all of my actions since Will had returned to Buckkeep. I had been dismissing him as an enemy simply because he did not radiate the hatred for me that Serene and Justin did. He had always been a quiet and unimposing youth. He had grown to be an unremarkable man, scarce worth anyone's attention.

    I had been a fool.

    I do not think he has followed you before. But I cannot be sure either.

    Nighteyes, my brother. How do I thank you?

    Stay alive. A pause. And bring me ginger cake.

    You shall have it, I promised fervently.

    Burrich's fire had burned low and I still had not slept when I felt Chade's draft sweep through my room. It was almost a relief to rise and go to him.

    I found him awaiting me impatiently, pacing about his small room. He pounced on me as I came out of the stairwell.

    "An assassin is a tool," he informed me in a hiss. "Somehow, I never got that across to you. We are tools. We do not do anything of our own volition."

    I stopped still, shocked at the anger in his voice. "I haven't killed anyone!" I said indignantly.

    "Shush! Speak softly. I would not be too sure of that, were I you," he replied. "How many times have I done my job, not by putting the knife in myself, but simply by giving someone else sufficient reason and opportunity to do it for me?"

    I said nothing.

    He looked at me and sighed, the anger and strength going out of him. Softly he said, "Sometimes, the best you can do is just salvage work. Sometimes we have to resign ourselves to that. We are not the ones to set the wheels in motion, boy. What you did tonight was ill-considered."

    "So the Fool and Burrich have both told me. I don't think Kettricken would agree."

    "Kettricken and her child could both have lived with her grief. As could King Shrewd. Look at what they were. A foreign woman, widow of a dead King-in-Waiting, mother of a child that isn't visible yet, and who will be unable to wield power for years to come. Regal judged Shrewd to be but a doddering helpless old man, useful as a puppet perhaps, but harmless enough. Regal had no immediate reason to put them aside. Oh, I agree Kettricken's position was not as secure as it could be, but she was not in direct opposition to Regal. That is where she is now."

    "She did not tell him what we had discovered," I said unwillingly.

    "She did not have to. It will show, in her bearing and in her will to resist him. He had reduced her to a widow. You have restored her to a Queen-in-Waiting. But it is for Shrewd that I worry. Shrewd is the one who holds the key, who can stand up and say, even in a whisper, `Verity still lives, Regal has no right to be king-in-waiting.' He is the one Regal must fear."

    "I have seen Shrewd, Chade. Really seen him. I do not think he will betray what he knows. Beneath that faltering body, beneath the numbing drugs and the savage pain, there is a shrewd man still."

    "Perhaps. But he is buried deep. Drugs, and pain even more so, will drive a sagacious man to foolish acts. A man dying of his wounds will leap to his horse to lead a last charge. Pain can make a man take risks, or assert himself in strange ways."

    What he was saying made all too much sense. "Cannot you counsel him against letting Regal know that he knows Verity is alive?"

    "I could try, perhaps. Were not that damnable Wallace always in my way. It was not so bad at first; at first, he was tractable and useful, easy to manipulate from afar. He never knew I was behind the herbs the peddlers brought him; never even suspected I existed. But now he clings to the King like a limpet, and not even the Fool can drive him away for long. I seldom have more than a few minutes with Shrewd at a time anymore. And I am lucky if my brother is lucid for half of them."

    There was something in his voice. I lowered my head, shamed. "I am sorry," I said quietly. "Sometimes I forget that he is more to you than just your king."

    "Well. We were never really that close, that way. But we are two old men, who have grown old together. Sometimes that is a greater closeness. We have come through time to your day and age. We can talk together, quietly, and share memories of a time that exists no more. I can tell you how it was, but it is not the same. It is like being two foreigners, trapped in a land we have come to, unable to return to our own, and having only each other to confirm the reality of the place we once lived. At least, once we could."

    I thought of two children running wild on the beaches of Buckkeep, plucking sheel off the rocks and eating them raw. Molly and I. It was possible to be homesick for a time, and to be lonely for the only other person who could recall it. I nodded.

    "Ah. Well. Tonight we contemplate salvage. Now. Listen to me. On this I must have your word. You will not take actions of major consequence without conferring with me first. Agreed?"

    I looked down. "I want to say yes. I am willing to agree to it. But lately even small actions of mine seem to take on consequences like a pebble in a landslide. And events pile up to where I have to make a choice suddenly, with no chance to consult anyone else. So I cannot promise. But I will promise to try. Is that enough?"

    "I suppose. Catalyst," he muttered.

    "So the Fool calls me, too," I complained.

    Chade stopped abruptly in the midst of starting to say something. "Does he really?" he asked intently.

    "He clubs me with the word every chance he gets." I walked down to Chade's hearth and sat down before his fire. The heat felt good. "Burrich says that too strong a dose of elfbark can lead to bleak spirits afterward."

    "Do you find it so?"

    "Yes. But it could be the circumstances. Yet Verity seemed often depressed, and he used it frequently. Again, it could be the circumstances."

    "It may be we shall never know."

    "You speak very freely tonight. Naming names, ascribing motives."

    "All is gaiety in the Great Hall tonight. Regal was certain he had bagged his game. All his watches were relaxed, all his spies given a night's liberty." He looked at me sourly. "I am sure it will not be the same again for a while."

    "So you think what we say here can be listened to."

    "Anywhere I can listen and peep, from there it is possible I could be overheard and spied upon. Only just possible. But one does not get to be as old as I am by taking chances."

    An old memory suddenly made sense. "You once told me that in the Queen's Garden, you are blind."

    "Exactly."

    "So you did not know-"

    "I did not know what Galen was putting you through, at the time he was doing it. I was privy to gossip, much of it unreliable and all of it far after the fact. But on the night he beat you and left you to die ... No." He looked at me strangely. "Had you believed I could know of such a thing and take no action?"

    "You had promised not to interfere with my instruction," I said stiffly.

    Chade took his chair, leaned back with a sigh. "I don't think you will ever completely trust anyone. Or believe that someone cares about you."

    Silence filled me. I didn't know the answer. First Burrich and now Chade, forcing me to look at myself in uncomfortable ways.

    "Ah, well," Chade conceded to my silence. "As I began to say earlier. Salvage."

    "What do you want me to do?"

    He breathed out through his nose. "Nothing."

    "But ..."

    "Absolutely nothing. Remember this at all times. King-in-Waiting Verity is dead. Live that belief. Believe that Regal has the right to claim his spot, believe he has the right to do all the things he does. Placate him for now, give him nothing to fear. We must make him believe he has won."

    I thought for a moment. Then I stood and drew my belt knife.

    "What are you doing?" Chade demanded.

    "What Regal would expect me to do, did I truly believe Verity was dead." I reached in back of my head, to where a leather thong bound my hair back in a warrior's tail.

    "I have shears," Chade pointed out in annoyance. He went and got them and stood behind me. "How much?"

    I considered. "As extreme as I can be, short of mourning him as a crowned King."

    "Are you sure?"

    "It's what Regal would expect of me."

    "That's true, I suppose." With a single clip, Chade took off my hair at the knot. It felt strange to have it suddenly fall forward, short, not even to my jaw. As if I were a page again. I reached up and felt its shortness as I asked him, "What will you be doing?" '

    "Trying to find a safe place for Kettricken and the King. I must make all things ready for their flight. When they go, they must vanish like shadows when the light comes."

    "Are you sure this is necessary?"

    "What else is left for us? They are no more than hostages now. Powerless. The Inland Dukes have turned to Regal, the Coastal Dukes have lost faith in King Shrewd. Kettricken has made herself allies amongst them, however. I must tug at the strings she has spun and see what I can arrange. At least we can see them placed where their safety cannot be used against Verity when he comes back to reclaim his crown."

    "If he returns," I said gloomily.

    "When. The Elderlings will be with him." Chade looked at me sourly. "Try to believe in something, boy. For my sake."

    Without a doubt, the time that I spent under Galen's tutelage was the worst period of my life at Buckkeep. But the week that followed that night with Chade runs a close second. We were an anthill, kicked apart. No matter where I went in the Keep, there were constant reminders that the foundations of my life had been shattered. Nothing would ever be as it was before.

    There was a great influx of folk from the Inland Duchies, come to witness Regal becoming king-in-waiting. Had not our stables been so depleted already, it would have taxed Burrich and Hands to keep up with them. As it was, it seemed like Inlanders were everywhere, tall, towheaded Farrow men, and brawny Tilth farmers and cattlemen. They were a bright contrast to the glum Buckkeep soldiers with their mourning cropped hair. Not a few clashes occurred. The grumble from Buckkeep Town took the form of jests comparing the invasion of the Inlanders with the raids of the Outislanders. The humor had always a bitter edge.

    For the counterpoint to this influx of folk and business in Buckkeep Town was the outflow of goods from Buckkeep. Rooms were stripped shamelessly. Tapestries and rugs, furniture and tools, supplies of all kinds were drained out of the Keep, to be loaded on barges and taken upriver to Tradeford, always to be "kept safe" or "for the comfort of the King." Mistress Hasty was at her wit's end to house so many guests when half the furniture was being hauled off to barges. Some days it seemed that Regal was attempting to see that all he could not carry off with him was devoured before he left.

    At the same time he was sparing no expense to be sure that his crowning as king-in-waiting would be as full of pomp and ceremony as possible. I truly did not know why he bothered with it at all. To me, at least, it seemed plain he planned on abandoning four of the Six Duchies to their own devices. But as the Fool had once warned me, there was no point to trying to measure Regal's wheat with my bushels. We had no common standard. Perhaps to insist the Dukes and nobles of Bearns and Rippon and Shoaks come to witness him assume Verity's crown was some subtle form of revenge I could not understand. Little enough did he care what hardship it worked upon them to come to Buckkeep at a time when their shores were so beleaguered. I was not surprised that they were slow to arrive, and that when they did, they were shocked at the sacking of Buckkeep. Word of Regal's plan to remove himself and the King and Kettricken had not been spread to the Coastal Duchies by any means other than rumor.

    But long before the Coastal Dukes arrived, while I still endured the greater general chaos, the rest of my life began to rattle into pieces. Serene and Justin began to haunt me. I was aware of them, often physically following me, but just as often Skilling at the edges of my consciousness. They were like pecking birds come after any loose thoughts I might have, snatching at casual daydreams or any unguarded moment of my life. That was bad enough. But I saw them now as only the distraction, the diversion created to keep me from being aware of Will's more subtle haunting. So I set my guards most strongly about my mind, knowing I probably shielded out Verity as well. I feared this was their actual intent, but dared reveal that fear to no one. I watched constantly behind myself, using every sense Nighteyes and I possessed. I vowed I would be more wary, and set myself the task of discovering what the other coterie members worked at. Burl was at Tradeford, ostensibly helping prepare the place for King Shrewd's comfort. I had no idea where Carrod was, and there was no one I could discreetly ask. The only thing I could discover for certain was that he was no longer on the Constance. So I worried. And became almost mad with worry that I did not detect Will shadowing after me anymore. Did he know I had become aware of him? Or was he so good I could not detect him? I began to live my life as if every move I made were watched.

    Horses and breeding stock were not all that was taken from the stables. Burrich told me one morning that Hands was gone. He had not had time to bid anyone good-bye. "They took the last of the good stock yesterday. The best is long gone, but these were good horses, and they were taking them overland to Tradeford. Hands was simply told he was to go along. He came to me, protesting, but I told him to go. At least the horses will have well-trained hands taking care of them in their new home. Besides, there is nothing for him here. There is no stable left for anyone to be stablemaster over."

    I followed him silently on what had once been our morning rounds. The mews held only ancient or injured birds. The clamor of dogs had been reduced to a sparse baying and a few yips. The horses that remained were the unsound, the almost promising, the past their prime, the injured that had been kept in the hopes of breeding something from them. When I came to Sooty's empty stall, my heart stood still. I could not speak. I leaned on her manger, my face in my hands. Burrich put a hand on my shoulder. When I looked up at him, he smiled oddly. He shook his cropped head. "They came for her and Ruddy yesterday. I told them they were fools, they had taken them last week. And truly they were fools, for they believed me. They did get your saddle."

    "Where?" I managed to ask.

    "Better you don't know," Burrich said darkly. "One of us dangling as a horse thief would be quite enough." No more would he say of it to me.

    A late-afternoon visit to Patience and Lacey was not the quiet interlude I had hoped for. I knocked, and there was an uncharacteristic pause before the door was opened. I found the sitting room in a shambles, worse than I had ever seen it, and Lacey dispiritedly trying to put things to rights. A great many more things were on the floor than usual.

    "A new project?" I hazarded, attempting a bit of levity.

    Lacey looked at me glumly. "They came this morning to take my lady's table away. And my bed. They claimed they were needed for guests. Well, I shouldn't be surprised, with so much of the rest of the things gone upriver. But I greatly doubt that we'll see either item again."

    "Well, perhaps they'll be waiting for you when you get to Tradeford," I suggested inanely. I had not realized the whole extent of the liberties Regal was taking.

    There was a very long silence before Lacey spoke. "Then they'll wait a long time, FitzChivalry. We are not among those to be taken to Tradeford."

    "No. We're among the odd folk to be left here, with the oddments of furniture." This from Patience as she abruptly reentered the room. Her eyes were red and her cheeks pale, and I suddenly knew she had hidden herself when I first knocked until she had her tears under control.

    "Then surely you shall return to Withywoods," I suggested. My mind was working very swiftly. I had assumed that Regal was moving the entire household to Tradeford. Now I wondered who else was to be abandoned here. I put myself at the head of the list. I added Burrich and Chade. The Fool? Perhaps that was why he seemed lately to be Regal's creature. That he might be allowed to follow the King to Tradeford.

    Odd, how I had not even considered that the King and Kettricken were to be whisked not only out of Chade's reach, but mine. Regal had renewed his orders confining me to Buckkeep itself. I had not wanted to trouble Kettricken to override them. I had, after all, promised Chade not to make waves.

    "I cannot return to Withywoods. August rules there, the King's nephew: He who was head of Galen's coterie, before his accident. He has no fondness for me, and I have no right to demand to be there. No. We shall be staying here, and making the best we can of it."

    I floundered for whatever comfort I could offer. "I have a bed still. I shall have it brought down here for Lacey. Burrich will help me bring it."

    Lacey shook her head. "I've made up a pallet, and I'll be comfortable enough. Keep it where it is. Perhaps they daren't take it from you. Were it down here, no doubt it would just be carried off tomorrow."

    "Has King Shrewd no care for what is happening?" Lady Patience asked of me sadly.

    "I do not know. All are turned away from his door these days. Regal has said he is too ill to see anyone."

    "I thought perhaps it was just me he would not see. Ah, well. Poor man. To lose two sons, and see his kingdom come to this. Tell me, how is Queen Kettricken? I have not had a chance to go see her."

    "Well enough, last I saw her. Grieved by her husband's death, of course, but-"

    "Then she was not injured in her fall? I feared she would miscarry." Patience turned aside from me, to gaze at a wall bereft of a familiar tapestry. "I was too cowardly to go and see her myself, if you would know the truth. I know too well the pain of losing a child before you have held it in your arms."

    "Her fall?" I said stupidly.

    "Had not you heard? On those awful steps coming down from the Queen's Garden. There was talk that some statuary had been removed from the gardens, and she had gone up to see what, and on her way back down she fell. Not a great tumbling fall, but heavily. On her back on those stone steps."

    I could not keep my mind on Patience's conversation after that. Much of it centered on the depletion of the libraries, a thing I did not wish to think of anyway. As soon as I graciously could, I excused myself, on the flimsy promise that I would bring them direct word of the Queen.

    I was turned away from Kettricken's door. Several ladies told me at once not to fret, not to worry, she was fine, she but needed to rest, oh, but it was terrible .... I endured enough to be sure that she had not miscarried, then fled.

    But I did not go back to Patience. Not yet. Instead, I slowly climbed the stairs to the Queen's Garden. I carried a lamp with me, and went most carefully. On the tower top, I found it was as I had feared. The smaller and more valuable of the statuary had been removed. Only the sheer weight had saved the larger pieces, I was sure. The missing bits took away the careful balance of Kettricken's creation and added to the desolation of the garden in winter. I shut the door carefully behind me and went down the steps. Ever so slowly. Ever so carefully. On the ninth step down, I found it. I nearly discovered it as Kettricken had. But I caught my balance and then crouched low to study the step. Lampblack had been mixed with the grease, to take the sheen off it and blend it with the well-used steps. It was right where the foot would most naturally fall, especially if one were hastening down the stairs in a temper. Close enough to the tower top that a slip could be blamed on slush or mud from the gardens still on a shoe. I rubbed at the black on the step that came off on my fingers, then sniffed at it.

    "A fine bit of pork fat," observed the Fool. I leaped to my feet and nearly fell down the steps. A wild pinwheeling of my arms brought my balance back.

    "Interesting. Do you think you could teach me to do that?"

    "Not funny, Fool. I have been followed of late, and my nerves are a jangle." I peered down the stairwell into the darkness. If the Fool had crept up on me, could not Will? "How's the King?" I demanded quietly. If this attempt had been made on Kettricken, I had no faith in Shrewd's safety.

    "You tell me." The Fool stepped out of the shadows. Gone were his fine clothes, replaced with an old motley of blue and red. It went well with the new bruises that mottled one side of his face. On his right cheek, the flesh had been split. One arm carried the other close to his chest. I suspected a dislocated shoulder.

    "Not again," I gasped.

    "Exactly what I said to them. They paid small attention. Some folk just have not the knack of conversation."

    "What happened? I thought you and Regal-"

    "Yes, well, not even a Fool can seem stupid enough to please Regal. I did not wish to leave King Shrewd's side today. They were questioning him relentlessly about what had happened the night of the feast. I became perhaps a trifle too witty in suggesting other ways they might amuse themselves. They threw me out."

    My heart sank in me. I was sure I knew exactly which guard had assisted him out the door. It was as Burrich had always warned me. One could never know what Regal might dare. "What did the King tell them?"

    "Ah! Not, was the King all right, or was the King recovering? No. Only what did the King tell them? Do you fear your precious hide is in danger, Princeling?"

    "No." I could feel no resentment at his question, or even how he phrased it. I deserved it. I had not taken good care of our friendship lately. Despite that, when he needed help, he had come to me. "No. But as long as the King says nothing of Verity being alive, then Regal has no reason to-"

    "My king was being ... taciturn. It had started out as a pleasant conversation between father and son, with Regal telling him how pleased he should be to have him finally as king-in-waiting. King Shrewd was rather vague, as he often is these days. Something about it irritated Regal, and he began to accuse him of not being pleased, of even being opposed. Finally he began to insist there was a plot, a conspiracy to see that he never came to the throne. No man is so dangerous as the man who cannot decide what he fears. Regal is that man. Even Wallace was put ajar by his rantings. He had brought the King one of his brews, to deaden his mind along with his pain, but as he brought it near, Regal dashed it from his hands. He then spun on the poor trembling Wall's Ass and accused him of being part of the conspiracy. He claimed Wallace had intended to drug our king to keep him from speaking what he knew. He ordered Wallace from the room, saying the King would have no need of him until he had seen fit to speak plainly to his son. He ordered me out as well, then. My reluctance to leave was overcome by a couple of his hulking inland plowmen."

    A creeping dread rose in me. I remembered my moment of sharing the King's pain. Regal would remorselessly watch while that pain crept past the numbing herbs to overwhelm his father. I could not imagine a man being capable of this. Yet I knew Regal would do it. "When did this happen?"

    "Just an hour or so ago. You are not an easy person to find."

    I looked more closely at the Fool. "Go down to the stables, to Burrich. See what he can do for you." The healer, I knew, would not touch the Fool. Like many around the Keep, he feared his strange appearance.

    "What will you be doing?" the Fool asked quietly.

    "I don't know," I replied honestly. This was exactly one of the situations I had warned Chade about. I knew whether I acted or not, the consequences would be grave. I needed to distract Regal from what he was doing. Chade, I was sure, was aware of what was going on. If Regal and all others could be lured away for a time ... I could think of only one piece of news that might be important enough to Regal to make him leave Shrewd.

    "You'll be all right?"

    The Fool had sunk down to sit on the cold stone steps. He leaned his head against the wall. "I suppose so. Go."

    I started down the steps.

    "Wait!" he called suddenly

    I halted.

    "When you take my king away, I go with him."

    I just stared up at him.

    "I mean it. I wore Regal's collar for the sake of that promise from him. It means nothing now to him."

    "I can make no promises," I said quietly.

    "I can. I promise that if my king is taken, and I do not go with him, I will betray every one of your secrets. Every one." The Fool's voice was shaking. He put his head back against the wall.

    I turned away hastily. The tears on his cheeks were tinged pink from the cuts on his face. I could not bear to see them. I ran down the stairs.