CHAPTER THIRTY

Dungeons

    IF A HOUNDSMAN suspects that a dog boy is using the Wit to defile and divert the hounds to his own ends, he should be watchful for these signs. If the boy speaks not overmuch to his fellows, be wary. If the hounds perk up before the boy is in sight, or whine before he has left, be watchful. If a hound will leave off his snuffing for a bitch in season, or turn aside from a blood trail and lie quiet at the boy's word, be certain. Let the boy be hanged, over water if possible, well away from the stables, and his body burned. Let every hound he has trained be drowned, as well as all sired by defiled hounds. A hound who has known the Wit use will neither fear nor respect any other master, but is sure to turn vicious when deprived of the Witted one. A Witted boy cannot be trusted to beat an unruly hound, nor will he suffer his Wit hound to be sold away, or used as bear bait, no matter how old the dog. A Wit boy will turn his master's hounds to his own purposes, and never has any true loyalty to his master, but only to his Wit hound.

    I woke up sometime. Of all the cruel jests fate had recently played on me, I decided that awakening was the cruelest. I lay still and cataloged my various discomforts. The exhaustion from my carris-seed frenzy combined well with the exhaustion from my Skill battle with Justin and Serene. I had taken some nasty sword cuts to my right forearm, and one to my left thigh that I recalled not at all. None of them had been dressed; my sleeve and trousers were matted to my skin with dried blood. Whoever had knocked me unconscious had made sure of his work with several more blows. Other than that, I was fine. I told myself this a number of times, ignoring the trembling in my left leg and arm. I opened my eyes.

    The room I was in was small and stone. There was a pot in the corner. When I finally decided I could move, I craned my head enough to see that there was a door, with a small barred window in it. This was the light source, fed by a torch somewhere down a hallway outside. Oh. Yes. The dungeons. My curiosity satisfied, I closed my eyes again and slept. Nose to tail, I rested safe in a deep den covered over by the blowing snow. The illusion of safety was as much as Nighteyes could offer me. So weak I was that even his thoughts to me seemed misty. Safe. That was as much as he could convey.

    I awoke again. I could tell time had passed by how much thirstier I was. Other than that, everything was remarkably the same. This time I determined that the bench I was lying on was also made of stone. There was nothing between me and the stone save the clothes I wore. "Hey!" I called. "Guards!" There was no answer. Everything seemed a bit vague. After a time I could not recall if I had already cried out, or if I was summoning the strength to do so. After a bit more time I decided I did not have the strength. I went back to sleep. I couldn't imagine doing anything else.

    I awoke to Patience's voice arguing. Whoever she was arguing with wasn't answering much, and wasn't giving in. "It's ridiculous. What are you afraid I'll do?" A silence. "I've known him since he was a child." Another silence. "He's hurt. What possible damage can it do for me to at least look at his injuries? You can hang him whole as easily as you can wounded, can't you?" Another silence.

    After a time I decided I might be able to move. I had a lot of bruises and scrapes I couldn't account for, probably gained on the journey between the Great Hall and here. The worst part of moving was that it tugged my clothing against the scabbed over cuts. I decided I could stand it. For such a small room, it was a very long way from the bed to the door. When I got there, I discovered I could just see out the little barred window. What I could see was the stone wall on the opposite side of the narrow corridor. I gripped the bars with my good left hand.

    "Patience?" I croaked.

    "Fitz? Oh, Fitz, are you all right?"

    Such a question. I started to laugh and coughed instead, finishing with the taste of blood in my mouth. I didn't know what to say. I wasn't fine, but it wasn't healthy for her to be too interested in me. Even as fuddled as I was, I knew that. "I'm all right," I croaked at last.

    "Oh, Fitz, the King is dead!" she called to me from down the hall. The words tumbled from her in her haste to tell me all. "And Queen Kettricken is missing, and King-in-Waiting Regal says you are at the bottom of all of it. They say-"

    "Lady Patience, you'll have to leave now," the guard attempted to break in. She ignored him.

    "-you went crazy in grief over Verity's death, and killed the King and Serene and Justin, and they don't know what you've done with the Queen, and no one can-"

    "You cannot speak to the prisoner, madam!" He spoke with conviction, but she paid no mind.

    "-find the Fool. Wallace, he's the one, he said he saw you and the Fool quarreling over the King's body, and then he saw the Pocked Man, come to carry his spirit away. The man is crazy! And Regal accuses you, too, of the low magic, of having the soul of a beast! That's how he said you killed the King. And-"

    "Madam! You have to leave now, or I will have to have you taken away."

    "Then do that," Patience spat at him. "I just dare you to try. Lacey, this man is bothering me. Ah! You dare to think of touching me! I, who was Chivalry's queen-in-waiting! Now, Lacey, do not hurt him, he's only a boy. A mannerless boy, but a boy nonetheless."

    "Lady Patience, I beg you ...." A change in tone from the guard.

    "You can't very well drag me away from here without leaving your post. Do you think I'm so stupid I can't see that? What will you do? Attack two old women with your sword?"

    "Chester! Chester, where are you?" the guard on duty bellowed. "Damn you, Chester!" I could hear the frustration in his voice as he yelled for his partner, who had taken a break. He was probably up in the watch room off the kitchen. Drinking cold beer. Eating hot stew. A wave of dizziness passed over me.

    "Chester?" The guard's voice was fading. He had actually been fool enough to leave Lady Patience by his post and go looking for his comrade. In a moment I heard the light patter of her slippers outside my door. I felt the touch of her fingers on my hand that gripped the bar. She was not tall enough to look in, and the corridor was so narrow she could not step back where I could see her. But the touch of her hand was as welcome as sunlight.

    "Keep watch for him coming back, Lacey," she directed, then spoke to me. "How are you, really?" She spoke low, pitching her voice for my ears alone.

    "Thirsty. Hungry. Cold. In pain." I saw no point in lying to her. "What is happening in the Keep?"

    "Complete disorder. The Buckkeep guards broke up the riot in the Great Hall, but then, outside, there was a brawl between some of the Inlanders that Regal brought in and the Buckkeep guard. Queen Kettricken's guard drove a wedge between them, and their officers beat their troops back into line. Still, it's tense. The fighters weren't all soldiers. Many a guest has a black eye or walks with a limp still. Luckily, no one amongst the guests took serious harm. Blade took about the worst injuries, they say. He went down keeping the Farrow men off you. Cracked his ribs and blacked his eyes, did something to one of his arms. But Burrich says he will be all right. The lines have been drawn, however, and the Dukes walk about bristling at one another like dogs."

    "Burrich?" I asked hoarsely.

    "Did not get involved at all," she said reassuringly. "He's fine. If being ill-tempered and surly to all is fine. Which, for him, I suppose is normal."

    My heart thundered inside me. Burrich. Why wasn't he gone? I dared ask no more about him. One question too many, and Patience would get curious. So. "And Regal?" I asked.

    She snorted. "One gets the feeling that what really irritates Regal is that he no longer has an excuse to abandon Buckkeep. Before, you know, he was taking King Shrewd and Kettricken inland so they would be safe, and gutting the castle so they might have familiar things about them. He has no such excuse now, and the Coastal Dukes have demanded he stay and defend the Keep, or at least put in that place a man of their choosing. He has offered his cousin Lord Bright of Farrow, but the Coastal Dukes do not like him. Now that Regal finds himself suddenly a King, I do not think he is enjoying it as much as he expected to."

    "Has he crowned himself, then?" A roaring threatened my ears. I stood by gripping the bars. Must not faint, I told myself. The guard would be back soon. I had only this time to hear what was going on.

    "We have all been much too busy burying the King, and then searching for the Queen. When the King was found dead, we were sent to wake her, but found her doors locked and no answer to our knocking. Finally Regal resorted to his men and axes again. The inner-chamber door was closed and locked as well. But the Queen was gone. It is a great mystery to all of us."

    "What does Regal say of it?" My head was clearing of cobwebs. Oh, how I hurt.

    "Little, save that she and her child are surely dead, and you have brought it about somehow. He speaks wild charges of Beast magic, saying you have slain the King with your Wit. All demand proof for his claims, and he keeps saying, soon, soon."

    No mention of searching the roads and byways for Kettricken, then. I had gambled that his Skill spies had not found out the whole of our plot. But, I cautioned myself, if he had sent out searchers, I doubted they were ordered to bring her back alive and safe.

    "What does Will do?" I asked.

    "Will?"

    "Will, Hostler's son. A member of the coterie."

    "Oh. Him. I have not seen him about, that I recall."

    "Ah." Another wave of dizziness threatened me. Suddenly logic eluded me. I knew I should ask more questions, but I could not think of what they should be. Burrich was still here, but the Queen and the Fool were gone. What had gone wrong? There was no safe way to ask Patience. "Does anyone else know you are here?" I managed to ask. Surely, if Burrich had known she were coming, he would have sent a message.

    "Of course not! This was not an easy thing to plan, Fitz. Lacey had to get an emetic into the one guard's food so he would leave only one on watch. Then we had to watch for him to leave-oh. Lacey said to bring you these. She is wise, that one." Her hand went away, and then came back, to fumble one, and then two small apples through the bars. They hit the floor before I could catch them. I resisted the urge to pounce on them immediately:

    "What do they say of me?" I asked quietly.

    She was silent a moment. "Mostly, folk say that you are crazy. Some, that you were witched by the Pocked Man to bring death amongst us that night. There is some gossip that you had planned to lead a rebellion, and killed Serene and Justin because they found out about it. Others, not many, agree with Regal, saying you have the Beast magic. Wallace, mostly, says such things. He declares the candles did not burn blue in the King's chamber until you entered it. And he says the Fool was shouting that you had killed the King. But the Fool is gone, too. There have been so many omens of evil, and so many fear now ...." Her voice dwindled away.

    "I did not kill the King," I said quietly. "Justin and Serene did. That was why I killed them, with the King's own knife."

    "The guards are coming back!" A hiss from Lacey. Patience ignored it.

    "But Justin and Serene weren't even-"

    "I don't have time to explain. It was done with Skill. But they did, Patience. I swear it." I paused. "What do they plan to do with me?"

    "It isn't decided, really."

    "We've no time for polite lies."

    I actually heard her swallow. "Regal wants to hang you. He'd have had you killed right there that night, in the Great Hall, save that Blade held off his guards until the riot was quelled. Then the Coastal Dukes stood up for you. Lady Grace of Rippon reminded Regal that no carrier of the Farseer blood can be put to death by sword or hanging. He did not wish to concede you were of royal blood, but too many raised a shout when he denied it. Now he swears he can show you have the Wit, and hanging is what must be done for one that uses Beast magic."

    "Lady Patience! You must leave now, you must, or I'm not the one that will be hanging!" The guard was back, with Chester evidently, for there was more than one set of footsteps. They were hurrying down to the cell. Patience let go of my fingers.

    "I will do what I can for you," she whispered. She had tried so hard not to let any fear come into her voice, but now it broke on those words.

    And then she was gone, scolding at the guard like a jaybird all the way as Chester or whoever escorted her from the cells. The moment she was gone, I laboriously stooped down to gather up my apples. They were not large, and they were withered from being winter-stored, but I found them delicious. I ate even the stems. The little moisture they contained did nothing to quench my thirst. I sat on my bench for a bit, holding my head in my hands, forcing myself to stay alert. I knew I had to think, but it was terribly hard. My mind would not focus. I was tempted to pick my shirt free of the cuts on my arm, but forced myself to leave it alone. As long as they were not festering, I would not bother them. I could not afford to bleed. It took all my strength to hobble back to my door. "Guards!" I croaked.

    They ignored me.

    "I want water. And food."

    Where are you? Another answered my request.

    Beyond your reach, my friend. How are you?

    Fine. But I have missed you. You slept so deep, almost I thought you dead.

    Almost I thought myself dead. That night. Did you guide them to the horses?

    I did. And they left. Heart of the Pack told them I was a half-breed you had tamed. Like I was a cur, doing tricks.

    He sought to protect me, not to insult you. Why did not Heart of the Pack go with them?

    I do not know. What shall we do now?

    Wait.

    "Guards!" I called again, as loudly as I was able. It wasn't very loud.

    "Get back from the door." The man's voice was right outside my cell. I had been so occupied with Nighteyes I had not heard him approach. I was not myself at all.

    A small panel at the bottom of the door slid open. A pot of water and a half a loaf were set inside. The panel closed again.

    "Thank you."

    There was no reply. I picked them up, examined both carefully. The water smelled as if it had been standing for some time, but neither smell nor a cautious sip revealed any trace of poison. I broke the loaf into smaller pieces, looking for flecks in the dough or any discoloration. It was not fresh, but it was not poisoned in any way I could detect. And someone had eaten the other half of it. In a very short time they were gone. I went and lay on my stone bench again, and tried to find the least uncomfortable position.

    The cell was dry, but cold, in the way that any unused chamber in Buckkeep was cold during the winter. I knew exactly where I was. The cells were not far from the wine cellars. I knew I could scream my lungs bloody and no one but my guards would hear. I had explored down here as a boy. I had seldom found occupants in the cells, and even more rarely guards upon them. The swiftness of justice at Buckkeep meant there was seldom a reason to hold a prisoner for more than a few hours. Transgressions of the law usually demanded you pay with your life, or with the work of your hands. I suspected these cells would see a deal more use, now that Regal claimed to be king.

    I tried to sleep, but insensibility had deserted me. Instead, I shifted about on the cold hard stone and thought. I tried for a while to convince myself that if the Queen had gotten away, I had won. After all, winning was getting what you wanted, wasn't it? Instead, I found myself thinking of how quickly King Shrewd had gone. Like a bubble popping. If they hanged me, would it be that swift for me? Or would I strangle and dangle a long time? To divert myself from those pleasant thoughts, I wondered how long a civil war Verity would have to fight with Regal before he could put the Six Duchies on a map once more as the Six Duchies. Assuming, of course, that Verity returned and was able to rid the coast of Red-Ships. When Regal abandoned Buckkeep, as I was sure he would, I wondered who would step forward to take it. Patience had said the Coastal Dukes wanted nothing of Lord Bright. Buck had a few lesser nobles, but none of them so bold as to claim Buckkeep, I thought. Perhaps one of the three Coastal Dukes would reach out a hand and claim it. No. None of them had the might right now to care for anything beyond their own borders. It would be each for his own now. Unless Regal stayed at Buckkeep. With the Queen missing and Shrewd dead, he was, after all, the rightful King. Unless one knew that Verity was alive. But few did. Would the Coastal Duchies accept Regal as king now? Would the Coastal Duchies accept Verity as their king when he returned? Or would they scorn the man who had left them for a foolish quest?

    Time passed slowly in that unchanging place. I was not given food nor water unless I asked for them, and sometimes not then, so meals were no measure of the day. Awake, I was a prisoner of my thoughts and worries. Once I tried to Skill to Verity, but the effort brought on a darkening of my vision and a long period of pounding headache. I had not the strength for a second effort. Hunger became a constant, as unrelenting as the cold of the cell. I heard the guards twice turn Patience away, heard them refuse to give me the food and bandages she had brought. I did not call to her. I wanted her to give up, to disassociate herself from me. My only respite came when I slept and dream-hunted with Nighteyes. I tried to use his senses to explore what went on at Buckkeep, but he attached only a wolf's importance to things, and when I was with him, I shared his values. Time was not divided by days and nights, but from kill to kill. The meat I devoured with him could not sustain my human body, and yet there was satisfaction in the gorging. With his senses I found the weather changing, and awoke one morning knowing that a clear winter day had dawned. Raider weather. The Coastal Dukes could not linger much longer in Buckkeep, if they had lingered at all.

    As if to bear me out, there were voices at the guard station and the rasp of boots against the stone floor. I heard Regal's voice, strained with anger, and the guard's conciliatory greeting, and then they came down the corridor. For the first time since I had awakened there, I heard a key in the lock of my cell, and the door was swung open. I sat up slowly. Three Dukes and a traitor Prince peered in at me. I managed to come to my feet. Behind my lords stood a row of soldiers armed with pikes, as if ready to hold a maddened beast at bay. A guard with a drawn sword stood beside the open door, between Regal and me. He did not underestimate my hatred.

    "You see him," Regal declared flatly. "He is alive and well. I have not done away with him. But know also that I have the right to. He killed a man, my servant, right in my hall. And a woman upstairs in her chamber. I have a right to his life, for those crimes alone."

    "King-in-Waiting Regal. You charge FitzChivalry killed King Shrewd using the Wit," Brawndy stated. With ponderous logic he added, "I have never heard of such a thing being possible. But if this is so, then the council has first right to his life, for he would have killed the King first. It would take a convening of the council, to decide his guilt or innocence, and to set his sentence."

    Regal sighed in exasperation. "Then I will convene the council. Let us get it done and have it over with. It is ridiculous to delay my coronation for a murderer's execution."

    "My lord, a King's death is never ridiculous," Duke Shemshy of Shoaks pointed out quietly. "And we will have done with one King before we have another, Regal, King-in-Waiting. "

    "My father is dead and buried. How much more done with him can you be?" Regal was becoming reckless. There was nothing of grief or respect in his retort.

    "We will know how he died, and at whose hand," Brawndy of Beams told him. "Your man Wallace said FitzChivalry killed the King. You, King-in-Waiting Regal, agreed, saying he used the Wit to do it. Many of us believe that FitzChivalry was singularly devoted to his king and would not do such a thing. And FitzChivalry said the Skill users did." For the first time Duke Brawndy looked directly at me. I met his eyes and spoke to him as if we were alone.

    "Justin and Serene killed him," I said quietly. "By treachery, they killed my king."

    "Silence! " Regal bawled. He lifted his hand as if to strike me. I did not flinch.

    "And so I killed them," I continued, looking only at Brawndy. "With the King's knife. Why else would I have chosen such a weapon?"

    "Crazy men do strange things." This from Duke Kelvar of Rippon, while Regal strangled, livid with fury. I met Kelvar's eyes calmly. Last I had spoken with him had been at his own table, at Neatbay.

    "I am not crazy," I asserted quietly. "I was no more crazy that night than I was the night I wielded an ax outside the walls of Bayguard."

    "That may be so," Kelvar affirmed thoughtfully. "It is common talk that he goes berserk when he fights."

    A glint came into Regal's eyes. "It is common talk, too, that he has been seen with blood on his mouth after he has fought. That he becomes one of the animals that he was raised with. He is Witted."

    Silence greeted this remark. The Dukes exchanged glances, and when Shemshy glanced back at me, there was distaste in the look. Brawndy finally answered Regal. "This is a grave charge you level. Have you a witness?"

    "To blood on his mouth? Several."

    Brawndy shook his head. "Any man may finish a battle with a bloody face. An ax is not a tidy weapon. I can attest to that. No. It would take more than that."

    "Then let us convene the council," Regal repeated impatiently. "Hear what Wallace has to say about how my father died and at whose hand."

    The three Dukes exchanged glances. Their eyes came back to me, considering. Duke Brawndy led the coast now. I was certain of it when he was the one who spoke. "King-in-Waiting Regal. Let us speak plainly. You have accused FitzChivalry, son of Chivalry, of using the Wit, the Beast magic, to slay King Shrewd. This is indeed a grave charge. To satisfy us of it, we ask that you prove to us that not only is he Witted, but that he can use it to do injury to another. All of us were witness that there were no marks on King Shrewd's body, no sign of a death struggle at all. Had not you raised this cry of treachery, we might have accepted that he had died of his years. Some, even, have whispered that you but seek an excuse to be rid of FitzChivalry. I know you have heard these rumors; I speak them aloud that we may confront them." Brawndy paused, as if debating with himself. He glanced once more at his peers. When neither Kelvar nor Shemshy gave sign of dissension, he cleared his throat and continued.

    "We have a proposal, King-in-Waiting Regal. Prove to us, sir, that FitzChivalry is Witted, and that he used that Wit to kill King Shrewd, and we will let you put him to death as you see fit. We will witness your coronation as king of the Six Duchies. Further, we will accept Lord Bright as your presence in Buckkeep and allow you to retire your court to Tradeford."

    Triumph gleamed briefly on Regal's face. Then suspicion masked it. "And if, Duke Brawndy, I do not prove this to your satisfaction?"

    "Then FitzChivalry lives," Brawndy calmly decreed. "And you give him stewardship of Buckkeep and the forces of Buck in your absence." All three Coastal Dukes lifted their eyes to meet Regal's.

    "This is treason and treachery!" Regal hissed.

    Shemshy's hand almost went to his sword. Kelvar reddened but said nothing. The tension in the line of men behind them tightened a notch. Only Brawndy remained unmoved. "My lord, do you bring more charges?" he asked calmly. "Again, we will demand them proved. It could further delay your coronation."

    After a moment of their stony eyes and silence, Regal said quietly, "I spoke in haste, my dukes. These are trying times for me. Bereft of my father's guidance so suddenly, bereaved of my brother, our lady queen and the child she carries gone missing ... These surely are enough cause to drive any man to hasty statements. I ... very well. I will acquiesce to this ... bargain you set before me. I will prove FitzChivalry Witted, or I will set him free. Does that satisfy you?"

    "No, my king-in-waiting," Brawndy said quietly. "Such were not the terms we set. If innocent, FitzChivalry will be set in command of Buckkeep. If you prove him guilty, we shall accept Bright. Those were our terms."

    "And the deaths of Justin and Serene, valuable servants and coterie members? Those deaths at least we know we may put at his door. He has admitted as much." The look Regal turned on me should have killed me right there. How deeply he must have regretted charging me with murdering Shrewd. But for Wallace's wild accusations and Regal's backing of them, he could have demanded me drowned for Justin's death. That, as everyone had witnessed, was my doing. Ironically, his own desire to vilify me was what was staving off my execution.

    "You will have every chance to prove him Witted and the killer of your father. For those crimes, only, will we let you hang him. As to the others ... he claims they were the killers of the King. If he is not the guilty one, we are willing to accept that those he killed died justly."

    "This is intolerable!" Regal spat.

    "My lord, those are our terms," Brawndy returned calmly.

    "And if I refuse them?" Regal flared angrily.

    Brawndy shrugged. "The skies are clear, my lord. Raider weather, for those of us with coasts. We must disperse to our own Keeps, to guard our coasts as well we may. Without the convening of the full council, you cannot crown yourself king, nor lawfully appoint a man to hold Buck in your stead. You must winter at Buckkeep, my lord, and confront the sea pirates even as we do." .

    "You ring me 'round with traditions and petty laws, all to force me to your will. Am I your king or am I not?" Regal demanded bluntly.

    "You are not our king." Brawndy pointed it out quietly but firmly. "You are our king-in-waiting. And likely to continue waiting until these charges and this issue is resolved."

    The blackness of Regal's glare plainly showed how little this was to his liking. "Very well," he said flatly, all too quickly. "I suppose I must submit to this ... bargaining. Remember that you have decreed it must be this way, not I." He turned and looked at me. I knew then that he would not keep his word; I knew I would die in this cell. That sick and sudden knowledge of my own death blackened the edges of my vision, set me swaying on my feet. I felt I had taken two steps back from life. A coldness crept up inside me.

    "Then we are agreed," Brawndy said smoothly. He turned his eyes back to me, and frowned. Something of what I was feeling must have showed on my face, for he asked quickly, "FitzChivalry. Are you fairly treated here? Do they feed you?" As he asked this he unfastened the brooch at his shoulder. His cloak was much worn, but of wool, and when he threw it to me, the weight of it knocked me back against the wall.

    I clutched the cloak, warm still with his body heat, gratefully. "Water. Bread," I said briefly. I looked down at the heavy wool garment. "Thank you," I said more quietly.

    "It's better than many have!" Regal retorted angrily. "Times are hard," he added lamely. As if those he spoke to did not know that better than he did.

    Brawndy regarded me for a few moments. I said nothing. Finally he swung a cold look to Regal. "Too hard to at least give him some straw to sleep on, instead of a slab of stone?"

    Regal returned his glare. Brawndy did not quail. "We will need proof of his guilt, King-in-Waiting Regal, before we will countenance his execution. In the meantime we expect you to keep him alive."

    "At least give him marching rations," Kelvar advised. "No one will say you have pampered him with those, and we shall have a live man, either for you to hang or to command at Buck for us."

    Regal crossed his arms on his chest and made no reply. I knew I would get but water and half a loaf. I think he would have tried to take Brawndy's cloak away from me, save that he knew I would have fought for it. With a jerk of his chin, Regal indicated to the guard that he could close my door. As it slammed shut I flung myself forward, to grip the bars and stare after them. I thought of calling out, of telling them all that Regal would not let me live, that he would find a way to kill me here. But I did not. They would not have believed me. They still did not fear Regal as they needed to. If they had known him as I did, they would have known that no promise could bind him to their bargain. He would kill me. I was too deeply within his power for him to resist ending me.

    I let go of the door and walked woodenly back to my bench. I sat down. Reflex more than thought made me drape Brawndy's cloak about my shoulders. The cold I felt now would not be warmed away by wool. As the wave of a rising tide rushes into a sea cavern, so the knowledge of my death once more filled me. Once again, I thought I might faint. I pushed at it, vaguely repelling at my own thoughts of how Regal might choose to kill me. There were so many ways. I suspected he would try to wring a confession from me. Given enough time, he might be successful. The thought made me sick. I tried to pull myself back from the brink, not to realize so thoroughly that I was going to die painfully.

    With a peculiar lightening of heart, I reflected that I could cheat him. Within my blood-matted sleeve cuff was the tiny pocket that still held the poison I had so long ago prepared for Wallace. Had it offered a less horrendous death, I would have taken it right then. But I had not formulated that poison for a quick and painless sleep, but for cramps and flux and fever. Later, I thought, it might become preferable to whatever Regal offered. There was no comfort in that thought. I lay back on my slab and rolled myself up well in Brawndy's ample cloak. I hoped he would not miss it too much. It was probably the last kind thing anyone would ever do for me. I did not fall asleep. I fled, willfully submerging myself into my wolf's world.

    I awoke later from a human dream in which Chade had been lecturing me for not paying attention. I drew myself smaller in Brawndy's cloak. Torchlight trickling into my cell. Day or night, I could not tell, but I thought it was deep night. I tried to find sleep again. Chade's urgent voice had been pleading with me ....

    I sat up slowly. The cadence and tone of the mufed voice was definitely Chade's. It seemed fainter when I sat up. I lay down again. Now it was louder, but I still couldn't pick out the words. I pressed my ear to the stone bench. No. I got up slowly and moved about my small cell, from wall to corner and back again. There was one corner in which the voice was loudest, but I still could not make out the words. "I can't understand you," I said to my empty cell.

    The mufed voice paused. Then it spoke again, a questioning inflection.

    "I can't understand you!" I said more loudly. .

    Chade's voice resumed, more excitedly, but no louder.

    "I can't understand you!" I shouted in frustration.

    Footsteps outside my cell. "FitzChivalry!"

    The guard was short. She couldn't see in. "What?" I asked sleepily.

    "What were you shouting?"

    "What? Oh. Bad dream."

    The footsteps went away. I heard her laugh to the other guard and say, "Hard to imagine what dream could be worse than waking up for him." She had an inland accent.

    I went back to my bench and lay down. Chade's voice had stopped. I tended to agree with the guard. I would not sleep again for a while, but would wonder what Chade had been so desperately trying to tell me. I doubted it would be good news, and I did not want to imagine bad. I was going to have to die here. At least let it be because I had aided the Queen's escape. I wondered how far she was on her journey. I thought of the Fool, and wondered how well he would withstand the rigors of a winter journey. I forbade myself to wonder why Burrich was not with them. Instead, I thought of Molly.

    I must have drowsed, for I saw her. She was toiling up a path, a yoke of water buckets on her shoulders. She looked pale and sick and worn. On top of the hill was a tumbledown cottage, snow banked against its walls. She stopped and set her water buckets down at the door and stood looking out, over the sea. She frowned at the fair weather and the light wind that only tipped the waves with white. The wind lifted her thick hair just as I used to and slid its hand along the curve of her warm neck and jaw. Her eyes went suddenly wide. Then tears brimmed them. "No," she said aloud. "No. I won't think of you anymore. No." She stooped and lifted the heavy buckets and went into the cottage. She shut the door firmly behind her. The wind blew past it. The roof was poorly thatched. The wind blew harder and I let it carry me away.

    I tumbled on it, dove through it, and let it flow my pains away. I thought of diving deeper, down into the main flow of it, where it could sweep me entirely away, right out of myself and all my petty worries. I trailed my hands in that deeper current, swift and heavy as a moving river. It tugged at me.

    I'd stand back from that if I were you.

    Would you? I let Verity consider my situation for a moment.

    Perhaps not, he replied grimly. Something like a sigh. I should have guessed at how bad it was. It seems it takes great pain, or illness, or extreme duress of some kind to break down your walls so you can Skill. He paused long and we were both silent, thinking of nothing and everything all at once. So. My father is dead. Justin and Serene. I should have guessed somehow. His weariness and dwindling strength; those are the hallmarks of a King's Man, drained too low too often. I suspect it had been going on long, probably since before Galen ... died. Only he could have conceived such a thing, let alone devised a way to do it. What a loathsome way to use the Skill. And they spied upon us?

    Yes. I do not know how much they learned. And there is another to fear. Will.

    Damn me thrice for a fool. Look at it, Fitz. We should have known. The ships worked so well for us at first, and then, as soon as they knew what we were up to, you and I, they found ways to block us. The coterie has been in Regal 's pocket since they were formed. Thus we have delayed messages, or messages not delivered. Help always sent too late, or never sent at all. He is as full of hate as a tick is full of blood. And he has won.

    Not quite, my king. I reined my mind back from thinking of Kettricken safely on her way to the Mountains. Instead, I repeated, There is still Will. And Burl and Carrod. We must be circumspect, my. prince.

    A shade of warmth. l shall. But you know the depths of my thanks. Perhaps we paid highly, but what we bought was worth it. To me, at least.

    To me, also. I sensed the weariness in him, and the resignation. Are you giving up?

    Not yet. But like yours, my future does not seem promising. The others are all dead or fled I will go on. But I don't know how much farther I must go. Or what I must do when I get there. And I am so very tired. To give in would be so easy.

    Verity read me with ease, I knew. But I had to reach for him and for all he was not conveying to me. I sensed the great cold that surrounded him, and an injury that made it painful to breathe. His aloneness, and the pain of knowing that those who had died had died so far from home, and for him. Hod, I thought, my own grief echoing his. Charim. Gone forever. And something else, something he could not quite convey. A temptation, a teetering at the brink. A pressure, a plucking, very similar to the Skillish plucking I had felt from Serene and Justin. I tried to push past him, to look at it more closely, but he held me back.

    Some dangers become more dangerous when confronted, he warned me. This is one of them. But I am sure it is the path I must follow, if I am to find the Elderlings.

    "Prisoner!"

    I jolted out of my trance. A key turned in the lock of my door and it swung open. A girl stood in the doorway. Regal was beside her, one hand comfortingly on her shoulder. Two guards, Inlanders both by the cut of their clothes, flanked them. One leaned forward to thrust a torch into my cell. I cowered back inadvertently, then sat blinking in the unaccustomed light. "Is that him?" Regal asked the girl gently. She peered at me fearfully. I peered back, trying to decide why she looked familiar.

    "Yes, sir, Lord Prince, King, sir. That's him. I went to the well that morning, had to, had to have water, or the baby would die, just as sure as if the Raiders killed him. And it had been quiet awhile, all Neatbay as quiet as the dead. So I went to the well in the early morning, creeping like through the mist, sir. Then there was this wolf there, right by the well, and he starts up and stares at me. And the wind moves the mist, and the wolf is gone, he's a man now. That man, sir. Your Majesty King." She continued to stare at me wide-eyed.

    I recalled her now. The morning after the battle for Neatbay and Bayguard. Nighteyes and I had paused to rest by the well. I recalled how he had jostled me awake as he fled at the girl's approach.

    "You're a brave girl," Regal praised her, and patted her shoulder again. "Here, guard, take her back above to the kitchens, and see she gets a good meal and a bed somewhere. No, leave me the torch." They backed out of the door, and the guard shut it firmly behind him. I heard departing footsteps, but the light outside the door stayed. After the footsteps had dwindled, Regal spoke again.

    "Well, Bastard, it looks as if this game is played out. Your champions will abandon you fairly quickly, I suspect, once they understand what you are. There are other witnesses, of course. Ones who will speak of how there were wolf tracks and men dead of bites everywhere you fought at Neatbay. There are even some of our own Buckkeep guard who, when put to oath, must admit that when you have fought Forged ones, some of the bodies have borne the marks of teeth and claws." He heaved a great sigh of satisfaction. I heard the sounds of him setting the torch into a wall sconce. He came back to the door. He was just tall enough to peer in at me. Childishly I stood, and approached the door to look down at him. He stepped back. I felt petty satisfaction.

    It had tweaked his temper. "You were so gullible. Such a fool. You came limping home from the Mountains with your tail between your legs, and thought that Verity's favor would be all you needed to survive. You and all your foolish plottings. I knew of them all. All of them, Bastard. All your little chats with our queen, the tower-garden bribes to turn Brawndy against me. Even her plans to leave Buckkeep. Take warm things, you told her. The King will go with you." He stood on tiptoe to be sure I could see his smile. "She left with neither, Bastard. Not the King, nor the warm things she had packed." He paused. "Not even a horse." His voice caressed the last words as if he had been saving them for a long time. He watched my face avidly.

    I suddenly knew myself for nine kinds of a fool. Rosemary. Sweet, sleepy child, always nodding off in a corner. So bright one could trust her with any errand. So young one forgot she was even there. Yet I should have known. I was no older when Chade had first begun to teach me my trade. I felt ill, and it must have shown on my face. I could not recall what I had or had not said in front of her. I had no way of knowing what secrets Kettricken had confided over that little dark curly head. What talks with Verity had she witnessed, what chats with Patience? The Queen and the Fool were missing. That only I knew for certain. Had they ever gotten out of Buckkeep alive? Regal was grinning, well satisfied with himself. The barred door between us was the only thing that kept my promise to Shrewd intact.

    He left, still grinning.

    Regal had his proof that I had the Wit. The Neatbay girl was the binding knot for that. All that remained now was for him to torture from me a confession that I had killed Shrewd. He had plenty of time for that. However much time as it would take, he had.

    I sank down onto the floor. Verity had been right. Regal had won.