CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Torture

    BUT NOTHING WOULD satisfy the Willful Princess but that she rode the Piebald Stallion to the hunt. All her ladies warned her, but she turned aside her head and would not hear them. All the lords warned her, but she scoffed at their fears. Even the stablemaster sought to say her nay, telling her, "Lady Princess, the stallion should be put down in blood and fire, for he was trained by Sly o' the Wit, and only to him is he true! " Then the Willful Princess grew wroth and said, "Are these not my stables and my horses, and may I not choose which of my beasts I shall ride?" Then all grew silent before her temper, and she ordered the Piebald Stallion saddled for the hunt.

    Forth they went, with a great baying of hounds and fluttering of colors. And the Piebald Stallion bore her well, and carried her far ahead of the field, and at last out of sight of the other hunters entirely. Then, when the Willful Princess was far and away, over the hill and beneath the green trees, the Piebald Stallion bore her this way and that, until she was lost and the crying of the hounds but an echo in the hills. At last she stopped by a stream to sip the cool water but lo, when she turned, the Piebald Stallion was gone, and in his place stood Sly o' the Wit, as mottled as his Wit beast. Then he was with her as a stallion is with a mare, so that ere the, year had turned, she went heavy with child. And when those who. attended her birth saw the babe, all mottled on the face and shoulders, they cried aloud with fear. When the Willful Princess saw him, she screamed, and gave up her spirit in blood and shame, that she had borne Sly's Wit child. So the Piebald Prince was born in fear and shame, and that was what he brought into the world with him.

    -"Legend of the Piebald Prince"

    The torch Regal had left set the shadows of the bars to dancing. I watched them for a time, thoughtless, hopeless. Knowledge of my own death numbed me. Gradually my mind began to work again, but without order. Was this what Chade had been trying to tell me? Without her horse; how much had Regal known about the horses? Had he known the destination? How had Burrich escaped detection? Or had he? Might not I meet him in the torturer's chamber? Did Regal think Patience was connected to the escape plan? If he did, would he still be content simply to abandon her, or would he take more direct vengeance? When they came for me, should I fight?

    No. I would go with dignity. No. I would kill as many of his inland-bred curs as I could with my bare hands. No. I would go quietly, and wait for a chance at Regal. I knew he would be there, to watch me die. My promise to Shrewd, not to kill one of his own? It no longer bound me. Did it? No one could save me. Don't even wonder if Chade would act, if Patience could do anything at all. After Regal had tortured a confession from me ... would he keep me alive to hang and quarter before all? Of course he would. Why deny himself that pleasure? Would Patience come to watch me die? I hoped not. Maybe Lacey could keep her away. I had thrown my life away, sacrificed all for nothing. At least, I had killed Serene and Justin Had it been worth it? Had my queen escaped at all, or was she still hidden somewhere within the castle walls? Was that what Chade had been trying to tell me? No. My mind paddled and scrabbled through thoughts like a rat fallen into a rain barrel. I longed to talk to someone, anyone. I forced myself to calmness, to rationality, and finally found a grip. Nighteyes. Nighteyes had said that he had taken them, had guided them to Burrich.

    My brother? I reached for Nighteyes.

    I am here. I am always here.

    Tell me of that night.

    What night?

    The night you guided the people from the Keep to Heart of the Pack.

    Ah. I sensed him struggling. His ways were a wolf's ways. A thing done was a thing done. He planned no further ahead than the next kill, recalled almost nothing of events that happened a month or a year ago, unless they touched most directly on his own survival. Thus he recalled the cage I had taken him from, but where he had hunted four nights ago was lost to him. General things he recalled: a well-used rabbit trail, a spring that did not freeze over, but specific details of how many rabbits he had killed three days ago were lost forever. I held my breath, hoping he could give me hope.

    I took them all to Heart of the Pack. I wish you were here. I've a porcupine quill in my lip. I can't paw it loose. It hurts.

    And how did you get that? In the midst of all else, I still had to smile. He knew better but had not been able to resist the fat waddling creature.

    It isn't funny.

    I know. Truly, it was not funny. A quill was a nasty barbed thing that would only work deeper, festering all the way. It could get bad enough to keep him from hunting. I turned my attention to his problem. Until I had solved it for him, he would be able to focus on nothing else. Heart of the Pack would get it out for you, if you asked him nicely. You can trust him.

    He pushed me when I spoke to him. But then he spoke to me.

    Did he?

    A slow working through of thought. That night. When I guided them to him. He said to me, "Bring them here to me, not to the dog fox place. "

    Picture me the place you went.

    This was harder for him. But as he tried he recalled the roadside, empty in the blowing snow, save for Burrich astride Ruddy and leading Sooty. I glimpsed the Female and the Scentless One, as he thought of them. Chade he remembered well, chiefly for a fat beef bone bestowed on Nighteyes at their parting.

    Did they speak to one another?

    Overly much. I left them yipping to one another.

    Try as I might, that was really all he had for me. It was enough that I knew the plans had changed drastically and at the last minute. Odd. I had been willing to lay down my life for Kettricken, but at the last accounting, I was not sure how I felt about giving up my horse. Then I recalled I would probably never ride a horse again, save the one that carried me to the hanging tree. At least Sooty had gone with someone I cared about. And Ruddy. Why those two horses? And only those two? Had Burrich been unable to get others out of the stable? Was that why he had not gone?

    The quill hurts, Nighteyes reminded me. I cannot eat for the pain.

    I wish I could come to help you, but I cannot. You must ask Heart of the Pack.

    Cannot you ask him to do it? He does not push you.

    I smiled to myself. He did once. It was enough; I learned from it. But if you go to him, asking for help, he will not repel you.

    Cannot you ask him to help me?

    I cannot speak to him as we speak. And he is too far away for me to yip at him.

    I will try, then, Nighteyes said doubtfully.

    I let him go. I thought of trying to make him understand my situation. I decided against it. There was nothing he could do; it would only distress him. Nighteyes would tell Burrich I had sent him; Burrich would know I was still alive. There was little else to convey that he would not already know.

    A long slow time passed then. I measured it in the small ways I could. The torch Regal had left burned out. The guard changed. Someone came and put food and water through my door. I had not asked for it. I wondered if that meant a very long time had passed since I had last eaten. The guard changed again. These were a chatty pair, a man and a woman. But they spoke in low voices, and all I heard were the murmurs, and the laughter. Some sort of a ribald flirtation between the two, I surmised. Interrupted by someone's arrival.

    The friendly chatter suddenly ceased. Low murmurs, in a very respectful tone. My stomach roiled cold inside me. Quietly I came to my feet, crept to my door. I peered through the doors toward the guards' station.

    He came like a shadow down the hall. Silently. Not furtive. He was so unobtrusive, he did not need to worry about being furtive. This was Skill as I had never seen it used before. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck hackle when Will stopped outside the door and looked in at me. He did not speak and I dared not. Even looking at him was giving him too much of an opening to myself. Yet I feared to look away. The Skill shimmered around him like an aura of awareness. I coiled deep inside myself, tighter and tighter, pulling back everything I felt or thought, slamming my walls up as swiftly as I could, but knowing, somehow, that even those walls told him much about me. Even my defenses were a way for this one to read me. Even as my mouth and throat went dry with fear, a question hovered. Where had he been? What had been so important to Regal that he had set Will upon it rather than using him to secure the crown?

    White ship.

    The answer came to me from deep within me, founded on a connection so deep I could not unearth it. But I did not doubt it. I looked at him, considering him in conjunction with the white ship. He frowned. I felt an increase in the tension between us, a pressing of the Skill against my boundaries. He did not scrabble or pluck at me like Serene and Justin had. More I could compare it. to an engagement of blades, where one tests the strength of his opponent's attack. I balanced myself against him, knowing that if I wavered, if for one instant I did not hold him out, he would slip past my guard and skewer my soul. His eyes widened and surprised me with a brief look of uncertainty. But he followed it with a smile as welcoming as a shark's maw.

    "Ah," he sighed out. He seemed pleased. He stepped back from my door, stretched like a lazy cat. "They have underestimated you. I shall not make that mistake. Well I know the advantages one gains when your rival undervalues you." Then he left, neither abruptly nor slowly, but like smoke drifts away on a breeze. Here, and then gone.

    After he was gone, I went back to my slab and sat. I took a deep breath and sighed it out to still the quivering inside me. I felt I had passed through a trial, and that this time, at least, I had held my own. I leaned back against the cold stone wall and glanced once more at my door.

    Will's half-lidded eyes bored into me.

    I leaped up so suddenly the scabbed-over injury on my leg tore open afresh. I glared at my window. Nothing. He was gone. Heart hammering, I forced myself to go to the tiny window and peer out it. No one was there, that I could see. He was gone. But I could not make myself believe he was gone.

    I limped back to my seat and sat down again, gathering Brawndy's cloak about me. I stared at my window, looking for motion, for some change in the shadowy light from the guard's torch, for anything to indicate that Will lurked outside my door. There was nothing. I longed to quest out, Wit and Skill, to see if I could feel him out there. I dared not. I could not venture out of myself without leaving a way for another to push in.

    I set my guards about my thoughts and, a few moments later, reset them. The harder I tried to calm myself, the fiercer my panic became when it rose. I had been fearing physical torture. Now the sour fear sweat trickled down my ribs and the sides of my face as I considered all that Will could do to me if he got past my walls. Once he got inside my head, I would stand before all the Dukes and tell in detail how I had killed King Shrewd. Regal had invented for me something worse than merely dying. I could go to my death a self-proclaimed coward and traitor as well. I would cower at Regal's feet and beg his forgiveness before all.

    I think the time that passed was a night. I slept for none of it, save to doze off and then wake with a start from a dream of eyes at my window. I dared not even reach out to Nighteyes for comfort, and I hoped he would not try to reach me with thoughts. I came out of such a doze with a start, thinking I had heard footsteps down the hall. My eyes were sandy, my head ached with my vigilance, and my muscles were knotted from tension. I stayed where I was on the bench, conserving every bit of strength that I had.

    The door was flung open. A guard thrust a torch into my cell, then cautiously followed it. Two other guards followed. "You. On your feet!" barked the one with the torch. Farrow was in his accent.

    I saw no point in refusing to obey. I stood up, letting Brawndy's cloak fall back on the bench. Their leader made a curt gesture, and I fell in between the two guards. There were four others outside my cell, waiting. Regal was taking no chances. None of them were men I knew. They all wore the colors of Regal's guard. I could tell their orders by the looks on their faces. I gave them no excuses. They took me down the hall a short ways, past the deserted guard post, to the larger chamber that served once as a guardroom. It had been cleared of furniture, save for a comfortable chair. Every sconce boasted a torch, making the room painfully bright to my light deprived eyes. The guards left me standing in the middle of the room and joined others lining the walls. Habit more than hope made me assess my situation. I counted fourteen guards. Surely that was an excess, even for me. Both doors to the chamber were closed. We waited.

    Waiting, standing, in a brightly lit room surrounded by hostile men can be underestimated as a form of torture. I tried to stand quietly, to shift my weight unobtrusively. I rapidly grew tired. It was frightening to discover how quickly starvation and inactivity had weakened me. I felt almost a sense of relief when the door finally opened. Regal entered, followed by Will. Will was quietly remonstrating with him.

    "... unnecessary. Another night or so would be all I required."

    "I prefer this," Regal said acidly.

    Will bowed his head in silent assent. Regal was seated, and Will took a position behind his left shoulder. Regal considered me for a moment, then leaned back negligently in his chair. He cocked his head to one side and breathed out through his nose. He lifted a finger, indicated a man. "Bolt. You. I want nothing broken. When we have what we want, I'll want to make him presentable once more. You understand."

    Bolt nodded briefly. He stripped off his winter cloak and let it fall, pulled off his shirt as well. The other men watched stony-eyed. From some long-ago discussion with Chade, a small bit of advice came to mind. "You can hold out longer under torture if you focus on what you will say rather than what you won't. I've heard of men repeating the same phrase, over and over, long past the point where they could hear the questions anymore. By focusing on what you will say, you make it less likely you'll say that which you don't wish to."

    But his theoretical advice might not do much for me. Regal did not seem to have any questions to ask.

    Bolt was taller than I was, heavier than I was. He looked as if his diet included a lot more than bread and water. He limbered and stretched as if we were going to wrestle for a Winterfest purse. I stood watching him. He met my look and smiled at me liplessly. I watched him pull on a pair of fingerless leather gloves. He'd come prepared for this. Then he bowed to Regal, and Regal nodded.

    What's this?

    Be silent! I ordered Nighteyes. But as Bolt stepped purposefully toward me I felt a snarl twitch at my upper lip. I dodged his first punch, stepped in to land one of my own, and then moved back as he swung again. Desperation lent me agility. I had not expected a chance to defend myself, I had expected to be bound and tormented. Of course, there was plenty of time for that. Regal had all the time he needed. Don't think of that. I had never been good in this kind of a fight. Don't think of that either. Bolt's fist grazed my cheek stingingly. Be wary. I was luring him to open up, taking his measure, when the Skill wrapped me. I reeled in Will's onslaught, and Bolt landed his next three blows effortlessly. Jaw, chest, and high on my cheek. All quick and solid. The style of a man who did this a lot. The smile of a man who enjoyed it.

    There followed a timeless period for me. I could not both shield myself from Will and defend myself from Bolt battering me. I reasoned, if the thinking one does in such a state can be called reasoning, that my body had its own defenses against physical pain. I'd pass out, or die. Dying might be the only victory I could hope for here. So I chose to defend my mind rather than body.

    I veer away from recalling that beating. My token defense was to move away from his blows and force him to pursue me, to keep my eyes on him, to block where I could as long as it did not distract me from my vigil against Will's Skill pressure. I heard the guards jeer at my supposed lack of spirit as I scarcely fought back. When one of his blows sent me staggering back against the soldiers who ringed us, their shoves and kicks drove me back toward Bolt again.

    I could not devote my thoughts to strategy. When I swung, I swung wildly, and the few times my fists landed, it was with small impact. I longed to release myself, to tap my fury and just fling myself at Bolt and hammer at him any way I could. But that would have left me wide open to Will's intentions. No. I had to remain cool and endure. As Will increased his pressure on me, Bolt had a leisurely time of it. Eventually, I was reduced to two choices. I could use my arms to shelter either my head or my body. He merely shifted targets. The horror was that I knew the man was holding back, striking only to inflict pain and minor damage. I dropped my hands once and met Will's gaze face-on. I had the very brief satisfaction of seeing the sweat that streamed down his face. At that moment, Bolt's fist connected solidly with my nose.

    Blade had once described to me the sound that he heard as his nose broke in a brawl. Words did not do it justice. A sickening sound combined with incredible pain. Pain so intense it was suddenly the only pain I was aware of. I blacked out.

    I don't know how long I was out. I fluttered to the edge of consciousness, hovered there. Someone had flipped me over onto my back. Whoever it was straightened from inspecting me. "Nose is broke," he announced.

    "Bolt, I said, nothing broken!" Regal remonstrated with him angrily. "I have to be able to show him intact. Bring me some wine," he added irritably in an aside to someone else.

    "Not a problem, King Regal," someone assured him. That person bent over me, took a firm grip on the bridge of my nose, and dragged it straight again. That crude setting of it hurt worse than the breaking, and once more I dipped down into unconsciousness. I lingered there, hearing the voices discuss me for some time before they resolved into words and the words into sense.

    Regal's voice. "So what is he supposed to be able to do? Why hasn't he done it yet?"

    "I know only what Serene and Justin told me, Your Majesty." Will's voice was tired. "They claimed he was weary from Skilling, and Justin was able to force his way into him. Then the Bastard ... fought back in some way. Justin said he believed himself attacked by a great wolf. Serene said she actually saw the marks of claws on Justin, but that they faded shortly afterward."

    I heard the creak of wood as Regal flung himself back in his chair. "Well, make him do it. I wish to see this Wit for myself" A pause. "Or are not you strong enough? Perhaps Justin was the one I should have held in reserve."

    "I am stronger than Justin was, Your Majesty," Will asserted calmly. "But Fitz is aware of my intent. He was not expecting Justin's attack." More quietly he added, "He is stronger far than I was led to believe."

    "Just do it!" Regal commanded in disgust.

    So Regal wanted to see the Wit? I drew a breath, gathered what little strength was inside me. I tried to focus my anger at Regal, to repel at him hard enough to drive him through the wall. But I could not. I was too riddled with pain to concentrate. My own walls defeated me. All Regal did was start, and then look at me more closely.

    "He's awake," he observed. Again his finger lifted lazily. "Verde. You may have him. But have a care to his nose. Leave his face alone. The rest of him is easily covered."

    Verde devoted some little time to hauling me to my feet so he could knock me down again. I wearied of that repetition long before he did. The floor did as much damage as his fists. I could not seem to keep my feet under me, nor lift my arms to shield myself. I retreated inside myself, smaller and smaller, huddling there until sheer physical pain would force me to alertness and make me struggle again. Usually just before I passed out again. I became aware of another thing. Regal's enjoyment. He did not want to bind me and cause me pain. He wanted to watch me struggle, to see me attempt to fight back and fail. He watched his guard, too, noting, no doubt, which ones turned their eyes away from this sport. He used me to take their measure. I forced myself not to care that he took pleasure from my pain. All that truly mattered was keeping my walls up and keeping Will out of my head. That was the battle I had to win.

    The fourth time I awoke, I was on the floor of my cell. A terrible snuffling, wheezing sound was what had wakened me. It was the sound of my breathing. I remained where they had dumped me. After a time I lifted a hand and pawed Brawndy's cloak down from the bench. It fell partially atop me. I lay a time longer. Regal's guards had listened to him. Nothing was broken. Everything hurt, but no bones were broken. All they had given me was pain. Nothing I could die from.

    I crawled over to my water. I will not enumerate the pains it cost for me to lift it and drink. My initial attempts to defend myself had left my hands swollen and sore. I tried vainly to keep the edge of the water pot from bumping against my mouth. Finally, I managed to drink. The water strengthened me, to make me all the more aware of everywhere I hurt. My half loaf of bread was there as well. I stuck the end of it in what was left of my water, and then sucked the soaked bread from the loaf as it softened. It tasted like blood. Bolt's initial battering of my head had loosened teeth and cut my mouth. I was aware of my nose as an immense area of throbbing pain. I could not bring myself to touch it with my fingers. There was no pleasure in eating, only a partial relief from the hunger that clawed at me alongside my pain.

    After a time I sat up. I dragged the cloak around me and considered what I knew. Regal would batter at me physically until I either manifested the Wit in an attack his guards could witness, or until I dropped my walls enough that Will could get in my mind and inspire me to confess. I wondered which way he would rather win. I did not doubt he would win. My sole way out of this cell was by dying. Options. To try to make them beat me to death before I either used the Wit or dropped my Skill barrier to Will. Or, to take the poison I had made for Wallace. I would die from it. That was definite. In my weakened state, it would probably be faster than I had planned it for him. Still painful, though. Wretchedly painful.

    One kind of pain seemed as good as another. Laboriously I folded back my bloodied right cuff. The hidden pocket was secured by a thread that should have come loose at a slight tug. But blood had matted it closed. I picked at it carefully. Mustn't spill it. I'd need to wait until they gave me more water to get it down. Otherwise I'd just gag and retch on the bitter powder. I was still working at it when I heard voices down the hallway.

    It did not seem fair they would come back at me so soon. I listened. It wasn't Regal. But anyone coming down here meant something to do with me. A deep voice, rumbling along in a rambling way. The guards replying briefly, in hostile tones. Another voice, interceding, reasoning. The rumbling again, getting louder, and the belligerence plain. Suddenly a shout.

    "You're going to die, Fitz! Hanged over water, and your body burned! "

    Burrich's voice. A strange mix of anger and threat and pain.

    "Get him out of here." One of the guards, speaking loud and plain now. She was obviously an Inlander.

    "I will, I will." I knew that voice. Blade. "He's just had a bit too much to drink, that's all. It's always been a problem with him. And he had the boy as his apprentice down there in the stables for years. Everyone's saying he should have known about it, did know about it and didn't do anything, maybe."

    "Yessss." Burrich drew out the angry affirmation. "And I'm out of a job now, bastard! No more buck's crest for me! Well, by El's ass, it hardly matters. Horses are gone. Best damn horses I ever trained, gone inland now, given over to fools! Dogs are gone, hawks are gone! All that're left are the scrubs and a couple mules. Don't have one horse I'd admit to owning!" His voice was growing closer. There was madness in it.

    I scrabbled up the door, clung to the bars to see. I couldn't see the guard post, but their shadows were on the wall. Burrich's shadow was attempting to come down the hall while the guards and Blade tried to drag him back.

    "Wait. Now, just wait a minute," Burrich remonstrated drunkenly. "Wait. Look. I only want to talk to him. That's all." The cluster of people surged down the hall, halted again. The guards were between Burrich and my door. Blade was clinging to Burrich's arm. He still showed the marks from the brawl, and one of his arms was in a sling. He could do little to stop Burrich.

    "Just get mine in before Regal gets his. That's all. That's all." Burrich's voice was deep and slurry with drink. "Come on. Just for a minute. What's it going to matter anyway? He's good as dead." Another pause. "Look. I'll make it worth your while. Look here."

    The guards were exchanging glances.

    "Uh, Blade, you got any coin left?" Burrich was digging through his pouch, then snorted with disgust and upended it over his hand. Coins fell in a shower, spilling past his fingers. "Here, here." There was the chink and rattle of coins dropped and rolling on the stone floor of the passageway and he flung his arms wide in a gesture of largesse.

    "Hey, he doesn't mean it, Burrich, you don't bribe guards like that, you're going to get yourself tossed in a cell, too." Blade stooped hastily, making apologies as he hurried to gather up the spilled coins. The guards stooped alongside him and I saw a hand make a furtive trip from floor to pocket.

    Suddenly Burrich's face peered in my window. For a moment we stood eye to eye at the barred window. Grief and outrage battled in his face. His eyes were webbed red from his drinking, and his breath was strong with it. The fabric of his shirt showed ragged where the buck crest had been torn from it. He glared at me, then, as he looked at me, his eyes widened in shock. For a moment our gaze held, and I thought something of understanding and farewell passed between us. Then he leaned back and spat full in my face.

    "That, for you," he snarled. "That for my life, which you took from me. All the hours, all the days I spent upon you.

    Better that you had lain down and died amongst the beasts before you let this come to pass. They're going to hang you; boy. Regal's having the gallows built, over water, like the old wisdom says. They'll hang you, then cut you up and burn you down to bones. Nothing left to bury. He's probably afraid the dogs would dig you up again. You'd like that, hey, boy? Buried like a bone, for some dog to dig up later? Better to just lie down and die right where you are."

    I had recoiled from him when he spat at me. Now I stood back from my door, swaying on my feet while he gripped the bars and stared in at me, his eyes wide and bright with madness and drink.

    "You're so good with the Wit, they say. Why don't you change into a rat and scuttle out of there? Huh?" He leaned his forehead against the bars and peered in at me. Almost pensively, he said, "Better that than to hang, whelp. Change into a beast and run off with your tail between your legs. If you can ... I heard you can ... they say you can turn into a wolf. Well, unless you can, you're going to hang. Hang by your neck, choking and kicking ..." His voice trailed off. His dark eyes locked with mine. They were teary with drink. "Better to lie down and die right there than hang." Suddenly he seemed full of fury. "Maybe I'll help you lie down and die!" he threatened through gritted teeth. "Better you die my way than Regal's! " He began to wrest at the bars, shaking the door back and forth against its locks.

    The guards were instantly on him, one to an arm, tugging and cursing while he ignored them. Old Blade jigged up and down behind them, saying, "Give it up, come on, Burrich, you had your say, come on, man, before there's real trouble."

    They did not pry him loose, but he gave it up suddenly, just dropping his arms to his sides. It caught the guards by surprise and they both stumbled back. I clutched at the barred window.

    "Burrich." It was hard to make my mouth form words. "I never meant to hurt you. I'm sorry." I took a breath, tried to find some words to end some of the torment in his eyes. "No one should blame you. You did the best with me you could."

    He shook his head at me, his face contorting with grief and anger. "Lie down and die, boy. Just lie down and die." He turned and walked away from me. Blade was walking backward, apologizing a hundred times over to the two flustered guards who followed him up the corridor. I watched them go, and then watched Burrich's shadow go lurching off, while Blade's stayed a bit to mollify the guards.

    I swiped at the spittle on my swollen face and went slowly back to my stone bench. I sat a long time, remembering. From the beginning he had warned me off the Wit. The first dog that I had ever bonded to, he had mercilessly taken from me. I had fought him for that dog, repelled at him with every bit of strength I had, and he had just deflected it back at me. So hard I had not even attempted to repel anyone for years after that. And when he had relented, ignoring if not accepting my bond with the wolf, it had rebounded onto him. The Wit. All those times he had warned me, and all those times I had been so sure I knew what I was doing.

    You did.

    Nighteyes. I acknowledged him. I had no spirit to do more than that.

    Come with me. Come with me and we will hunt. I can take you far from all of this.

    In a while, perhaps, I put him off. I did not have the strength to deal with him.

    I sat a long time, actually. My encounter with Burrich hurt as badly as the beating had. I tried to think of one person in my life that I had not failed, had not disappointed. I could think of no one.

    I glanced down at Brawndy's cloak. I was cold enough to want it, but too sore to pick it up. A pebble on the floor beside it caught my eye. It puzzled me. I had looked at this floor long enough to know there were no loose dark pebbles in my cell.

    Curiosity is a disturbingly strong force. Finally, I leaned way over and picked up the cloak, and the pebble next to it. It took some time to get the cloak around me. Then I examined my pebble. It wasn't a pebble. It was dark and wet. A wad of something? Leaves. A pellet of wadded leaves. A pellet that had stung my chin when Burrich spat at me? Cautiously I held it up to the fickle light that wandered in the barred window.

    Something white secured the outer leaf. I picked it loose. What had caught my eye was the white end of a porcupine quill, while the black barbed tip had secured the leaf wrapping. Unfolded, the leaf revealed a sticky brown wad. I lifted it to my nose and sniffed it cautiously. A mixture of herbs, but one dominated. I recognized the scent queasily. Carryme. A Mountain herb. A powerful painkiller and sedative, sometimes used to mercifully extinguish life. Kettricken had used it when she had tried to kill me in the Mountains.

    Come with me.

    Not just now.

    This was Burrich's parting gift to me? A merciful end? I thought over what he had said. Better to just lie down and die. This, from the man who had taught me the fight wasn't over until you had won it? The contradiction was too sharp.

    Heart of the Pack says you should come with me. Now. Tonight. Lie down, he says. Be a bone for the dogs to dig up later, he says. I could feel the effort Nighteyes was putting into relaying this message.

    I was silent, thinking.

    He took the quill from my lip, Brother. I think we can trust him. Come with me, now, tonight.

    I considered the three things that lay in my hand. The leaf, the quill, the pellet. I rewrapped the pellet in the leaf, secured it with the quill again.

    I don't understand what he wants me to do, I complained.

    Lie down and be still. Still yourself, and go with me, as myself. A long pause as Nighteyes worked something through in his head. Eat what he gave you only if you must. Only if you cannot come to me on your own.

    I have no idea what he is up to. But, like you, I think we can trust him. In the dimness, past all weariness, I sat picking at the stitching in my sleeve. When it finally came loose, I coaxed the tiny paper packet of powder out and then pushed the leaf-wrapped pellet in. I managed to force the quill to hold it there. I looked at the paper packet in my hand. A tiny idea came to me, but I refused to dwell on it. I gripped it in my hand. Then I wrapped myself in Brawndy's cloak and slowly lay myself down on the bench. I knew I should keep vigil, lest Will come back. I was too hopeless and too weary. I am with you, Nighteyes.

    We sped away together, over crusted white snow, into a wolf world.