ONE MIGHT SUPPOSE that the Mountain Kingdom, with its sparse hamlets and scattered folk, was a new realm but recently gathered together. In truth, its history far predates any of the written records of the Six Duchies. To call this region a kingdom is truly a misnomer. In ancient times, the diverse hunters, herders, and farmers, both nomadic and settled, gradually gave their allegiance to a Judge, a woman of great wisdom, who resided at Jhaampe. Although this person has come to be called the King or Queen of the Mountains by outsiders, to the residents of the Mountain Kingdom, he or she is still the Sacrifice, the one who is willing to give all, even life, for the sake of those who are ruled. The first Judge who lived at Jhaampe as now a shadowy figure of legend, her deeds known only by the songs of her that Mountain folk still sing.
Yet old as those songs are, there is an even older rumor of a more ancient ruler and capital city. The Mountain Kingdom, as we know it today, consists almost entirely of the wandering folk and settlements on the eastern flanks of the Mountains. Beyond the Mountains lie the icy shores that border the White Sea. Some few trade routes still meander through the sharp teeth of the Mountains to reach the hunting folk who live in that snowy place. To the south of the Mountains are the unsettled forests of the Rain Wilds, and somewhere the source of the Rain River that is the trade boundary of the Chalced States. These are the only lands and folks that have been truly charted beyond the Mountains. Yet there have always been legends of another land, one locked and lost in the peaks beyond the Mountain Kingdom. As one travels deeper in the Mountains, past the boundaries of the folk who owe allegiance to Jhaampe, the land becomes even more rugged and unyielding. Snow never leaves the taller peaks, and some valleys host only glacial ice. In some areas, it is said that great steams and smokes pour up from cracks in the mountains and that the earth may tremble quietly or wrench itself in violent shakings. There are few reasons for anyone to venture into that region of scree and cliffs. Hunting is easier and more profitable on the greener slopes of the mountains. There is insufficient grazing to lure any shepherd's flocks.
Regarding that land, we have the usual tales that distant lands spawn. Dragons and giants, ancient tumbledown cities, savage unicorns, treasure hoards and secret maps, dusty streets paved with gold, valleys of eternal spring where the water rises steaming from the ground, dangerous sorcerers spell-locked in caves of gems and ancient sleeping evils embedded in the earth. All are said to reside in the ancient, nameless land beyond the boundaries of the Mountain Kingdom.
Kettricken truly had expected me to refuse to help her search for Verity. In the days of my convalescence she had determined she would seek for him on her own, and to that end she had mustered supplies and animals. In the Six Duchies, a queen would have had the royal treasury to draw on, as well the enforced largesse of her nobles. Such was not the case in the Mountain Kingdom. Here, while King Eyod remained alive, she was no more than a younger relative of the Sacrifice. While it was expected that she would succeed him someday, it gave her no right to command the wealth of her people. In truth, even were she Sacrifice, she would have not had access to riches and resources. The Sacrifice and his immediate family lived simply within their beautiful dwelling. All of Jhaampe, the palace, the gardens, the fountains, all belonged to the folk of the Mountain Kingdom. The Sacrifice did not want for anything, but neither did he possess excess.
So Kettricken turned not to royal coffers and nobles eager to curry favor, but to old friends and cousins for what she needed. She had approached her father, but he had told her, firmly but sadly, that finding the King of the Six Duchies was her concern, not that of the Mountain Kingdom. Much as he grieved with his daughter over the disappearance of the man she loved, he could not divert supplies from defending the Mountain Kingdom from Regal of the Six Duchies. Such was the bond between them that she could accept his refusal with understanding. It shamed me to think of the rightful Queen of the Six Duchies turning to the charity of her relatives and friends. But only when I was not nursing my resentment toward her.
She had designed the expedition to her convenience, not mine. I approved of little of it. In the few days before we departed, she deigned to consult me on some aspects of it, but my opinions were overridden as often as they were listened to. We spoke to one another civilly, without the warmth of either anger or friendship. There were many areas where we disagreed, and when we did, she did as she judged wisest. Unspoken but implied was that my judgment in the past had been faulty and shortsighted.
I wanted no beasts of burden that might starve and freeze. Block as I might, the Wit left me vulnerable to their pain. Kettricken, however, had procured half a dozen creatures that she claimed did not mind snow and cold, and browsed rather than grazed. They were jeppas, creatures native to some of the remoter parts of the Mountain Kingdom. They reminded me of long necked goats with paws instead of hooves. I had small faith that they would be able to carry enough to make them worth the nuisance of dealing with them. Kettricken told me calmly that I would soon get used to them.
It all depends on how they taste, Nighteyes suggested philosophically. I was prone to agree with him.
Her choice of companions for the expedition irked me even more. I saw no sense to her risking herself, but on that point I knew better than to argue. I resented Starling's going, once I discovered what she had bargained to be allowed to go. Her reason was still to find a song that would make her reputation. She had bought her place in our group by her unspoken trade that only if she were allowed to go would she make written record that Molly's child was mine also. She knew I felt she had betrayed me, and wisely avoided my company after that. With us would go three cousins of Kettricken's, all big, stoutly muscled folk well practiced in traveling through the Mountains. It would not be a large party. Kettricken assured me that if six were not enough to find Verity, then six hundred would not suffice. I agreed with her that it was easier to supply a smaller party; and that often they traveled faster than large groups.
Chade was not to be of our party. He was going back to Buckkeep, to bear the tidings to Patience that Kettricken would seek out Verity, and to plant the seeds of rumor that there was, indeed, an heir to the Six Duchies throne. He would also be seeing Burrich and Molly and the child. He had offered to let Molly and Patience and Burrich know that I was still alive. The offer had come awkwardly, for he knew full well that I hated the part he had played in claiming my daughter for the throne. But I swallowed my anger and spoke to him politely and was rewarded with his solemn promise that he would say nothing of me to any of them. At the time it seemed like the wisest course. I felt that only I could filly explain to Molly why I had acted as I had. And she had already mourned me as dead once. If I did not survive this quest, she would not grieve any more than she had.
Chade came to bid me farewell the night he left for Buck. At first we both tried to pretend that all was well between us. We talked of small things that had once mattered to both of us. I felt genuine loss when he told me of Slink's death. I tried to talk him into taking Ruddy and Sooty with him, to return them to Burrich's care. Ruddy needed a firmer hand than he was getting, and the stallion could be far more than transportation to Burrich. His stud service could be sold or traded, and Sooty's foal represented more wealth to come. But Chade shook his head and said he must travel swiftly and attract no attention. One man with three horses was a target for bandits if nothing else. I had seen the vicious little gelding Chade had for a mount. Bad-tempered as he was, he was tough and agile and, Chade assured me, very swift in a chase over bad terrain. He grinned as he said it, and I knew that that particular ability of the horse had been well tested. The Fool was right, I thought then bitterly. War and intrigue did agree with him. I looked at him, in his tall boots and swirling cloak, at the rampant buck he wore so openly on his brow above his green eyes, and tried to equate him with the gentle-handed old man who had schooled me in how to kill people. His years were there still, but he carried them differently. Privately I wondered what drugs he used to prolong his energy.
Yet as different as he was, he was still Chade. I wanted to reach out to him and know that there was still a bond of some kind between us, but I could not. I could not understand myself. How could his opinion still matter so much to me, when I knew he was willing to take my child and my happiness for the sake of the Farseer throne? I felt it as a weakness in myself that I could not find the strength of will to hate him. I reached for that hatred, and came up with only a boyish sulkiness that kept me from clasping his hand at his departure or wishing him well. He ignored my surliness, which made me feel even more childish.
After he was gone, the Fool gave me the leather saddlebag he had left for me. Inside was a very serviceable sheath knife, a small pouch of coins, and a selection of poisons and healing herbs, including a generous supply of elfbark. Wrapped and carefully labeled that it should be used only with the greatest caution and in greatest need was a small paper of carris seed. In a battered leather sheath was a plain but serviceable shortsword. I felt a sudden anger at him that I could not explain. "It is so typical of him," I exclaimed, and dumped the bag out on the table for the Foot to witness. "Poison and knives. That is what he thinks of me. This is still how he sees me. Death is all he can imagine for me."
"I doubt he expected you to use them on yourself," the Fool observed mildly. He pushed the knife away from the marionette he was stringing. "Perhaps he thought you might use them to protect yourself."
"Don't you understand?" I demanded of him. "These are gifts for the boy Chade taught to be an assassin. He can't see that isn't who I am any longer. He can't forgive me for wanting a life of my own."
"Any more than you can forgive him for no longer being your benevolent and indulgent tutor," the Fool observed dryly. He was knotting the strings from the control paddles to the marionette's limbs. "It's a bit of a threat, isn't it, to see him stride about like a warrior, putting himself joyfully in danger for something he believes in, flirting with women, and generally acting as if he'd claimed a life of his own for himself?"
It was like a dash of cold water in the face. Almost, I had to admit my jealousy that Chade had boldly seized what still eluded me. "That isn't it at all!" I snarled at the Fool.
The marionette he was working on wagged a rebuking finger at me while the Fool smirked at me over his head. It had an uncanny resemblance to Ratsy. "What I see," he observed to no one in particular, "is that it is not Verity's buck head he wears on his brow. No, the sigil he chose is more like one, oh, let me see, one that Prince Verity chose for his bastard nephew. Do not you see a resemblance?"
I was silent for a time. Then, "What of it?" I asked grudgingly.
The Fool swung his marionette to the floor, where the bony creature shrugged eerily. "Neither King Shrewd's death nor Verity's supposed death flushed that weasel out of hiding. Only when he believed you murdered did anger flare up in him hot enough for him to fling aside all hiding and pretense and declare he would yet see a true Farseer on the throne." The marionette wagged a finger at me.
"Are you trying to, say he does this for me, for my sake? When the last thing I would wish is to see the throne claim my child?"
The marionette crossed its arms and wagged its head thoughtfully. "It seems to me that Chade has always done what he thought was best for you. Whether you agreed or not. Perhaps he extends that to your daughter. She would be, after all, his grandniece, and the last living remnant of his bloodline. Excluding Regal and yourself, of course." The marionette danced a few steps. "How else would you expect a man that old to provide for a child so young? He does not expect to live forever. Perhaps he thought she would be safer astride a throne than ridden over by another who wished to claim it."
I turned away from the Fool and made some pretense of gathering clothing to wash. It would take me a long time to think through what he had said.
I was willing to accept Kettricken's choice of tents and clothing for her expedition, and honest enough to be grateful that she saw fit to provide for my clothing and shelter as well. Had she excluded me totally from her entourage, I could not have completely faulted her. Instead, Jofron came one day bearing a stack of clothing and bedding for me, and to measure my feet for the sack like boots the Mountain folk favored. She proved merry company, for she and the Fool exchanged playful barbs all the while. His fluency in Chyurda exceeded my own, and at times I was hard pressed to follow the conversation, while half of the Fool's wordplays escaped me. I wondered in passing exactly what went on between those two. When I had first arrived, I had thought her some sort of disciple to him. Now I wondered if she had not affected that interest simply as an excuse to be near him. Before she left, she measured the Fool's feet as well, and asked him questions as to what colors and trims he wished worked into the boots.
"New boots?" I asked him after she had gone. "As little as you venture outside, I would scarcely think you need them."
He gave me a level look. The recent merriment faded from his face. "You know I must go with you," he pointed out calmly. He smiled an odd smile. "Why else do you think we have been brought together in this far place? It is by the interaction of the Catalyst and the White Prophet that the events of this time shall be returned to their proper course. I believe that if we succeed, the Red-Ships will be driven from the Six Duchies coast, and a Farseer will inherit a throne."
"That would seem to fit most of the prophecies," Kettle agreed from her hearth corner. She was tying off the last row of knitting on a thick mitten. "If the plague of the mindless hunger is Forging, and your actions put a stop to that, that would fit another prophecy as well."
Kettle's knack of providing a prophecy for every occasion was beginning to grate on me. I took a breath, and then asked the Fool, "And what does Queen Kettricken say about your joining her party?"
"I haven't discussed it with her," he replied blithely. "I am not joining her, Fitz. I am following you." A sort of bemusement came over his face. "I have known since I was a child that together we should do this task. It had not occurred to me to question that I would go with you. I have been making preparations since the day you arrived here."
"As have I," Kettle observed quietly.
We both turned to stare at her. She feigned not to notice as she tried on the mitten and admired its fit.
"No." I spoke bluntly. Bad enough to look forward to dying pack animals. I was not going to witness the death of another friend. It was too obvious to voice that she was hopelessly too old for such a trek.
"I thought you might stay here, in my home," the Fool offered more gently. "There is plenty of firewood for the rest of the winter and some supplies of meal and-"
"I expect to die on the journey, if it's any comfort to you." She took off the mitten and set it with its mate. Casually she inspected what was left of her skein of wool. She began to cast on stitches, the yarn flowing effortlessly through her fingers. "And you needn't worry about me before then. I've made provision for myself. Done a bit of trading, and I have the food and such that I'll need." She glanced up at me from her needles, and added quietly, "I have the wherewithal to see this journey through to the end."
I had to admire her calm assumption that her life was still her own, to do with as she wished. I wondered when I had begun to think of her as a helpless old woman that someone would have to look after now. She looked back down to her knitting. Needlessly, for her fingers continued to work whether she watched them or not. "I see you understand me," she said quietly. And that was that.
I have never known any expedition to get off exactly as planned. Generally, the larger one is, the more difficulties it has. Ours was no exception. The morning before we were scheduled to depart, I was rudely shaken out of my sleep.
"Get up, Fitz, we have to leave now," Kettricken said tersely.
I sat up slowly. I was wide awake instantly, but my healing back still did not encourage me to move swiftly. The Fool was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking more anxious than I had ever seen him. "What is it?" I demanded.
"Regal." I had never heard so much venom in one word. Her face was very white and she knotted and unknotted her fists at her side. "He has sent a courier under a truce flag to my father, saying that we harbor a known traitor to the Six Duchies. He says that if we release you to him, he will see it as a sign of good faith with the Six Duchies and will not consider us an enemy. But if we do not, he will loose the troops he has poised on our borders, for he will know that we plot with his enemies against him," She paused. "My father is considering what to do."
"Kettricken, I am but the excuse," I protested. My heart was hammering in my chest. Nighteyes whined anxiously. "You must know it has taken him months to mass those troops. They are not there because I am here. They are in place because he plans to move against the Mountain Kingdom no matter what. You know Regal. It is all a bluff to see if he can get you to turn me over to him. Once you do, he will find some other pretext to attack."
"I am not a simpleton," she said coldly. "Our watchers have known of the troops for weeks. We have been doing what we can to prepare ourselves. Always our mountains have been our strongest defense. But never before have we confronted an organized foe in such numbers. My father is Sacrifice, Fitz. He must do whatever will best serve the Mountain Kingdom. So now he must ponder if by turning you over, he will have a chance to treat with Regal. Do not think my father is stupid enough to trust him. But the longer he can delay an attack against his people, the better prepared they will be."
"It sounds as if there is little left to decide," I said bitterly.
"There was no reason for my father to make me privy to the courier's message," Kettricken observed. "The decision is his." Her eyes met mine squarely, and held a shadow of our old friendship. "I think perhaps he offers me a chance to spirit you away. Before I would be defying his orders to turn you over to Regal.
Perhaps he thinks to tell Regal you have escaped but he intends to track you down."
Behind Kettricken, the Fool was pulling on leggings under his nightshirt.
"It will be harder than I had planned," Kettricken confided in me. "I cannot involve any other Mountain folk in this. It will have to be you, me, and Starling. Alone. And we must leave now, within the hour."
"I'll be ready," I promised her.
"Meet me behind Joss's woodshed," she said, and left.
I looked at the Fool. "So. Do we tell Kettle?"
"Why are you asking me?" he demanded.
I gave a small shrug. Then I got up and began dressing hastily. I thought of all the small ways in which I was not prepared and then gave it up as useless. In a very short time, the Fool and I shouldered our packs. Nighteyes rose, stretched thoroughly, and went to the door to precede us. I shall miss the fireplace. But the hunting will be better. He accepted all so calmly.
The Fool took a careful look around the hut, and then closed the door behind us. "That's the first place I've ever lived that was solely mine," he observed as we walked away from it.
"You leave so much behind to do this," I said awkwardly, thinking of his tools, his half-finished puppets, even the plants growing inside by the window. Despite myself, I felt responsible for it. Perhaps it was because I was so glad that I was not going on alone.
He glanced over at me and shrugged. "I take myself with me. That's all I truly need, or own." He glanced back at the door he had painted himself. "Jofron will take good care of it. And of Kettle, too."
I wondered if he left behind more than I knew.
We were nearly to the woodshed when I saw some children racing down the path toward us. "There he is!" one cried, pointing. I shot a startled glance at the Fool, then braced myself, wondering what was to come. How could one defend oneself against children? At a loss, I awaited the attack. But the wolf did not wait. He sank low to his belly in the snow, even his tail flat. As the children closed the distance, he suddenly shot forward straight at the leader. "NO!" I cried aloud in horror, but none of them paid me any heed. The wolf's front paws struck the boy's chest, to drive him down hard in the snow. In a flash Nighteyes was up and after the others, who fled, shrieking with laughter as one after another he caught up with them and mowed them down. By the time he'd felled the last one, the first boy was up and after him, vainly trying to keep up with the wolf and making wild grabs at his tail as Nighteyes flashed by him, tongue lolling.
He felled them all again, twice more, before he halted in one of his racing loops. He watched the children getting to their feet, then glanced over his shoulder at me. He folded his ears down abashedly, then looked back to the children, his tail wagging low. One girl was already digging a chunk of fatbread out of her pocket while another teased him with a strip of leather, snaking it over the snow and trying to get him involved in a tug-of-war. I feigned, not to notice.
I'll catch up with you later, he offered.
No doubt, I told him dryly. The Fool and I kept walking. I glanced back once to see the wolf, teeth set in the leather and all four feet braced while two boys dragged at the other end of it. I surmised that I now knew how he had been spending his afternoons. I think I felt a pang of envy.
Kettricken was already waiting. Six laden jeppas were roped together in a train. I wished now I had taken the time to learn more about them, but I had assumed the others would have the care of them. "We're still taking all of them?" I asked in dismay.
"It would take too long to unpack the loads and repack with only what we need. Perhaps later we'll abandon the extra supplies and animals. But for now, I simply wish to be gone as soon as possible."
"Then let's leave," I suggested.
Kettricken looked pointedly at the Fool. "What are you doing here? Wishing Fitz farewell?"
"I go where he goes," the Fool said quietly.
The Queen looked at him and something in her face almost softened. "It will be cold, Fool. I have not forgotten how you suffered from the cold on the way here. Where we go, now, the cold will linger long after spring has reached Jhaampe."
"I go where he does," the Fool repeated quietly.
Kettricken shook her head to herself. Then she shrugged. She strode to the head of the line of jeppas and snapped her fingers. The lead animal flapped his hairy ears and followed her. The others followed him. Their obedience impressed me. I quested briefly toward them and found such a strong herd instinct at work that they scarcely thought of themselves as separate animals. As long as the lead animal followed Kettricken, there would be no problems with the others.
Kettricken led us along a trail that was little more than a path.
It wound mostly behind the scattered cottages that housed the winter residents of Jhaampe. In a very short time we left the last of the huts behind and traveled through ancient forest. The Fool and I walked behind the string of animals. I watched the one in front of us, marking how his wide, flat feet spread on the snow much as the wolf's did. They set a pace slightly faster than a comfortable walk.
We had not gone too far before I heard a shout behind us. I flinched and glanced hastily over my shoulder. It was Starling, coming at a run, her pack jouncing on her shoulders. When she came up to us, she said accusingly, "You left without me!"
The Fool grinned. I shrugged. "I left when my queen commanded it," I observed.
She glared at us, and then hurried past us, floundering through the loose snow beside the trail to pass the jeppas and catch up with Kettricken. Their voices carried clearly in the cold air. "I told you I was leaving right away," the Queen said tersely. "Then I did."
To my amazement, Starling had the sense to be quiet. For a brief time she struggled along in the loose snow beside Kettricken. Then she gradually gave it up, letting first the jeppas, and then the Fool and me pass her. She fell in behind me. I knew our pace would be difficult for her to match. I felt sorry for her. Then I thought of my daughter, and did not even look back to see if she was keeping up.
It was the beginning of a long, uneventful day. The path led always uphill, never steeply, but the constant grade was taxing. Kettricken did not let up on the pace, but kept us moving steadily. None of us talked much. I was too busy breathing, and trying to ignore the gradually increasing ache in my back. Sound flesh covered the arrow wound now, but the muscles under it still complained of their new healing.
Great trees towered above us. Most of the trees were evergreens, some of kinds I had never seen before. They made a perpetual twilight of the brief winter day's grayness. There was little underbrush to struggle with; most of the scenery was of the staggered ranks of immense trunks and a few low swooping branches. For the most part, the live branches of the trees began far over our heads. From time to time, we passed patches of smaller deciduous trees that had sprung up in patches of open forest made by a great tree's demise. The path was well packed, evidently used often by animals and by folk on skis. It was narrow, and if one did not pay attention, it was easy to step off the path and sink surprisingly deep in the unpacked snow. I tried to pay attention.
The day was mild, by mountain standards, and I soon discovered that the clothing Kettricken had procured for me was very efficient at keeping me warm. I loosened my coat at the throat and then the collar of my shirt to let body heat escape. The Fool threw back the fur rimmed hood of his coat, to reveal that he wore a gay woolen hat within it. I watched the tassel on the end of it bobbing as he walked. If the pace bothered him, he said nothing about it. Perhaps, like me, he had no breath left to complain.
Shortly after midday, Nighteyes joined us.
"Good doggie!" I observed aloud to him.
That pales in comparison to what Kettle is calling you. He observed smugly. I pity you all when the old bitch catches up with the pack. She has a stick.
Is she following us?
She tracks quite well, for a noseless human. Nighteyes trotted past us, moving with surprising ease even in the unpacked snow to the side of the trail. I could tell he was enjoying the ripple of unease that his scent pushed through the trailing jeppas. I watched him as he passed them all and then Kettricken. Once he was in the lead, he ranged confidently ahead, just as if he knew where we were going. I soon lost sight of him, but I did not worry. I knew he would circle back often to check on us.
"Kettle is following us," I told the Fool.
He shot me a questioning look.
"Nighteyes says she is quite angry with us."
His shoulders rose and fell in a quick sigh. "Well. She has a right to her own decision," he observed to himself. Then, to me, he added, "It still unnerves me a bit when you and the wolf do that."
"Does it bother you? That I am Witted?"
"Does it bother you to meet my eyes?" he rejoined.
It was enough. We kept walking.
Kettricken held us to a steady pace for as long as the daylight lasted. A trampled area under the shelter of some of the great trees was our stopping place. While it did not look frequently used, we were on some sort of traders' trail to Jhaampe. Kettricken was matter-of-fact in her total command of us. She gestured Starling to a small rick of dry firewood protected from the snow by canvas. "Use some to get a fire started, and then take care to replace at least as much as we use. Many folk stop here, and in foul weather, a life may depend on that wood being there." Starling meekly obeyed.
She directed the Fool and I as we assisted her in setting up a shelter. When we were finished, we had a tent shaped rather like the cap of a mushroom. That done, she portioned out the tasks of unloading bedding and moving it into the tent, unloading the animals and picketing the lead animal, and melting snow for water. She herself shared fully in the tasks. I watched the efficiency with which she established our camp and saw to our needs. With a pang, I realized she reminded me of Verity. She would have made a good soldier.
Once our basic camp was established, the Fool and I exchanged glances. I went to where Kettricken was checking our jeppas. Those hardy beasts were already at work nibbling bud tips and bark from the smaller trees that fronted one side of the camp. "I think Kettle may be following us," I told her. "Do you think I should go back and look for her?"
"To what end?" Kettricken asked me. The question sounded callous, but she went on, "If she can catch up with us, then we will share what we have. You know that. But I suspect that she will weary before she gets here, and turn back to Jhaampe. Perhaps she has already turned back."
And perhaps she has become exhausted and sunk down by the side of the trail, I thought. But I did not go back. I recognized in Kettricken's words the harsh practicality of the Mountain folk. She would respect Kettle's decision to follow us. Even if her attempt to do so killed her, Kettricken would not interfere with her own will for herself. I knew that among the Mountain folk, it was not unusual for an old person to choose what they called sequestering, a self-imposed exile where cold might put an end to all infirmities. I, too, respected Kettle's right to choose her life path, or die in the attempt. But it did not stop me from sending Nighteyes back down our trail to see if she was still coming. I chose to believe it was only curiosity on my part. He had just returned to camp with a bloody white hare in his jaws. At my request, he stood, stretched, and woefully commanded me, Guard my meat, then. He disappeared into the gathering dusk.
The evening meal of porridge and hearth cakes was just finished cooking when Kettle came into camp with Nighteyes at her heels. She stalked up to the fire and stood warming her hands at it as she glowered at the Fool and me. The Fool and I exchanged a glance. It was a guilty one. I hastily offered Kettle the cup of tea I had just poured for myself. She took it and drank it before she said accusingly, "You left without me."
"Yes," I admitted. "We did. Kettricken came to us and said we must leave right away, so the Fool and I-"
"I came anyway," she announced triumphantly, cutting through my words. "And I intend to go on with you."
"We are fleeing," Kettricken said quietly. "We can't slow our pace for you."
Sparks near leaped from Kettle's eyes. "Did I ask you to?" she asked the Queen tartly.
Kettricken shrugged. "Just so you understand," she said quietly.
"I do," Kettle replied as quietly. And it was settled.
I had watched this interchange with a sort of awe. I felt an increase in respect for both of the women afterward. I think I fully grasped then how Kettricken perceived herself. She was the Queen of the Six Duchies and she did not doubt it. But unlike many, she had not hidden behind a title or taken offense at Kettle's quick reply to her. Instead, she had answered her, woman to woman, with respect but also authority. Once more I had glimpsed her mettle and found I could not fault it.
We all shared the yurt that night. Kettricken filled a small brazier with coals from our fire and brought it within. It made the shelter surprisingly comfortable. She posted a watch and included both Kettle and herself in that duty. The others slept well. I lay awake for a time. I was once more on my way to find Verity. That brought a tiny measure of release from the incessant Skillcommand. But I was also on my way to the river where he had laved his hands in raw Skill. That seductive image lurked always at the edge of my mind now. Resolutely I pushed the temptation from my mind, but that night my dreams were full of it. We broke camp early, and were on our way before the day was fairly born. Kettricken bid us discard a second, smaller yurt that had been brought along to accommodate our original larger party. She left it carefully stowed at the stopping place where another might find and make use of it. The freed beast was loaded instead with the bulk of the packs the humans had carried. I was grateful, for the throbbing of my back was unceasing now.
For four days Kettricken held us to that pace. She did not say if she truly expected pursuit. I did not ask. There were no real opportunities for private talk with anyone. Kettricken always led, followed by the animals, the Fool and me, Starling, and often trailing us by quite a distance, Kettle. Both women kept their promises. Kettricken did not slow the pace for the old woman, and Kettle never complained of it. Each night she came into camp late, usually accompanied by Nighteyes. She was often just in time to share our food and shelter for the night. But she arose the moment Kettricken did the next day and never complained.
The fourth night, when we were all within the tent and settling down to sleep, Kettricken suddenly addressed me. "FitzChivalry, I would have your thoughts on something," she declared.
I sat up, intrigued by the formality of her request. "I am at your service, my queen."
Beside me, the Fool muffled a snicker. I suppose we both looked a bit odd, sitting in a welter of blankets and furs and addressing one another so formally. But I kept my demeanor.
Kettricken added a few bits of dry wood to the brazier to bring up a flame and light. She took out an enameled cylinder, removed the cap, and coaxed out a piece of vellum. As she gently unrolled it, I recognized the map that had inspired Verity to his quest. It seemed odd to look at the faded map in this setting. It belonged to a much more secure time in my life, when hot meals of good food were taken for granted, when my clothes were tailored to fit me and I knew where I would sleep each night. It seemed unfair that my whole world had changed so much since I had last seen the map, but that it remained unchanged, an aging flap of vellum with a worn tracery of lines on it. Kettricken held it flat on her lap and tapped a blank spot on it. "This is about where we are," she told me. She took a breath as if bracing herself. She tapped another spot, likewise unmarked. "This is about where we found the signs of a battle. Where I found Verity's cloak and … the bones." Her voice quavered a bit on the words. She looked up suddenly and her eyes met mine as they had not since Buckkeep. "You know, Fitz, it is hard for me. I gathered up those bones and thought they were his. For so many months, I believed him dead. And now, solely on your word of some magic that I do not possess or understand, I try to believe he is alive. That there is hope still. But … I have held those bones. And my hands cannot forget the weight and chill of them, nor my nose that smell."
"He lives, my lady," I assured her quietly.
She sighed again. "Here is what I would ask you. Shall we go directly to where the trails are marked on this map, the ones that Verity said he would follow? Or do you wish to be taken to the battle site first?"
I thought for a time. "I am sure you gathered from that place all there was to gather, my queen. Time has passed, part of a summer and more than half of a winter since you were last there. No. I can think of nothing I might find there that your trackers did not when the ground was bared of snow. Verity lives, my queen, and he is not there. So let us not seek him there, but where he said he would go."
She nodded slowly, but if she took heart from my words, she did not show it. Instead, she tapped the map again. "This road here shown is known to us. It was a trade road once, and although no one even recalls what its destination was, it is still used. The more remote villages and the solitary trappers have their paths to it, and they then follow it down to Jhaampe. We could have been traveling on it all this time, but I did not wish to. It is too well used. We have come by the swiftest route, if not the widest. Tomorrow, however, we shall cross it. And when we do, we shall set our backs toward Jhaampe and follow it up into the Mountains." Her finger traced it on the map. "I have never been to that part of the Mountains," she said simply. "Few have, other than trappers or occasional adventurers who go to see if the old tales are true. Usually they bring back tales of their own that are even stranger than the ones that prompted them to go adventuring."
I watched her pale fingers walk slowly across the map. The faint lines of the ancient road diverged into three separate trails with different destinations. It began and ended, that road, with no apparent source or destination. Whatever had once been marked at the end of those lines had faded away into inky ghosts. Neither of us had any way of knowing which destination Verity had chosen. Though they did not look far separated on the map, the terrain of the Mountains could mean they were days or even weeks apart. I also had small trust in such an old map being reliably to scale.
"Where are we going first?" I asked her.
She hesitated briefly, then her finger tapped one of the trail ends. "Here. I think this one would be closest."
"Then that is a wise choice."
She met my eyes again. "Fitz. Could not you simply Skill to him, and ask him where he is? Or bid him come to us? Or at least ask him why he has not returned to me?"
At each small shake of my head, her eyes grew wilder. "Why not?" she demanded in a shaking voice. "This great and secret magic of the Farseers cannot even call him to us in such need?"
I kept my eyes on her face, but wished there had been fewer listening ears. Despite all Kettricken knew of me, I still felt very uneasy speaking of the Skill with anyone save Verity. I chose my words carefully. "By Skilling to him, I might place him in great danger, my lady. Or draw trouble down on us."
"How?" she demanded.
I briefly considered the Fool, Kettle, and Starling. It was hard to explain to myself the uneasiness I felt at speaking bluntly of a magic that had been guarded as a secret for so many generations. But this was my queen and she had asked me a question. I lowered my eyes and spoke. "The coterie Galen made was never loyal to the King. Not to King Shrewd, not to King Verity. Always they were the tool of a traitor, used to cast doubt on the King's abilities and undermine his ability to defend his kingdom."
From Kettle came a small gasp of indrawn breath, while Kettricken's blue eyes went steely gray with cold. I continued. "Even now, were I to openly Skill to Verity, they might find a way to listen. By such a Skilling, they might find him. Or us. They have grown strong in the Skill, and ferreted out ways of using it that I have never learned. They spy on other Skill users. They can, using only the Skill, inflict pain, or create illusion. I fear to Skill to my king, Queen Kettricken. That he has not chosen to Skill to me makes me believe my caution is the same as his."
Kettricken had gone snow pale as she mulled my words. Softly she asked, "Always disloyal to him, Fitz? Speak plainly. Did not they aid in defending the Six Duchies at all?"
I weighed my words as if I were reporting to Verity himself. "I have no proof, my lady. But I would guess that Skill-messages of Red-Ships were sometimes never relayed, or were deliberately delayed. I think the commands that Verity Skilled forth to the coterie members in the watchtowers were not passed on to the keeps they were to guard. They obeyed him enough that Verity could not tell his messages and commands had been delivered hours after he had sent them. To his dukes, his efforts would appear inept, his strategies untimely or foolish." My voice trailed away at the anger that blossomed in Kettricken's face. Color came up in her cheeks, angry roses.
"How many lives?" she asked harshly. "How many towns? How many dead, or worse, Forged? All for a prince's spite, all for a spoiled boy's ambition for the throne? How could he have done it, Fitz? How could he have stood to let people die simply to make his brother look foolish and incompetent?"
I did not have any real answer to that. "Perhaps he did not think they were people and towns," I heard myself say softly. "Perhaps to him they were only game pieces. Possessions of Verity's to be destroyed if he could not win them for himself."
Kettricken closed her eyes. "This cannot be forgiven," she said quietly to herself. She sounded ill with it. With an oddly gentle finality, she added, "You will have to kill him, FitzChivalry."
So odd, to be given that royal command at last. "I know that, my lady. I knew it when last I tried."
"No," she corrected me. "When last you attempted it, it was for yourself. Did not you know that had angered me? This time, I tell you that you must kill him for the sake of the Six Duchies." She shook her head, almost surprised. "It is the only way in which he can be Sacrifice for his people. To be killed for them before he can hurt them any more."
She looked around abruptly at the circle of silent people huddled in bedding, staring at her. "Go to sleep," she told all of us, as if we were willful children. "We must get up early again tomorrow and once more travel swiftly. Sleep while you can."
Starling went outside to take up her first night's watch. The others lay back, and as the flames from the brazier fell and the light dimmed, I am sure they slept. But despite my weariness, I lay and stared into the darkness. About me were only the sounds of people breathing, of the night wind barely moving through the trees. If I quested out, I could sense Nighteyes prowling about, ever alert for the unwary mouse. The peace and stillness of the winterbound forest was all around us. They all slept deeply, save for Starling on watch.
No one else heard the rushing drive of the Skill-urge that grew stronger within me every day of our journeying. I had not spoken to the Queen of my other fear: that if I reached out to Verity with the Skill, I would never return, but would instead immerse myself in that Skill river I had glimpsed and be forever borne away on it. Even to think on that temptation brought me quivering to the edge of acquiescence. Fiercely I set my walls and boundaries, putting every guard between me and the Skill that I had ever been taught. But tonight I set them, not just to keep Regal and his coterie out of my mind, but to keep myself in it.