Assassin’s Fate

At his naming of me, something huge stirred and rose from the depths of the Skill-current. It felt like nothing I had ever experienced before. Nettle, Dutiful and Thick all recoiled. WALLS! I cautioned them all, but they were already gone. As Thick lost his focus, they had vanished like mist in the morning, leaving me alone in a rising mire of foreign magic — a magic that felt repugnant and wrong, tarnished and foul, as if a child hissed like a snake. Thick and slimy, it rose around me. But my careless moment of reaching out had opened a door into me. And that awareness flowed in and touched me.

It was a sloppy outpouring of thoughts. I held myself still and small, tight and hard as a nut. I had been taught to use the Skill with purpose and discipline, targeting my thoughts as one might lunge with a sword to skewer an opponent. This was a formless push. There was great strength behind it but no intent. Like having a plough horse lean against you inside a stall. I held still and did not push back.

Farseer. That name. He groped after me. I was breathlessly still. I feel you. You are close, aren’t you? And something is with you. What is that? Not a man. The flow of thick magic touched Paragon. The ship jolted to awareness and a shudder ran through the deck.

Touch me not! The ship ordered it, and I felt the ship’s unease before Paragon put up a wall of his own, the same defence he used to keep his thoughts private from me.

The awareness fumbled at him fruitlessly, then came back to me. His power wrapped me and I was tumbled and shaken as if by a random wave. I could raise no wall against him, for he was already within my mind. His power terrified me, but he seemed to have no idea how to use it. He bumbled blindly in darkness, unable to seize me. I held my stillness and was brusquely dropped as something else caught his attention. I heard the voice that distracted him.

‘Vindeliar, awake. I have questions for you.’ Then a horrified whisper. ‘What have you done? Symphe! Symphe, oh, no, she’s dead! What have you done, you wretch? Dwalia, too? Killed your mistress too?’

Nothing! I did not kill them! No one listens to me. You come here, over and over, to hurt me, to make me say things that you won’t believe! You are here to hurt me again, aren’t you, Coultrie? You like to hurt me!’ Fear hit me a hammer blow that paralysed me. But it was followed by a surging fury, an outraged hatred, and underlying it in a sick wave a youngster’s hurt at being abandoned. He blasted it out. Dwalia is dead! Symphe is dead! You hurt me and hurt me, and I told you Bee was bad and had magic and would do terrible things, but you only said I was lying and hurt me more! Now they are dead, and you come to hurt me again! Well, I will hurt you now!

He did not aim it at me. If he had, I would have screamed as loud as Coultrie. I still fell helplessly to Paragon’s deck as a sidewash of agony hit me. I knew them for what they were. Hot pincers, chains that held me off my feet, tiny blades that wandered over my flesh. I felt him realize his power.

No screaming! He silenced his target. He was not a swift thinker, but with strength such as he had, it might not matter. He pondered as slowly as an ox-cart going up a steep hill. I felt his childish glee as he realized his power. Coultrie. Now you love me. You love me more than anything. You are so sad I was hurt. Unchain me! You will get me a healer and bring me food. Good food, like the little Whites in the cottages get! You will take me out of here, to a nice place with a soft bed. And you will tell Capra and Fellowdy that all I told them is true. Bee has magic and Bee did this. Bee killed Symphe and Dwalia.