Assassin’s Fate

I felt a Skill-like surge of utter belief that he forced onto someone else. I had no doubt of the truth he told. He drenched me with certainty until I feared that it would be Skill-seared into me. For one terrible instant, I knew that Bee was dangerous, shared his total conviction that she must die.

Make them believe me! I tried to warn you before but no one listened to me. Tell them a Farseer is near! He talks of killing all of us, of destroying all Clerres. And there are dragons in the harbour. I felt them! I almost saw them. Tell them that! But get me food first.

Pulling free of that entity was like trying to wallow out of a bog. His awareness sucked at me the way mud drags off a man’s boots and holds him fast. I struggled against a strength that was easily the equal of Thick’s at his finest. His mind gripped mine in a disgusting embrace, and suddenly he was peering out of my eyes, smelling and touching and tasting all that I did. I could not raise my walls, and the more I retreated into myself, the more of my senses he claimed as territory. He was on the verge of seizing control of my body and will.

I flung myself at him. He had not expected an attack. Had he no walls? He did not. He had widened the bridge between us; I charged over it. I claimed his vision and his other senses. I stared up at a fellow with his face disguised in white paint and powder, clad all in green the colour of swamp slime. I was lying on a cold stone floor, with the chill bite of a metal collar around my neck. My hands were bloody with fresh small cuts. I was chilled through and aching, with swollen eyes and bruises all over my body. Trivial injuries but I cherished each one as a wrong done to me by my brother. All of this was my brother’s fault and now I hated my brother.

In disdain, I peeled my awareness from his. He clutched at me, refusing to let me escape. I let him enjoy how I despised his weakness. None of his injuries would have disabled a warrior. The Fool had endured far worse. His sense of injured self-righteousness weakened him. He was soft and as full of self-pity as a boil is full of pus.

‘I have suffered!’ Somewhere he spoke the words aloud. He found my dismissal of his injuries insulting. So easy to distract him.

‘Vindeliar?’ I heard someone plead, ‘Speak to me. What happened here?’

His wrists were raw from shackles. I chose that pain and focused on it. His hands had little cuts all over them. I brought their stinging to his consciousness. I found an aching, loosened tooth and drove that pain to the front of his mind. He began to make helpless noises. I felt him flapping his hands, and as he paid more attention to his little pains, he built them up for himself. I suddenly snapped his jaws shut on his tongue, hard enough to bloody it. He gave a shriek, as much at my power over him as at the pain. I wanted to do more. I wanted to kill him. I let him know that, and in his instant of panic, he pushed me away from him. I surged back into my own body and flung up my walls. Walls tight, body curled into a tight defensive ball. I was panting as if I’d done an axe bout with Burrich.

‘Prince FitzChivalry? Fitz? Fitz!’

I opened my eyes to Brashen crouched over me. Fear and relief warred on his face. ‘Are you all right?’ In a lower voice, ‘What did Paragon do to you?’

I was coiled in a ball on the deck. The strengthening day around us was warm but my clothes were clammy and clung to me with cold sweat. Brashen held his hand out to me and I clutched his forearm and pulled myself upright. ‘Not the ship,’ I gasped. ‘Something much darker. And stronger.’

‘Come to my stateroom. You look as if you could use a drink and I’ve news.’

I shook my head. ‘I need to gather my friends. We must go ashore, as soon as possible. Today I must find my child. They are going to kill her!’

He clapped a steadying hand to my shoulder. ‘Get control. You’ve had a terrible dream. You need to let go of it and face the day.’

I started to shake free of his misplaced sympathy but his next words froze me.

‘I’ve bad news for you and it’s all real. Amber is missing.’

‘What? Overboard?’

He scowled. ‘Not in the way you think. We anchored late last night. Both Althea and I went to get some sleep. In the night, some of the crew took a ship’s boat and went ashore, eager to see the town they’d heard tales about. Kennitsson among them, and Boy-O, too.’ He strangled and then swallowed his anger. ‘Did you know of that plan?’ It was almost an accusation.

‘No! And you think Amber went with them?’