Royal Assassin

His voice quavered only slightly as he told how they had been ambushed on the plains of Farrow, before they came in sight of Blue Lake. He drew no conclusions himself, but only observed that these highwaymen fought in a military style. While they wore no Duke’s colors, they seemed well dressed and well armed for brigands. And Verity was obviously their intended target. When two of the baggage animals broke loose and fled, none of their attackers broke away to follow them. Bandits usually would have preferred chasing laden pack beasts to fighting armed men. Verity’s men had finally found a place to take a stand and had successfully stood them off. Their attackers had finally given up when they realized that Verity’s guard would die to the last man before surrendering or giving way. They had ridden off, leaving their fallen dead in the snow.

“They had not defeated us, but we were not unscathed. We lost a good portion of our supplies. Seven men and nine horses were killed outright. Two of us were injured seriously. Three others took minor injuries. It was Prince Verity’s decision to send the injured back to Buckkeep. With us he sent two sound men. His plan was to continue his quest, to take his guard with him as far as the Mountain Kingdom, and to have them stay there to await his return. Keen was placed in charge of those of us returning. To him, Verity entrusted written information. I do not know what that information packet contained. Keen and the others were killed five days ago. We were ambushed just outside the border of Buck, as we were traveling by the Buck River. Archers. It was very . . . quick. Four of us went down right away. My horse was struck in the flank. Ruddy’s a young beast. He panicked. He plunged over an embankment into the river, and I with him. The river is deep there, and the current strong. I clung to Ruddy, but we were both swept downriver. I heard Keen shouting to the others to ride, that some must make it back to Buckkeep. But none of them did. When Ruddy and I managed to clamber out of the Buck, we went back. I found the bodies. The papers Keen had carried were gone.”

He stood straight as he reported, and his voice was clear. His words were simple. His report was a simple description of what had happened. He mentioned nothing of what he had felt at being sent back, or at being the sole survivor to return. He would drink himself sodden tonight, I suspected. I wondered if he would want company for that. But for now, he stood, silent, awaiting his king’s questions. The silence stretched overlong. “My King?” he ventured.

King Shrewd shifted in the shadows of his bed. “It reminds me of my younger days,” he said hoarsely. “Once I could sit a horse and hold a sword. When a man loses that well, once that is gone, he has actually lost far more than that. But your horse was all right?”

Burrich furrowed his brow. “I did what I could for him, my King. He will take no permanent harm from it.”

“Well. At least there is that, then. At least there is that.” King Shrewd paused. For a moment we listened to his breathing. He seemed to be working at it. “Go and get some rest, man,” he said at last, gruffly. “You look terrible. I may . . .” He paused and took two breaths. “I will call you back later. When you are rested. I am sure there are things to ask. . . .” His voice trailed off, and again he simply breathed. The deep breaths a man takes when the pain is almost too much to bear. I remembered what I had felt that night. I tried to imagine listening to Burrich report while enduring such pain. And struggling not to show it. The Fool leaned in over the King to look into his face. Then he looked at us and gave a tiny shake to his head.

“Come,” I said softly to Burrich. “Your King has given you an order.”

He seemed to lean on me more heavily as we left the King’s bedchamber.

“He did not seem to care,” Burrich said quietly, carefully to me as we moved laboriously down the corridor.

“He does. Trust me. He cares deeply.” We had come to the staircase. I hesitated. A flight down, through the hall, the kitchen, across the court, and into the stables. Then up the steep stairs to Burrich’s loft. Or up two flight of steps and down the hall to my room. “I’m taking you up to my room,” I told him.

“No. I want to be in my own place.” He sounded fretful as a sick child.

“In a while. After you’ve rested a bit,” I told him firmly. He did not resist as I eased him up the steps. I don’t think he had the strength. He leaned against the wall while I unlatched my door. Once the door was open, I helped him in. I tried to get him to lie down on my bed, but he insisted on the chair by the hearth. Once ensconced there, he leaned his head back and closed his eyes. When he relaxed, all the privations of his journey showed in his face. Too much bone showed beneath his flesh, and his color was terrible.

He lifted his head and looked around the room as if he’d never seen it before. “Fitz? Have you anything to drink up here?”