Royal Assassin

I looked up to find Verity’s dark eyes full of sympathy. “I had forgotten that you had had some experience fighting them. Forgive me. I don’t dismiss it. There is just so much besieging me lately.” His voice dwindled away and he seemed to be listening to something far away. After a moment he came back to himself. “So. You believe they cannot cooperate. And yet it seems to be happening. See, here,” and he brushed his hand lightly over a map spread out on his table. “I have been marking the places of the complaints, and keeping track of how many are said to be there. What do you think of this?”

I went to stand beside him. Standing next to Verity was now like standing next to a different sort of hearth. The strength of the Skill radiated from him. I wondered if he strove to hold it in check, if it always threatened to spill out of him and spread his consciousness over the whole kingdom.

“The map, Fitz,” he recalled me, and I wondered how much he knew of my thoughts. I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. The map showed Buck, done in wondrous detail. Shallows and tide flats were marked along the coast, as well as inland landmarks and lesser roads. It was a map made lovingly, by a man who had walked and ridden and sailed the area. Verity had used bits of red wax as markers. I studied them, trying to see what his real concern was.

“Seven different incidents.” He reached to touch his markers. “Some within a day’s ride of Buckkeep. But we have had no raids that close, so where would these Forged ones be coming from? They might be driven away from their home villages, true, but why would they converge upon Buckkeep?”

“Perhaps these are desperate people pretending to be Forged ones when they go out to steal from their neighbors?”

“Perhaps. But it is troubling that the incidents are happening closer and closer to Buckkeep. There are three different groups, from what the victims say. But each time there is a report of a robbery or a barn broken into or a cow butchered in the field, the group responsible seems to have moved closer to Buckkeep. I can think of no reason for Forged ones to do such a thing. And — he halted me as I began to speak — the descriptions of one group match those of another attack, reported over a month ago. If these are the same Forged ones, they have come a long way in that time.”

“It does not seem like Forged ones,” I said, and then carefully, I asked, “Do you suspect a conspiracy of some kind?”

Verity snorted bitterly. “Of course. When do I not suspect conspiracies anymore? But for this, at least, I think I can look further afield than Buckkeep to find the source.” He halted abruptly, as if hearing how bluntly he had spoken. “Look into it for me, Fitz, will you? Ride out and about a bit, and listen. Tell me what they say in the taverns, and tell me what sign you find on the roads. Gather gossip of other attacks, and keep track of the detail. Quietly. Can you do that for me?”

“Of course. But why quietly? It seems to me that if we alerted folk, we would hear more swiftly of what goes on.”

“We would hear more, that’s true. More of rumors, and much more of complaint. So far these are individual complaints. I am the only one, I think, who has put together a pattern from them. I do not want Buckkeep itself up in arms, complaining that the King cannot even protect his capital city. No. Quietly, Fitz. Quietly.”

“Just look into it quietly.” I did not voice it as a question.

Verity gave his broad shoulders a small shrug. But it was more like a man shifting a burden than dislodging a load. “Put a stop to it where you can.” His voice was small and he looked into the fire. “Quietly, Fitz. Very quietly.”

I nodded slowly. I had had these kinds of assignments before also. Killing Forged ones did not bother me as much as killing a man did. Sometimes I tried to pretend I was laying a restless soul to peace, putting a family’s anguish to a final end. I hoped I would not become too adept at lying to myself. It was a luxury an assassin could not afford. Chade had warned me that I must always remember what I truly was. Not an angel of mercy, but a killer who worked for the good of the King. Or the King-in-Waiting. It was my duty to keep the throne secure. My duty. I hesitated, then spoke.

“My prince. As I was coming back I saw our Queen-in-Waiting Kettricken. She was riding out with Prince Regal.”

“They make a handsome pair, do they not? And does she sit her horse well?” Verity could not entirely keep bitterness from his voice.

“Aye. But in the Mountain style still.”

“She came to me, saying she wished to learn to ride our tall lowland horses better. I commended the idea. I did not know she would choose Regal as a riding master.” Verity leaned over his map, studying detail that was not there.

“Perhaps she hoped you would teach her.” I spoke thoughtlessly, to the man, not the Prince.