Royal Assassin - Страница 31

Kettricken had slashed one across the face, blinding him with blood, but still he clung to her and tried to drag her from the saddle. The other ignored the plight of his fellows, tugging instead at saddlebags that probably carried no more than a bit of food and brandy packed for a day’s ride.

Sooty took me in close to the one gripping Softstep’s headstall. I saw it was a woman and then my sword was into her and out again, as soulless an exercise as chopping wood. Such a peculiar struggle. I could sense Kettricken and me, the fright of her horse and Sooty’s battle-trained enthusiasm, but from her attackers, nothing. Nothing at all. No anger throbbed, no pain of their wounds shrieked for attention. To my Wit, they were not there at all, any more than the snow or the wind that likewise opposed me.

I watched as in a dream as Kettricken seized her attacker by the hair and leaned his head back that she might cut his throat. Blood spilled black in the moonlight, drenching her coat and leaving a sheen on the chestnut’s neck and shoulder before he fell back to spasm in the snow. I swung my short sword at the last one, but missed. Kettricken did not. Her short knife danced in, and punched through jerkin and rib cage and into his lung, and out again as swift. She kicked him away. “To me!” she said simply into the night, and put heels to her chestnut, driving Softstep straight up the hill. Sooty ran with her nose at Kettricken’s stirrup, and so we crested the hill together, glimpsing the lights of Buckkeep briefly before we plunged down the other side.

There was brush at the bottom of the slope, and a creek hidden by the snow, so I kicked Sooty into the lead and turned Softstep before she could blunder into it and fall. Kettricken said nothing as I turned her horse, but let me take the lead as we entered the forest on the other side of the stream. I moved us as swiftly as I dared, expecting always figures to shout and leap out at us. But we made the road at last, just as the clouds closed up again, stealing the moonlight from us. I slowed the horses and let them breathe. For some time we traveled in silence, both intently listening for any sounds of pursuit.

After a time we felt safer, and I heard Kettricken let out her pent breath in a long, shaky sigh. “Thank you, Fitz,” she said simply, but could not keep her voice quite steady. I made no comment, half expecting that at any moment she would burst into weeping. I would not have blamed her. Instead she gradually gathered herself, tugging her clothes straight, wiping her blade on her pants and then resheathing it at her waist. She leaned forward to pat Softstep’s neck and murmur words of praise and comfort to the horse. I felt Softstep’s tension ease and admired Kettricken’s skill to have so swiftly gained the confidence of the tall horse.

“How came you here? Seeking me?” she asked at last.

I shook my head. Snow was beginning to fall again. “I was out hunting, and went farther than I had intended. It was but good fortune that brought me to you.” I paused, then ventured, “Did you get lost? Will there be riders searching for you?”

She sniffed, and took a breath. “Not exactly,” she said in a shaky voice. “I went out riding with Regal. A few others rode with us, but when the storm began to threaten, we all turned back to Buckkeep. The others rode on before us, but Regal and I came more slowly. He was telling me a folktale from his home Duchy, and we let the others ride ahead, that I should not have to hear it through their chatter.” She took a breath and I heard her swallow back the last of the night’s terror. Her voice was calmer when she went on.

“The others were far ahead of us, when a fox started up suddenly from the brush by the path. ‘Follow me, if you’d like to see real sport!’ Regal challenged me, and he turned his horse from the path and set off after the animal. Whether I would or no, Softstep sprang after them. Regal rode like a mad thing, all stretched out on his horse, urging it on with a quirt.” There was consternation, and wonder, but also a stain of admiration in her voice as she described him.

Softstep had not answered the rein. At first she had been fearful of their pace, for she did not know the terrain and feared that Softstep would stumble. So she had tried to rein in her mount. But when she had realized that she could no longer see the road or the others, and that Regal had gotten far ahead of her, she had given Softstep her head, in the hopes of catching up. With the predictable result that as the storm closed in she had lost her way completely. She had turned back to retrace her trail to the road, but the falling snow and blowing wind had quickly erased it. At last she had given Softstep the bit, trusting her horse to find her way home. Probably she would have, if those wild men had not set upon her. Her voice dwindled away into silence.

“Forged ones,” I told her quietly.

“Forged ones,” she repeated in a wondering voice. Then, more firmly: “They have no hearts left. So it was explained to me.” I felt more than saw her glance. “Am I so poor a Sacrifice that there are folk who would kill me?”

In the distance we heard the winding of a horn. Searchers.

“They would have set upon any that crossed their paths,” I told her. “For them, there was no thought that it was their Queen-in-Waiting they attacked. I doubt greatly that they knew who you were at all.” I closed my jaws firmly before I could add that such was not the case with Regal. If he had not intended her harm, neither had he kept her from coming to it. I did not believe he had ever intended to show her “sport” in chasing a fox across snowy hills in the twilight. He had meant to lose her. And done so handily.

“I think my lord will be very wroth with me,” she said, woeful as a child. As if in answer to her prediction, we rounded the shoulder of the hill and saw men on horseback bearing torches coming toward us. We heard the horn again, more clearly, and in a few moments we were among them. They were the forerunners of the main search party, and a girl set out at once galloping back to tell the King-in-Waiting that his Queen had been found. In the light of the torches, Verity’s guards exclaimed and swore over the blood that glinted yet on Softstep’s neck, but Kettricken kept her composure as she assured them that none of it was hers. She spoke quietly of the Forged ones who had set upon her and what she had done to defend herself. I saw admiration of her growing among the soldiers. I heard then for the first time that the boldest attacker had dropped out of a tree upon her. Him she had slain first.

“Four she done, and not a scratch upon her!” exulted one grizzled veteran, and then: “Begging your pardon, my Lady Queen. No disrespect meant!”

“It might have been a different tale had not Fitz come to free my horse’s head,” Kettricken said quietly. Their respect for her grew as she did not glory in her triumph, but made sure I received my due as well.

They congratulated her loudly, and spoke angrily of scouring the woods tomorrow all about Buckkeep. “It shames us all as soldiers, that our own Queen cannot ride forth safely!” declared one woman. She set her hand to the hilt of her blade and swore on it to have it blooded with Forged blood by the morrow. Several others followed her example. The talk grew loud, bravado and relief at the Queen’s safety fueling it. It became a triumphal procession home, until Verity arrived. He came at a dead gallop, on a horse lathered by both distance and speed. I knew then that the search had not been a brief one, and could only guess at how many roads Verity had traveled since he had received word his lady was missing.

“How could you be so foolish as to go so far astray!” were his first words to her. His voice was not tender. I saw her head lose its proud lift, and heard the muttered comments of the man closest to me. From there nothing went well. He did not scold her before his men, but I saw him wince as she told him plainly what had become of her and how she had killed to defend herself. He was not pleased to have her speak so plainly of a band of Forged ones, brave enough to attack the Queen, and scarce out of Buckkeep’s shadow. That which Verity had sought to keep quiet would be on everyone’s lips tomorrow, with the added fillip that it had been the Queen herself they’d dared to attack. Verity shot me a murderous glance, as if it were all my doing, and roughly commandeered fresh horses from two of his guard to take himself and his Queen back to Buckkeep. He whisked her away from them, carrying her back to Buckkeep at a gallop as if arriving there sooner would somehow make the breach of safety less real. He seemed not to realize he had denied his guard the honor of bringing her safely home.

I myself rode back slowly with them, trying not to hear the disgruntled words of the soldiers. They did not quite criticize the King-in-Waiting, but complimented the Queen more on her spirit and thought it sad she’d not been welcomed back with an embrace and a kind word or two. If any gave thought to Regal’s behavior, they did not speak it aloud.

Later that night, in the stables, after I’d seen to Sooty, I helped Burrich and Hands put Softstep and Truth, Verity’s horse, to rights. Burrich grumbled at how hard both beasts had been used. Softstep had taken a minor scratch during the attack, and her mouth was sore, bruised from fighting for her head, but neither animal would take permanent hurt. Burrich sent Hands off to fix a warm mash of grain for them both. Only then did he quietly tell how Regal had come in, given his horse over for stabling, and gone up to the Keep without so much as mentioning Kettricken. Burrich himself had been alerted by a stable boy, asking where Softstep was. When Burrich had set about to find out, and made so bold as to ask Regal himself, Regal had replied that he had thought Kettricken had stayed on the road and come in with her attendants. So Burrich had been the one to sound the alarm, with Regal very vague as to where he had actually left the road, and what direction the fox had led him, and presumably Kettricken. “He’s covered his tracks well,” Burrich muttered to me as Hands came back with the grain. I knew he did not refer to the fox.