Assassin's Apprentice - Страница 60

A terrible coldness welled up in me. The least sound of a scuffle would bring the Raiders, I was sure. So if the Forged ones did not finish me, the Raiders would. But when all roads lead to death, there is no point to running down any of them. I would take things as they came. There were three of them. One had a knife. But I had a staff and was trained to use it. They were thin, ragged, and at least as hungry as I, and as cold. One, I think, was the woman from the night before. As they closed on me, so silently, I guessed they were aware of the Raiders and feared them as much as I did. It was not good to consider the desperation that would prompt them to still attack me. But in the next breath, I wondered if Forged ones felt desperation or anything else. Perhaps they were too dulled to realize the danger.

All of the stealthy arcane knowledge Chade had given me, all of Hod’s brutally elegant strategies for fighting two or more opponents went to the wind. For as the first two stepped into my range, I felt the tiny warmth that was Smithy ebbing in my grasp. “Smithy!” I whispered, a desperate plea that he somehow stay with me. I all but saw a tail tip stir in a last effort at a wag. Then the thread snapped and the spark blinked out. I was alone.

A black flood of strength surged through me like a madness. I stepped out, thrust the end of my staff deep into a man’s face, drew it quickly back, and continued a swing that went through the woman’s lower jaw. Plain wood sheared the lower half of her face away, so forceful was my blow. I whacked her again as she fell, and it was like hitting a netted shark with a fish bat. The third drove into me solidly, thinking, I suppose, to be inside my staff’s range. I didn’t care. I dropped my stick and grappled with him. He was bony and he stank. I drove him onto his back, and his expelled breath in my face stank of carrion. Fingers and teeth I tore at him, as far from human as he was. They had kept me from Smithy as he was dying. I did not care what I did to him so long as it hurt him. He reciprocated. I dragged his face along the cobbles, I pushed my thumb into an eye. He sank his teeth into my wrist and clawed my cheek bloody. And when at last he ceased to fight against my strangling grip, I dragged him to the seawall and threw his body down onto the rocks.

I stood panting, my fists still clenched. I glared toward the Raiders, daring them to come, but the night was still, save for the waves and wind and the soft gargling of the woman as she died. Either the Raiders had not heard, or they were too concerned with their own stealth to investigate sounds in the night. I waited in the wind for someone to care enough to come and kill me. Nothing stirred. An emptiness washed through me, supplanting my madness. So much death in one night, and so little significance, save to me.

I left the other broken bodies atop the crumbling seawall for the waves and the gulls to dispose of. I walked away from them. I had felt nothing from them when I killed them. No fear, no anger, no pain, not even despair. They had been things. And as I began my long walk back to Buckkeep, I finally felt nothing from within myself. Perhaps, I thought, Forging is a contagion and I have caught it now. I could not bring myself to care.

Little of that journey stands out in my mind now. I walked all the way, cold, tired, and hungry. I encountered no more Forged ones, and the few other travelers I saw on that stretch of road were no more anxious than I to speak to a stranger. I thought only of getting back to Buckkeep.

And Burrich. I reached Buckkeep two days into the Springfest celebration. The guards at the gate tried to stop me at first. I looked at them.

“It’s the Fitz,” one gasped. “It was said you were dead.”

“Shut up,” barked the other. He was Gage, long known to me, and he said quickly, “Burrich’s been hurt. He’s up to the infirmary, boy.”

I nodded and walked past them.

In all my years at Buckkeep, I had never been to the infirmary. Burrich and no one else had always treated my childhood illnesses and mishaps. But I knew where it was. I walked unseeing through the knots and gatherings of merrymakers, and suddenly felt as if I were six years old and come to Buckkeep for the very first time. I had hung on to Burrich’s belt. All that long way from Moonseye, with his leg torn and bandaged. But not once had he put me on another’s horse, or entrusted my care to another. I pushed myself through the people with their bells and flowers and sweet cakes to reach the inner keep. Behind the barracks was a separate building of whitewashed stone. There was no one there, and I walked unchallenged through the antechamber and into the room beyond.

There were clean strewing herbs on the floor, and the wide windows let in a flood of spring air and light, but the room still gave me a sense of confinement and illness. This was not a good place for Burrich to be. All the beds were empty, save one. No soldier kept to bed on Springfest days, save that they had to. Burrich lay, eyes closed, in a splash of sunlight on a narrow cot. I had never seen him so still. He had pushed his blankets aside and his chest was swathed in bandages. I went forward quietly and sat down on the floor beside his bed. He was very still, but I could feel him, and the bandages moved with his slow breathing. I took his hand.

“Fitz,” he said, without opening his eyes. He gripped my hand hard.

“Yes.”

“You’re back. You’re alive.”

“I am. I came straight here, as fast as I could. Oh, Burrich, I feared you were dead.”

“I thought you were dead. The others all came back days ago.” He took a ragged breath. “Of course, the bastard left horses with all the others.”

“No,” I reminded him, not letting go of his hand. “I’m the bastard, remember?”

“Sorry.” He opened his eyes. The white of his left eye was mazed with blood. He tried to smile at me. I could see then that the swelling on the left side of his face was still subsiding. “So. We look a fine pair. You should poultice that cheek. It’s festering. Looks like an animal scratch.”

“Forged ones,” I began, and could not bear to explain more. I only said, softly, “He set me down north of Forge, Burrich.”

Anger spasmed his face. “He wouldn’t tell me. Nor anyone else. I even sent a man to Verity, to ask my prince to make him say what he had done with you. I got no answer back. I should kill him.”

“Let it go,” I said, and meant it. “I’m back and alive. I failed his test, but it didn’t kill me. And as you told me, there are other things in my life.”

Burrich shifted slightly in his bed. I could tell it didn’t ease him. “Well. He’ll be disappointed over that.” He let out a shuddering breath. “I got jumped. Someone with a knife. I don’t know who.”

“How bad?”

“Not good, at my age. A young buck like you would probably just give a shake and go on. Still, he only got the blade into me once. But I fell, and struck my head. I was fair senseless for two days. And, Fitz. Your dog. A stupid, senseless thing, but he killed your dog.”

“I know.”

“He died quickly,” Burrich said, as if to be a comfort.

I stiffened at the lie. “He died well,” I corrected him. “And if he hadn’t, you’d have had that knife in you more than once.”

Burrich grew very still. “You were there, weren’t you,” he said at last. It was not a question, and there was no mistaking his meaning.

“Yes,” I heard myself saying, simply.

“You were there, with the dog that night, instead of trying for the Skill?” His voice rose in outrage.

“Burrich, it wasn’t like . . .”

He pulled his hand free of mine and turned as far away from me as he could. “Leave me.”

“Burrich, it wasn’t Smithy. I just don’t have the Skill. So let me have what I do have, let me be what I am. I don’t use this in a bad way. Even without it, I’m good with animals. You’ve forced me to be. If I use it, I can—”

“Stay out of my stables. And stay away from me.” He rolled back to face me, and to my amazement, a single tear tracked his dark cheek. “You failed? No, Fitz. I failed. I was too softhearted to beat it out of you at the first sign of it. ‘Raise him well,’ Chivalry said to me. His last command to me. And I failed him. And you. If you hadn’t meddled with the Wit, Fitz, you’d have been able to learn the Skill. Galen would have been able to teach you. No wonder he sent you to Forge.” He paused. “Bastard or no, you could have been a fit son to Chivalry. But you threw it all away. For what? A dog. I know what a dog can be to a man, but you don’t throw your life over for a—”

“Not just a dog,” I cut in almost harshly. “Smithy. My friend. And it wasn’t only him. I gave up the wait and came back for you. Thinking you might need me. Smithy died days ago. I knew that. But I came back for you, thinking you might need me.”

He was silent so long I thought he wasn’t going to speak to me. “You needn’t have,” he said quietly. “I take care of myself.” And harsher: “You know that. I always have.”

“And me,” I admitted to him. “And you’ve always taken care of me.”

“And small damn good that did either of us,” he said slowly. “Look what I’ve let you become. Now you’re just . . . Go away. Just go away.” He turned away from me again, and I felt something go out of the man.

I stood slowly. “I’ll make you a wash from Helenaleaves for your eye. I’ll bring it this afternoon.”

“Bring me nothing. Do me no favors. Go your own way, and be whatever you will. I’m done with you.” He spoke to the wall. In his voice was no mercy for either of us.