Assassin’s Fate. Робин Хобб
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She has conveyed to me that your quest is a just one. One she supports.’ He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘She wishes me to aid you in any way I can to destroy the Servants and their city. In any way.’ He leaned close and put his hand on my arm, conspiratorial. His eyes glittered as human eyes should not. My wariness became alarm when he confided, ‘Your crow and Heeby have become very close friends.’
‘Heeby?’ I queried, trying to smile in return. My crow?
‘My dragon. You know of Heeby, I trust? She is my scarlet darling.’ For a moment, his smile became a grin, making him a lad. ‘She likes your crow. Motley, I think she is called. Motley praises her and tells her of her beauty. Before the crow came, I was the only one who had admired her as she deserved. Heeby has become quite fond of Motley. But, that is not what I wished to discuss. Your mission to kill the Servants of the Whites. Heeby approves of it.’
I tried an interpretation of his words. ‘Your dragon had a dream, or remembered that she would like us to kill the Servants of the Whites?’
He grinned wider, white human teeth in a dragon-changed face. ‘Yes. Exactly.’ He was so pleased that I understood.
I stopped walking. I put my hand on the stone façade of a building, thinking to lean there and rest. A mistake. The street suddenly thronged with Elderlings, blue and silver and green – tall, angular folk with fancifully-scaled faces and artfully-draped garments. There was to be a contest of musicians today, in the Plaza of the Queen, and the queen herself would give the award.
‘Hello? Wake up, prince. I’m taking you back to the Greeting Hall. The voices are not so loud there.’
I was walking, and General Rapskal had my arm firmly hooked into his. The contest of musicians faded like a dream. Rapskal was guiding me. Perhaps he had been talking to me.
‘I’m not well,’ I heard myself say.
‘You are fine,’ he said comfortingly. ‘You simply weren’t prepared. If you choose which voice you will hear and ready yourself to share the life of that Elderling, you can learn a great deal. I certainly did! Before I welcomed the Elderling memories of an ancient warrior into my mind, I was a bumbling, stupid boy, earnest and tolerated by my fellow keepers but never respected. Never respected.’
He closed his mouth suddenly on his quavering voice. I revised my estimate of his age downward.
He cleared his throat. ‘My dragon Heeby has suffered similarly. She has never spoken much to the other dragons or their keepers. When she first came to me, she was small and clumsy. The other dragons disdained her. She could not even recall her proper name; I had to give her one. Yet of all of them, she was the first to fly and the first to make her own kills.’ His chest swelled with pride, as if she were his little child. He saw I was paying attention and gave an abrupt nod. We had stopped walking.
‘My chamber,’ I said quietly. ‘I need to rest,’ and my words were true.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I am happy to take you there.’ He patted my hand on his arm and I sensed far more of him in that brief touch than I liked. We began to walk – more swiftly than I wished, but I gritted my teeth and kept pace. I hoped Lant would be in the rooms when we reached them. Then I wondered when I had begun to count on him to protect me.
Suddenly, I missed Riddle.
‘So,’ he concluded, and I wondered what I had missed while my thoughts were wandering. ‘That is why anything that Heeby remembers or dreams is so important.’
We had reached the Greeting Hall. It seemed dim inside after the brightness of the day. Two Elderlings turned and stared as he escorted me to the stairs. ‘Up we go,’ he said cheerily. He was stronger than he looked.
‘Thank you for your assistance,’ I said when we reached my chamber. I’d hoped he’d leave me at the door, but he followed me in.
‘Here. Sit at the table. I’ll request food.’
I had little choice but to sit. The struggle to keep the Elderling voices out of my mind had sapped my physical energy. Under the guise of settling myself, I made sure of the little blade Riddle had given me, hidden along the waist of my trousers. If I needed to I could draw it and possibly manage to cut soft butter with it. I tried to summon anger that might waken some strength in my wearied body, but I found only fear that made my knees even more uncertain of their function. Rapskal’s outward friendliness did not calm my wariness of him. His temperament, I judged, was uneven. And yet he was astute. He alone had seemed to realize we were not being completely honest with the good people of Kelsingra. But was I dealing with a ruthless military leader who would do whatever was necessary to defend Kelsingra, or a melancholy youth concerned with his dragon’s dreams?
He joined me at the table, having pressed the flower ornament by the door. ‘How does that work?’ I asked him, hoping to take his measure a bit more. ‘Pressing that flower?’
‘I’ve no idea. It just does. Down in the kitchens a similar emblem glows and hums. One for each room.’ He dismissed my question with a shrug. ‘There is so much we don’t know. It was only six months ago that we discovered those chambers were meant to be a kitchen. There is a basin there that fills with hot or cold water. But no ovens or hearth. So it’s a peculiar kitchen. Not that my mother ever had an oven, or even a kitchen that I remember.’
For a moment, he fell morosely silent. Away from the Skill-tumult of the streets, I wanted to hear more of his dragon’s dream. But I also had to warn the others before they walked into the chamber. I did not trust this Rapskal, not at all. Was his dragon dream a far-fetched ploy to get into our rooms? I waited three breaths and then said, ‘Your dragon had a dream about Clerres?’
He jolted back to awareness of me. ‘Clerres, yes! That was a name she recalled. So it was a true dream then, one based in her ancestral dragon memories!’ He sounded delighted.
‘I’m confused. Ancestral dragon memories?’
He smiled and propped his chin on his fist. ‘It’s not a secret any longer. When a serpent transforms into a dragon, it awakens with the memories of its dragon ancestors. It knows where to hunt, where to nest, it recalls names and events from its ancestral line. Or so it should.
‘Our dragons were sea serpents too long, and spent too short a time in their cocoons. They emerged with fragmented memories. My Heeby recalls almost nothing of her ancestry. But sometimes when she sleeps memories come to her. I hope this means that as she grows she may recall more of her ancestors’ lives.’ His eyes went wide and for a moment they gleamed. Tears? From this ruthless man? He spoke softly in a wounded voice. ‘I love her as she is. I always have and I always will. But to recall her ancestry would mean so much to her.’ His gaze met mine and I saw a stricken parent. ‘Am I heartless that I long for this, too? That I think she would be better … No! She is too wondrous as she is for anything to make her better! Why do I want this so? Am I faithless?’
The worst that can happen to an assassin is to find common ground with his target. But I knew that question too well. How often had I lain awake beside Molly, wondering if I were a monster because I wished my daughter were as able as other children? For an instant, it was as if our hearts pumped the same blood. Then Chade’s training whispered to me, ‘There it is. The chink in his armour.’
I had my own mission to think of. And the Fool. I needed information and perhaps this boy-general had it. I spoke gently, and leaned toward him as if entranced with his tale. I warmed my voice with false kindness. ‘How wondrous then that she dreamed of the Servants and Clerres! I take it neither you nor she have visited that far place?’ Feed him some bits of my information to see what he might betray. Above all, maintain a calm demeanour. Pretend this was a social visit rather than a mutual assessment of strengths.
My ploy worked. His face lit with joy. ‘Never! Those are real places then, real names? It must be a true memory she recalled, not a yearning dream!’ His chest rose and fell with excitement. His eyes that had been so guarded were suddenly wide and open. I felt something go out from him. It was neither the Skill nor the Wit. A peculiar