time. It might be enough that they could kill me and take him.' He smiled a ghastly smile. 'Regal as dragon. Do you think he will leave two stones of Buckkeep Castle atop each other?'
Behind him, Kettle had folded herself up, her face against her knees. I thought she wept, but when she slowly fell over onto her side, her face was lax and still, her eyes closed. Dead, or sleeping the exhausted sleep of the carris seed. After what Verity had said to me, it scarcely seemed to matter. My king stretched himself out on the bare gritty pedestal. He slept beside his dragon.
Kettricken went and sat down beside him. She bowed her head to her knees and wept. Not quietly. The rending sobs that shook her should have roused even the dragon of stone. They did not. I looked at her. I did not go to her, I did not touch her. I knew it would have been of no use. Instead I looked to the Fool. 'We should bring blankets and make them more comfortable,' I said helplessly.
'Ah. Of course. What better task for the White Prophet and his Catalyst?' He linked arms with me. His touch renewed the thread of Skill bond between us. Bitterness. Bitterness flowed through him with his blood. The Six Duchies would fall. The world would end.
We went to fetch blankets.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT. Verity's Bargain
WHEN ALL THE records are compared, it becomes plain that no more than twenty Red-Ships actually ventured inland as far as Turlake, and only twelve proceeded past Turlake to menace the villages adjoining Tradeford. The minstrels would have us believe there were scores of ships, and literally hundreds of Raiders upon their decks. In song, the banks of the Buck and Vin Rivers were red with flames and blood that summer. They are not to be faulted for this. The misery and terror of those days should never be forgotten. If a minstrel must embroider the truth to help us recall it fully, then let her, and let no one say she has lied. Truth is often much larger than facts.
Starling came back with the Fool that evening. No one asked her why she no longer kept watch. No one even suggested that perhaps we should flee the quarry before Regal's troops cornered us there. We would stay and we would stand, and we would fight. To defend a stone dragon.
And we would die. That went without saying. Quite literally, it was knowledge that none of us uttered.
When Kettricken had fallen asleep, exhausted, I carried her down to the tent she had shared with Verity. I laid her down on her blankets, and covered her well. I stooped and kissed her lined forehead as if I were kissing my sleeping child. It was a farewell, of sorts. Better to do things now, I had decided. Now was all I had for certain.
As dusk fell, Starling and the Fool sat by the fire. She played her harp softly, wordlessly, and looked into the flames. A bared knife lay on the ground beside her. I stood a time and watched how the firelight touched her face. Starling Birdsong, the last minstrel to the last true Farseer King and Queen. She would write no song that anyone would recall.
The Fool sat still and listened. They had found a friendship, of sorts. I thought to myself, if this is the last night she can play, he can give her no finer thing than that. To listen well, and let her music lull him with her skill.
I left them sitting there and took up a full waterskin. Slowly I climbed the ramp up to the dragon. Nighteyes followed me. Earlier, I had built a fire on the dais. Now I fed it from what remained of Kettricken's firewood, and then sat down beside it. Verity and Kettle slept on. Once Chade had used carris seed for two days straight. When he collapsed, he had taken most of a week to recover. All he had wanted to do was sleep and drink water. I doubted that either would awaken soon. It was all right. There was nothing left to say to them anyway. So I simply sat beside Verity and kept watch over my king.
I was a poor watchman. I came awake to his whispering my name. I sat up instantly and reached for the waterskin I had brought with me. 'My king,' I said quietly.
But Verity was not sprawled on the stone, weak and helpless. He stood over me. He made a sign to me to rise and follow him. I did, moving as quietly as he did. At the base of the dragon's dais, he turned to me. Without a word, I offered him the waterskin. He drank half of what it held, paused a bit, and then drank the rest. When he was finished, he handed it back to me. He cleared his throat. 'There is a way, FitzChivalry.' His dark eyes, so like my own, met mine squarely. 'You are the way. So full of life and hungers. So torn with passions.'
'I know,' I said. The words came out bravely. I was more frightened than I had ever been in my life. Regal had scared me badly in his dungeon. But that had been pain. This was death. I suddenly knew the difference. My traitorous hands twisted the front hem of my tunic.
'You will not like it,' he warned me. 'I do not like it. But I see no other way.'
'I am ready,' I lied. 'Only … I should like to see Molly once more. To know that she and Nettle are safe. And Burrich.'
He peered at me. 'I recall the bargain you offered. That I would not take Nettle for the throne.' He glanced away from me. 'What I ask of you will be worse. Your actual life. All the life and energy of your body. I have spent all my passions, you see. I have nothing left. If I could but kindle in myself one more night of feelings … if I could recall what it was to desire a woman, to hold the woman I loved in my arms …' His voice dwindled away from me. 'It shames me to ask it of you. Shames me more than when I drew strength from you, when you were no more than an unsuspecting boy.' He met my eyes again and I knew how he struggled to use words. Imperfect words. 'But you see, even that. The shame I feel, the pain that I do this to you … even that is what you give me. Even that I can put into the dragon.' He looked away from me. 'The dragon must fly, Fitz. He must.'
'Verity. My king.' He stared away from me. 'My friend.' His eyes came back to mine. 'It is all right. But … I should like to see Molly again. Even briefly.'
'It is dangerous. I think what I did to Carrod woke true fear in them. They have not tried their strength against us since then, only their cunning. But …'
'Please.' I said the small word quietly.
Verity sighed. 'Very well, boy. But my heart misgives me.'
Not a touch. He didn't even take a breath. Even as Verity dwindled, that was the power of his Skill. We were there, with them. I sensed Verity retreating, giving me the illusion I was there alone.
It was an inn room. Clean and well furnished. A branch of candles burned beside a loaf of bread and a bowl of apples on a table. Burrich lay shirtless on his side on the bed. Blood had clotted thickly about the knife wound and soaked the waist of his breeches. His chest moved in the slow, deep rhythms of sleep. He was curled around Nettle. She was snugged against him, deeply asleep, his right arm over her protectively. As I watched, Molly leaned over them and deftly slid the babe from under Burrich's arm. Nettle did not stir as she was carried over to a basket in the corner and tucked into the blankets that lined it. Her small pink mouth worked with memories of warm milk. Her brow was smooth beneath her sleek black hair. She seemed none the worse for everything she had endured.
Molly moved efficiently about the room. She poured water into a basin, and took up a folded cloth. She returned to crouch beside Burrich's bed. She set the basin of water on the floor beside the bed and dipped the rag into it. She wrung it out well. As she set it to his back he jerked awake with a gasp. Fast as a striking snake, he had caught her wrist.
'Burrich! Let go, this has to be cleaned.' Molly was annoyed with him.
'Oh. It's you.' His voice was thick with relief. He released her.
'Of course it's me. Who else would you expect?' She sponged at the knife wound gently, then dipped the rag in the water again. Both the rag in her hand and the basin of water beside her were tinged with blood.
His hand groped carefully over the bed beside him. 'What have you done with my baby?' he asked.
'Your baby is fine. She's asleep in a basket. Right there.' She wiped his back again, then nodded to herself. 'The bleeding has stopped. And it looks clean. I think the leather of your tunic stopped most of her thrust. If you sit up, I can bandage it.'
Slowly Burrich moved to sit up. He gave one tiny gasp, but when he was sitting up, he grinned at her. He pushed a straggle of hair back from his face. 'Wit-bees,' he said admiringly. He shook his head at her. I could tell it was not the first time he had said it.
'It was all I could think of,' Molly pointed out. She could not keep from smiling back. 'It worked, did it not?'
'Wondrously,' he conceded. 'But how did you know they'd go after the red-bearded one? That was what
