did not want any of them to have names.
After a time I began to be alive again. I helped to clear the bodies from the door of the tower, and then from the battlefield. The Raiders we burned, the Six Duchies men we laid out and covered, for kin to claim. I remember odd things about that long afternoon. How a dead man's heels leave a snaking trail in the sand when you drag him. How the young watchman with the dagger in him wasn't quite dead when we went to gather him up. Not that he lasted long afterward. He soon was just one more body to add to a row that was too long already.
We left our warriors with what was left of the tower guard to help fill up the watches until more men could be sent out.
We admired the vessel we'd captured. Verity would be pleased, I thought to myself. Another ship. A very well-made one. I knew all these things, but felt nothing about any of them. We returned to the Rurisk, where a pale Justin awaited us. In a numbed silence, we launched the Rurisk and took our places at the oars and headed back to Buckkeep.
We encountered other boats before we were halfway there. A hastily organized flotilla of fishing vessels laden with soldiers hailed us. The King-in-Waiting had sent them, at Justin's urgently Skilled behest. They seemed almost disappointed to find that the fighting was over, but our master assured them they would be welcomed at the tower. That, I think, was when I realized I could no longer sense Verity. And hadn't for some time. I groped after Nighteyes immediately, as another man might grope after his purse. He was there. But distant. Exhausted, and awed. Never have I smelled so much blood, he told me. I agreed. I still stank of it.
Verity had been busy. We were scarcely off the Rurisk before there was another crew aboard to take her back to Antler Island Tower. Watch soldiers and another crew of rowers set her heavy in the water. Verity's prize would be tied up at his home dock by this night. Another open boat followed them, to bring our slain home. The master, the mate, and Justin departed on provided horses to report directly to Verity. I felt only relief that I hadn't been summoned also. Instead, I went with my crew mates. Faster than I would have thought possible, word of the battle and our prize spread through Buckkeep Town. There was not a tavern that was not anxious to pour us full of ale and hear our exploits. It was almost like a second battle frenzy, for wherever we went, folk ignited around us with savage satisfaction in what we had done. I felt drunk on the surging emotions of those around me long before the ale overwhelmed me. Not that I held back from that. I told few tales of what we had done, but my drinking more than made up for it. I threw up twice, once in an alley, and later in the street. I drank more to kill the taste of the vomit. Somewhere in the back of my mind, Nighteyes was frantic. Poison. That water is poisoned. I couldn't frame a thought to reassure him.
Sometime before morning, Burrich hauled me out of a tavern. He was stonily sober, and his eyes were anxious. In the street outside the tavern, he stopped by a dying torch in a street sconce. 'There's still blood on your face,' he told me, and stood me up straight. He took out his handkerchief, dipped it in a rain barrel, and wiped my face as he had not since I was a child. I swayed under his touch. I looked into his eyes and forced my gaze to focus.
'I've killed before,' I said helplessly. 'Why is this so different? Why does it sicken me like this, afterward?'
'Because it does,' he said softly. He put an arm around my shoulders, and I was surprised we were of a height. The walk back to Buckkeep was steep. Very long. Very quiet. He sent me to the baths and told me to go to bed afterward.
I should have stayed in my own bed, but I had not the sense. Luckily the castle was abuzz, and one more drunk clambering up a staircase was not remarkable. Stupidly, I went to Molly's room. She let me in. But when I tried to touch her, she pulled away from me. 'You're drunk,' she told me, almost crying. 'I told you, I promised myself to never kiss a drunk. Or be kissed by one.'
'But I'm not drunk that way,' I insisted.
'There's only one way to be drunk,' she told me. And turned me out of her rooms, untouched.
By noon the next day, I knew how much I had hurt her by not coming straight to her to find comfort. I could understand what she felt. But I also knew that what I had carried that night was nothing to take home to someone you loved. I wanted to explain that to her. But a boy came running up to me to tell me I was needed on the Rurisk, and right now. I gave him a penny for his troubles and watched him dash off with it. Once, I had been the boy earning the penny. I thought of Kerry. I tried to remember him as the boy with the penny in his hand, running at my side, but forever now he was the Forged one dead on a table. No one, I told myself, had been taken for Forging yesterday.
Then I headed down to the docks. On the way I stopped at the stable. I gave the crescent moon over into Burrich's hands. 'Keep this safe for me,' I asked him. 'And there will be a bit more, my crew share from the raid. I want to have you hold it for me… what I make at doing this. It's for Molly. So if ever I don't come back, you be certain she gets it. She doesn't like being a servant.'
I hadn't spoken so plainly of her to Burrich in a long time. A line creased his brow, but he took the bloodied moon. 'What would your father say to me?' he wondered aloud as I turned wearily away from him.
'I don't know,' I told him bluntly. 'I never knew him. Only you.'
'FitzChivalry.'
I turned back to him. Burrich met my eyes as he spoke. 'I don't know what he'd say to me. But I know I can say this for him, to you. I'm proud of you. It's not the kind of work a man does that says he can be proud or not. It's how he does it. Be proud of yourself.'
'I will try,' I told him quietly. I went back to my ship.
Our next encounter with a Red-Ship was a less decisive victory. We met them on the sea, and they were not surprised, for they had seen us coming. Our master stood the course, and I think they were surprised when we began the engagement by ramming them. We sheared off a number of their oars, but missed the steering oar we had targeted. There was little damage to the ship itself; the Red-Ships were as flexible as fish. Our grapples flew. We outnumbered them, and the master intended to use that advantage. Our warriors boarded them, and half our oarsmen lost their heads and jumped in, too. It became a chaos that spread briefly to our own decks. It took every bit of will I could muster to withstand the vortex of emotions that engulfed us, but I stayed with my oar as I had been ordered. Nonge, at his oar, watched me strangely. I gripped my oar and ground my teeth until I could find myself. I muttered a curse when I discovered that I'd lost Verity again.
I think our warriors let up a bit when they knew we had reduced our enemy's crew to where they could no longer manage their vessel. It was a mistake. One of the Raiders set fire to their own sail while a second one attempted to chop through their own planking. I guess they hoped the fire would spread and they could take us down with them. Certainly at the end they fought with no care for the damage they took to their ship or their own bodies. Our fighters finally finished them, and we got the fire put out, but the prize we towed back to Buckkeep was smoking and damaged, and man for man, we had lost more lives than they had. Still, it was a victory, we told ourselves. This time, when the others went out drinking, I had the sense to seek out Molly. And early the next morning, I found an hour or two for Nighteyes. We went hunting together, good clean hunting, and he tried to persuade me to run away with him. I made the mistake of telling him that he could leave if he wished, meaning only the best for him, and hurt his feelings. It took me another hour to convey to him what I had meant. I went back to my ship wondering if my ties were worth the effort it took to keep them intact. Nighteyes assured me they were.
That was the last clear victory for the Rurisk. It was far from the last battle of the summer. No, the clear pleasant weather stretched impossibly long before us, and every fine day was a day when I might kill someone. I tried not to count them as days on which I might be killed. We had many skirmishes, and gave pursuit many times, and it did seem there were fewer raids attempted in the area we regularly patrolled. Somehow that only made it all the more frustrating. And there were successful raids for the Red-Ships, times when we put into a town but an hour or so after they had left, and could do no more than help stack bodies or put out fires. Then Verity would roar and curse in my mind that he could not get messages more swiftly, that there were not enough ships and watches to be everywhere. I would rather have faced the fury of a battle than Verity's savage frustration racking through my brain. There was never any end in sight, save the respite that bad weather might bring us. We could not even put an accurate number to the Red-Ships that plagued us, for they were painted identically, and as like as peas in a pod. Or drops of blood on the sand.
While I was an oarsman on the Rurisk that summer, we had one other encounter with a Red-Ship that is
