Royal Assassin. Robin Hobb

Чтение книги онлайн.

       THREE

       Renewing Ties

      The oldest reference to the mythical Elderlings in the Buckkeep library is a battered scroll. Vague discoloration upon the vellum suggests that it came from a parti-coloured beast, one mottled in a way unfamiliar to any of our hunters. The lettering ink is one derived from squid ink and bell root. It has stood the test of time well, much better than the coloured inks that originally supplied illustrations and illuminations for the text. These have not only faded and bled, but in many places have drawn the attentions of some mite that has gnawed and stiffened the once supple parchment, making parts of the scroll too brittle to unroll.

      Unfortunately, the damage is concentrated at the innermost parts of the scroll, which deal with portions of King Wisdom’s quest that were not recorded elsewhere. From these fragmented remains, one can glean that sore need drove him to seek the homeland of the Elderlings. His troubles are familiar ones; ships raided his coastline mercilessly. Tatters hint that he rode off toward the Mountain Kingdom; but unfortunately the final stages of his journey and his encounter with the Elderlings seem to have been richly illustrated, for here the parchment is reduced to a lacy web of tantalizing word bits and body parts. We do not know anything of this first encounter. Nor have we even an inkling as to how he induced the Elderlings to become his allies. Many songs, rich in metaphor, tell how the Elderlings descended, like ‘storms’, like ‘tidal waves’, like ‘vengeance gone gold’, and ‘wrath embodied in flesh of stone’ to drive the Raiders away from our shores. Legend also tells us that they swore to Wisdom that if ever the Six Duchies had need of their aid, they would rise again to our defence. One may conjecture; many have, and the variety of legends that surround this alliance are proof of that. But King Wisdom’s scribe’s recounting of the event has been lost to mildew and worms for ever.

      My chamber had a single tall window that looked out over the sea. In winter a wooden shutter closed out the storm winds, and a tapestry hung over that gave my room an illusion of cosy warmth. So I awakened to darkness, and for a time lay quietly finding myself. Gradually the subtle sounds of the keep filtered in to me. Morning sounds. Very early morning sounds. Home, I realized. Buckkeep. And in the next instant, ‘Molly,’ I said aloud to the darkness. My body was weary and aching still. But not exhausted. I clambered from my bed into the chill of my room.

      I stumbled to my long disused hearth and kindled a small fire. I needed to bring up more firewood soon. The dancing flames lent the room a fickle yellow light. I took clothing from the chest at the foot of my bed, only to find the garments oddly ill-fitting. My long illness had wasted the muscle from my frame, but I had still somehow managed to grow longer in the legs and arms. Nothing fitted. I picked up my shirt from the day before, but a night in clean bedding had refreshed my nose. I could no longer abide the smell of the travel-stained garment. I dug in my clothes chest again. I found one soft brown shirt that had once been too long in the sleeve for me, and now just fitted. I put it on with my green quilted mountain trousers and buskins. I had no doubt that as soon as I encountered the Lady Patience or Mistress Hasty, I would be attacked and the situation remedied. But not, I hoped, before breakfast and a trip into Buckkeep Town. There were several places there where I might get word of Molly.

      I found the castle stirring but not yet fully awake. I ate in the kitchen as I had when a child, finding that there, as always, the bread was freshest and the porridge sweetest. Cook exclaimed to see me, one minute commenting on how much I had grown, and the next lamenting how thin and worn I looked. I surmised that before the day was out I would be heartily sick of these observations. As traffic in the kitchen increased, I fled, carrying off a thick slice of bread well buttered and laden with rosehip preserves. I headed back towards my room to get a winter cloak.

      In every chamber I passed through, I found more and more evidence of Kettricken’s presence. A sort of tapestry, woven of different coloured grasses and representing a mountain scene, now graced the wall of the Lesser Hall. There were no flowers to be had this time of year, but in odd places I encountered fat pottery bowls full of pebbles, and these held bare but graceful branches, or dried thistles and cat tails. The changes were small but unmistakable.

      I found myself in one of the older sections of Buckkeep, and then climbing the dusty steps to Verity’s watch-tower. It commanded a wide view of our sea-coast, and from its tall windows Verity kept his summer vigil for raiding ships. From here he worked the Skill magic that kept the raiders at bay, or at least gave us some warning of their coming. It was a thin defence at times. He should have had a coterie of underlings trained in the Skill to assist him. But I myself, despite my bastard blood, had never been able to control my random Skill abilities. Galen our Skillmaster had died before he had trained more than a handful in the Skill. There was no one to replace him, and those he had trained lacked a true communion with Verity. So Verity Skilled alone against our enemies. It had aged him before his time. I worried that he would overspend himself upon it, and succumb to the addicting weakness of those who Skilled too much.

      By the time I reached the top of the spiralling tower steps, I was winded and my legs ached. I pushed at the door and it gave easily on oiled hinges. From long habit, I stepped quietly as I entered the room. I had not really expected to find Verity or anyone else there. The sea storms were our watchmen in winter, guarding our coasts from raiders. I blinked in the sudden grey light of morning that was flooding in from the unshuttered tower windows. Verity was a dark silhouette against a dark storm sky. He did not turn. ‘Shut the door,’ he said quietly. ‘The draught up the stairs makes this room as windy as a chimney.’

      I did so, and then stood shivering in the chill. The wind brought the scent of the sea with it, and I breathed it in as if it were life itself. ‘I had not expected to find you here,’ I said.

      He kept his eyes on the water. ‘Didn’t you? Then why did you come?’ There was amusement in his voice.

      It jolted me. ‘I don’t really know. I headed back to my room …’ My voice dwindled away as I tried to recall why I had come here.

      ‘I Skilled you,’ he said simply.

      I stood silent and thought. ‘I felt nothing.’

      ‘I didn’t intend that you should. It is as I told you a long time ago. The Skill can be a soft whisper in a man’s ear. It doesn’t have to be a shout of command.’

      He turned slowly to face me, and as my eyes adjusted to the light, my heart leaped with joy at the change I saw in the man. When I had left Buckkeep at harvest time, he had been a withered shadow, worn thin by the weight of his duties and his constant watchfulness. His dark hair was still salted with grey, but there was muscle once more on his stocky frame, and vitality snapped in his dark eyes. He looked every bit a king.

      ‘Marriage seems to agree with you, my prince,’ I said inanely.

      That flustered him. ‘In some ways,’ he conceded, as a boyish flush rose on his cheeks. He turned back quickly to his window. ‘Come and see my ships,’ he commanded.

      It was my turn to be baffled. I stepped to the window beside him and looked out over the harbour, and then over the sea itself. ‘Where?’ I asked in bewilderment. СКАЧАТЬ