Soon I could hear them talk­ing in a lan­guage like to ours, but so harshly spoken I could barely get the mean­ing of the words. A man sprang over the side with a line and floundered ashore. He made the ship fast no more than two shi­p­lengths away from where I lay hid­den among the boulders and logs. Two oth­ers sprang out, knives in hands, and scrambled up the sea-wall. They ran along the road in op­pos­ite dir­ec­tions, to take up po­s­i­tions as sentries. One was on the road al­most dir­ectly above me. I made my­self small and still. I held onto Smithy in my mind the way a child grips a be­loved toy as pro­tec­tion against night­mares. I had to get home to him, there­fore I must not be dis­covered. The know­ledge that I must do the first some­how made the second seem more pos­sible.

  Men scrabbled hast­ily from the ship. Everything about them be­spoke fa­mili­ar­ity. I could not fathom why they had put in here un­til I saw them un­load­ing empty wa­ter casks. The casks were sent hol­lowly rolling down the cause­way, and I re­membered the well I had passed. The part of my mind that be­longed to Chade noted how well they knew Forge, to put in al­most ex­actly op­pos­ite that well. This was not the first time this ship had stopped here for wa­ter. ‘Poison the well be­fore you leave,’ that corner of my mind sug­ges­ted. But I had no sup­plies for any­thing like that, and no cour­age to do any­thing ex­cept re­main hid­den.

  Oth­ers had emerged from the ship and were stretch­ing their legs. I over­heard an ar­gu­ment between a wo­man and a man. He wished per­mis­sion to light a fire with some of the drift­wood, to roast some meat. She for­bade it, say­ing they had not come far enough, and that a fire would be too vis­ible. So they had raided re­cently, to have fresh meat, and not too far from here. She gave per­mis­sion for some­thing else that I did not quite un­der­stand, un­til I saw them un­load two full kegs. An­other man came ashore with a whole ham on his shoulder, which he dropped with a meaty slap onto one of the up­right kegs. He drew a knife and began to carve off chunks of it while an­other man broached the other keg. They would not be leav­ing for some time. And if they did light a fire, or stay un­til dawn, my log’s shadow would be no hid­ing-place at all. I had to get out of there.

  Through nests of sand­fleas and squig­gling piles of sea­weed, un­der and between logs and stones, I dragged my belly through sand and pebbled gravel. I swear that every root snag caught at me, and every shif­ted slab of stone blocked my way. The tide had changed. The waves broke nois­ily against the rocks, and the fly­ing spray rode the wind. I was soon soaked. I tried to time my move­ment with the sound of the break­ing waves, to hide my small sounds in theirs. The rocks were toothed with barnacles, and sand packed the gouges they made in my hands and knees. My staff be­came an in­cred­ible bur­den, but I would not aban­don my only weapon. Long after I could no longer see or hear the raid­ers, I dared not stand, but crept and huddled still from stone to log. At last I ven­tured up onto the road and crawled across it. Once in the shadow of a sag­ging ware­house, I stood, hug­ging the wall, and peered about me.

  All was si­lent. I dared to step out two paces onto the road, but even there I could see noth­ing of the ship or the sentries. Per­haps that meant they could not see me either. I took a calm­ing breath. I ques­ted after Smithy the way some men pat their pouches to be sure their coin is safe. I found him but faint and quiet, his mind like a still pool. ‘I’m com­ing,’ I breathed, fear­ful of stir­ring him to an ef­fort. And I set forth again.

  The wind was re­lent­less, and my salt-wet cloth­ing clung and chafed. I was hungry, cold, and tired. My wet shoes were a misery, but I had no thought of stop­ping. I trot­ted like a wolf, my eyes con­tinu­ally shift­ing, my ears keen for any sound be­hind me. One mo­ment, the road was empty and black be­fore me. In the next, the dark­ness had turned to men. Two be­fore me, and when I spun about, an­other be­hind me. The slap­ping waves had covered the sound of their feet, and the dodging moon offered me only glimpses of them as they closed the dis­tance around me. I set my back to the solid wall of a ware­house, read­ied my staff, and waited.

  I watched them come, si­lent and skulk­ing. I wondered at that, for why did they not raise a shout, why did not the whole crew come to watch me taken? But these men watched one an­other as much as they watched me. They did not hunt as a pack, but each hoped the oth­ers would die killing me and leave the bounty for the pick­ing. Forged ones, not raid­ers.

  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. How­ever, when all roads lead to death, there is no point in 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, 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. It was not good to con­sider the des­per­a­tion that would prompt them still to at­tack me. Then 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 sea-wall 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 on top of the crum­bling sea-wall 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 trav­el­lers 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 at 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 onto 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-reeds 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 in 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 soft-hearted 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 helena leaves for your eye. I’ll bring it this af­ter­noon.’

  ‘Bring me noth­ing. Do me no fa­vours. 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.

  I glanced back as I left the in­firm­ary. He had not moved, but even his back looked older, and smal­ler.

  That was my re­turn to Buck­keep. I was a dif­fer­ent creature from the naïf who had left. Little fan­fare was made over my not be­ing dead as sup­posed. I made no op­por­tun­ity for any­one to do so. From Burrich’s bed, I went straight to my room. I washed and changed my gar­ments. I slept, but not well. For the rest of Spring­fest, I ate at night, alone in the kit­chens. I penned one note to King Shrewd, sug­gest­ing that raid­ers might reg­u­larly be us­ing the wells at Forge. He made no reply to me about it, and I was glad of it. I sought no con­tact with any­one.

  With much pomp and ce­re­mony, Ga­len presen­ted his fin­ished co­terie to the King. One other be­sides my­self had failed to re­turn. It shames me now that I can­not re­call his name, and if I ever knew what be­came of him, I have for­got­ten it. Like Ga­len, I sup­pose I dis­missed him as in­sig­ni­fic­ant.

  Ga­len spoke to me only once the rest of that sum­mer, and that was in­dir­ectly. We passed one an­other in the court­yard, not long after Spring­fest. He was walk­ing and talk­ing with Regal. As they passed me, he looked at me over Regal’s head and said sneer­ingly, ‘More lives than a cat.’

  I stopped and stared at them un­til both were forced to look at me. I made Ga­len meet my eyes; then I smiled and nod­ded. I never con­fron­ted Ga­len about his at­tempt to send me to my death. He never ap­peared to see me after that; his eyes would slide past me, or he would exit a room when I entered it.

  It seemed to me that I had lost everything when I lost Smithy. Or per­haps in my bit­ter­ness I set out to des­troy what little was left to me. I sulked about the keep for weeks, clev­erly in­sult­ing any­one fool­ish enough to speak to me. The Fool avoided me. Chade didn’t sum­mon me. I saw Pa­tience thrice. The first two times I went to an­swer her sum­mons, I made only the barest ef­forts to be civil. The third time, bored by her chat­ter about rose cut­tings, I simply stood up and left. She did not sum­mon me again.

  But there came a time when I felt I had to reach out to someone. Smithy had left a great gap in my life. And I had not ex­pec­ted that my ex­ile from the stables would be as dev­ast­at­ing as it was. Chance en­coun­ters with Burrich were in­cred­ibly awk­ward as we both learned pain­fully to pre­tend not to see each other.

  I wanted, achingly, to go to Molly, to tell her everything that had be­fallen me, all that had happened to me since I first came to Buck­keep. I ima­gined in de­tail how we could sit on the beach while I talked, and that when I had fin­ished, she would not judge me or try to of­fer ad­vice, but would just take my hand and be still be­side me. Fi­nally, she would know everything, and I would not have to hide any­thing from her any more. I dared ima­gine no more bey­ond that. I longed des­per­ately, and feared with the fear known only to a boy whose love is two years older than he is. If I took her all my woes, would she think me a hap­less child and pity me? Would she hate me for all that I had never told her be­fore? A dozen times that thought turned my feet away from Buck­keep Town.

  But some two months later, when I did ven­ture into town, my trait­or­ous feet took me to the chand­lery. I happened to have a bas­ket with me, and a bottle of cherry wine in it, and four or five brambly little yel­low roses, ob­tained at great loss of skin from the Wo­men’s Garden where their fra­grance over­powered even the thyme beds. I told my­self I had no plan. I did not have to tell her everything about my­self. I did not even have to see her. I could de­cide as I went along. But in the end all de­cisions had already been made, and they had noth­ing to do with me.

 

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