Assassin's Quest

I bobbed my head. He was a cautious man, Burl, and I did not doubt that he would carry out his threats. I had seen the shape of his Skill, and seen, too, how Galen had bent and twisted it into a tool that Regal would use. He was loyal to an upstart prince. That Galen had forged into him; he could no longer separate it from his Skill. He had ambitions for power, and he loved the indolent life his Skill had earned him. His arms no longer bulged with the muscles of his work. Instead his belly stretched his tunics and the jowls of his cheeks hung heavy. He seemed a decade older than I was. But he would guard his position against anything that threatened it. Guard it savagely.

The sergeant reached the tent first, but his men came with Starling shortly afterward. She walked between them and entered the tent with dignity despite her bruised face and swollen lip. There was an icy calm to her as she stood straight before Burl and gave him no greeting at all. Perhaps only I sensed the fury she contained. Of fear she showed no sign at all.

When she stood alongside me, Burl lifted his eyes to consider us both. He pointed one finger at her. "Minstrel. You are aware that this man is FitzChivalry, the Witted Bastard."

Starling made no response. It was not a question.

"In Blue Lake, Will, of Galen's Coterie, servant of King Regal, offered you gold, good honest coin, if you could help us track down this man. You denied all knowledge of where he was." He paused, as if giving her a chance to speak. She said nothing.

"Yet, here we have found you, traveling in his company again." He took a deep breath. "And now he tells me that you, in serving him, serve Verity the Pretender. And he threatens me with Verity's wrath. Tell me. Before I respond to this, do you agree with this? Or has he misspoken on your behalf?"

We both knew he was offering her a chance. I hoped she'd have the sense to take it. I saw Starling swallow. She did not look at me. When she spoke, her voice was low and controlled. "I need no one to speak for me, my lord. Nor am I any man's servant. I do not serve FitzChivalry." She paused, and I felt dizzying relief. But then she took breath and went on, "But if Verity Farseer lives; then he is true King of the Six Duchies. And I do not doubt that all who say otherwise will feel his wrath. If he returns."

Burl sighed out through his nose. He shook his head regretfully. He gestured to one of the waiting men. "You. Break one of her fingers. I don't care which one."

"I am a minstrel!" Starling objected in horror. She stared at him in disbelief. We all did. It was not unheard of for a minstrel to be executed for treason. To kill a minstrel was one thing. To harm one was entirely another.

"Did you not hear me?" Burl asked the man when he hesitated.

"Sir, she's a minstrel." The man looked stricken. "It's bad luck to harm a minstrel."

Burl turned away from him to his sergeant. "You will see he receives five lashes before I retire this night. Five, mind you, and I wish to be able to count the separate welts on his back."

"Yes, sir," the sergeant said faintly.

Burl turned back to the man. "Break one of her fingers. I don't care which one." He spoke the command as if he had never uttered the words before.

The man moved toward her like a man in a dream. He was going to obey, and Burl was not going to stop the order.

"I will kill you," I promised Burl sincerely.

Burl smiled at me serenely. "Guardsman. Make that two of her fingers. I do not care which ones." The sergeant moved swiftly, drawing his knife and stepping behind me. He set it to my throat and pushed me to my knees. I looked up at Starling. She glanced at me once, her eyes flat and empty, then looked away. Her hands, like mine, were bound behind her. She stared straight ahead at Burl's chest. Still and silent she stood, going whiter and whiter until he actually touched her. She cried out, a hoarse guttural sound as he gripped her wrists. Then she screamed, but her cry could not cover the two small snaps her fingers made as the man bent them backward at the joints.

"Show me," Burl commanded.

As if angry with Starling that he had had to do this, the man thrust her down on her face. She lay on the sheepskin before Burl's feet. After the scream, she had not made a sound. The two smallest fingers on her left hand stood out crazily from the others. Burl looked down at them, and nodded, satisfied.

"Take her away. See she is well guarded. Then come back and see your sergeant. When he is finished with you, come to me." Burl's voice was even.

The guard seized Starling by her collar and dragged her to her feet. He looked both ill and angry as he prodded her out of the tent. Burl nodded to the sergeant. "Let him up, now."