Assassin's Quest

I was not sure he was correct. With his eyes I saw and smelled myself. I had wedged myself into the space between the roots of the great tree, and was curled up as small as an abandoned pup. My blood smell was strong on the air. Then I blinked, and I was looking down into the darkness of my crooked elbow over my face. I lifted my head slowly, painfully. Everything hurt and all the pain traced back to that arrow centered in my back.

I smelled rabbit guts and blood. Nighteyes stood beside me, feet braced on the carcass as he tore it open. Eat, while it's hot.

I don't know if I can.

Do you want me to chew it for you?

He was not jesting. But the only thing more revolting than eating was the thought of eating disgorged meat. I managed a tiny shake of my head. My fingers were almost numb, but I watched my hand pinch up the small liver and carry it up to my mouth. It was warm and rich with blood. Suddenly I knew Nighteyes was right. I had to eat. Because I had to live. He had torn the hare apart. I picked up a portion and bit into the warm meat. It was tough but I was determined. Without thinking, I had nearly abandoned my body for his, nearly climbed in beside him into that perfect healthy wolf's body. I had done it once before, with his consent. But now we both knew better. We would share, but we could not become one another. Not without both of us losing.

Slowly I sat up. I felt the muscles of my back move against the arrow, protesting the way it snagged them. I could feel the weight of the shaft. When I imagined it sticking out of me, I nearly lost the food I'd eaten. I forced myself to a calm I did not feel. Suddenly, oddly, an image of Burrich came to me. That deadly stillness in his face when he had flexed his knee and watched the old wound pulling open. Slowly I reached my hand back. I walked my fingers up my spine. It made the muscles pull against the arrow. Finally my fingers touched the sticky wood of the arrow shaft. Even that light touch was a new sort of pain. Awkwardly I closed my fingers around the shaft, closed my eyes and tried to pull on it. Even if there had been no pain involved, it would have been difficult. But the agony rocked the world around me, and when it steadied, I found myself on my hands and knees with my head hanging down.

Shall I try?

I shook my head, remaining as I was. I was still afraid I'd faint. I tried to think. If he pulled it out, I knew I'd pass out. If the bleeding was bad, I'd have no way to stop it. No. Best to leave it in there. I gathered all my courage. Can you break it off?

He came close to me. I felt his head against my back. He turned his head, maneuvered his jaws so that his back teeth would close on the shaft. Then he closed his jaws. There was a snick, like a gardener pruning a sapling, and a shiver of new pain. A wave of giddiness washed over me. But somehow I reached back and tugged my blood sodden cloak free of the stub of arrow. I pulled it closer around me, shuddering. I closed my eyes.

No. Build a fire first.

I peeled my eyes open again. It was all too hard. I scraped together all the twigs and sticks within easy reach. Nighteyes tried to help, fetching branches to me, but it still took an eternity before I had a tiny flame dancing. Slowly I added sticks. About the time I had the fire burning, I realized the day was dawning. Time to move on again. We stayed only to finish eating the rabbit and to let me get my hands and feet thoroughly warm. Then we started off again, Nighteyes leading me unpityingly onward.

CHAPTER TWENTY. Jhaampe

JHAAMPE, THE CAPITAL city of the Mountain Kingdom, is older than Buckkeep, just as the ruling line of the Mountain Kingdom is older than the house of Farseer. As a city, Jhaampe is as far removed in style from the fortress city of Buckkeep as the Farseer monarchs are different from the philosopher guides of the Sacrifice lineage that rules the Mountains.

There is no permanent city such as we know. There are few permanent buildings. Instead, along the carefully planned and garden-bordered roads are spaces where the nomadic folk of the Mountains may come and go. There is a designated space for the market, but the merchants migrate in a procession that parallels that of the seasons. A score of tents may spring up overnight and their inhabitants swell the population of Jhaampe for a week or a month, only to disappear without a trace when their visiting and trading is over. Jhaampe is an ever-changing city of tents populated by the vigorous outdoor-dwelling folk of the mountains.