Assassin's Quest

The storm was, at first, a thing that was happening above us, in the treetops. Loose needles fell rattling against the yurt's skin and as the storm grew more intense, small branches and occasional dumps of icy snow. The cold grew stronger and became a thing that crept in at every gap of blanket or garment. Midway through Starling's watch, Kettricken called her in, saying the storm would stand watch for us now. When Starling entered, the wolf slunk in at her heels. To my relief, no one objected very loudly. When Starling commented that he carried snow in with him, the Fool replied that he had less on him than she did. Nighteyes came immediately, to our part of the tent, and lay down between the Fool and the outer wall. He set his great head on the Fool's chest and heaved a sigh before closing his eyes. I almost felt jealous.

He's colder than you are. Much colder. And, in the city, where hunting was so poor, he often shared food with me.

So. He is pack, then? I asked with a trace of amusement.

You tell me, Nighteyes challenged me. He saved your life, fed you from his kills, and shared his den with you. Is he pack with us or not?

I suppose he is, I said after a moment's consideration. I had never seen things in quite that light before. Unobtrusively, I shifted in my bedding to be slightly closer to the Fool. "Are you cold?" I asked him aloud.

"Not so long as I keep shivering," he told me miserably. Then he added, "Actually, I'm warmer with the wolf between me and the wall. He gives off a lot of heat."

"He's grateful for all the times you fed him in Jhaampe."

The Fool squinted at me through the tent's dimness. "Really? I did not think animals carried memories for that long."

That startled me into thinking about it. "Usually, they don't. But tonight, he recalls that you fed him and is grateful."

The Fool lifted a hand to scratch carefully around Nighteyes' ears. Nighteyes made a puppy growl of pleasure and happily snuggled closer. I wondered again at all the changes I was seeing in him. More and more often, his reactions and thoughts were a mixture of human and wolf.

I was too tired to give it much thought. I closed my eyes and started to sink into sleep. After a time, I realized that my eyes were tightly shut, my jaw clenched, and I was no closer to sleep. I wanted to simply let go of consciousness, so weary was I, but the Skill so threatened and lured me that I could not relax enough to sleep. I kept shifting, trying to find a physical position that was more relaxing, until Kettle on the other side of me pointedly asked me if I had fleas. I tried to be still.

I stared up into the darkness of the tent's ceiling, listening to the blowing wind outside and the quiet breathing of my companions inside. I closed my eyes and relaxed my muscles, trying to at least rest my body. I wanted so desperately to fall asleep. But Skill dreams tugged at me like tiny barbed hooks in my mind until I thought I should scream. Most were horrible. Some sort of Forging ceremony in a coastal village, a huge fire burning in a pit, and captives dragged forward by jeering Outlslanders and offered the choice of being Forged or flinging themselves into the pit. Children were watching. I jerked my mind back from the flames.

I caught my breath and calmed my eyes. Sleep. In a night chamber in Buckkeep Castle, Lacey was carefully removing lace from an old wedding gown. Her mouth was pinched shut with disapproval as she picked out the tiny threads that secured the ornate work. "It will bring a good price," Patience said to her. "Perhaps enough to supply our watchtowers for another month. He would understand what we must do for Buck." She held her head very upright, and there was more gray in the black of her hair than I recalled as her fingers unfastened the strings of tiny pearls that glistened in scalloping at the neckline of the gown. Time had aged the white of the gown to ivory, and the luxuriant breadth of the skirts cascaded over their laps. Patience cocked her head suddenly as if listening, a puzzled frown on her face. I fled.

I used all my will to pry my eyes open. The fire in the small brazier burned small, shedding a reddish light. I studied the poles that supported the taut hides. I willed my breath to calmness. I dared not think of anything that might lure me out of my own life, not Molly, not Burrich, not Verity. I tried to find some neutral image to rest my mind upon, something with no special connotations to my life. I called up a bland landscape. A smooth blank plain of land cloaked in white snow, a peaceful night sky over it. Blessed stillness … I sank into it as into a soft feather bed.