Assassin's Quest

"Touch not his hands nor forearms!" Kettle warned him sternly. The Fool looked a bit taken aback by that, but after a moment he gave a bobbing nod of agreement. As I left he was untying the much-knotted thong that closed Verity's worn jerkin, speaking all the while of inconsequential things. I heard Verity observe, "I have missed Charim so. I should never have let him come with me, but he had served me so long … He died slowly, with much pain. That was hard for me, watching him die. But, he, too, has gone into the dragon. It was necessary."

I felt awkward when I returned to the fire. Starling was stirring the pot of stew that was bubbling merrily. A large chunk of meat on a spit was dripping fat into the fire, making the flames leap and hiss. The smell of it reminded me of my hunger so that my belly growled. Kettle was standing, her back to the fire, staring off into darkness. Kettricken's eyes flickered toward me.

"So," I said suddenly, "How was the hunting?"

"As you see," Kettricken said softly. She gestured at the pot, and then tossed a hand casually to indicate a butchered out wood sow. I stepped over to admire it. It was not a small animal.

"Dangerous prey," I observed, trying to sound casual rather than horrified that my queen would take on such a beast alone.

"It was what I needed to hunt," she said, her voice still soft. I understood her only too well.

It was very good hunting. Never have I taken so much meat with so little effort, Nighteyes told me. He rubbed the side of his head against her leg in true affection. She dropped a hand to pull gently at his ears. He groaned in pleasure and leaned heavily against her.

"You'll spoil him," I mock-warned her. "He tells me he has never taken so much meat with so little effort."

"He is so intelligent. I swear, he drove the game toward me. And he has courage. When my first arrow did not drop her, he held her at bay while I nocked another one to my bow." She spoke as if she had nothing else on her mind but this. I nodded to her words, content to let our conversation be thus. But she suddenly asked me, "What is wrong with him?"

I knew she did not speak of the wolf. "I am not sure," I said gently. "He has known a great deal of privation. Perhaps enough to … weaken his mind. And …"

"No." Kettle's voice was brusque. "That is not it at all. Though I will grant you he is weary. Any man would be, to do what he has done alone. But-"

"You cannot believe he has carved that whole dragon himself!" I interrupted her.

"I do," the old woman replied with certainty. "It is as he told you. He must do it himself, and so he has done it." She shook her head slowly. "Never have I heard such a thing. Even King Wisdom had the help of his coterie, or what was left of it when he reached here."

"No one could have carved that statue with a sword," I said stubbornly. What she was saying was nonsense.

For answer, she rose and stalked off into the darkness. When she returned, she dropped two objects at my feet. One had been a chisel, once. Its head was peened over into a lump, its blade gone to nothing. The other was an ancient iron mallet head, with a relatively new wooden handle set into it. "There are others, scattered about. He probably found them in the city. Or discarded hereabouts," she observed before I could ask the question.

I stared at the battered tools, and considered all the months that Verity had been gone. For this? For the carving of a stone dragon?

"I don't understand," I said faintly.

Kettle spoke clearly, as if I were slow. "He has been carving a dragon, and storing all his memories in it. That is part of why he seems so vague. But there is more. I believe he used the Skill to kill Carrod, and has taken grievous hurt in so doing." She shook her head sadly. "To have come so close to finishing, and then to be defeated. I wonder how sly Regal's coterie is. Did they send one against him, knowing that if Verity killed with the Skill, he might defeat himself?"

"I do not think any of that coterie would willingly sacrifice himself."

Kettle smiled bitterly. "I did not say he was willingly sent. Nor did I say he knew what his fellows intended. It is like the game of stones, FitzChivalry. One plays each stone to best advantage in the game. The object is to win, not to hoard one's stones."

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR. Girl on a Dragon