Chapter 11
THE LAST CHANCE
You are correct in your surmise. I haven’t told everything I know about that event
but in some ways I have shared as much as I believe is safe to share with Chade. Hence,
what I will repeat here is for the eyes of the Skillmistress only. Fond as we both
are of the old man, we know that he is inclined to risk himself in the pursuit of
knowledge.
The first thing to remember is that I was never truly there, myself. I dreamed, and
in that dream I Skill-walked. But as one highly gifted in Skill-dreams, you of all
people will know that what I saw there, I saw through the eyes of King Verity.
In my dream, we were in a broken city. It held its memories still, as we now understand
that some Elderling cities do. I saw it as it had been, full of delicate soaring towers
and graceful bridges and thronged by exotic people in bright clothing. And I saw it
as Verity experienced it, cold and dark, the streets uneven and every fallen wall a hazard he must negotiate. Sand blew in a vicious wind; he bowed his head to
it and trudged toward a river.
As a river I perceived it. But it was not water. It was Skill, as a liquid, as molten
gold or even running red iron. To me, it seemed to have a black luminescence then.
But in my dream, it was night and winter. Did it have a color at all? I cannot tell
you.
I do recall how my king, wasted to a scarecrow of a man, knelt on that bank and relentlessly
plunged his hands and arms into the stuff. I shared his pain, for I swear it ate the
flesh and muscles from his bones. But when he pulled back from that current, his hands
and arms were silvered with pure Skill, with magic in its strongest and most powerful
form.
I will also tell you that I helped him refrain from throwing himself into that flow.
I lent him the strength to step back from it. Had I truly been there, in my own flesh,
I do not think I would have had the strength of will to resist the temptation to drown
myself in it.