Free Royal Assassin by Hobb Robin

inkling as to how he induced the Elderlings to become his allies. Many songs, rich in metaphor, tell how the Elderlings descended, like “storms,” like “tidal waves,” like “vengeance gone gold,” and “wrath embodied in flesh of stone” to drive the Raiders away from our shores. Legends also tell that they swore to Wisdom that if ever the Six Duchies had need of their aid, they would rise again to our defense. One may conjecture; many have, and the variety of legends that surround this alliance are proof of that. But King Wisdom’s scribe’s recounting of the event has been lost to mildew and worms forever
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    My chamber had a single tall window that looked out over the sea. In winter a wooden shutter closed out the storm winds, and a tapestry hung over that gave my room an illusion of cozy warmth. So I awakened to darkness, and for a time lay quietly finding myself. Gradually the subtle sounds of the Keep filtered in to me. Morning sounds. Very early-morning sounds. Home, I realized. Buckkeep. And in the next instant, “Molly,” I said aloud to the darkness. My body was weary and aching still. But not exhausted. I clambered from my bed into the chill of my room.
    I stumbled to my long-disused hearth and kindled a small fire. I needed to bring up more firewood soon. The dancing flames lent the room a fickle yellow light. I took clothing from the chest at the foot of my bed, only to find the garments oddly ill-fitting. My long illness had wasted the muscle from my frame, but I had still somehow managed to grow longer in the legs and arms. Nothing fit. I picked up my shirt from yesterday, but a night in clean bedding had refreshed my nose. I could no longer abide the smell of the travel-stained garment. I dug in my clothes chest again. I found one soft brown shirt that had once been too long in the sleeve for me, and now just fit. I put it on with my green quilted mountain trousers and buskins. I had no doubt that as soon as I encountered the Lady Patience or Mistress Hasty, I would be attacked and the situation remedied. But not, I hoped, before breakfast and a trip into BuckkeepTown. There were several places there where I might get word of Molly.
    I found the castle stirring but not yet fully awake. I ate in the kitchen as I had when a child, finding that there, as always, the bread was freshest and the porridge sweetest. Cook exclaimed to see me, one minute commenting on how much I had grown, and the next lamenting how thin and worn I looked. I surmised that before the day was out, I would be heartily sick of these observations. As traffic in the kitchen increased I fled, carrying off a thick slice of bread well buttered and laden with rose-hip preserves. I headed back toward my room to get a winter cloak.
    In every chamber I passed through, I found more and more evidence of Kettricken’s presence. A sort of tapestry, woven of different-colored grasses and representing a mountain scene, now graced the wall of the Lesser Hall. There were no flowers to be had this time of year, but in odd places I encountered fat pottery bowls full of pebbles, and these held bare but graceful branches, or dried thistles and cattails. The changes were small but unmistakable.
    I found myself in one of the older sections of Buckkeep, and then climbing the dusty steps to Verity’s watchtower. It commanded a wide view of our seacoast, and from its tall windows Verity kept his summer vigil for raiding ships. From here he worked the Skill magic that kept the Raiders at bay, or at least gave us some warning of their coming. It was a thin defense at times. He should have had a coterie of underlings trained in the Skill to assist him. But I myself, despite my bastard blood, had never been able to control my random Skill abilities. Galen, our Skill master, had died before he had trained more than a handful in the Skill. There was no one to replace him, and those he had trained lacked a true communion with Verity. So Verity Skilled alone