The Complete Farseer Trilogy: Assassin’s Apprentice, Royal Assassin, Assassin’s Quest. Robin Hobb

      ‘It cannot be,’ Shrewd said regretfully. ‘They have beliefs of their own, up in the mountains. A wedding made in winter yields a barren harvest. You must take her in the autumn when the lands are yielding, or in late spring, when they till their little mountain fields.’

      ‘I cannot. By the time spring comes to their mountains, it is fair weather here, with Raiders on our doorsills. Surely they must understand that!’ Verity moved his head about, like a restless horse on a short lead. He did not want to be here. Distasteful as he found his Skill work, it called to him. He wanted to go to it, wanted it in a way that had nothing to do with protecting his kingdom. I wondered if Shrewd knew that. I wondered if Verity did.

      ‘To understand something is one thing,’ the King expounded. ‘To insist they flaunt their traditions is another. Verity, this must be done, done now.’ Shrewd rubbed his head as if it pained him. ‘We need this joining. We need her soldiers, we need her marriage gifts, we need her father at our back. It cannot wait. Could not you perhaps go in a closed litter, unhampered by managing a horse, and continue your Skill work as you travel? It might even do you good, to get out and about a bit, to have a little fresh air and …’

      ‘NO!’ Verity bellowed the word, and Shrewd turned where he stood, almost as if he were at bay against the windowsill. Verity advanced to the table, and pounded upon it, showing a temper I had never suspected in him. ‘No and no and no! I cannot do the work I must do to keep the Raiders from our coast while being rocked and jolted in a horse litter. And no, I will not go to this bride you have chosen for me, to this woman I scarce recall, in a litter like an invalid or a witling. I will not have her see me so, nor would I have my men sniggering behind me, saying, “oh, this is what brave Verity has come to, riding like a palsied old man, pandered off to some woman as if he were an Outislander whore”. Where are your wits that you can think such stupid plans? You’ve been among the mountain folk, you know their ways. Think you a woman of theirs would accept a man who came to her in such a sickly way? Even their royals expose a child if it is born less than whole. You’d spoil your own plan, and leave the Six Duchies to the Raiders while you did it.’

      ‘Then perhaps …’

      ‘Then perhaps there is a Red Ship right now, not so far that they cannot see Egg Island, and already the captain of it is discounting the dream of ill omen he had last night, and the navigator is correcting his course, wondering how he could have so mistaken the landmarks of our coastline. Already all the work I did last night while you slept and Regal danced and drank with his courtiers is coming undone, while we stand here and yatter at one another. Father, arrange it. Arrange it any way you wish and can, so long as it does not involve me doing anything save the Skill while fair weather plagues our coast.’ Verity had been moving as he spoke, and the slamming of the King’s chamber door almost drowned out his final words.

      Shrewd stood and stared at the door for some moments. Then he passed his hand across his eyes, rubbing them, but for weariness or tears or just a bit of dust, I could not tell. He looked about the room, frowning when his eyes encountered me, as if I were a thing puzzlingly out of place. Then, as if recalling why I were there, he observed dryly, ‘Well, that went well, didn’t it? Still, and all, a way must be found. And when Verity rides to claim his bride, you will go with him.’

      ‘If you wish, my king,’ I said quietly.

      ‘I do.’ He cleared his throat, then turned to look out of his window again. ‘The princess has a single sibling, an older brother. He is not a healthy man. Oh, he was well and strong once, but on the Ice Fields he took an arrow through his chest. Passed clean through him, so Regal was told. And the wounds on his chest and back healed. But during the winters, he coughs blood, and in summer he cannot sit a horse nor drill his men for more than half the morning. Knowing the mountain folk, it is full surprising that he is their King-in-Waiting still. Usually they do not tolerate weaklings.’

      I thought quietly for a moment. ‘Among the mountain people the custom is the same as ours. Male or female, the offspring inherit by the order of their birth.’

      ‘Yes. That is so,’ Shrewd said quietly, and I knew that already he was thinking that seven duchies might be stronger than six. This was why I had been summoned to breakfast.

      ‘And Princess Kettricken’s father?’ I asked. ‘How is his health?’

      ‘As hale and hearty as one could wish, for a man of his years. I am sure he will reign long and well for at least another decade, keeping his kingdom whole and safe for his heir.’

      ‘Probably by then, our troubles with the Red Ships will long be over. Verity will be free to turn his mind to other things.’

      ‘Probably,’ King Shrewd agreed quietly. His eyes finally met mine. ‘When Verity goes to claim his bride, you will go with him. You understand what your duties will be? I trust to your discretion.’

      I inclined my head to him. ‘As you wish, my king.’

       NINETEEN

       Journey

      To speak of the Mountain Kingdom as a kingdom is to start out with a basic misunderstanding of the area and the folk who people it. It is equally inaccurate to refer to the region as Chyurda, although the Chyurda do make up the dominant folk there. Rather than one stretch of united countryside, the Mountain Kingdom consists of various hamlets clinging to the mountainsides, of small vales of arable land, of trading hamlets sprung up along the rough roads that lead to the passes, and clans of nomadic herders and hunters who range the inhospitable countryside in between. Such a diverse people are unlikely to unite, for their interests are often in conflict. Strangely, though, the only force more powerful than each group’s independence and insular ways is the loyalty they bear to the ‘King’ of the mountain folk.

      Traditions tell us that this line was begun by a prophet-judge, a woman who was not only wise, but also a philosopher who founded a theory of ruling the keystone which is that the leader is the ultimate servant of the people, and must be totally selfless in that regard. There was no definite time when the judge became the king; rather it was a gradual transition, as word of the fairness and wisdom of the holy one at Jhaampe spread. As more and more folk sought counsel there, willing to be bound by the decision of the judge, it was only natural that the laws of that settlement came to be respected throughout the mountains, and that more and more folk adopted Jhaampe laws as their own. And so judges became kings, but, amazingly, retained their self-imposed decree of servitude and self-sacrifice for their people. The Jhaampe tradition is rife with tales of kings and queens who sacrificed themselves for their folk, in every conceivable way, from fending wild animals off shepherd children to offering themselves as hostages in times of feud.

      Tales have been told that make the mountain folk out to be harsh, almost savage. In truth, the land they dwell in is uncompromising, and their laws mirror this condition. It is true that badly-formed infants are exposed, or, more commonly, drowned or drugged to death. The elderly often choose Sequestering, a self-imposed exile in a family but where cold and starvation end all infirmities. A man who breaks his word may have his tongue notched as well as having to surrender double the value of his original bargain. Such customs may seem quaintly barbaric to those in the more settled of the Six Duchies, but they are peculiarly suited to the world of the Mountain Kingdom.

      In the end, Verity had his way. There was no sweetness in the triumph for him, I am sure, for his own stubborn insistence was backed by a sudden increase in the frequency of the raids. In the space of a month, two villages were burned and had a total of thirty-two inhabitants taken for Forging. Nineteen of them apparently carried the now popular poison vials, and chose to commit suicide. A third town, a more populous one, was successfully defended, not by the royal troops, but by a mercenary militia the townsfolk had organized and hired themselves. Many of the fighters, ironically, were immigrant Outislanders, using one of the few skills they had. And the mutterings against the King’s apparent inactivity increased.