[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
that the boy had accused Galen falsely. One said it to Galen. And he replied that El's justice was that the
girl had died before she bred, and her tainted cousin, too.
Burrich fell silent. I was queasy with what he had told me, and a cold fear snaked through me. A
question once decided at the Witness Stones could not be raised again. That was more than law, it was
the very will of the gods. So I was to be taught by a man who was a murderer, a man who would try to
kill me if he suspected I had the Wit.
Yes, Burrich said as if I had spoken aloud. Oh, Fitz, my son, be careful, be wise. And for a moment I
wondered, for it sounded as if he feared for me. But then he added, Don't shame me, boy. Or your
father. Don't let Galen say that I've let my prince's son grow up a half beast. Show him that Chivalry's
blood runs true in you.
I'll try, I muttered. And I went to bed that night wretched and afraid.
The Queen's Garden was nowhere near the Women's Garden or the kitchen garden or any other garden
in Buckkeep. It was, instead, atop a circular tower. The garden walls were high on the sides that faced
the sea, but to the south and west, the walls were low and had seats along them. The stone walls
captured the warmth of the sun and fended off the salt winds-from the sea. The air was still there, almost
as if hands were cupped over my ears. Yet there was a strange wildness to the garden founded on stone.
There were rock basins, perhaps birdbaths or water gardens at one time, and various tubs and pots and
troughs of earth, intermingled with statuary. At one time the tubs and pots had probably overflowed with
greenery and flowers. Of the plants, only a few stalks and the mossy earth in the tubs remained. The
skeleton of a vine crawled over a half-rotted trellis. It filled me with an old sadness colder than the first
chill of winter that was also here. Patience should have had this, I thought. She would bring life here
again.
I was the first to arrive. August came soon after. He had Verity's broad build, much as I had Chivalry's
height, and the dark Farseer coloring. As always, he was distant but polite. He dealt me a nod and then
strolled about, looking at the statuary.
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Others appeared rapidly after him. I was surprised at how many, over a dozen. Other than August, son
of the King's sister, no one could boast so much Farseer blood as I could. There were cousins and
second cousins, of both sexes, and both younger and older than I. August was probably the youngest, at
two years my junior, and Serene, a woman in her mid twenties, was probably the eldest. It was an oddly
subdued group. A few clustered, talking softly, but most drifted about, poking at the empty gardens or
looking at the statues.
Then Galen came.
He let the door of the stairwell slam shut behind him. Several of the others jumped. He stood regarding
us, and we in turn looked at him in silence.
There is something I have observed about skinny men. Some, like Chade, seem so preoccupied with
their lives that they either forget to eat, or burn every bit of sustenance they take in the fires of their
passionate fascination with life. But there is another type, one who goes about the world cadaverously,
cheeks sunken, bones jutting, and one senses that he so disapproves of the whole of the world that he
begrudges every bit of it that he takes inside himself. At that moment I would have wagered that Galen
had never truly enjoyed one bite of food or one swallow of drink in his life.
His dress puzzled me. It was opulently rich, with fur at his collar and neck, and amber beading so thick
on his vest it would have turned a sword. But the rich fabrics strained over him, the clothing tailored so
snugly to him that one wondered if the maker had lacked sufficient fabric to finish the suit. At a time when
full sleeves slashed with colors were the mark of a wealthy man, he wore his shirt as tight as a cat's skin.
His boots were high and fitted to his calves, and he carried a little quirt, as if come straight from riding.
His clothing looked uncomfortable and combined with his thinness to give an impression of stinginess.
His pale eyes swept the Queen's Garden dispassionately. He considered us, and immediately dismissed
us as wanting. He breathed out through his hawk's nose, as does a man facing an unpleasant chore. Clear
a space, he directed us. Push all this rubbish to one side. Stack it there, against that wall. Quickly, now. I
have no patience with sluggards.
And so the last lines of the garden were destroyed. The arrangements of the pots and beds that had
been shadows of the little walks and arbors that had once existed here were swept aside. The pots were
moved to one side, the lovely little statues stacked crookedly atop them. Galen spoke only once, to me.
Hurry up, bastard, he ordered me as I struggled with a heavy pot of earth, and he brought down his
riding crop across my shoulders. It was not much of a blow, more a tap, but it seemed so contrived that I
stopped in my efforts and looked at him. Didn't you hear me? he demanded. I nodded, and went back to
moving the pot. From the corner of my eye, I saw his odd look of satisfaction. The blow, I felt, had been
a test, but I was not sure if I had passed or failed it.
The tower roof became a bare space, with only the green lines of moss and old runnels of dirt to indicate
the garden that had been. He directed us to form ourselves into two lines. He ordered us by age and size,
and then separated us by sex, putting the girls behind the boys and off to the right. I will tolerate no
distractions or disruptive behavior. You are here to learn, not dally, he warned us. He then spaced us
out, having us stretch our arms in all directions to show that there we could not touch one another, not
even so much as a fingertip. From this, I expected physical exercises would follow, but instead he
directed us to stand still, hands at our sides, and attend to him. So as we stood on the cold tower top he
lectured us.
For seventeen years, I have been Skillmaster of this keep. Before this, my lessons were given to small
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
groups, discreetly. Those who failed to show promise were turned away quietly. During that time the Six
Duchies had no need for more than a handful to be trained. I trained only the most promising, wasting no
time on those, without talent or discipline. And, for the last fifteen years, I have not initiated any into the
Skill. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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that the boy had accused Galen falsely. One said it to Galen. And he replied that El's justice was that the
girl had died before she bred, and her tainted cousin, too.
Burrich fell silent. I was queasy with what he had told me, and a cold fear snaked through me. A
question once decided at the Witness Stones could not be raised again. That was more than law, it was
the very will of the gods. So I was to be taught by a man who was a murderer, a man who would try to
kill me if he suspected I had the Wit.
Yes, Burrich said as if I had spoken aloud. Oh, Fitz, my son, be careful, be wise. And for a moment I
wondered, for it sounded as if he feared for me. But then he added, Don't shame me, boy. Or your
father. Don't let Galen say that I've let my prince's son grow up a half beast. Show him that Chivalry's
blood runs true in you.
I'll try, I muttered. And I went to bed that night wretched and afraid.
The Queen's Garden was nowhere near the Women's Garden or the kitchen garden or any other garden
in Buckkeep. It was, instead, atop a circular tower. The garden walls were high on the sides that faced
the sea, but to the south and west, the walls were low and had seats along them. The stone walls
captured the warmth of the sun and fended off the salt winds-from the sea. The air was still there, almost
as if hands were cupped over my ears. Yet there was a strange wildness to the garden founded on stone.
There were rock basins, perhaps birdbaths or water gardens at one time, and various tubs and pots and
troughs of earth, intermingled with statuary. At one time the tubs and pots had probably overflowed with
greenery and flowers. Of the plants, only a few stalks and the mossy earth in the tubs remained. The
skeleton of a vine crawled over a half-rotted trellis. It filled me with an old sadness colder than the first
chill of winter that was also here. Patience should have had this, I thought. She would bring life here
again.
I was the first to arrive. August came soon after. He had Verity's broad build, much as I had Chivalry's
height, and the dark Farseer coloring. As always, he was distant but polite. He dealt me a nod and then
strolled about, looking at the statuary.
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Others appeared rapidly after him. I was surprised at how many, over a dozen. Other than August, son
of the King's sister, no one could boast so much Farseer blood as I could. There were cousins and
second cousins, of both sexes, and both younger and older than I. August was probably the youngest, at
two years my junior, and Serene, a woman in her mid twenties, was probably the eldest. It was an oddly
subdued group. A few clustered, talking softly, but most drifted about, poking at the empty gardens or
looking at the statues.
Then Galen came.
He let the door of the stairwell slam shut behind him. Several of the others jumped. He stood regarding
us, and we in turn looked at him in silence.
There is something I have observed about skinny men. Some, like Chade, seem so preoccupied with
their lives that they either forget to eat, or burn every bit of sustenance they take in the fires of their
passionate fascination with life. But there is another type, one who goes about the world cadaverously,
cheeks sunken, bones jutting, and one senses that he so disapproves of the whole of the world that he
begrudges every bit of it that he takes inside himself. At that moment I would have wagered that Galen
had never truly enjoyed one bite of food or one swallow of drink in his life.
His dress puzzled me. It was opulently rich, with fur at his collar and neck, and amber beading so thick
on his vest it would have turned a sword. But the rich fabrics strained over him, the clothing tailored so
snugly to him that one wondered if the maker had lacked sufficient fabric to finish the suit. At a time when
full sleeves slashed with colors were the mark of a wealthy man, he wore his shirt as tight as a cat's skin.
His boots were high and fitted to his calves, and he carried a little quirt, as if come straight from riding.
His clothing looked uncomfortable and combined with his thinness to give an impression of stinginess.
His pale eyes swept the Queen's Garden dispassionately. He considered us, and immediately dismissed
us as wanting. He breathed out through his hawk's nose, as does a man facing an unpleasant chore. Clear
a space, he directed us. Push all this rubbish to one side. Stack it there, against that wall. Quickly, now. I
have no patience with sluggards.
And so the last lines of the garden were destroyed. The arrangements of the pots and beds that had
been shadows of the little walks and arbors that had once existed here were swept aside. The pots were
moved to one side, the lovely little statues stacked crookedly atop them. Galen spoke only once, to me.
Hurry up, bastard, he ordered me as I struggled with a heavy pot of earth, and he brought down his
riding crop across my shoulders. It was not much of a blow, more a tap, but it seemed so contrived that I
stopped in my efforts and looked at him. Didn't you hear me? he demanded. I nodded, and went back to
moving the pot. From the corner of my eye, I saw his odd look of satisfaction. The blow, I felt, had been
a test, but I was not sure if I had passed or failed it.
The tower roof became a bare space, with only the green lines of moss and old runnels of dirt to indicate
the garden that had been. He directed us to form ourselves into two lines. He ordered us by age and size,
and then separated us by sex, putting the girls behind the boys and off to the right. I will tolerate no
distractions or disruptive behavior. You are here to learn, not dally, he warned us. He then spaced us
out, having us stretch our arms in all directions to show that there we could not touch one another, not
even so much as a fingertip. From this, I expected physical exercises would follow, but instead he
directed us to stand still, hands at our sides, and attend to him. So as we stood on the cold tower top he
lectured us.
For seventeen years, I have been Skillmaster of this keep. Before this, my lessons were given to small
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
groups, discreetly. Those who failed to show promise were turned away quietly. During that time the Six
Duchies had no need for more than a handful to be trained. I trained only the most promising, wasting no
time on those, without talent or discipline. And, for the last fifteen years, I have not initiated any into the
Skill. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]