“We shall have more than just the truth for him, my lady queen,” I promised her. The emeralds weighed heavy still in my pouch. I knew she would not begrudge them.

20

Mishaps

DURING THE YEARS of the Red-Ship raids, the Six Duchies suffered significantly from their atrocities. The folk of the Six Duchies at that time learned a greater hatred of the Outislanders than ever they had felt before.

In their grandfathers’ and fathers’ times, Outislanders had been both traders and pirates. Raids were carried out by solitary ships. We had not had a raiding “war” such as this since the days of King Wisdom. Although pirate attacks were not rare occurrences, they were still far more infrequent than the Outisland ships that came to our shores to trade. The blood ties among the noble families to Outisland kin were openly acknowledged, and many a family owned to a “cousin” in the Outislands.

But after the savage raiding that preceded Forge, and the atrocities at Forge, all friendly talk of the Outislands ceased. Their ships had always been more wont to visit our shores than our traders to seek out their ice-plagued harbors and swift-tided channels. Now trade ceased entirely. Thus our folk knew nothing of their Outisland kin during the days when we suffered the Red-Ships. “Outislander” became synonymous with “Raider,” and in our minds, all Outisland vessels had red hulls.

But one, Chade Fallstar, a personal adviser to King Shrewd, took it upon himself to travel to the Outislands in those perilous days. From his journals we have this:

Kebal Rawbread was not even a name known in the Six Duchies. It was a name not breathed in the Outislands. The independent folk of the scattered and isolated villages of the Outislands had never owed allegiance to any one King. Nor was Kebal Rawbread thought of as a King there. Rather he was a malevolent force, like a freezing wind that so coats a ship’s rigging with ice that in a hour she turns belly-up on the sea.

The few folk I encountered that did not fear to talk said Kebal had founded his power by subduing the individual pirates and raiding ships to his control. With those in hand, he turned his efforts to “recruiting” the best navigators, the most capable captains, and the most skillful fighters the scattered villages had to offer. Those who refused his offers saw their families escralled, or Forged, as we have come to call it. Then they were left alive to cope with the shattered remnants of their lives. Most were forced to put family members to death with their own hands; Outislander customs are strict regarding a householder’s duty to maintain order amongst family members. As word of these incidents spread, fewer resisted the offers of Kebal Rawbread. Some few fled: their extended families still paid the price of escral. Others chose suicide, but again, the families were not spared. Such examples left few daring to defy Rawbread or his ships.

Even to speak against him invited escral. Sparse as was the knowledge I gained on this visit, it was gained with great difficulty. Rumors I gathered as well, though they were as sparse as black lambs in a white flock. I list them here. A “white ship” is spoken of, a ship that comes to separate souls. Not to take them, or destroy them: to separate them. They whisper, too, of a pale woman whom even Kebal Rawbread fears and reveres. Many related the torments of their land to the unprecedented advances of the “ice whales” or glaciers. Always present in the upper reaches of their narrow valleys, they now advanced more swiftly than in the memory of any living man. They were rapidly covering what little arable soil the Outislands possessed and, in a way no one could or would explain to me, bringing a “change of water.”

I went to see the King that evening. It was not without trepidation on my part. He would not have forgotten our last talk about Celerity, any more than I had. I reminded myself firmly that this visit was not for my personal reasons but for Kettricken and Verity. Then I knocked and Wallace grudgingly admitted me. The King was sitting up in his chair by the hearth. The Fool was at his feet, staring pensively into the fire. King Shrewd looked up as I entered. I presented myself and he greeted me warmly, then bade me be seated and tell him how my day had gone. At this, I shot the Fool a brief puzzled glance. He returned me a bitter smile. I took a stool opposite the Fool and waited.

King Shrewd looked down on me benignly. “Well, lad? Did you have a good day? Tell me about it.”

“I have had a … worrisome day, my king.”

“Have you, now? Well, have a cup of tea. It does wonders to soothe the nerves. Fool, pour my boy a cup of tea.”

“Willingly, my king. I do so at your command even more willingly than I do it for yourself.” With a surprising alacrity, the Fool leaped to his feet. There was a fat clay pot of tea warming in the embers at the edges of the fire. From this the Fool poured me a mug and then handed it to me, with the wish, “Drink as deeply as our king does, and you shall share his serenity.”