I opened my mouth to ob­ject to that. With my Wit I could sense birds, but had never found them par­tic­u­larly brim­ming with life. I re­called some­thing that Burrich – the man who had all but raised me – had said to me, many years ago, when he had de­clared that I would not work with the hawks at Buck­keep Castle. ‘They don’t like you: you are too warm.’ And I had thought he meant my flesh, but now I wondered if he had sensed some­thing about my Wit that he could not, then, have ex­plained to me. For the Wit had then been a des­pised ma­gic, and if either of us had ad­mit­ted to pos­sess­ing it we would have been hanged, quartered and burned over wa­ter.

  ‘Why do you sigh?’ Pa­tience ab­ruptly de­man­ded of me.

  ‘Your par­don. I was not aware I had done so.’

  ‘Well, you did! Wit­mas­ter Web was just telling me the most fas­cin­at­ing things about a bat’s wing and sud­denly you sigh as if you find us the most bor­ing old things in the world!’ She punc­tu­ated her words with a tap of her fan on my shoulder.

  Web laughed. ‘Lady Pa­tience, doubt­less his thoughts were else­where. I know Tom of old, and re­call his mel­an­choly streak well! Ah, but I have been keep­ing you to my­self, and here are oth­ers of your guests, come to claim you!’

  Was Pa­tience de­ceived? I think not, but it pleased her to al­low her­self to be drawn away from us by the charm­ing young man that doubt­less Nettle had dis­patched to al­low Web to speak to me privately. Al­most, I wished she had not done so; Web had sent me sev­eral let­ters and I was sure I knew the cur­rent of the con­ver­sa­tion he wished to draw me into. It had been long since I had been bon­ded with an an­imal through my Wit. But what Web seemed to equate with a sulk­ing child I felt was more like the solitude of a long-mar­ried man who is sud­denly wid­owed. No one could re­place Nighteyes in my heart, nor could I ima­gine such a con­nec­tion with any other creature. Gone was gone, as he had just said. The echoes of my wolf within me were enough to sus­tain me now. Those vivid memor­ies, so strong that some­times I felt I still heard his thoughts in my mind, would al­ways be prefer­able to any other join­ing.

  So now, as he ven­tured past banal­it­ies about how I had been, and if Molly had been keep­ing well, and had the har­vest been good this year, I de­lib­er­ately di­ver­ted a con­ver­sa­tion that would lead us, in­ev­it­ably, to his per­ceived im­port­ance of my learn­ing more of the Wit and dis­cuss­ing my sol­it­ary status. My con­sidered opin­ion was that as I was un­partnered and in­ten­ded to re­main so for the rest of my life, I needed no more know­ledge of the Wit-ma­gic than what I had now.

  So I tipped my head to­ward the ‘mu­si­cians’ still stand­ing by the door and told him, ‘I fear they’ve come a long way for noth­ing. Pa­tience has told me that red-headed sing­ers are for Win­ter­fest, and she will save the blondes for sum­mer.’ I ex­pec­ted Web to share my amuse­ment at Lady Pa­tience’s ec­cent­ri­cit­ies. The strangers had not ven­tured into the hall to join the mer­ri­ment, but re­mained by the door, speak­ing only to one an­other. They stood as long-time com­pan­ions do, closer to­gether than one stands near an ac­quaint­ance. The tallest man had a weathered, craggy face. The wo­man at his side, with her face tilted to­ward him, had broad cheekbones and a high, lined fore­head. ‘Blondes?’ Web asked me, star­ing round.

  I smiled. ‘The strangely-dressed trio by the door. See them? In yel­low boots and coats?’

  He swept his eyes past them twice and then, with a start, stared at them. His eyes grew wider.

  ‘Do you know them?’ I asked at his look of dread.

  ‘Are they Forged?’ he asked in a hoarse whis­per.

  ‘Forged? How could they be?’ I stared at them, won­der­ing what had alarmed Web. For­ging stripped a man’s hu­man­ity from him, tore him from the net­work of life and em­pathy that en­abled all of us to care and be cared about. Forged ones loved only them­selves. Once, there had been many of them in the Six Duch­ies, prey­ing on their fam­il­ies and neigh­bours, tear­ing the king­dom apart from within as the Red-Ship Raid­ers re­leased our own people as a foe among us. For­ging had been the dark ma­gic of the Pale Wo­man and her cap­tain Ke­bal Raw­bread. But we had pre­vailed and driven the raid­ers from our shores. Years after the Red-Ship Wars had ended, we had taken ship to her last strong­hold on Aslev­jal Is­land where we made an end of them forever. The Forged ones they had cre­ated were long gone to their graves. No one had prac­tised that evil ma­gic for years.

  ‘They feel Forged to me. My Wit can­not find them. I can barely sense them ex­cept with my eyes. Where did they come from?’

  As a Wit­mas­ter, Web re­lied on that beast-ma­gic far more keenly than I did. Per­haps it had be­come his dom­in­ant sense, for the Wit gives one a tingle of aware­ness for any liv­ing creature. Now, aler­ted by Web, I de­lib­er­ately ex­ten­ded my own Wit to­ward the new­comers. I did not have his level of aware­ness and the crowded room muddled my senses even more. I could feel al­most noth­ing from them. I dis­missed that with a shrug.

  ‘Not Forged,’ I de­cided. ‘They huddle to­gether too com­pan­ion­ably. If they were Forged, each would be im­me­di­ately seek­ing what they most needed, food, drink or warmth. They hes­it­ate, not wish­ing to be seen as in­truders here, but un­com­fort­able not know­ing our ways. So not Forged. Forged ones never care for such niceties.’

  I sud­denly real­ized I soun­ded far too much like Chade’s ap­pren­tice as­sas­sin in how I ana­lysed them. They were guests, not tar­gets. I cleared my throat. ‘I do not know where they came from. Revel told me they came to the door as mu­si­cians for the feast. Or per­haps tum­blers.’

  Web was still star­ing at them. ‘They are neither,’ he said de­cis­ively. Curi­os­ity blos­somed in his voice as he an­nounced, ‘So. Let us speak to them and find out who and what they are.’

  I watched as the three con­ferred with one an­other. The wo­man and the younger man nod­ded ab­ruptly at what the taller man was say­ing. Then, as if they were herd-dogs set to bring­ing in sheep, they ab­ruptly left his side and began to move pur­pose­fully through the crowd. The wo­man kept her hand at her hip, as if her fin­gers sought a sword that was not there. Their heads turned and their eyes roved as they went. Seek­ing some­thing? No. Someone. The wo­man stood on tip­toe, try­ing to peer over the heads of the gathered folk who were watch­ing the change of the mu­si­cians. Their leader faded back to­ward the door. Did he guard it lest their prey es­cape? Or was I ima­gin­ing things? ‘Who do they hunt?’ I heard my­self ask softly.

  Web didn’t re­spond. He’d already star­ted mov­ing to­ward where they had been. But as he turned from me, a lively drum­beat was sud­denly joined by up­lif­ted voices and a trilling pipe, and dan­cers surged back onto the floor. Couples spun and hopped like spin­ning tops to the lively tune, and blocked our path and my view. I put my hand on Web’s broad shoulder and tugged him back from the haz­ards of the dance floor. ‘We’ll go around,’ I told him, and led the way. But even that path was fraught with delays, for there were guests to greet, and one could not hurry through those con­ver­sa­tions without seem­ing rude. Web, ever en­ga­ging and gar­rulous, seemed to lose his in­terest in the odd strangers. He fo­cused his at­ten­tion strongly on each per­son he was in­tro­duced to, and con­vinced them of his charm simply by his in­tense in­terest in who they were and what they did for a liv­ing and if they were hav­ing an en­joy­able time to­night. I watched the room but could no longer loc­ate the strangers.

  They were not warm­ing them­selves at the big hearth as we passed it. Nor did I see them en­joy­ing food or drink, or dan­cing, or watch­ing the fest from the benches. When the mu­sic ended and the tide of dan­cers re­treated, I firmly ex­cused my­self from Web’s and Lady Es­sence’s con­ver­sa­tion and strode across the room to where I had last seen them. I was con­vinced now that they were not mu­si­cians and this was not a ran­dom stop­ping place for them. I tried not to let my sus­pi­cions es­cal­ate: my early train­ing did not al­ways serve me well in so­cial situ­ations.

  I didn’t find any of them. I slipped out of the Great Hall into the re­l­at­ive quiet of the cor­ridor out­side it and looked in vain for them. Gone. I took a breath and res­ol­utely let my curi­os­ity go. Doubt­less they were some­where in Withy­woods, chan­ging into dry cloth­ing or hav­ing a glass of wine or per­haps lost in the crowd of dan­cers. I would see them again. For now, I was the host of the gath­er­ing, and my Molly had been left alone too long. I had guests to at­tend to and a pretty wife to dance with and a lovely feast. If they were mu­si­cians or tum­blers, they would soon make them­selves known, for doubt­less they would hope to win the fa­vour and the lar­gesse of the gathered guests. It was even pos­sible that I was the per­son they were look­ing for, as I con­trolled the purse that paid the en­ter­tain­ers. If I waited long enough, they would ap­proach me. And if they were beg­gars or trav­el­lers, then still they were wel­come here. Why must I al­ways ima­gine danger to my loved ones?

  I plunged my­self back into the mael­strom of mer­ri­ment, danced again with Molly, in­vited Nettle to join me in a jig but lost her to Riddle, in­ter­rup­ted Hearth see­ing how many honey-cakes he could stack into a tower on a single plate for the amuse­ment of a pretty Withy maiden, over-in­dulged my­self in ginger cook­ies and was ul­ti­mately trapped by Web near the ale keg. He filled his mug after me, and then nudged us to­ward a bench not far from the hearth. I looked for Molly, but she and Nettle had their heads to­gether, and as I watched they moved as one to stir Pa­tience from where she was doz­ing in a chair. She was protest­ing feebly as they gathered her up to take her to her cham­bers.

  Web spoke without beat­ing about the bush. ‘It’s not nat­ural, Tom,’ he chided me, heed­less of who might over­hear us. ‘You are so alone, you echo to my Wit. You should open your­self to the pos­sib­il­ity of bond­ing again. For one of Old Blood to go so long un-partnered is not healthy.’

  ‘I don’t feel the need,’ I told him hon­estly. ‘I’ve a good life here, with Molly and Pa­tience and the boys. There’s hon­est work to keep me busy, and my idle time is en­joyed with those I love. Web, I don’t doubt your wis­dom and ex­per­i­ence, but I also don’t doubt my own heart. I don’t need any­thing more than what I have right now.’

  He looked into my eyes and I met his gaze. My last ut­ter­ance was al­most true. If I could have had my wolf back again, then, yes, life would have been much sweeter. If I could have opened my door, and found the Fool grin­ning on my door­step, then my life would have been full in­deed. But there was no point in sigh­ing after what I could not have. It only dis­trac­ted me from what I did have, and that was more than I’d ever had in my life. A home, my lady, young­sters grow­ing to man­hood un­der my roof, and the com­forts of my own bed at night. Just enough con­sulta­tions from Buck­keep Castle that I could feel I was still needed in the greater world, and few enough that I knew, truly, they could get by without me and let me have a meas­ure of peace. I had an­niversar­ies I could be proud of. It was nearly eight years that Molly had been my wife. It was al­most ten years since I’d killed any­one.

  Al­most ten years since I’d last seen the Fool.

  And there it was, that stone-drop­ping-into-a-well plunge of my heart. I kept it from show­ing on my face or in my eyes. That gulf, after all, had noth­ing to do with how long I’d gone with no an­imal com­pan­ion. That was a dif­fer­ent sort of loneli­ness en­tirely. Wasn’t it?

  Per­haps not. The loneli­ness that can never be filled by any­one ex­cept the one whose loss cre­ated the ab­sence; well, then, per­haps it was the same.

  Web was still watch­ing me. I real­ized that I’d been star­ing past his shoulder at the dan­cers, but now the floor was empty. I shif­ted my gaze back to meet his. ‘I’m fine as I am, old friend. Con­tent. Why should I tamper with that? Would you prefer I long for more when I have so much already?’

  It was the per­fect ques­tion to stop Web’s well-mean­ing pes­ter­ing. I saw him think over my words, and then a deep smile rose onto his face, one that came from his heart. ‘No, Tom, I wouldn’t wish that on you, truly. I’m a man who can ad­mit when he’s wrong, and per­haps I’ve been meas­ur­ing your wheat with my bushel.’

  The dis­cus­sion sud­denly tipped up­side-down for me. The words burst from me. ‘Your gull, Risk, she is well, still?’

  He smiled crookedly. ‘As well as might be ex­pec­ted. She’s old, Fitz. Twenty-three years with me, and she was prob­ably two or three when we met.’

  I was si­lent; I’d never stopped to won­der how long a gull might live, and I didn’t ask him now. All the ques­tions that were too cruel to ask left me si­lent. He shook his head and looked away from me. ‘Even­tu­ally, I’ll lose her, un­less ac­ci­dent or dis­ease takes me first. And I’ll mourn her. Or she will mourn me. But I also know that if I am left alone, even­tu­ally, I’ll look about for an­other part­ner. Not be­cause Risk and I do not have some­thing won­der­ful to­gether, but be­cause I am Old Blood. And we are not meant to be sol­it­ary souls.’

  ‘I’ll think well on what you have said to me,’ I prom­ised. Web de­served that cour­tesy from me. Time to leave this topic. ‘Did you ever man­age to have words with our odd guests?’

  He nod­ded slowly. ‘I did. But not many, and with the wo­man only. Tom, she made me un­easy. She rang oddly against my senses, as muted as muffled bells. She claimed that they were trav­el­ling jug­glers and hoped to en­ter­tain us later. She was stingy in speak­ing of her­self, but full of ques­tions for me. She was look­ing for a friend of hers, who might also have come this way re­cently. Had I heard of any other trav­el­lers or vis­it­ors to the area? And when I told them that while I was a friend of the house­hold, I had but ar­rived this night as well, then she asked me if I had met any other strangers on the road.’

  ‘I won­der if a mem­ber of their party be­came sep­ar­ated from them.’

  Web shook his head. ‘I think not.’ He frowned slightly. ‘It was passing strange, Tom. When I asked who …’

  And then Just touched my el­bow. ‘Mother would like your help,’ he said quietly. A simple re­quest yet some­thing in the way he said it alarmed me.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘She and Nettle are in Lady Pa­tience’s cham­bers.’

  ‘At once,’ I said, and Web nod­ded as I set off.

  The Live­ship Traders

  An­other su­perb tri­logy from the au­thor of the best­selling Farseer Tri­logy.

  Wiz­ard­wood – a sen­tient wood. The most pre­cious com­mod­ity in the world. Like many other le­gendary wares, it comes from the Rain River Wilds.

  A live­ship is a dif­fi­cult ship to come by. Rare and valu­able, it will quicken only when three fam­ily mem­bers, from suc­cess­ive gen­er­a­tions, have died on board. The live­ship Vi­va­cia is about to un­dergo her quick­en­ing, as Althea Vestrit’s father is car­ried to her deck in his death-throes. Althea waits in awe and an­ti­cip­a­tion for the ship that she loves more than any­thing in the world to awaken. Only to find that her fam­ily has other plans for her …

  Praise for The Live­ship Traders series:

  ‘Even bet­ter than the As­sas­sin books. I didn't think that was pos­sible’ GEORGE R.R. MARTIN

  ‘A truly ex­traordin­ary saga … the char­ac­ter­isa­tions are con­sist­ently su­perb, and [Hobb] an­im­ates everything with love for and know­ledge of the sea’ BOOK­LIST

  ‘Robin Hobb writes achingly well’ SFX

  Buy Ship of Ma­gic, the first book of The Live­ship Traders, here.

  The Rain Wild Chron­icles

  Re­turn to the world of the Live­ship Traders and jour­ney along the Rain Wild River with the au­thor of the in­ter­na­tion­ally ac­claimed Farseer Tri­logy.

  Guided by the great blue dragon Tintaglia, they came from the sea: a Tangle of ser­pents fight­ing their way up the Rain Wilds River, the first to make the per­il­ous jour­ney in gen­er­a­tions.

  But the creatures which emerge from the co­coons are a trav­esty of the power­ful, shin­ing dragons of old. Stun­ted and de­formed, they can­not fly. Soon they be­come a danger and a bur­den to the Rain Wilders: some­thing must be done. The dragons claim an an­ces­tral memory of a fabled Eld­er­ling city far up­river: per­haps there they will find their true home. But Kelsin­gra ap­pears on no maps and they can­not get there on their own: a band of dragon keep­ers, hunters and chron­iclers must at­tend them.

  To be a dragon keeper is a dan­ger­ous job: their charges are vi­cious and un­pre­dict­able, and there are many un­known per­ils on the jour­ney to a city which may not even ex­ist …

  ‘Hobb is su­perb, spin­ning won­der­ful char­ac­ters and plots from pure ima­gin­a­tion’ CONN IGGULDEN

  ‘Hobb is one of the great mod­ern fantasy writers … what makes her nov­els as ad­dict­ive as morphine is not just their ima­gin­at­ive bril­liance but the way her char­ac­ters are com­prom­ised and ma­nip­u­lated by polit­ics’ THE TIMES

  Buy Dragon Keeper, the first book of The Rain Wild Chron­icles, here.

  About the Au­thor

  Robin Hobb is one of the world’s finest writers of epic fic­tion. She was born in Cali­for­nia in 1952 but raised in Alaska, where she learned how to raise a wolf cub, to skin a moose and to sur­vive in the wil­der­ness. When she mar­ried a fish­er­man who fished her­ring and the Ko­diak sal­mon-run for half the year, these skills would stand her in good stead. She raised her fam­ily, ran a small­hold­ing, de­livered post to her re­mote com­munity, all at the same time as writ­ing stor­ies and nov­els. She suc­ceeded on all fronts, rais­ing four chil­dren and be­com­ing an in­ter­na­tion­ally best-selling writer. She lives in Ta­coma, Wash­ing­ton State.