The Wise Man's Fear (131 page)

Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

Tags: #Mercenary troops, #Magicians, #Magic, #Attempted assassination, #Fairies, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Heroes, #Epic

BOOK: The Wise Man's Fear

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On our third day out of the Pennysworth, we ran across a small troupe of performers. They weren’t Edema Ruh and looked rather out at the heels. There were just four of them: an older fellow, two men in their twenties, and a boy of eight or nine. They were packing up their rickety cart just as we were stopping to give Hespe’s leg a bit of a rest.

“Hello the troupers,” I called out.

They looked up nervously, then relaxed as they saw the lute across my back. “Hello the bard.”

I laughed and shook their hands. “No bard here, just a bit of a singer.”

“Hello the same,” the older man said, smiling. “Which way are you heading?”

“North to south. Yourself?”

They relaxed further once they knew I was heading in a different direction. “East to west,” he said.

“How’s your luck been?”

He shrugged. “Poor enough lately. But we’ve heard tell of a Lady Chalker who lives two days off. They say she never turns a man away if he can fiddle a bit or mum a play. We hope to come off with a penny or two.”

“Things were better when we had the bear,” one of the younger men said. “Folk’ll pay to see a bear-bait.”

“Went sick of a dog bite,” the other man explained to me. “Died near a year ago.”

“That’s a shame,” I said. “Bear’s hard to come by.” They nodded a silent agreement. “I’ve got a new song for you. What will you trade me for it?”

He eyed me warily. “Well now, new to you isn’t exactly new to us,” he pointed out. “And a new song ain’t necessarily a good song, if you know what I mean.”

“Judge for yourself,” I said as I uncased my lute. I’d written it to be easy to remember and simple to sing, but I still had to repeat it twice before he caught all of it. As I’ve said, they weren’t Edema Ruh.

“A good enough song,” he admitted grudgingly. “Everyone likes Felurian, but I don’t know what we can trade you for it.”

The young boy piped up, “I made up a verse to ‘Tinker Tanner.’ ”

The others tried to hush him, but I smiled. “I’d love to hear it.”

The boy puffed himself up and sang out in a piping voice:

I once saw a fair farmer’s daughter
On the riverbank far from all men
She was taking a bath when I saw her
Said she didn’t feel right
If a man caught a sight
So she soaped herself slowly all over again.

I laughed. “That’s good,” I complimented him, “But how about this?

I once saw a fair farmer’s daughter
On the riverbank far from all men.
She confessed to me once when I caught her
That she didn’t feel clean
If her bathing was seen
So she washed herself over again.

The boy thought about it. “I like mine better,” he said after a moment’s consideration.

I patted him on the back. “It’s a good man that sticks to his own verse.” I turned back to the leader of the little troupe. “Any gossip?”

He thought for a moment. “Bandits north of here in the Eld.”

I nodded. “They’ve been cleared out now, so I’ve heard.”

He thought some more. “I heard Alveron’s getting married to the Lackless woman.”

“I know a poem about Lackless!” The young boy chimed in again, and began:

Seven things stand before
The entrance to the Lackless door—

“Hush.” The older man cuffed the boy gently along side of his head. He looked up apologetically. “Boy’s got a good ear, but not one lick of manners.”

“Actually,” I said. “I’d like to hear it.”

He shrugged and let go of the boy, who glared at him before reciting:

Seven things stand before
The entrance to the Lackless door.
One of them a ring unworn
One a word that is forsworn
One a time that must be right
One a candle without light
One a son who brings the blood
One a door that holds the flood
One a thing tight-held in keeping
Then comes that which comes with sleeping.

“It’s one of those riddle rhymes,” the father said apologetically. “Lord knows where he hears them, but he knows better than to go spouting every lewd thing he hears.”

“Where did you hear it?” I asked.

The boy thought for a moment, then shrugged and began to scratch himself behind his knee. “Dunno. Kids.”

“We should be getting on,” the older man said, looking up at the sky. I dug into my purse, and handed him a silver noble. “What’s this then?” he asked, eyeing it suspiciously.

“To help with a new bear,” I said. “I’ve been through some tight times too, but I’m flush now.”

They left after thanking me profusely. Poor fellows. No self-respecting Ruh troupe would ever stoop to bearbaiting. There was no skill involved, no pride in the performance.

But they could hardly be blamed for the their lack of Ruh blood, and we troupers have to watch out for each other. No one else does.

Tempi and I used our walking hours to discuss the Lethani and evenings to practice the Ketan. It was becoming easier for me, and I could sometimes make it as far as Catching Rain before Tempi caught some minuscule mistake and made me start over.

The two of us had found a halfway secluded place beside the inn where we had stopped for the day. Dedan, Hespe, and Marten were inside drinking. I worked my way carefully through the Ketan while Tempi sat with his back to a tree, practicing a basic fingering drill I had taught him with relentless determination. Over and over. Over and over.

I had just made it through Circling Hands when I caught a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. I did not pause, as Tempi had taught me to avoid distraction while performing the Ketan. If I turned to look I would have to start over again.

Moving with painful slowness I began Dance Backwards. But as soon as I placed my heel, I could tell my balance was wrong. I waited for Tempi to call out, but he didn’t.

I stopped the Ketan and turned to see a group of four Adem mercenaries walking toward us with a prowling grace. Tempi was already on his feet and walking toward them. My lute was back in its case and leaning up against the side of the tree.

Soon the five of them were standing in a tight group, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. Close enough that I couldn’t hear the barest whisper of what they were saying or even see their hands. But I could tell from the angle of Tempi’s shoulders that he was uncomfortable, defensive.

I knew calling out to Tempi would be considered rude, so I walked over. But before I came close enough to hear, one of the unfamiliar mercenaries stretched out a hand and pushed me away, his spread fingers pressing firmly against the center of my chest.

Without thinking, I made Break Lion, taking hold of his thumb and turning his wrist away from me. He loosed his hand from mine without any apparent effort and moved to trip me with Chasing Stone. I made Dance Backwards and got the balance right this time, but his other hand struck me in the temple just enough to dizzy me for half a second, not hard enough to even hurt.

My pride stung though. It was the same way Tempi struck me in silent rebuke for sloppy performance of the Ketan.

“Quick,” the mercenary said softly in Aturan. It was only when I heard her voice that I realized she was a woman. Not that she was particularly masculine, it was simply that she seemed so similar to Tempi. She had the same sandy hair, pale grey eyes, calm expression, blood-red clothes. She was taller than Tempi by a few inches, and her shoulders were broader than his. But while she was whipcord thin, the tightness of her mercenary reds still revealed the lean curves of hip and breast.

Looking more closely, I could easily see three of the four mercenaries were women. The broad-shouldered one facing me had a thin scar cutting through her eyebrow and another close to her jaw. They were the same pale silver scars Tempi had on his arms and chest. And while they were far from gruesome, they made her expressionless face look oddly grim.

“Quick” she had said. On the surface it seemed to be a compliment, but I’ve been mocked enough in my life to recognize it, regardless of the language.

Even worse, her right hand slid all the way around to rest in the small of her back, palm facing out. Even with my rudimentary knowledge of Adem hand-talk I knew what that meant. Her hand was as far as it could possibly get from the hilt of her sword. At the same time, she turned her shoulder to me and looked away. I wasn’t just being declared unthreatening, this was insultingly dismissive.

I fought to keep my face calm, guessing any expression would only further lower her opinion of me.

Tempi pointed back where I had come from. “Go,” he said.
Serious. Formal
.

I reluctantly obeyed, not wanting to make a scene.

The Adem stood in a close knot a quarter hour as I practiced the Ketan. Though I didn’t hear a whisper of their conversation, it was obvious they were arguing. Their gestures were sharp and angry, the placement of their feet aggressive.

Eventually the four unfamiliar Adem left, walking back toward the road. Tempi returned to where I was trying to work my way through Threshing Wheat.

“Too wide.”
Irritation
. He tapped my back leg and pushed my shoulder to show my balance was lacking.

I moved my foot and tried again. “Who were they, Tempi?”

“Adem,” he said simply, sitting himself back down at the foot of the tree.

“Did you know them?”

“Yes.” Tempi looked around, then brought my lute out of its case. With his hands occupied, he was doubly mute. I went back to practicing the Ketan, knowing that trying to pry answers out of him would be like pulling teeth.

Two hours passed, and the sun began to sink behind the western trees. “Tomorrow I leave,” he said. With both his hands still on the lute, I could only guess at his mood.

“Where?”

“To Haert. To Shehyn.”

“Are those cities?”

“Haert is city. Shehyn is my teacher.”

I had given some thought to what might be the matter. “Are you in trouble for teaching me?”

He set the lute back in the case and pressed the lid back in place. “Perhaps.”
Yes
.

“Is it forbidden?”

“It is most forbidden,” he said.

Tempi stood and began the Ketan. I followed him, and both of us were quiet for a while.

“How much trouble?” I asked eventually.

“Most trouble,” he said, and I heard an uncharacteristic shred of emotion in his voice, anxiety. “It was perhaps unwise.”

Together we moved as slowly as the setting sun.

I thought of what the Cthaeh had said. The one shred of potentially useful information it had let slip in our conversation.
You laughed at faeries until you saw one. Small wonder all your civilized neighbors dismiss the Chandrian as well. You’d have to leave your precious corners far behind before you found someone who might take you seriously. You wouldn’t have a hope until you made it to the Stormwal.

Felurian had said the Cthaeh only spoke the truth.

“Could I accompany you?” I asked.

“Accompany?” Tempi asked, his hands moving in a graceful circle intended to break the long bones of the arm.

“Travel with. Follow. To Haert.”

“Yes.”

“Would it help your trouble?”

“Yes.”

“I will come.”

“I thank you.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED NINE