The Wise Man's Fear (158 page)

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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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Kvothe made a dismissive gesture. “No. Names are the key. Real names. Deep names. And I have been avoiding them for just that reason. My father was a great one for details. He had been asking questions and digging up old stories about the Chandrian for years. I expect he stumbled onto a few of their old names and worked them into his song. . . .”
Understanding washed over Chronicler’s face. “. . . and then rehearsed it again and again.”
The innkeeper gave a faint, fond smile. “Endlessly, if I knew him at all. I have no doubt he and my mother did their solid best to work every tiny burr out of their song before they made it public. They were perfectionists.” He gave a tired sigh. “To the Chandrian, it must have been like someone constantly lighting a signal fire. I expect the only thing that kept them safe for so long was that we were constantly traveling.”
Bast broke in again. “Which is why you shouldn’t say such things, Reshi.”
Kvothe frowned. “I have slept my thousand nights and traveled several thousand miles since then, Bast. It is safe to say them once. With all the hell that’s breaking loose in the world these days you can believe people are telling old stories more often. If the Chandrian are listening for names, I don’t doubt they’ve got a slow din of whispering from Arueh to the Circle Sea.”
Bast’s expression made it clear he was less than reassured.
“Besides,” Kvothe said with a bit of a weary sigh. “It’s good to have them written down. They may prove useful to someone someday.”
“Still Reshi, you should be more careful.”
“What have I been these last years except for careful, Bast?” Kvothe said, his irritation finally bubbling to the surface. “What good has it done me? Besides, if what you say about the Cthaeh is true, then things will end in tears no matter what I do. Isn’t that right?”
Bast opened his mouth, then closed it, obviously at a loss. Then he darted a look toward Chronicler, his eyes pleading for support.
Seeing this, Kvothe turned to look at Chronicler as well, raising an eyebrow curiously.
“I’m sure I don’t know in the least,” Chronicler said, looking down as he opened his satchel and brought out an ink-stained piece of cloth. “Both of you have seen the full extent of my naming prowess: Iron. And that is a fluke by all accounts. Master Namer declared me an utter waste of his time.”
“That sounds familiar,” Kvothe murmured.
Chronicler shrugged. “In my case I took him at his word.”
“Can you remember the excuse he gave you?”
“He had many specific criticisms: I knew too many words. I’d never been hungry. I was too soft. . . .” Chronicler’s hands were busy cleaning the nib of his pen. “I felt he made his overall position clear when he said, ‘Who would have thought a papery little scriv like you could have any iron in him at all?’”
Kvothe’s mouth quirked into a sympathetic smile. “Did he really?”
Chronicler shrugged. “He called me a twat, actually. I was trying not to offend the innocent ears of our young friend here.” He nodded at Bast. “From what I can tell, he’s had a rough day.”
Kvothe smiled in full now. “It’s a shame we weren’t ever at the University at the same time.”
Chronicler gave the nib one last rub against the soft cloth and held it up to the fading light from the inn’s window. “Not really,” he said. “You wouldn’t have liked me. I
was
a papery little twat. And spoiled. And full of myself.”
“And what’s changed since then?” Kvothe asked.
Chronicler blew air through his nose dismissively. “Not much, depending who you ask. But I like to think I’ve had my eyes opened a bit.” He screwed the nib carefully back into his pen.
“And how did that happen, exactly?” Kvothe asked.
Chronicler looked across the table, seeming surprised at the question. “Exactly ?” he asked. “
Telling
a story isn’t what I’m here for.” He tucked the cloth back into his satchel. “In brief, I had a snit and left the University looking for greener pasture. Best thing I ever did. I learned more from a month on the road than I had in three years of classes.”
Kvothe nodded. “Teccam said the same thing: No man is brave that has never walked a hundred miles. If you want to know the truth of who you are, walk until not a person knows your name. Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror-glass. A long stretch of road will teach you more about yourself than a hundred years of quiet introspection
.
”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY
 
Wine and Water
 
S
AYING MY FAREWELLS IN Haert took an entire day. I shared a meal with Vashet and Tempi and let both of them give me more advice than I needed or desired. Celean cried a bit, and told me she would come visit me when she finally took the red. We bouted one final time, and I suspect she let me win.
Lastly, I spent a pleasant evening with Penthe that turned into a pleasant night and, eventually, into a pleasant late night. I did manage to catch a few hours of sleep in the pale hours before dawn.
I grew up among the Ruh, so I am endlessly amazed how quickly a person can put down roots in a place. Though I had been in Haert less than two months, it was hard to leave.
Still, it felt good to be back on the road again, heading toward Alveron and Denna. It was time I collected my reward for a job well done and delivered an earnest and rather belated apology.
 
Five days later I was walking one of those long, lonely stretches of road you only find in the low hills of eastern Vintas. I was, as my father used to say, on the edge of the map.
I had only passed one or two travelers all day and not a single inn. The thought of sleeping outdoors wasn’t particularly troubling, but I had been eating from my pockets for a couple days, and a warm meal would have been a welcome thing.
Night had nearly fallen, and I had given up hope of something decent in my stomach when I spotted a line of white smoke trailing into the twilight sky ahead of me. I took it for a farmhouse at first. Then I heard a faint strain of music and my hopes for a bed and a hearth-hot meal began to rise.
But as I came around a curve in the road, I, found a surprise better than any roadside inn.Through the trees I saw a tall campfire flickering between two achingly familiar wagons. Men and women lounged about, talking. One strummed a lute, while another tapped a small tabor idly against his leg. Others were pitching a tent between two trees while an older woman set a tripod over the fire.
Troupers. What’s better, I recognized familiar markings on the side of one of the wagons. To me they stood out more brightly than the fire. Those signs meant these were true troupers. My family, the Edema Ruh.
As I stepped from the trees, one of the men gave a shout, and before I could draw breath to speak there were three swords pointing at me. The sudden stillness after the music and chatter was more than slightly unnerving.
A handsome man with a black beard and a silver earring took a slow step forward, never taking the tip of his sword off my eye. “Otto!” he shouted into the woods behind me. “If you’re napping I swear on my mother’s milk I’ll gut you. Who the hell are you?”
The last was directed at me. But before I could respond, a voice came out of the trees. “I’m right here, Alleg, as . . . Who’s that? How in the God’s name did he get past me?”
When they’d drawn their swords on me, I’d raised my hands. It’s a good habit to have when anyone points something sharp at you. Nevertheless I was smiling as I spoke. “Sorry to startle you, Alleg.”
“Save it,” he said coldly. “You have one breath left to tell me why you were sneaking around our camp.”
I had no need to talk, and instead turned so everyone by the fire could see the lute case slung across my back.
The change in Alleg’s attitude was immediate. He relaxed and sheathed his sword. The others followed suit as he smiled and approached me, laughing.
I laughed too. “One family.”
“One family.” He shook my hand and turned toward the fire, shouting, “Best behavior everyone. We have a guest tonight!” There was a low cheer, and everyone went busily back to whatever they had been doing before I arrived.
A thick-bodied man wearing a sword stomped out of the trees. “I’ll be damned if he came past me, Alleg. He’s probably from ...”
“He’s from our family,” Alleg interjected smoothly.
“Oh,” Otto said, obviously taken aback. He looked at my lute. “Welcome then.”
“I didn’t go past, actually,” I lied. When it was dark, my shaed made me very difficult to see. But that wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t want to get him in trouble. “I heard the music and circled around. I thought you might be a different troupe, and I was going to surprise them.”
Otto gave Alleg a pointed look, then turned and stomped back into the woods.
Alleg put his arm around my shoulders. “Might I offer you a drink?”
“A little water, if you can spare it.”
“No guest drinks water by our fire,” he protested. “Only our best wine will touch your lips.”
“The water of the Edema is sweeter than wine to those who have been upon the road.” I smiled at him.
“Then have water and wine, each to your desire.” He led me to one of the wagons, where there was a water barrel.
Following a tradition older than time, I drank a ladle of water and used a second to wash my hands and face. Patting my face dry with the sleeve of my shirt, I looked up at him and smiled. “It’s good to be home again.”
He clapped me on the back. “Come. Let me introduce you to the rest of your family.”
First were two men of about twenty, both with scruffy beards. “Fren and Josh are our two best singers, excepting myself of course.” I shook their hands.
Next were the two men playing instruments around the fire. “Gaskin plays lute. Laren does pipes and tabor.” They smiled at me. Laren struck the head of the tabor with his thumb, and the drum made a mellow
tum.
“There’s Tim.” Alleg pointed across the fire to a tall, grim man oiling a sword. “And you’ve already met Otto. They keep us from falling into danger on the road.” Tim nodded, looking up briefly from his sword.
“This is Anne.” Alleg gestured to an older woman with a pinched expression and grey hair pulled back in a bun. “She keeps us fed and plays mother to us all.” Anne continued to cut carrots, ignoring both of us.
“And far from last is our own sweet Kete, who holds the key to all our hearts.” Kete had hard eyes and a mouth like a thin line, but her expression softened a little when I kissed her hand.
“And that’s everyone,” Alleg said with a smile and a little bow. “Your name is?”
“Kvothe.”
“Welcome, Kvothe. Rest yourself and be at your ease. Is there anything we can do for you?”
“A bit of that wine you mentioned earlier?” I smiled.
He touched the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Of course! Or would you prefer ale?”
I nodded, and he fetched me a mug.
“Excellent,” I said after tasting it, seating myself on a convenient stump.
He tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you. We were lucky enough to nick it on our way through Levinshir a couple days ago. How has the road been treating you of late?”
I stretched backward and sighed. “Not bad for a lone minstrel.” I shrugged. “I take advantage of what opportunities present themselves. I have to be careful since I’m alone.”
Alleg nodded wisely. “The only safety we have is in numbers,” he admitted, then nodded to my lute. “Would you favor us with a bit of a song while we’re waiting for Anne to finish dinner?”
“Certainly,” I said, setting down my drink. “What would you like to hear?”
“Can you play ‘Leave the Town, Tinker’?”
“Can I?You tell me.” I lifted my lute from its case and began to play. By the chorus, everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen. I even caught sight of Otto near the edge of the trees as he left his lookout to peer toward the fire.

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