Read The Wise Man's Fear Online
Authors: Patrick Rothfuss
Tags: #Mercenary troops, #Magicians, #Magic, #Attempted assassination, #Fairies, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Heroes, #Epic
The Wise Man's Fear (95 page)
No. Of course not. It was flattering, but simply not true. The Maer had access to better resources than that. The truth was, he probably wanted his sweet-tongued assistant out of the way now that he had the Lady Lackless well in hand. I was foolish for not realizing it sooner.
So he sent me on a fool’s errand to get me out from underfoot. He expected me to spend a month chasing his wild goose in the deep forest of the Eld then come back empty-handed. The purse made better sense, too. A hundred bits would keep us provisioned for a month or so. Then, when I ran out of money I’d be forced to return to Severen where the Maer would cluck his tongue in disappointment and use my failure as an excuse to ignore some of the favor I’d accumulated so far.
On the other hand, if I got lucky and found the bandits, all the better. It was exactly the sort of plan I’d credit to the Maer. No matter what happened, he got something he wanted.
It was irritating. But I could hardly go back to Severen and confront him. Now that I’d committed myself, there was nothing to do but make the best of the situation.
As I walked north, my head throbbing and my mouth gritty, I decided I would surprise the Maer again. I’d hunt down his bandits.
Then third time would pay for all, and Maer Alveron would be well and truly in my debt.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
The Players
O
VER THE NEXT FEW hours of walking, I did my best to get to know the men Alveron had saddled me with. I speak figuratively, of course, as one of them was a woman, and we were all five of us afoot.
VER THE NEXT FEW hours of walking, I did my best to get to know the men Alveron had saddled me with. I speak figuratively, of course, as one of them was a woman, and we were all five of us afoot.
Tempi caught my eye first and held it the longest, as he was the first Adem mercenary I’d ever met. Far from being the imposing, hard-eyed killer I’d expected, Tempi was rather nondescript, neither particularly tall nor heavily built. He was fair-skinned with light hair and pale grey eyes. His expression was blank as fresh paper. Strangely blank.
Studiously
blank.
Studiously
blank.
I knew Adem mercenaries wore blood-red clothing as a sort of badge. But Tempi’s outfit was different than I’d expected. His shirt was held tight against his body with a dozen soft leather straps. His pants, too, were belted tightly at the thigh and calf and knee. Everything was dyed the same bright and bloody red, and it fit him snugly as a gentleman’s glove.
As the day grew warm, I saw him begin to sweat. After living in the cool, thin air of the Stormwal, the weather must have seemed disproportionately hot to him. An hour before noon, he loosened the leather straps of his shirt and peeled it away, using it to wipe the sweat from his face and arms. He didn’t seem even slightly self-conscious about walking the king’s highway naked to the waist.
Tempi’s skin was so pale it was almost the color of cream, and his body was lean and sleek as a coursing hound, his muscles shifting under his skin with an animal grace. I tried not to stare, but my eyes couldn’t help but pick out the thin, pale scars that crossed his arms and chest and back.
He never offered a word of complaint about the heat. Words of any sort seemed rare from him, and he responded to most questions with a nod or a shake of the head. He carried a travelsack like mine, and his sword, far from being intimidating, seemed rather short and unimpressive.
Dedan was as different from Tempi as one man can be from another. He was tall, wide, and thick around the chest and neck. He carried a heavy sword, a long knife, and wore a mismatched set of boiled leather armor, hard enough to knock on and often mended. If you have ever seen a caravan guard, then you have seen Dedan, or at least someone cut from the same bolt of cloth.
He ate most, complained most, swore most, and had a stubborn streak thicker than a broad oak plank. But to be fair, he also had a friendly manner and an easy laugh. I was tempted to think of him as stupid due to his manners and his size, but Dedan had a quick wit when he bothered using it.
Hespe was a female mercenary. Not as rare a creature as some folk think. In appearance and equipage she was a near-mirror of Dedan. The leather, the heavy sword, the slightly weatherworn and world-wise attitude. She had broad shoulders, strong hands, and a proud face with a jaw like a cinder-brick. Her hair was blonde and fine, but cut short, in the fashion of a man’s.
But to see her as a female version of Dedan was a mistake. She was reserved where Dedan was all bravado. And while Dedan had an easy manner when his temper wasn’t up, Hespe had a vague hardness about her, as if she were constantly expecting someone to give her trouble.
Marten was the oldest of us, our tracker. He wore a little leather, softer and better cared for than Dedan’s or Hespe’s. He carried a long knife, a short knife, and a hunter’s bow.
Marten had worked as a huntsman before falling out of favor with the baronet whose forests he had tended. Mercenary work was a poor job by comparison, but it kept him fed. His skill with a bow made him valuable despite the fact that he wasn’t nearly as physically imposing as either Dedan or Hespe.
The three of them had formed a loose partnership some months ago and had been selling their services as a group ever since. Marten told me they’d done other jobs for the Maer, the most recent of which involved scouting some of the lands around Tinuë.
It took me about ten minutes to realize Marten should be the leader of this expedition. He had more woodcraft than all the rest of us put together and had even hunted men for bounty once or twice. When I mentioned this to him, he shook his head and smiled, telling me that being able to do something and wanting to do it were two very different things indeed.
Last was me: their fearless leader. The Maer’s letter of introduction had described me as, “a discerning young man of good education and diverse useful qualities.” While this was perfectly true, it also made me sound like the most wretchedly useless court dandy in existence.
Not helping matters was the fact that I was younger than any of them by years and wearing clothes more suited for a dinner party than the road. I carried my lute and the Maer’s purse. I wore no sword, no armor, no knife.
I daresay they didn’t quite know what to make of me.
The sun was about an hour from setting when we passed a tinker on the road. He wore the traditional brown robe, belted with a length of rope. He didn’t have a cart, but led a single donkey so loaded with bundles of oddments that it looked like a mushroom.
He made his slow way toward us, singing:
If you need no mending, and nothing needs tending
A wise man will still see the right time for spending.
Enjoy the sunshine,
But though you might feel fine,
If you don’t stop now, you’ll be filled with regret.
It’s better to simply pay,
And prepare for a rainy day
Than think of the tinker when you’re dripping wet.
I laughed and applauded. Proper traveling tinkers are a rare breed of people, and I am always glad to see one. My mother told me they were lucky, and my father had valued them for their news. The fact that I was in desperate need of a few items made this meeting three times welcome.
“Ho, Tinker,” Dedan said, smiling. “I need fire and a pint. How long before we hit an inn?”
The tinker pointed back the way he had come. “Not twenty minutes’ walk.” He eyed Dedan. “But you can’t tell me there’s nothing you need,” he admonished. “Everyone needs something.”
Dedan shook his head politely. “I beg your pardon, Tinker. My purse is too thin.”
“How about you?” The tinker eyed me up and down. “You’ve the look of a lad who’s wanting something.”
“I do need a few things,” I admitted. Seeing the others look longingly down the road, I motioned them on. “Go ahead,” I told them. “I’ll be a few minutes.”
As they headed off, the tinker rubbed his hands together, grinning. “Well now, what is it you’re looking for?”
“Some salt to begin with.”
“And a box to put it in,” he said as he began to rummage around in his donkey’s packs.
“I could use a knife too, if you have one that’s not too hard to come by.”
“Especially if you’re heading north,” he said without missing a beat. “Dangerous road that way. Wouldn’t do to be without a knife.”
“Did you have any trouble?” I asked, hoping he might know something that could help us find the bandits.
“Oh no,” he said as he dug through his packs. “Things aren’t so bad that anyone would dream of laying hands on a tinker. Still, it’s a bad stretch of road.” He produced a long, narrow knife in a leather sheath and handed it to me. “Ramston steel.”
I drew it out of its sheath, and gave the blade a close look. It was Ramston steel. “I don’t need anything that fine,” I said, handing it back. “I’ll be putting it to everyday use, eating mostly.”
“Ramston’s fine for everyday use,” the tinker said pushing it back into my hands. “You can use it to trim kindling, then shave with it if you like. Keeps an edge forever.”
“I might have to put it to hard use,” I clarified. “And Ramston’s brittle.”
“There is that,” the tinker admitted easily. “As my father always used to say, ‘the best knife you’ll ever have until it breaks.’ But the same could be said of any knife. And truth be told, that’s the only knife I have.”
I sighed. I know when I’m being skinned. “And a tinderbox.”
He held one out almost before I finished saying it. “I couldn’t help but notice you’ve got a little ink about the fingers.” He gestured at my hands. “I’ve got some paper here, good quality. Pen and ink too. Nothing worse than having an idea for a song and not being able to write it down.” He held out a leather parcel of paper, pens, and ink.
I shook my head, knowing that the Maer’s purse would only stretch so far. “I think I’m done with song writing for a while, Tinker.”
He shrugged, still holding it out. “Letter writing then. I know a fellow who had to open a vein once to write a note to his ladylove. Dramatic, true. Symbolic, certainly. But also painful, unsanitary, and more than slightly macabre. Now he carries pen and ink with him wherever he goes.”
I felt the color drain from my face as the tinker’s words reminded me of something else I’d forgotten in my rush to leave Severen: Denna. All thought of her had been forced out of my mind by the Maer’s talk of bandits, two bottles of strong wine, and a night with no sleep. I had left without a word after our terrible fight. What would she think if I spoke so cruelly to her, then simply disappeared?
I was already a full day’s journey from Severen. I couldn’t go back just to tell her I was leaving, could I? I considered it for a moment. No. Besides, Denna herself had disappeared for days without a word of warning. Surely she would understand if I did the same. . . .
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid
. My thoughts spun in circles as I tried to decide among my several unpleasant options.
. My thoughts spun in circles as I tried to decide among my several unpleasant options.
The harsh
hee haa
of the tinker’s donkey startled a thought into me. “Are you headed to Severen, Tinker?”
hee haa
of the tinker’s donkey startled a thought into me. “Are you headed to Severen, Tinker?”
“More through than to,” he said. “But yes.”
“I just remembered a letter I need to send. If I gave it to you, could you deliver it to a certain inn?”
He nodded slowly. “I could,” he said. “Given that you’ll be needing paper and ink. . . .” He smiled, waving the package again.
I grimaced. “I will, Tinker. But how much will the lot of this cost me?”
He looked at the accumulated items. “Salt and box: four bits. Knife: fifteen bits. Paper, pens, and ink: eighteen bits. Tinderbox: three bits.”
“And the delivery,” I said.
“An
urgent
delivery,” the tinker said with a bit of a smile. “To a lady, unless I mistake the look on your face.”
urgent
delivery,” the tinker said with a bit of a smile. “To a lady, unless I mistake the look on your face.”
I nodded.
“Right,” he rubbed his chin. “Ordinarily, I’d push for about thirty-five then have a nice leisurely dicker where you bargain me down to thirty.”
The price was reasonable, especially considering how hard it was to find good paper. Still, it was a full third of the money the Maer had given me. We would need that money for food, lodging, and other supplies.
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