Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (160 page)

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-ONE

Black by Moonlight

F
REN AND JOSH HAD done a good job with the tent. It was tall enough to stand in the center, but still crowded with me and both girls standing. I gave the golden-haired one, Ellie, a gentle push toward the bed of thick blankets. “Sit down,” I said gently.

When she didn’t respond, I took her by the shoulders and eased her into a sitting position. She let herself be moved, but her blue eyes were wide and vacant. I checked her head for any signs of a wound. Not finding any, I guessed she was in deep shock.

I took a moment and dug through my travel sack, then shook some powdered leaf into my traveling cup and added some water from my waterskin. I set the cup into Ellie’s hands, and she took hold of it absently. “Drink it,” I encouraged, trying to capture the tone of voice Felurian had used to gain my thoughtless compliance from time to time.

It may have worked, or perhaps she was just thirsty. Whatever the reason, Ellie drained the cup to the bottom. Her eyes still held the same faraway look they had before.

I shook another measure of the powdered leaf into the cup, refilled it with water, and held it out for the dark-haired girl to drink.

We stayed there for several minutes, my arm outstretched, her arms motionless at her sides. Finally she blinked, her eyes focusing on me. “What did you give her?” she asked.

“Crushed velia,” I said gently. “It’s a countertoxin. There was poison in the stew.”

Her eyes told me she didn’t believe me. “I didn’t eat any of the stew.”

“It was in the ale too. I saw you drink that.”

“Good,” she said. “I want to die.”

I gave a deep sigh. “It won’t kill you. It’ll just make you miserable. You’ll throw up and be weak with muscle cramps for a day or two.” I raised the cup, offering it to her.

“Why do you care if they kill me?” she asked tonelessly. “If they don’t do it now they’ll do it later. I’d rather die. . . .” She clenched her teeth before she finished the sentence.

“They didn’t poison you. I poisoned them and you happened to get some of it. I’m sorry, but this will help you over the worst of it.”

Krin’s gaze wavered for a second, then became iron hard again. She looked at the cup, then fixed her gaze on me. “If it’s harmless, you drink it.”

“I can’t,” I explained. “It would put me to sleep, and I have things to do tonight.”

Krin’s eyes darted to the bed of furs laid out on the floor of the tent.

I smiled my gentlest, saddest smile. “Not those sorts of things.”

She still didn’t move. We stood there for a long while. I heard a muted retching sound from off in the woods. I sighed and lowered the cup. Looking down, I saw Ellie had already curled up and gone to sleep. Her face looked almost peaceful.

I took a deep breath and looked back up at Krin. “You don’t have any reason to trust me,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. “Not after what has happened to you. But I hope you will.” I held out the cup again.

She met my eyes without blinking, then reached for the cup. She drank it off in one swallow, choked a little, and sat down. Her eyes stayed hard as marble as she stared at the wall of the tent. I sat down, slightly apart from her.

In fifteen minutes she was asleep. I covered the two of them with a blanket and watched their faces. In sleep they were even more beautiful than before. I reached out to brush a strand of hair from Krin’s cheek. To my surprise, she opened her eyes and stared at me. Not the marble stare she had given me before, she looked at me with the dark eyes of a young Denna.

I froze with my hand on her cheek. We watched each other for a second. Then her eyes drew closed again. I couldn’t tell if it was the drug pulling her under, or her own will surrendering to sleep.

I settled myself at the entrance of the tent and lay Caesura across my knees. I felt rage like a fire inside me, and the sight of the two sleeping girls was like a wind fanning the coals. I set my teeth and forced myself to think of what had happened here, letting the fire burn fiercely, letting the heat of it fill me. I drew deep breaths, tempering myself for what was to come.

I waited for three hours, listening to the sounds of the camp. Muted conversation drifted toward me, shapes of sentences with no individual words. They faded, mixing with cursing and sounds of people being ill. I took long, slow breaths as Vashet had shown me, relaxing my body, slowly counting my exhalations.

Then, opening my eyes, I looked at the stars and judged the time to be right. I slowly unfolded myself from my sitting position and made a long, slow stretch. There was a solid crescent of moon hanging in the sky, and everything seemed very bright.

I approached the campfire slowly. It had fallen to sullen coals that did little to light the space between the two wagons. Otto was there, his huge body slumped against one of the wheels. I smelled vomit. “Is that you, Kvothe?” he asked blurrily.

“Yes,” I continued my slow walk toward him.

“That bitch Anne didn’t let the lamb cook through,” he moaned. “I swear to holy God I’ve never been this sick before.” He looked up at me. “Are you all right?”

Caesura leapt, caught the moonlight briefly on her blade, and tore his throat. He staggered to one knee, then toppled to his side, his hands staining black as they clutched his neck. I left him bleeding darkly in the moonlight, unable to cry out, dying but not dead.

I tossed a piece of brittle iron into the coals of the fire and headed toward the other tents.

Laren startled me as I came around the wagon. He made a surprised noise as he saw me walk around the corner with my naked sword. But the poison had made him sluggish, and he had barely managed to raise his hands before Caesura took him in the chest. He choked a scream as he fell backward, writhing on the ground.

None of them had been sleeping soundly due to the poison, so Laren’s cry set them pouring from the wagons and tents, staggering and looking around wildly. Two indistinct shapes that I knew must be Josh and Fren leapt from the open back of the wagon closest to me. I struck one in the eye before he hit the ground and tore the belly from the other.

Everyone saw, and now there were screams in earnest. Most of them began to run drunkenly into the trees, some falling as they went. But the tall shape of Tim hurled itself at me. The heavy sword he had been sharpening all evening glinted silver in the moonlight.

But I was ready. I slid a second long, brittle piece of sword-iron into my hand and muttered a binding. Then, just as he came close enough to strike I snapped the iron sharply between my fingers. His sword shattered with the sound of a broken bell, and the pieces tumbled and disappeared in the dark grass.

Tim was more experienced than me, stronger, and with longer reach. Even poisoned and with half a sword he made a good showing of himself. It took me nearly half a minute before I snuck past his guard with Lover Out the Window and severed his hand at the wrist.

He fell to his knees, letting out a raspy howl and clutching at the stump. I struck him high in the chest and headed for the trees. The fight hadn’t taken long, but every second was vital, as the others were already scattering into the woods.

I hurried in the direction I’d seen one of the dark shapes stagger. I was careless, so when Alleg threw himself on me from the shadow of a tree he caught me unaware. He didn’t have a sword, only a small knife flashing in the moonlight as he dove for me. But a knife is enough to kill a man. He stabbed me in the stomach as we rolled to the ground. I struck the side of my head against a root and tasted blood.

I fought my way to my feet before he did and cut the hamstring on his leg. Then I stabbed him in the stomach and left him cursing on the ground as I went to hunt the others. I held one hand tight across my stomach. I knew the pain would hit me soon, and after that I might not have long to live.

It was a long night, and I will not trouble you with any further details. I found all the rest of them as they made their way through the forest. Anne had broken her leg in her reckless flight, and Tim made it nearly half a mile despite the loss of his hand and the wound in his chest. They shouted and cursed and begged for mercy as I stalked them through the forest, but nothing they said could appease me.

It was a terrible night, but I found them all. There was no honor to it, no glory. But there was justice of a sort, and blood, and in the end I brought their bodies back.

I came back to my tent as the sky was beginning to color to a familiar blue. A sharp, hot line of pain burned a few inches below my navel, and I could tell from the unpleasant tugging when I moved that dried blood had matted my shirt to the wound. I ignored the feeling as best I could, knowing I could do nothing for myself with my hands shaking and no decent light to see by. I’d have to wait for dawn to see how badly I was hurt.

I tried not to dwell on what I knew from my work in the Medica. Any deep wound to the gut promises a long, painful trip to the grave. A skilled physicker with the right equipment could make a difference, but I couldn’t be farther from civilization. I might as well wish for a piece of the moon.

I wiped my sword, sat in the wet grass in front of the tent, and began to think.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO

The Broken Circle

I
HAD BEEN BUSY FOR more than an hour when the sun finally peered over the tops of the trees and began to burn the dew from the grass. I had found a flat rock and was using it as a makeshift anvil to hammer a spare horseshoe into a different shape. Above the fire a pot of oats was boiling.

I was just putting the finishing touches on the horseshoe when I saw a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. It was Krin peeking around the corner of the wagon. I guessed I’d woken her with the sound of hammering iron.

“Oh my God.” Her hand went to her mouth and she took a couple stunned steps out from behind the wagon. “You killed them.”

“Yes,” I said simply, my voice sounding dead in my ears.

Krin’s eyes ran up and down my body, staring at my torn and bloody shirt. “Are . . .” Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed. “Are you alright?”

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