Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (179 page)

I didn’t sign a name, merely wrote a single initial which could have been an ornate R or perhaps a shaky B.

Then, dipping my finger into my glass of water, I let several drops fall onto the page. They swelled the paper a bit and smeared the ink slightly before I blotted them away. They made a fair approximation of teardrops.

I let one final heavy drop fall onto the initial I’d signed, obscuring it even more. Now the letter looked as if it could also be an F or a P or an E. Perhaps even a K. It could be anything, really.

I folded the paper carefully, then walked over to one of the room’s lamps and melted a generous blob of sealing wax onto the fold. On the outside of the envelope I wrote:

Ambrose Jakis
University (Two miles west of Imre)
Belenay-Barren
Central Commonwealth

I paid for my drink and headed to Drover’s Lot. When I was just a few streets away I removed my shaed and tucked it into my travelsack. Then I dropped the letter in the street and stepped on it, scuffing it around with my foot a bit before picking it up and brushing it off.

I was almost to the square when I saw the final thing I needed. “Hoy there,” I said to an old, whiskery man sitting against a building. “I’ll give you ha’penny if you let me borrow your hat.”

The old man pulled the draggled thing off and looked at it. His head was very bald and very pale underneath. He squinted a bit in the late afternoon sunlight. “My hat?” he asked, his voice rough. “You can have it for a whole penny, and my blessing too.” He gave a hopeful grin as he held out a thin, shaky hand.

I gave him a penny. “Could you hold this for a second?” I passed him the envelope, then used both hands to screw the old, shapeless hat down over my ears. I used a nearby shop window to make sure every scrap of my red hair was tucked away underneath.

“Suits you,” the old man said, giving a phlegmy cough. I reclaimed the letter and eyed the smudgy fingerprints he’d left.

From there it was a quick step to Drover’s Square. I slouched a bit and narrowed my eyes as I wandered through the milling throng. After a couple minutes my ear caught the distinctive sound of a southern Vintish accent, and I walked over to a handful of men loading a wagon with burlap sacks.

“Hoy,” I said, putting on the same accent. “You folk heading up Imre-way?”

One of the men heaved his sack into the wagon and walked over, dusting off his hands. “Headin’ through there,” he said. “You looking for a ride?”

I shook my head and brought the letter out of my travelsack. “I’ve got a letter for up that way. I was going to take it myself but my ship sails tomorrow. I bought it from a sailor off in Gannery for a full quater bit,” I said. “He had it himself off some noble gel for a single bit.” I winked. “She was quite urgent that it get to him, I hear.”

“Yeh paid quater bit?” the man said, already shaking his head. “Yeh grummer. En’t nobody going to pay that much for a letter.”

“Heh,” I said, holding up a finger. “Yeh en’t seen who’s it for yet.” I held it up for him to see.

He squinted. “Jakis?” he said slowly, then his face lit with recognition. “Is that Baron Jakis’ boy, then?”

I nodded smugly. “The eldest himself. Boy rich as that should pay a fair piece for a letter from his lady. Much as whole noble, I figure.”

He eyed the letter. “Could be,” he said cautiously. “But look. It en’t got anything on it other than University. I been up that way. That en’t a small place.”

“Baron Jakis’ boy en’t going to sleep in a tin shack,” I said crossly. “Ask someone what the fanciest place is, that’s where he’ll be.”

The man nodded to himself, his hand creeping unconsciously toward his purse. “I suppose I could take it off your hands,” he said grudgingly. “But only at a quater bit. I’m taking a risk anyways at that.”

“Have a heart, now!” I protested pitifully. “I brought it eight hundred miles! That’s worth better’n nothing!”

“Fine,” he said, pulling coins out of his purse. “I’ll give you three bits then.”

“I’d take half a round,” I grumbled.

“You’ll take three bits,” he said, holding out a grubby hand.

I handed him the letter. “Remember to tell him it’s from a noble lady,” I said as I turned to leave. “Rich tosh. Get whatever yeh can off him, that’s what I say.”

I left the square, then straightened my shoulders and took off the hat. I pulled my shaed back out of my travelsack and swirled it easily around my shoulders. I started to whistle, and as I passed the bald old beggar, I returned his hat and gave him the three bits besides.

When I first heard the stories people were telling about me at the University, I’d expected them to be short-lived. I thought they would flare up, then die just as quickly, like a fire exhausting its fuel.

But that hadn’t been the case. The tales of Kvothe rescuing girls and bedding Felurian mixed and mingled with scraps of truth and the ridiculous lies I’d spread to bolster my reputation. There was fuel aplenty, so the stories swirled and spread like a brushfire with the wind blowing hard behind it.

Honestly, I didn’t know if I should be amused or alarmed. When I went to Imre, people would point at me and whisper to each other. My notoriety spread until it was impossible for me to casually cross the river and eavesdrop on the stories people told.

Tarbean, on the other hand, was forty miles away.

After I left Drover’s Lot behind, I returned to the room I’d rented in one of the nicer parts of Tarbean. In this part of the city, the wind off the ocean brushed away the stink and the dust, leaving the air feeling sharp and clear. I called up water for a bath, and in a fit of lavish spending that would have left my younger self dizzy, I paid three pennies to have the porter take my clothes to the nearest Cealdish laundry.

Then, clean and sweet smelling again, I went down to the taproom.

I’d picked the inn carefully. It wasn’t fancy, but wasn’t seedy either. The taproom was low-ceilinged and intimate. It sat at the corner of two of Tarbean’s most well-traveled roads, and I could see Cealdish traders rubbing elbows with Yllish sailors and Vintish wagoneers. It was the perfect place for stories.

It wasn’t long before I was lurking at the end of the bar, listening to how I had killed the Black Beast of Trebon. I was stunned. I had actually killed a rampaging draccus in Trebon, but when Nina had come to visit me a year ago, she hadn’t known my name. My growing reputation had somehow swept through the town of Trebon and gathered up that story in its wake.

There at the bar, I learned many things. Apparently, I owned a ring of amber which could force demons to obey me. I could drink all night and never be the worse for it. Locks opened at the barest touch of my hand, and I had a cloak made all out of cobwebs and shadows.

That was also the first time I heard anyone call me Kvothe the Arcane. It was not a new name, apparently. The cluster of men listening to the story simply nodded along when they heard it.

I learned that Kvothe the Arcane knew a word that would stop arrows dead in the air. Kvothe the Arcane only bled if the knife that cut him was made of raw, untempered iron.

The young clerk was building to the dramatic finish of the story, and I was genuinely curious as to how I was going to stop the demon beast with my ring shattered and my cloak of shadows nearly burned away. But just as I forced my way into Trebon’s church, shattering the door with a magic word and a single blow of my bare hand, the door of the inn burst open, startling everyone as it banged hard against the wall.

A young couple stood there. The woman was young and beautiful, dark-haired and dark-eyed. The man was richly dressed and pale with panic. “I don’t know what’s the matter!” he cried, looking about wildly. “We were just walking and then she couldn’t breathe!”

I was at her side before anyone else in the room had time to stand. She had half-collapsed onto an empty bench, with her escort hovering over her. She had one hand pressed against her chest while the other pushed him away weakly. The man ignored it and crowded close to her, speaking in a low, urgent voice. The woman kept sliding away from him until she was at the edge of the bench.

I pushed him ungently aside. “I think she wants her space from you right now.”

“Who are you?” he demanded, his voice shrill. “Are you a physician? Who is this man? Someone fetch a physician at once!” He tried to elbow me aside.

“You!” I pointed to a large sailor sitting at a table. “Take this man and put him over there.” My voice snapped like a whip and the sailor jumped to his feet, grabbed the young gentleman by the back of his neck, and scuffed him tidily away.

I turned back to the woman and watched as her perfect mouth opened. She strained and drew in only the barest rasp of a breath. Her eyes were wild and wet with fear. I moved close to her and spoke in my gentlest tones. “You will be fine. All is well,” I reassured her. “You need to look in my eyes.”

Her eyes fixed on mine, then widened in recognition, in amazement. “I need you to breathe for me.” I laid one hand against her straining chest. Her skin was flushed and hot. Her heart was thrilling like a frightened bird. I laid my other hand along her face. I looked deeply into her eyes. They were like dark pools.

I leaned close enough to kiss her. She smelled of selas flower, of green grass, of road dust. I felt her strain to breathe. I listened. I closed my eyes. I heard the whisper of a name.

I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.

There was a rush of indrawn air. I opened my eyes. The room was still enough that I could hear the velvet rush of her second desperate breath. I relaxed.

She laid her hand over mine, over her heart. “I need you to breathe for me,” she repeated. “That’s seven words.”

“It is,” I said.

“My hero,” Denna said, and drew a slow and smiling breath.

“It were powerful strange,” I heard the sailor say on the other side of the room. “There were sommat in his voice. I swear by all the salt in me, I felt like a puppet with my string pulled.”

I listened with half an ear. I guessed the deckhand simply knew to jump when a voice with the proper ring of authority told him to.

But there was no sense in telling him that. My performance with Denna, combined with my bright hair and dark cloak, had identified me as Kvothe. So it would be magic, no matter what I had to say about it. I didn’t mind. What I had done tonight was worthy of a story or two.

Because they recognized me, folk were watching us, but not coming very close. Denna’s gentleman friend had left before we thought to look for him, so the two of us enjoyed a certain privacy in our small corner of the taproom.

“I should have known I’d come across you here,” she said. “You’re always where I least expect to find you. Have you migrated away from the University at last?”

I shook my head. “I’m playing truant for a couple days.”

“Are you heading back soon?”

“Tomorrow, actually. I’ve got a fetter-cart.”

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