Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (73 page)

I didn’t have any rank, of course. No title, no lands, no family, and no blood. I was lowborn as they come, but no one here knew that. Everyone assumed the mysterious red-haired man spending time with Alveron was some flavor of nobility, and my origin and standing was a much-debated topic.

The important thing was that I had not been officially introduced to the court. As such, I had no
official
ranking. That meant all the rings sent to me were iron. And one does not typically refuse a request sent with an iron ring, lest one offend one’s betters.

So it was rather surprising to find this older gentleman standing outside the door. Obviously noble, but unannounced and uninvited.

“You may call me Bredon,” he said, looking me in the eye. “Do you know how to play tak?”

I shook my head, unsure what to make of this.

He gave a small, disappointed sigh. “Ah well, I can teach you.” He thrust a black velvet sack toward me and I took hold of it with both hands. It felt as if it were full of small, smooth stones.

Bredon gestured behind him, and a pair of young men bustled into my room carrying a small table. I stepped out of their way, and Bredon swept through the door in their wake. “Set it by the window,” he directed them, pointing with his walking stick. “And bring some chairs—No, the rail-back chairs.”

In a short moment everything was arranged to his satisfaction. The two servants left, and Bredon turned to me with an apologetic look on his face. “You’ll forgive an old man a dramatic entrance, I hope?”

“Of course,” I said graciously. “Please have a seat.” I gestured toward the new table by the window.

“Such aplomb,” he chuckled, leaning his walking stick against the window sill. The sunlight caught on the polished silver handle wrought in the shape of a snarling wolf ’s head.

Bredon was older. Not elderly by any means, but what I consider grandfather old. His colors weren’t colors at all, merely ash grey and a dark charcoal. His hair and beard were pure white, and all cut to the same length, making a frame for his face. As he sat there, peering at me with his lively brown eyes, he reminded me of an owl.

I took a seat across from him and wondered idly how he was going to attempt to wheedle information out of me. He’d obviously brought a game. Perhaps he’d try to gamble it out of me. That would be a new approach at least.

He smiled at me. An honest smile I found myself returning before I realized what I was doing. “You must have a fair collection of rings by this point,” he said.

I nodded.

He leaned forward curiously. “Would you mind terribly if I looked them over?”

“Not at all.” I went into the other room and brought back a handful of rings, spilling them onto the table.

He looked them over, nodding to himself. “You’ve had all our best gossipmongers descend on you. Veston, Praevek, and Temenlovy have all taken a crack.” His eyebrows went up as he saw the name on another ring. “Praevek twice. And none of them got a shred of anything out of you. Nothing half as solid as a whisper.”

Bredon glanced up at me. “That tells me you are keeping your tongue tightly between your teeth, and you are good at it. Rest assured, I’m not here in some vain attempt to pry at your secrets.”

I didn’t entirely believe him, but it was nice to hear. “I’ll admit that’s a relief.”

“As a brief aside,” he mentioned casually. “I’ll mention the rings are traditionally left in the sitting room near the door. They are displayed as a mark of status.”

I hadn’t known that, but I didn’t want to admit to it. If I was unfamiliar with the customs of the local court, it would let him know I was either a foreigner or not one of the gentry. “There’s no real status in a handful of iron,” I said dismissively. Count Threpe had explained the basics of the rings to me before I left Imre. But he wasn’t from Vintas, and obviously hadn’t known the fine points.

“There’s some truth to that,” Bredon said easily. “But not the truth entire. Gold rings imply those below you are working to curry your favor. Silver indicates a healthy working relationship with your peers.” He laid the rings in a row on the table. “However, iron means you have the attention of your betters. It indicates you are desirable.”

I nodded slowly. “Of course,” I said. “Any ring the Maer sends will be an iron one.”

“Exactly.” Bredon nodded. “To have a ring from the Maer is a mark of great favor.” He pushed the rings toward me across the top of the smooth marble table. “But there is no such ring here, and that itself is meaningful.”

“It seems you’re no stranger to courtly politics yourself,” I pointed out.

Bredon closed his eyes and nodded a weary agreement. “I was quite fond of it when I was young. I was even something of a power, as these things go. But at present, I have no machinations to advance. That takes the spice from such maneuverings.” He looked at me again, meeting my eyes directly.“I have simpler tastes now. I travel. I enjoy wines and conversation with interesting people. I’ve even been learning how to dance.”

He smiled again, warmly, and rapped a knuckle on the board. “More than anything, however, I enjoy playing tak. However, I know few people with time or wit enough to play the game properly.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

I hesitated. “One might assume that someone well-skilled in the subtle art of conversation could use long stretches of idle chatter to glean information from an unsuspecting victim.”

Bredon smiled. “By the names on these rings, I can tell you’ve seen nothing but the most gaudy and grasping of us. You’re understandably skittish regarding your secrets, whatever they may be.” He leaned forward. “Consider this instead. Those who have approached you are like magpies. They caw and flap around you, hoping to snatch something bright to carry home with them.” He rolled his eyes disdainfully. “What gain is there in that? Some small notoriety, I suppose. Some brief elevation among one’s gaudy, gossipy peers.”

Bredon ran a hand over his white beard. “I am no magpie. I need nothing shiny, nor do I care what gossipmongers think. I play a longer, more subtle game.” He began to work the drawstring loose on the black velvet bag. “You are a man of some wit. I know this as the Maer does not waste his time with fools. I know you either stand in the Maer’s good grace, or you have a chance to gain that grace. So here is my plan.” He smiled his warm smile again. “Would you like to hear my plan?”

I found myself smiling back without meaning to, as I had before. “That would be unusually kind of you.”

“My plan is to insinuate myself into your favor now. I will make myself useful and entertaining. I will provide conversation and a way to pass the time.” He spilled a set of round stones out onto the marble tabletop. “Then, when your star grows ascendant in the Maer’s sky, I may find myself in possession of an unexpectedly useful friend.” He began to sort the stones into their different colors. “And should your star fail to rise, I am still richer by several games of tak.”

“I also imagine it won’t hurt your reputation to spend several hours alone with me,” I mentioned. “Given that all my other conversations have been barren things not likely to last a quarter hour.”

“There is some truth to that as well,” he said as he began to arrange the stones. His curious brown eyes smiled at me again. “Oh yes, I think I’m going to have quite a bit of fun playing with you.”

My next several hours were spent learning how to play tak. Even if I had not been nearly mad with idleness, I would have enjoyed it. Tak is the best sort of game: simple in its rules, complex in its strategy. Bredon beat me handily in all five games we played, but I am proud to say that he never beat me the same way twice.

After the fifth game he leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “That was approaching a good game. You got clever in the corner here.” He wiggled his fingers at the edge of the board.

“Not clever enough.”

“Clever nonetheless. What you attempted is called a brooker’s fall, just so you know.”

“And what’s the name for the way you got away from it?”

“I call it Bredon’s defense,” he said, smiling rakishly. “But that’s what I call any maneuver when I get out of a tight corner by being uncommonly clever.”

I laughed and began to separate the stones again. “Another?”

Bredon sighed. “Alas, I have an unavoidable appointment. I needn’t hurry out the door, but I don’t have enough time for another game. Not a proper one.”

His brown eyes looked me over as he began to gather the stones into the velvet bag. “I won’t insult you by asking if you’re familiar with the local customs,” Bredon said. “However, I thought I might give a few general pieces of advice, on the off chance they might be helpful.” He smiled at me. “It would be best to listen, of course. If you refuse, you reveal your knowledge of these things.”

“Of course,” I said with a straight face.

Bredon slid open the table’s drawer and pulled out the handful of iron rings we had swept aside to clear the board for our game. “The presentation of the rings implies a great deal. If they are jumbled in a bowl for example, it implies disinterest in the social aspects of the court.”

He arranged the rings with their engraved names facing me. “Laid out in careful display, they show you are proud of your connections.” He looked up and smiled. “Either way, a new arrival is usually left alone in the sitting room on some pretext. This gives them a chance to paw through your collection in order to satisfy their curiosity.”

Shrugging, Bredon pushed the rings toward me. “You have, of course, always made a point of offering to return the rings to their owners.” He was careful not to make it into a question.

“Of course,” I said honestly. Threpe had known that much.

“It is the most polite thing to do.” He looked up at me, his brown eyes peering owlishly from the halo of his white hair and beard. “Have you worn any of them in public?”

I held up my bare hands.

“Wearing a ring can indicate a debt, or that you are attempting to curry favor.” He looked at me. “If the Maer ever declines to take his ring back from you, it would be an indication he was willing to make your connection somewhat more formal.”

“And not wearing the ring would be viewed as a slight,” I said.

Bredon smiled. “Perhaps. It is one thing to display a ring in your sitting room, quite another to display it on your hand. Wearing the ring of one’s better can be viewed as quite presumptuous. Also, if you wore another noble’s ring while visiting the Maer, he might take it amiss. As if someone had poached you from his forest.”

He leaned back in his chair. “I mention these things as general talking points,” he said, “suspecting this information is already well known to you, and you are politely letting an old man ramble.”

“Perhaps I am still reeling from a series of numbing defeats at tak,” I said.

He waved my comment away, and I noticed he wore no rings of any sort on his fingers. “You took to it quickly, like a baron at a brothel, as they say. I expect you’ll prove a decent challenge after a month or so.”

“Wait and see,” I said. “I’ll beat you the next time we play.”

Bredon chuckled. “I like to hear that.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smaller velvet bag. “I have also brought you a small gift.”

“I couldn’t possibly,” I said reflexively. “You’ve already provided me with an afternoon’s entertainment.”

“Please,” he said, pushing the bag across the table. “I must insist. These are yours without obligation, let, or lien. A freely given gift.”

I upended the bag and three rings chimed into my palm. Gold, silver, and iron. Each of them had my name etched into the metal:
Kvothe
.

“I heard a rumor your luggage was lost,” Bredon said. “And thought these might prove useful.” He smiled. “Especially if you desire another game of tak.”

I rolled the rings around in my hand, idly wondering if the gold ring was solid or simply plated. “And what ring would I send my new acquaintance if I desired his company?”

“Well,” Bredon said slowly. “That
is
complicated. By my rash and unseemly barging into your rooms, I have neglected a proper introduction and failed to inform you as to my title and rank.” His brown eyes looked into mine seriously.

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