Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (94 page)

Thus I learned the previous Compte Banbride hadn’t died of consumption, but of syphilis contracted from an amorous stable hand. Lord Veston was addicted to Denner resin, and money intended for the maintenance of the king’s road was paying for his habit.

Baron Jakis had paid several officials to avoid scandal when his youngest daughter was discovered in a brothel. There were two versions of that story, one where she was selling, and another where she was buying. I filed that information away for future use.

I’d started a second bottle of wine by the time I read that young Netalia Lackless had run away with a troupe of traveling performers. Her parents had disowned her, of course, leaving Meluan the only heir to the Lackless lands. That explained Meluan’s hatred of the Ruh, and made me doubly glad I hadn’t made my Edema blood public here in Severen.

There were three separate stories of how the Duke of Cormisant flew into rages while in his cups, beating whoever happened to be nearby, including his wife, his son, and several dinner guests. There was a brief speculative account of how the king and queen held depraved orgies in their private gardens, hidden from the eyes of the royal court.

Even Bredon made an appearance. He was said to conduct pagan rituals in the secluded woods outside his northern estates. They were described with such extravagant and meticulous detail that I wondered if they weren’t copied directly from the pages of some old Aturan romance.

I read well into the evening, and was only halfway through the stack of stories when I finished the bottle of wine. I was just about to send a runner for another when I heard the soft hush of air from the other room that announced Alveron’s entrance into my chambers through his secret passage.

I pretended to look surprised when he entered the room. “Good afternoon, your grace,” I said as I came to my feet.

“Sit if you wish,” he said shortly.

I remained standing out of deference, as I’d learned it was better to err on the side of formality with the Maer. “How are things progressing with your lady?” I asked. From Stapes’ excited gossip, I knew matters were rapidly coming to a close.

“We pledged a formal troth today,” he said distractedly. “Signed papers and all. It’s done.”

“If you’ll forgive me for saying so, your grace, you don’t seem very pleased.”

He gave a sour smile. “I suppose you’ve heard about the trouble on the roads of late?”

“Only rumors, your grace.”

He snorted. “Rumors I have been trying to keep quiet. Someone has been waylaying my tax collectors on the north road.”

That was serious. “Collectors, your grace?” I asked, stressing the plural. “How much have they managed to take?”

The Maer gave me a stern look that let me know the impropriety of my question. “Enough. More than enough. This is the fourth I’ve had go missing. Over half of my northern taxes taken by highwaymen.” He gave me a serious look. “The Lackless lands are in the north, you know.”

“You think the Lacklesses are waylaying your collectors?”

He gave me a stunned look. “What? No, no. It’s bandits in the Eld.”

I blushed a little in embarrassment. “Have you sent out patrols, your grace?”

“Of course I’ve sent out patrols,” he snapped. “I’ve sent a dozen. They haven’t found so much as a campfire.” He paused and looked at me. “I suspect someone in my guard is in league with them.” His expression was grave.

“I assume your grace has given your collectors escorts?”

“Two apiece,” he said. “Do you know how much it costs to replace a dozen guardsmen? Armor, weapons, horses?” He sighed. “On top of it all, only part of the stolen taxes are mine, the rest belong to the king.”

I nodded an understanding. “I don’t imagine he’s very pleased.”

Alveron waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, Roderic will have his money regardless. He holds me personally responsible for his tithe. So I am forced to send the collectors around again to gather his majesty’s share a second time.”

“I don’t imagine that sits very well with most people,” I said.

“It does not.” He sat in an overstuffed chair and rubbed his face tiredly. “I’m at my wit’s end over the matter. How will it look to Meluan if I cannot keep my own roads safe?

I took a seat as well, facing him. “What of Dagon?” I asked. “Couldn’t he find them?”

Alveron gave a short, humorless bark of a laugh. “Oh, Dagon would find them. He’d have their heads on poles inside ten days.”

“Then why not send him?” I asked, puzzled.

“Because Dagon is a man of straight lines. He would raze a dozen villages and set fire to a thousand acres of the Eld to find them.” He shook his head seriously. “Even if I thought him suited to this task, he is tracking down Caudicus at the moment. Besides, I believe there may be magic at work in the Eld, and that is outside Dagon’s ken.”

I suspected the only magic at work was half a dozen sturdy Modegan longbows. But it’s the nature of people to cry magic whenever they’re faced with something they cannot easily explain, especially in Vintas.

Alveron leaned forward in his seat. “Might I rely on your help in this?”

There was only one response to that. “Of course, your grace.”

“Do you know much woodcraft?”

“I studied under a yeoman when I was younger,” I exaggerated, guessing he was looking for someone to help devise a better defense for his collectors. “I know enough to track a man and hide myself.”

Alveron raised an eyebrow at that. “Really? You are possessed of quite the diverse education, aren’t you?”

“I’ve led an interesting life, your grace.” The bottle of wine I’d drunk made me bolder than usual, and I added. “I’ve got an idea or two you might find helpful in dealing with your bandit problem.”

He leaned forward in his chair. “Do tell.”

“I could devise some arcane protection for your men.” I made a flourish with the long fingers of my right hand, hoping it looked sufficiently mystical. I juggled numbers in my head and wondered how long it would take to create an arrowcatch using only the equipment in Caudicus’ tower.

Alveron nodded thoughtfully. “That might suffice if I was only concerned for the safety of my collectors. But this is the king’s road, a major artery of trade. I need to be rid of the bandits themselves.”

“In that case,” I said, “I would assemble a small group who know how to make their way quietly in a forest. They shouldn’t have too much difficulty locating your bandits. When they do, it should be a simple matter to send your guard out to catch them.”

“Easier yet to set an ambush and kill them, wouldn’t you say?” Alveron said slowly, as if looking to gauge my reaction.

“Or that,” I admitted. “Your grace is the arm of the law.”

“Death is the penalty for banditry. Especially on the king’s road,” Alveron said firmly. “Does that seem harsh to you?”

“Not in the least,” I said, looking him squarely in the eye. “Safe roads are the bones of civilization.”

Alveron surprised me with a sudden smile. “Your plan is the very image of my own. I have gathered a handful of mercenaries to do just as you’ve suggested. I’ve had to move secretly, as I don’t know who might be sending these bandits their warnings. But I’ve got four good men ready to leave tomorrow: a tracker, two mercenaries with some skill in the forest, and an Adem mercenary. The last did not come cheaply, either.”

I gave him a congratulatory nod. “You’ve already planned it better than I could, your grace. It hardly seems as if you need my help at all.”

“Quite the contrary,” he said. “I still need someone with a little sense to lead them.” He looked at me meaningfully. “Someone who understands magic. Someone I can trust.”

I felt a sudden sinking sensation.

Alveron got to his feet, smiling warmly. “Twice now you have served me beyond all expectations. Are you familiar with the expression ‘third time pays for all’?”

Again, there was only one reasonable answer to that question. “Yes, your grace.”

Alveron took me to his rooms, and we looked over maps of the countryside where his men had been lost. It was a long stretch of the king’s highway running through a piece of the Eld that had been old when Vintas was nothing more than a handful of squabbling sea kings. It was a little more than eighty miles away. We could be there in four days of hard walking.

Stapes provided me with a new travelsack, and I packed it as well as I was able. I took a few of the more practical clothes from my wardrobe, though they were still more suited for a ballroom than the road. I packed away a few items I’d quietly pilfered from Caudicus’ lab over the last span, and gave Stapes a list of a few essential items I was lacking, and he produced them all more quickly than a grocer in a store.

Finally, at the hour when all but the most desperate and dishonest persons are abed, Alveron gave me a purse containing a hundred silver bits. “This is a messy way of handling it,” Alveron said. “Normally I would give you a writ charging citizens to provide you with assistance and aid.” He sighed. “But using something like that as you travel would be as good as blowing a trumpet announcing your arrival.”

I nodded. “If they’re clever enough to have a spy among your guard, it’s safe to assume they have connections with the local populace as well, your grace.”

“They might
be
the local populace,” he said darkly.

Stapes led me out of the estate through the same secret passage the Maer used to enter my rooms. Carrying a hooded thief’s lamp, he took me through several twisting passages, then down a long, dark stairway that bored deep into the stone of the Sheer.

Thus I found myself standing alone in the chill cellar of an abandoned shop in Severen-Low. It was in the section of the city that had been ravaged by fire some years ago, and the building’s few remaining roof beams stretched like dark bones against the first pale light of dawn.

I stepped from the burned shell of the building. Above, the Maer’s estates perched on the edge of the Sheer like some predatory bird.

I spat, none too pleased with my situation, press-ganged into mercenary service. My eyes were gritty from my sleepless night and my long journey through the twisting stone passages in the Sheer. The wine I’d drunk wasn’t improving anything either. For the last few hours I could feel myself growing less drunk and more hungover by slow degrees. I’d never been awake through the entire process before, and it was not pleasant. I’d managed to keep up appearances in front of Alveron and Stapes, but the fact of the matter was that my gut was sour and my thoughts were thick and sluggish.

The cool, predawn air cleared my head a little, and within a hundred steps I began thinking of things I’d forgotten to include on the list I’d given Stapes. The wine had done me no favors there. I had no tinderbox, no salt, no knife. . . .

My lute. I hadn’t picked it up from the luthier after having its loose peg fixed. Who knew how long I might be hunting bandits for the Maer. How long would it sit unclaimed before the man decided it had been abandoned?

I went two miles out of my way, but found the luthier’s shop dark and lifeless. I hammered on the door to no avail. Then, after a moment’s indecision, I broke in and stole it. Though it hardly seemed to be stealing, since the lute was mine to begin with, and I’d already paid for the repairs.

I had to climb a wall, force a window, and trip two locks. It was fairly simple stuff, but given my sleepless wine-sodden head, I’m probably lucky I didn’t fall off the roof and break my neck. But aside from a loose piece of slate that set my heart racing, things went smoothly and I was back on my way in twenty minutes.

The four mercenaries Alveron had assembled were waiting in a tavern two miles north of Severen. We made brief introductions and left immediately, heading north on the king’s highway.

My thoughts were so sluggish that I was miles north of Severen before I began to reconsider a few things. Only then did it occur to me that the Maer might have been less than completely honest in everything he had told me the night before.

Was I truly the best person to lead a handful of trackers into an unfamiliar forest to kill a band of highwaymen? Did the Maer really think so much of me?

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