Kvothe gave a somewhat exasperated sigh. “There’s small harm in saying a name once, Bast.” He sat back in his chair. “Why do you think the Adem have their traditions surrounding that particular story? Only once and no questions after?”
Bast’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully, and Kvothe gave him a small, tight smile. “Exactly. Trying to find someone who speaks your name once is like tracking a man through a forest from a single footprint.”
Chronicler spoke up hesitantly, as if afraid of interrupting. “Can such a thing really be done?” he asked. “Truthfully?”
Kvothe nodded grimly. “I expect that’s how they found my troupe when I was young.”
Chronicler looked around nervously, then frowned and made an obvious effort to stop. The result was that he sat very still, looking every bit as nervous as before. “Does that mean they might come here? You’ve certainly been talking about them enough. . . .”
Kvothe made a dismissive gesture. “No. Names are the key. Real names. Deep names. And I have been avoiding them for just that reason. My father was a great one for details. He had been asking questions and digging up old stories about the Chandrian for years. I expect he stumbled onto a few of their old names and worked them into his song. . . .”
Understanding washed over Chronicler’s face. “. . . and then rehearsed it again and again.”
The innkeeper gave a faint, fond smile. “Endlessly, if I knew him at all. I have no doubt he and my mother did their solid best to work every tiny burr out of their song before they made it public. They were perfectionists.” He gave a tired sigh. “To the Chandrian, it must have been like someone constantly lighting a signal fire. I expect the only thing that kept them safe for so long was that we were constantly traveling.”
Bast broke in again. “Which is why you shouldn’t say such things, Reshi.”
Kvothe frowned. “I have slept my thousand nights and traveled several thousand miles since then, Bast. It is safe to say them once. With all the hell that’s breaking loose in the world these days you can believe people are telling old stories more often. If the Chandrian are listening for names, I don’t doubt they’ve got a slow din of whispering from Arueh to the Circle Sea.”
Bast’s expression made it clear he was less than reassured.
“Besides,” Kvothe said with a bit of a weary sigh. “It’s good to have them written down. They may prove useful to someone someday.”
“Still Reshi, you should be more careful.”
“What have I been these last years except for careful, Bast?” Kvothe said, his irritation finally bubbling to the surface. “What good has it done me? Besides, if what you say about the Cthaeh is true, then things will end in tears no matter what I do. Isn’t that right?”
Bast opened his mouth, then closed it, obviously at a loss. Then he darted a look toward Chronicler, his eyes pleading for support.
Seeing this, Kvothe turned to look at Chronicler as well, raising an eyebrow curiously.
“I’m sure I don’t know in the least,” Chronicler said, looking down as he opened his satchel and brought out an ink-stained piece of cloth. “Both of you have seen the full extent of my naming prowess: Iron. And that is a fluke by all accounts. Master Namer declared me an utter waste of his time.”
“That sounds familiar,” Kvothe murmured.
Chronicler shrugged. “In my case I took him at his word.”
“Can you remember the excuse he gave you?”
“He had many specific criticisms: I knew too many words. I’d never been hungry. I was too soft. . . .” Chronicler’s hands were busy cleaning the nib of his pen. “I felt he made his overall position clear when he said, ‘Who would have thought a papery little scriv like you could have any iron in him at all?’”
Kvothe’s mouth quirked into a sympathetic smile. “Did he really?”
Chronicler shrugged. “He called me a twat, actually. I was trying not to offend the innocent ears of our young friend here.” He nodded at Bast. “From what I can tell, he’s had a rough day.”
Kvothe smiled in full now. “It’s a shame we weren’t ever at the University at the same time.”
Chronicler gave the nib one last rub against the soft cloth and held it up to the fading light from the inn’s window. “Not really,” he said. “You wouldn’t have liked me. I was a papery little twat. And spoiled. And full of myself.”
“And what’s changed since then?” Kvothe asked.
Chronicler blew air through his nose dismissively. “Not much, depending who you ask. But I like to think I’ve had my eyes opened a bit.” He screwed the nib carefully back into his pen.
“And how did that happen, exactly?” Kvothe asked.
Chronicler looked across the table, seeming surprised at the question. “Exactly ?” he asked. “Telling a story isn’t what I’m here for.” He tucked the cloth back into his satchel. “In brief, I had a snit and left the University looking for greener pasture. Best thing I ever did. I learned more from a month on the road than I had in three years of classes.”
Kvothe nodded. “Teccam said the same thing: No man is brave that has never walked a hundred miles. If you want to know the truth of who you are, walk until not a person knows your name. Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror-glass. A long stretch of road will teach you more about yourself than a hundred years of quiet introspection.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY
Wine and Water
SAYING MY FAREWELLS IN Haert took an entire day. I shared a meal with Vashet and Tempi and let both of them give me more advice than I needed or desired. Celean cried a bit, and told me she would come visit me when she finally took the red. We bouted one final time, and I suspect she let me win.
Lastly, I spent a pleasant evening with Penthe that turned into a pleasant night and, eventually, into a pleasant late night. I did manage to catch a few hours of sleep in the pale hours before dawn.
I grew up among the Ruh, so I am endlessly amazed how quickly a person can put down roots in a place. Though I had been in Haert less than two months, it was hard to leave.
Still, it felt good to be back on the road again, heading toward Alveron and Denna. It was time I collected my reward for a job well done and delivered an earnest and rather belated apology.
Five days later I was walking one of those long, lonely stretches of road you only find in the low hills of eastern Vintas. I was, as my father used to say, on the edge of the map.
I had only passed one or two travelers all day and not a single inn. The thought of sleeping outdoors wasn’t particularly troubling, but I had been eating from my pockets for a couple days, and a warm meal would have been a welcome thing.
Night had nearly fallen, and I had given up hope of something decent in my stomach when I spotted a line of white smoke trailing into the twilight sky ahead of me. I took it for a farmhouse at first. Then I heard a faint strain of music and my hopes for a bed and a hearth-hot meal began to rise.
But as I came around a curve in the road, I, found a surprise better than any roadside inn.Through the trees I saw a tall campfire flickering between two achingly familiar wagons. Men and women lounged about, talking. One strummed a lute, while another tapped a small tabor idly against his leg. Others were pitching a tent between two trees while an older woman set a tripod over the fire.
Troupers. What’s better, I recognized familiar markings on the side of one of the wagons. To me they stood out more brightly than the fire. Those signs meant these were true troupers. My family, the Edema Ruh.
As I stepped from the trees, one of the men gave a shout, and before I could draw breath to speak there were three swords pointing at me. The sudden stillness after the music and chatter was more than slightly unnerving.
A handsome man with a black beard and a silver earring took a slow step forward, never taking the tip of his sword off my eye. “Otto!” he shouted into the woods behind me. “If you’re napping I swear on my mother’s
milk I’ll gut you. Who the hell are you?”
The last was directed at me. But before I could respond, a voice came out of the trees. “I’m right here, Alleg, as . . . Who’s that? How in the God’s name did he get past me?”
When they’d drawn their swords on me, I’d raised my hands. It’s a good habit to have when anyone points something sharp at you. Nevertheless I was smiling as I spoke. “Sorry to startle you, Alleg.”
“Save it,” he said coldly. “You have one breath left to tell me why you were sneaking around our camp.”
I had no need to talk, and instead turned so everyone by the fire could see the lute case slung across my back.
The change in Alleg’s attitude was immediate. He relaxed and sheathed his sword. The others followed suit as he smiled and approached me, laughing.
I laughed too. “One family.”
“One family.” He shook my hand and turned toward the fire, shouting, “Best behavior everyone. We have a guest tonight!” There was a low cheer, and everyone went busily back to whatever they had been doing before I arrived.
A thick-bodied man wearing a sword stomped out of the trees. “I’ll be damned if he came past me, Alleg. He’s probably from ...”
“He’s from our family,” Alleg interjected smoothly.
“Oh,” Otto said, obviously taken aback. He looked at my lute. “Welcome then.”
“I didn’t go past, actually,” I lied. When it was dark, my shaed made me very difficult to see. But that wasn’t his fault, and I didn’t want to get him in trouble. “I heard the music and circled around. I thought you might be a different troupe, and I was going to surprise them.”
Otto gave Alleg a pointed look, then turned and stomped back into the woods.
Alleg put his arm around my shoulders. “Might I offer you a drink?”
“A little water, if you can spare it.”
“No guest drinks water by our fire,” he protested. “Only our best wine will touch your lips.”
“The water of the Edema is sweeter than wine to those who have been upon the road.” I smiled at him.
“Then have water and wine, each to your desire.” He led me to one of the wagons, where there was a water barrel.
Following a tradition older than time, I drank a ladle of water and used a second to wash my hands and face. Patting my face dry with the sleeve of my shirt, I looked up at him and smiled. “It’s good to be home again.”
He clapped me on the back. “Come. Let me introduce you to the rest of your family.”
First were two men of about twenty, both with scruffy beards. “Fren and Josh are our two best singers, excepting myself of course.” I shook their hands.
Next were the two men playing instruments around the fire. “Gaskin plays lute. Laren does pipes and tabor.” They smiled at me. Laren struck the head of the tabor with his thumb, and the drum made a mellow tum.
“There’s Tim.” Alleg pointed across the fire to a tall, grim man oiling a sword. “And you’ve already met Otto. They keep us from falling into danger on the road.” Tim nodded, looking up briefly from his sword.
“This is Anne.” Alleg gestured to an older woman with a pinched expression and grey hair pulled back in a bun. “She keeps us fed and plays mother to us all.” Anne continued to cut carrots, ignoring both of us.
“And far from last is our own sweet Kete, who holds the key to all our hearts.” Kete had hard eyes and a mouth like a thin line, but her expression softened a little when I kissed her hand.
“And that’s everyone,” Alleg said with a smile and a little bow. “Your name is?”
“Kvothe.”
“Welcome, Kvothe. Rest yourself and be at your ease. Is there anything we can do for you?”
“A bit of that wine you mentioned earlier?” I smiled.
He touched the heel of his hand to his forehead. “Of course! Or would you prefer ale?”
I nodded, and he fetched me a mug.
“Excellent,” I said after tasting it, seating myself on a convenient stump.
He tipped an imaginary hat. “Thank you. We were lucky enough to nick it on our way through Levinshir a couple days ago. How has the road been treating you of late?”
I stretched backward and sighed. “Not bad for a lone minstrel.” I shrugged. “I take advantage of what opportunities present themselves. I have to be careful since I’m alone.”
Alleg nodded wisely. “The only safety we have is in numbers,” he admitted, then nodded to my lute. “Would you favor us with a bit of a song while we’re waiting for Anne to finish dinner?”
“Certainly,” I said, setting down my drink. “What would you like to hear?”
“Can you play ‘Leave the Town, Tinker’?”
“Can I?You tell me.” I lifted my lute from its case and began to play. By the chorus, everyone had stopped what they were doing to listen. I even caught sight of Otto near the edge of the trees as he left his lookout to peer toward the fire.
When I was done, everyone applauded enthusiastically. “You can play it,” Alleg laughed. Then his expression became serious, and he tapped a finger to his mouth. “How would you like to walk the road with us for a while?” he asked after a moment. “We could use another player.”
I took a moment to consider it. “Which way are you heading?”
“Easterly,” he said.
“I’m bound for Severen,” I said.
Alleg shrugged. “We can make it to Severen,” he said. “So long as you don’t mind taking the long way around.”
“I have been away from the family for a long time,” I admitted, looking at the familiar sights around the fire.
“One is a bad number for an Edema on the road,” Alleg said persuasively, running a finger along the edge of his dark beard.
I sighed. “Ask me again in the morning.”
He slapped my knee, grinning. “Good! That means we have all night to convince you.”
I replaced my lute and excused myself for a call of nature. Coming back, I knelt next to Anne where she sat near the fire. “What are you making for us, mother?” I asked.
“Stew,” she said shortly.
I smiled. “What’s in it?”
Anne squinted at me. “Lamb,” she said, as if daring me to challenge the fact.
“It’s been a long while since I’ve had lamb, mother. Could I have a taste?”
“You’ll wait, same as everyone else,” she said sharply.
“Not even a small taste?” I wheedled, giving her my best ingratiating smile.
The old woman drew a breath, then shrugged it away. “Fine,” she said. “But it won’t be my fault if your stomach sets to aching.”
I laughed. “No, mother. It won’t be your fault.” I reached for the longhandled wooden spoon and drew it out. After blowing on it, I took a bite. “Mother!” I exclaimed. “This is the best thing to touch my lips in a full year.”
“Hmph,” she said, squinting at me.
“It’s the first truth, mother,” I said earnestly. “Anyone who does not enjoy this fine stew is hardly one of the Ruh in my opinion.”
Anne turned back to stir the pot and shooed me away, but her expression wasn’t as sharp as it had been before.
After stopping by the keg to refill my mug, I returned to my seat. Gaskin leaned forward. “You’ve given us a song. Is there anything you’d like to hear?”
“How about ‘Piper Wit’?” I asked.
His brow furrowed. “I don’t recognize that one.”
“It’s about a clever Ruh who outwits a farmer.”
Gaskin shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”
I bent to pick up my lute. “Let me. It’s a song every one of us should know.”
“Pick something else,” Laren protested. “I’ll play you something on the pipes. You’ve played for us once already tonight.”
I smiled at him. “I forgot you piped. You’ll like this one,” I assured him, “Piper’s the hero. Besides, you’re feeding my belly, I’ll feed
your ears.” Before they could raise any more objections, I started to play, quick and light.
They laughed through the whole thing. From the beginning when Piper kills the farmer, to the end when he seduces the dead man’s wife and daughter. I left off the last two verses where the townsfolk kill Piper.
Laren wiped his eyes after I was done. “Heh.You’re right, Kvothe. I’m better off knowing that one. Besides . . .” He shot a look at Kete where she sat across the fire. “It’s an honest song. Women can’t keep their hands off a piper.”
Kete snorted derisively and rolled her eyes.
We talked of small things until Anne announced the stew was done. Everyone fell to, breaking the silence only to compliment Anne on her cooking.
“Honestly, Anne,” Alleg asked after his second bowl. “Did you lift a little pepper back in Levinshir?”
Anne looked smug. “We all need our secrets, dear,” she said. “Don’t press a lady.”
I asked Alleg, “Have times been good for you and yours?”
“Oh certainly,” he said between mouthfuls. “Three days ago Levinshir was especially good to us.” He winked. “You’ll see how good later.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“In fact.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “We’ve done so well that I feel quite generous. Generous enough to offer you anything you’d like. Anything at all. Ask and it is yours.” He leaned closer and said in a stage whisper, “I want you to know this is a blatant attempt to bribe you into staying on with us. We would make a thick purse off that lovely voice of yours.”
“Not to mention the songs he could teach us,” Gaskin chimed in.
Alleg gave a mock snarl. “Don’t help him bargain, boy. I have the feeling this is going to be hard enough as it is.”
I gave it a little thought. “I suppose I could stay. . . .” I let myself trail off uncertainly.
Alleg gave a knowing smile. “But ...”
“But I would ask for three things.”
“Hmm, three things.” He looked me up and down. “Just like in one of the stories.”