The Wise Man's Fear

  Alveron didn’t seem to notice. “As always, I trust to your discretion.” He got to his feet. “Unfortunately, I fear I have used up the better portion of our time. I’m certain you have other matters to attend to. Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss the Amyr? Second bell?”

  I had risen to my feet with the Maer. “If it please your grace, I have another matter that warrants some discussion.”

  He gave me a serious look. “I trust this is an important matter.”

  “Most urgent, your grace,” I said nervously. “It should not wait another day. I would have mentioned it sooner, had we both privacy and time.”

  “Very well,” he sat back down. “What presses you so direly?”

  “Lerand,” Meluan said with slight reproach. “It is past the hour. Hayanis will be waiting.”

  “Let him wait,” he said. “Kvothe has served me well in all regards. He does nothing lightly, and I ignore him only to my detriment.”

  “You flatter me, your grace. This matter is a grave one.” I glanced at Meluan. “And somewhat delicate as well. If your lady desires to leave, it might be for the best.”

  “If the matter is important, should I not stay?” she asked archly.

  I gave the Maer a questioning look.

  “Anything you wish to say to me you can tell my lady wife,” he said.

  I hesitated. I needed to tell Alveron about the false troupers soon. I was sure if he heard my version of events first, I could present them in a way that cast me in a favorable light. If word came through official channels first he might not be willing to overlook the bald facts of the situation, that I had slaughtered nine travelers of my own free will.

  Despite that, the last thing I wanted was Meluan present for the conversation. It couldn’t help but complicate the situation. I tried one final time. “It is a matter most dark, your grace.”

  Alveron shook his head, frowning slightly. “We have no secrets.”

  I fought down a resigned sigh and drew a thick piece of folded parchment from an inner pocket of my shaed. “Is this one of the writs of patronage your grace has granted?”

  His grey eyes flickered over it, showing some surprise. “Yes. How did you come by it?”

  “Oh, Lerand,” Meluan said. “I knew you let the beggars travel in your lands, but I never thought you would stoop to patronizing them as well.”

  “Only a handful of troupes,” he said. “As befitting my rank. Every respectable household has at least a few players.”

  “Mine,” Meluan said firmly, “does not.”

  “It is convenient to have one’s own troupe,” Alveron said gently. “And more convenient to have several. Then one can choose the proper entertainment to accompany whatever event you might be hosting. Where do you think the musicians at our wedding came from?”

  When Meluan’s expression did not soften, Alveron continued. “They’re not permitted to perform anything bawdy or heathen, dear. I keep them under most close controlment. And rest assured, no town in my lands would let a troupe perform unless they had a noble’s writ with them.”

  Alveron turned back to me. “Which brings us back to the matter at hand. How did you come to have their writ? The troupe must be doing poorly without it.”

  I hesitated. With Meluan here, I was unsure as to the best way to approach the subject. I’d planned on speaking to the Maer alone. “They are, your grace. They were killed.”

  The Maer showed no surprise. “I thought as much. Such things are unfortunate, but they happen from time to time.”

  Meluan’s eyes flashed. “I’d give a great deal to see them happen more often.”

  “Have you any idea who killed them?” the Maer asked.

  “In a certain manner of speaking, your grace.”

  He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Well then?”

  “I did.”

  “You did what?”

  I sighed. “I killed the men carrying that writ, your grace.”

  He stiffened in his seat. “What?”

  “They had kidnapped a pair of girls from a town they passed through.” I paused, looking for a delicate way of saying it in front of Meluan. “They were young girls, your grace, and the men were not kind to them.”

  Meluan’s expression, already hard, grew cold as ice at this. But before she could speak, Alveron demanded incredulously, “And you took it on yourself to kill them? An entire troupe of performers I had given license to?” He rubbed his forehead. “How many were there?”

  “Nine.”

  “Good lord . . .”

  “I think he did right,” Meluan said hotly. “I say you give him a score of guards and let him do the same to every ravel band of Ruh he finds within your lands.”

  “My dear,” Alveron said with a touch of sternness. “I don’t care for them much more than you, but law is law. When . . .”

  “Law is what you make it,” she interjected. “This man has done you a noble service. You should grant him fief and title and set him on your council.”

  “He killed nine of my subjects,” Alveron pointed out sternly. “When men step outside the rule of law, anarchy results. If I heard of this in passing, I would hang him for a bandit.”

  “He killed nine Ruh rapists. Nine murdering ravel thieves. Nine fewer Edema men in the world is a service to us all.” Meluan looked at me. “Sir. I think you did nothing but what was right and proper.”

  Her misdirected praise did nothing but fan the fire beneath my temper. “Not all of them were men, my lady,” I said to her.

  Meluan paled a bit at that remark.

  Alveron rubbed his face with a hand. “Good lord, man. Your honesty is like a felling axe.”

  “And I should mention,” I said seriously, “begging both your pardons, that those I killed were not Edema Ruh. They were not even a real troupe.”

  Alveron shook his head tiredly and tapped the writ in front of him. “It says here otherwise. Edema Ruh and troupers both.”

  “The writ was stolen goods, your grace. The folk I met on the road had killed a troupe of Ruh and taken up their place.”

  He gave me a curious look. “You seem rather certain of it.”

  “One of them told me so, your grace. He admitted they were merely impersonating a troupe. They were pretending to be Ruh.”

  Meluan looked as if she couldn’t decide whether she was confused or sickened by the thought. “Who would pretend such a thing?”

  Alveron nodded. “My wife makes a point,” he said. “It seems more likely that they lied to you. Who wouldn’t deny such a thing? Who would willingly admit to being one of the Edema Ruh?”

  I felt myself flush hot at this, suddenly ashamed that I had concealed my Edema Ruh blood for all this time. “I don’t doubt your original troupe were Edema Ruh, your grace. But the men I killed were not. No Ruh would do the things they did.”

  Meluan’s eyes flashed furiously. “You do not know them.”

  I met her eyes. “My lady, I think I know them rather well.”

  “But why?” Alveron asked. “Who in their right mind would try to pass themselves off as Edema Ruh?”

  “For ease of travel,” I said. “And the protection your name offers.”

  He shrugged my explanation away. “They were probably Ruh that tired of honest work and took up thieving instead.”

  “No, your grace,” I insisted. “They were not Edema Ruh.”

  Alveron gave me a reproachful look. “Come now. Who can tell the difference between bandits and a band of Ruh?”

  “There is no difference,” Meluan said crisply.

  “Your grace, I would know the difference,” I said hotly. “I am Edema Ruh.”

  Silence. Meluan’s expression turned from blank shock, to disbelief, to rage, to disgust. She came to her feet, looked for a moment as if she would spit on me, then walked stiffly out the door. There was a clatter as her personal guard came to attention and followed her out of the outer rooms.

  Alveron continued to look at me, his face seve
re. “If this is a joke, it is a poor one.”

  “It is none, your grace,” I said, wrestling with my temper.

  “And why have you found it necessary to hide this from me?”

  “I have not hidden it, your grace. You yourself have mentioned several times that I am far from gentle birth.”

  He struck the arm of his chair angrily. “You know what I mean! Why did you never mention that you are one of the Ruh?”

  “I think the reason rather obvious, your grace,” I said stiffly, trying to keep from spitting out the words. “The words ‘Edema Ruh’ have too strong a smell for many gentle noses.Your wife has found her perfume cannot cover it.”

  “My lady has had unfortunate dealings with the Ruh in the past,” he said by way of explanation. “You would do well to note.”

  “I know of her sister. Her family’s tragic shame. Run off and love a trouper. How terrible,” I said scathingly, my entire body prickling with hot rage. “Her sister’s sense does credit to her family; less so the actions of your lady wife. My blood is worth as much as any man’s, and more than most. And even were it not, she has no leave to treat me as she did.”

  Alveron’s expression hardened. “I rather think that she has leave to treat you as she will,” he said. “She was simply startled by your sudden proclamation. Given her feelings about you ravel, I think she showed remarkable restraint.”

  “I think she rues the truth. A trouper’s tongue has gotten her to bed more quickly than her sister.”

  As soon as I said it, I knew I had gone too far. I clenched my teeth to keep from saying anything worse.

  “That will be all,” Alveron said with cold formality, his eyes flat and angry.

  I left with all the angry dignity I could muster. Not because I had nothing else to say, but because if I had stayed one moment longer he would have called for guards, and that is not how I wished to make my exit.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY

  Just Rewards

  I WAS IN THE MIDDLE of dressing the following morning when an errand boy arrived bearing a thick envelope with Alveron’s seal. I took a seat by the window and discovered several letters inside. The outermost one read:Kvothe,

  I have thought a while and decided your blood matters but little in light of the services you have rendered me.

  However, my soul is bound to another whose comfort I hold more dearly than my own. Though I had hoped to retain your services, I cannot. What’s more, as your presence is the cause of my wife’s considerable distress, I must ask you to return my ring and leave Severen at your earliest convenience.

  I stopped reading, got to my feet, and opened the door to my rooms. A pair of Alveron’s guards were standing at attention in the hallway.

  “Sir?” one of them said, eyeing my half-dressed state.

  “Just checking,” I said, closing the door.

  I returned to my seat and picked up the letter again.

  As to the matter that precipitated this unfortunate circumstance, I believe you have acted in the best interest of myself and Vintas as a whole. In fact, I have received report just this morning that two girls were returned to their families in Levinshir by a red-haired “gentleman” named Kvothe.

  As reward for your many services I offer the following:

  First, a full pardon for those you killed near Levinshir.

  Second, a letter of credit enabling you to draw on my coffers for the payment of your tuition at the University.

  Third, a writ granting you the right to travel, play, and perform wherever you will within my lands.

  Lastly, my thanks.

  Maershon Lerand Alveron

  I sat for a few long minutes, watching the birds flit in the garden outside my window. The contents of the envelope were just as Alveron had said. The letter of credit was a work of art, signed and sealed in four places by Alveron and his chief exchequer.

  The writ was, if anything, even more lovely. It was drawn on a thick sheet of creamy vellum, signed by the Maer’s own hand and fixed with both his family’s seal and that of Alveron himself.

  But it was not a writ of patronage. I read through it carefully. By omission it made it clear that neither was I in the Maer’s service, nor were we bound to each other. Still, it granted free travel and the right to perform under his name. It was an odd compromise of a document.

  I’d just finished dressing when there came another knock on the door. I sighed, half expecting more guards coming to roust me out of my rooms.

  But opening the door revealed another runner boy. He carried a silver tray bearing another letter. This one had the Lackless seal upon the top. Beside it lay a ring. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, puzzled. It wasn’t iron, as I’d expected, but pale wood. Meluan’s name was burned crudely into the side of it.

  I noticed the runner boy’s wide eyes darting back and forth between the ring and myself. More importantly, I noticed the guards were not staring at it. Pointedly not staring. The sort of not-staring you only engage in when something very interesting has come to your attention.

  I handed the boy my silver ring. “Take this to Bredon,” I said. “And don’t dawdle.”

  Bredon was looking up at the guards as I opened the door. “Keep up the good work, my boys,” he said, playfully tapping one of them on the chest with his walking stick. The silver wolf’ s head chimed lightly against the guard’s breastplate, and Bredon smiled like a jolly uncle. “We all feel safer for your vigilance.”

  He closed the door behind himself and raised an eyebrow at me. “Lord’s mercy boy, you’re up the ladder by leaps and bounds. I knew you sat solid in the Maer’s good grace, but to have him assign you two of his personal guard?” He pressed his hand to his heart and sighed dramatically. “Soon you will be too busy for the likes of poor old useless Bredon.”

  I gave him a weak smile. “I think it’s more complicated than that.” I held up the wooden ring for him to see. “I need you to tell me what this means.”

  Bredon’s jovial cheer evaporated more quickly than if I’d pulled out a bloody knife. “Lord and lady,” he said. “Tell me you got that from some oldfashioned farmer.”

  I shook my head and handed it to him.

  He turned the ring over in his hands. “Meluan?” he asked quietly. Handing it back, he sank into a nearby chair, his walking stick across his knees. His face had gone slightly grey. “The Maer’s new lady wife sent you this? As a summons?”

  “It’s about as far from a summons as anything can be,” I said. “She sent a charming letter, too.” I held it up with my other hand.

  Bredon held out his hand. “Can I see it?” he asked, then drew his hand back quickly. “I’m sorry. That’s terribly rude of me to ask—”

  “You could do me no greater favor than reading it,” I said, pressing it into his hands. “I am in desperate need of your opinion.”

  Bredon took the letter and began to read, his lips moving slightly. His expression grew paler as he made his way down the page.

  “The lady has a gift for well-turned phrase,” I said.

  “That cannot be denied,” he said. “She might as well have written this in blood.”

  “I think she would have liked to,” I said. “But she would have had to kill herself to fill the second page.” I held it out to him.

  Bredon took it and continued to read, his face growing even paler. “Gods all around us,” he said. “Is ‘excrescence’ even a word?” he asked.

  “It is,” I said.

  Bredon finished the second page, then went back to the beginning and slowly read it through a second time. Finally he looked up at me. “If there were a woman,” he said, “who loved me with one-tenth the passion this lady feels for you, I would count myself the luckiest of men.”

  “What does this mean?” I asked, holding up the ring. I could smell smoke on it. She must have burned her name into it just this morning.

  “From a farmer?” he shrugged. “Many things, depending on the wood. But here? F
rom one of the nobility?” He shook his head, obviously at a loss for words.

  “I thought there were only three types of courtly rings,” I said.

  “Only three a person would use,” he said. “Only three that are sent and displayed. It used to be you sent wooden rings to summon servants. Those too low for iron. But that was a long while back. Eventually it became a terrible snub to send someone in the court a wooden ring.”

  “A snub I can live with,” I said, relieved. “I’ve been snubbed by better folk than her.”

  “That was a hundred years ago,” Bredon said. “Things have changed. The problem was, once the wooden rings were seen as a snub, some servants would be offended by them. You don’t want to offend the master of your stables, so you don’t send him a wooden ring. But if he doesn’t get a wooden ring, then your tailor might be offended by one.”

  I nodded my understanding. “And so on. Eventually anyone was offended by a wooden ring.”

  Bredon nodded. “A wise man is careful to stay on the good side of his servants,” he said. “Even the boy that brings your dinner can carry a grudge, and there are a thousand invisible revenges available to the lowest of them. Wooden rings aren’t used at all anymore. They probably would have fallen out of memory entirely if they weren’t used as a plot device in a handful of plays.”

  I looked at the ring. “So I’m lower than the boy who collects the slops.”

  Bredon cleared his throat self-consciously. “More than that, actually.” He pointed. “That means to her, you aren’t even a person. You aren’t worth recognizing as a human being.”

  “Ah,” I said. “I see.”

  I slid the wooden ring onto my finger and made a fist. It was quite a good fit, actually.

  “It’s not the sort of ring you wear,” Bredon said uncomfortably. “It’s quite the other sort of ring, actually.” He gave me a curious look. “I don’t suppose you still have Alveron’s ring?”

  “He’s asked for it back, actually.” I picked the Maer’s letter off the table and handed it to Bredon as well.