Feeling as if everyone in the room was watching me, I kept my eyes low and began to eat my dinner. As I tore off pieces of bread and dipped them in my soup, I composed a mental catalog of the extent of my idiocy. Surreptitiously, I watched the red-haired serving girl entertain and rebuff the ploys of a dozen men as she carried drinks from table to table.
I had regained a bit of my composure by the time Marten slid into a chair next to me. “You did a good job with Dedan out there,” he said without preamble.
My spirits lifted a bit. “Did I?”
Marten nodded slightly as his sharp eyes wandered over the crowd that filled the room. “Most folk try to bully him, make him feel stupid. He’d have paid you back ten times the trouble if you’d done it that way.”
“He was being stupid,” I pointed out. “And when you come right down to it, I did bully him.”
It was his turn to shrug. “But you did it smart, so he’ll still listen to you.” He took a drink and paused, changing the subject. “Hespe offered to share a room with him tonight,” he said casually.
“Really?” I said, more than slightly surprised. “She’s getting bolder.”
He gave a slow nod.
“And?” I prompted.
“And nothing. Dedan said he’d be damned before he spent money on a room he should have for free.” He slid his eyes to me and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not serious,” I said flatly. “He has to know. He’s just playing the simpleton because he doesn’t like her.”
“I don’t think so,” Marten said, turning toward me and lowering his voice a bit. “Three span ago we finished a caravan job from Ralien. It was a long haul, and Dedan and me had a pocket full of coin and nothing in particular to do with it, so by the end of the night we’re sitting in this grubby little dockside tavern, too drunk to stand up and leave. And he starts talking about her.”
Marten shook his head slowly. “He went on for an hour, and you wouldn’t have recognized the woman he was describing as our hard-eyed Hespe. He practically sang about her.” He sighed. “He thinks she’s too good for him. And he’s convinced if he so much as looked at her sideways he’d end up with his arm broken in three places.”
“Why didn’t you tell him?”
“Tell him what? That was before she started going all cow-eyed over him. I thought his worries were fairly sensible at the time. What do you think Hespe would do to you if you were to give her a friendly pat on any of her friendlier parts?”
I looked over to where Hespe stood at the bar. One foot tapped roughly in time to the rhythm of the fiddle. Other than that, the set of her shoulders, her eyes, the line of her jaw were all hard, almost belligerent. There was a small but noticeable gap between her and the men standing on either side of her at the bar.
“I probably wouldn’t risk my arm either,” I admitted. “But he has to know by now. He isn’t blind.”
“He’s no worse off than the rest of us.”
I started to protest, then glanced at the red-haired serving girl. “We could tell him,” I said. “You could. He trusts you.”
Marten sucked at his teeth with his tongue. “Nah,” he said, setting his drink down firmly. “It would just make things muddier. Either he’ll see it or he won’t. In his own time, in his own way.” He shrugged. “Or not, and the sun will still rise in the morning.”
Neither of us spoke for a long while. Marten watched the buzzing room over the top of his mug, his eyes growing distant. I let the noise of the place fade to a low comforting purr as I leaned against the wall, drowsing.
And as my thoughts untended tend to do, they wandered to Denna. I thought about the smell of her, the arch of her neck near her ear, the way her hands moved when she talked. I wondered where she was tonight, if she was well. I wondered just a bit if her thoughts ever wandered into warm musings of me. . . .
“. . . hunting bandits shouldn’t be hard. Besides, it’ll be nice to get the jump on them for a change, lawless damn ravel bastards.”
The words drew me out of my warm drowse like a fish yanked from a pool. The fiddler had stopped playing to have a drink, and in the relative quiet of the room Dedan’s voice was loud as a donkey’s bray. I opened my eyes and saw Marten was looking around in mild alarm too, no doubt roused by the same words that had caught my ear.
It only took me a second to spot Dedan. He was sitting two tables away, having a drunken conversation with a grey-haired farmer.
Marten was already getting to his feet. Not wanting to draw attention to the situation, I hissed, “Get him,” and forced myself back into my seat.
I gritted my teeth as Marten threaded quickly through the tables, tapped Dedan on the shoulder, and jerked a thumb toward the table where I sat. Dedan grumbled something I’m glad I didn’t hear and grudgingly pushed himself to his feet.
I forced my eyes to wander around the room rather than follow Dedan. Tempi was easy to spot in his mercenary reds. He was facing the hearth, watching the fiddler tune his instrument. There were several empty glasses on the table in front of him, and he had loosened the leather straps of his shirt. He eyed the fiddler with a strange intensity.
As I watched, a serving girl brought him another drink. He looked her over, his pale eyes moving pointedly up and down her body. She said something, and he kissed the back of her hand as smoothly as a courtier. She blushed and pushed at his shoulder playfully. One of his hands moved smoothly to the curve of her waist and rested there. She didn’t seem to mind.
Dedan stepped close to my table, eclipsing my view of Tempi just as the fiddler lifted his bow and began to saw out a jig. A dozen people came to their feet, eager to dance.
“What?” Dedan demanded as he came to stand in front of my table. “Have ye called me over here to tell me it’s gettin’ late? That I’ve got a busy day tomorrow and I should tuck my little self into bed?” He leaned forward onto the table, putting his eyes more on level with mine. I caught a sour smell on his breath: dreg. A cheap, repulsive liquor you can start fires with.
I laughed dismissively. “Hell, I’m not your mum.” Actually I had been about to say that very thing and scrambled mentally for something else to distract him with. My eye lighted on the redhead that had served me my dinner earlier that evening, and I leaned forward in my seat. “I was wondering if you could tell me something,” I said in my best conspiratorial tone.
His scowl gave way to curiosity, and I lowered my voice a little more. “You’ve been here before, right?” He nodded, leaning a little closer. “Do you know what that girl’s name is?” I nodded my head in the redhead’s direction.
Dedan took an over-careful look over his shoulder that surely would have drawn her attention if she hadn’t been facing away from us. “The blonde one the Adem’s pawin’ at?” Dedan asked.
“Redhead.”
Dedan’s broad forehead wrinkled as he squinted the far side of the room into focus. “Losine?” He asked softly. He turned to me, still squinting. “Little Losi?”
I shrugged and began to regret my choice of diversionary tactic.
An explosive laugh burst out of the big man and he half fell, half slid onto the bench across from me.
“Losi,” he chuckled a little more loudly than I liked. “Kvothe, I had you all wrong.” He slapped the table with the flat of his hand and laughed again, nearly tipping himself over backward on the bench. “Ah, you’ve got a good eye, boy, but you haven’t got a damn chance.”
My battered pride pricked up at this. “Why not? Isn’t she, well—” I trailed off, making an inarticulate gesture.
He somehow managed to gather my meaning. “A whore?” he asked incredulously. “God boy, no. There’s a couple around.” He made a sweeping gesture over his head, then lowered his voice to a more private level. “Not really whores, mind you. Just girls who don’t mind a little extra at night.” He paused, blinked. “Money. Extra money. And extra other things.” He chortled.
“I just thought . . .” I began weakly.
“Ay, any man who ever had eyes and balls thought that.” He leaned a little closer. “She’s a lusty little one. She’ll trip a man who catches her eye, but she can’t be talked or bought into bed. If she could, she’d be rich as the king of Vint.” He looked in her direction. “How much’s a roll with that worth? I’d give—”
He squinted in her direction, his lips moving as if going through some silent, complex arithmetic. After a moment he shrugged. “More than I’ve got.” He looked back to me, shrugged again. “Still, it’s no good wishing. Save yourself the trouble. If ye want, I know a lady here who’s no shame to look at. Might be willing to brighten up your evening.” He started to look around the room.
“No!” I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I was just curious, that’s all.” I sounded insincere and I knew it. “Thanks for filling me in.”
“Nothin’ to it.” He carefully got to his feet.
“Oh,” I said, as if a thought had just occurred to me. “Could you do me a favor?” He nodded and I gestured him closer. “I’m worried Hespe might end up talking about our job for the Maer. If the bandits hear we’re hunting them, things will get ten times harder.” A guilty look flashed across his face. “I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mention it, but you know how women like to talk.”
“I understand,” he said quickly as he stood up. “I’ll talk to her. Better to be careful.”
The hawk-faced fiddler finished his jig, and everyone clapped and stomped and pounded empty mugs on their tables. I sighed and rubbed my face into my hands. When I looked up I saw Marten at the table next to mine. He touched his fingers to his forehead and nodded a small salute. I gave a slight, seated bow. It’s always nice to have an appreciative audience.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Another Road, Another Forest
I TOOK A CERTAIN DARK pleasure in seeing a rather hungover Dedan on the road before the sun was fully in the sky the next morning. The large man carried himself delicately, but to give him due credit, he didn’t offer a word of complaint, unless the occasional low moan can be counted as a word.
Now that I was watching more closely, I spotted the marks of infatuation on Dedan. The way he said Hespe’s name. The coarse jokes he made when talking to her. Every few minutes he would find an excuse to glance in her direction. Always under some pretext: a stretch, an idle glance at the road, a gesture to the trees around us.
Despite this, Dedan remained oblivious to the sporadic courtship Hespe was paying him in return. At times it was amusing to watch, like a well-orchestrated Modegan tragedy. At times I wanted to strangle them both.
Tempi traveled wordlessly among us like a mute, well-behaved puppy. He watched everything: the trees, the road, the clouds. If it weren’t for the unquestionably intelligent look in his eyes, I’d have thought him a simpleton by this point. The few questions I put to him were still met with awkward fidgeting, nods, shrugs, or shakes of the head.
All the while my curiosity nagged at me. I knew the Lethani was just a piece of storybook nonsense, but part of me couldn’t help but wonder. Was he really saving his words? Could he really use his quiet like armor? Move fast as a snake? The truth was, after catching glimpses of what Elxa Dal and Fela could do by calling on the names of fire and stone, the thought of someone storing up words to burn as fuel didn’t seem nearly as foolish as it used to.
The five of us got to know each other in dribs and drabs, growing familiar with each other’s quirks. Dedan carefully groomed the ground where he lay his bedroll, not just removing twigs and stones, but stomping flat every tuft of grass or lump of dirt.
Hespe whistled tunelessly when she thought no one was listening and picked her teeth methodically after every meal. Marten wouldn’t eat meat that had the barest bit of pink to it or drink water that hadn’t been boiled or mixed with wine. He told the rest of us at least twice a day that we were fools for not doing the same.
But in terms of odd behavior, Tempi was the prize winner of the lot. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Didn’t speak.
Since we left the Pennysworth, he had made only one comment of his own free will. “Rain would make this road another road, this forest another forest.” He said each word distinctly, as if he had been deliberating on the statement all day. For all I knew, he had.
He washed himself obsessively. The rest of us would take advantage of a bathhouse when we stopped at an inn, but Tempi bathed every day. If there was a stream handy, he would bathe both at night and then again when he woke. Otherwise, he would wash himself using a cloth and some of his drinking water.
And twice a day without fail, he performed an elaborate ritual stretch, his hands making careful shapes and patterns in the air. It reminded me of the slow court dances they perform in Modeg.
It obviously kept him limber, but it was strange to watch. Hespe made jokes about how if the bandits asked us to dance, our sweet-smelling mercenary would be a wonderful help. But she said it quietly, when Tempi was out of earshot.
In terms of quirks, I suppose I was in no position to throw stones. I played my lute most evenings, when I wasn’t too weary from walking. I daresay it didn’t improve the others’ opinion of me as a tactical leader or arcanist.
As we neared our destination, I grew increasingly anxious. Marten was the only one of us truly suited to this work. Dedan and Hespe would be good in a fight, but they were troublesome to work with. Dedan was argumentative and stubborn. Hespe was lazy. She rarely helped prepare meals or clean up afterward unless she was asked, and even then her help was so grudging it was barely any help at all.
And then there was Tempi, a hired killer who wouldn’t look me in the eye or hold a conversation. A mercenary I firmly believed could look forward to a decent career in the Modegan theater. . . .
Five days after leaving Severen, we came to the area where the attacks had been made. A twenty-mile stretch of twisting road that ran through the Eld: no towns, no inns, not even an abandoned farm. An utterly isolated stretch of the king’s highway in the middle of an endless ancient wood. The natural habitat of bears, mad hermits, and poachers. A highwayman’s paradise.
Marten went scouting while the rest of us set up camp. An hour later he emerged from the trees, winded but in good spirits. He reassured us he hadn’t found sign of anyone else nearby.
“I can’t believe I’m defending tax collectors,” Dedan muttered disgustedly. Hespe gave a throaty laugh.
“You’re defending civilization,” I corrected. “And you’re keeping the roads safe. Besides, Maer Alveron does important things with those taxes.” I grinned. “Like pay us.”
“That’s what I’m fighting for,” Marten said.
After dinner, I outlined the only strategy I’d been able to come up with in five long days of thinking. I drew a curving line on the ground with a stick. “Okay. Here’s the road, about twenty miles of it.”
“Mieles.” The soft voice was Tempi’s.
“Excuse me?” I asked. This was the first thing I had heard him say in a day and a half.
“Miils?” His accent was so thick around the unfamiliar word that it took me a second to understand he was saying “miles.”
“Miles.” I said distinctly. I pointed in the direction of the road and held up one finger. “From here to the road is one mile. Today we walked fifteen miles.”
He nodded once.
I turned back to my drawing. “It’s safe to assume the bandits are within ten miles of the road.” I drew a box around my crude sketch of the road. “That gives us four hundred square miles of forest to search.”
There was a moment of silence as everyone absorbed that piece of information. Finally, Tempi spoke, “That is large.”
I nodded seriously. “It would take us months to search that much territory, but we shouldn’t have to.” I added a couple more lines to my drawing. “Every day Marten will scout ahead for us.” I looked up to him. “How much ground can you safely cover in a day?”
He th
ought for a second, looking around at the trees surrounding us. “This forest? With this much underscrub? About a square mile.”
“How many if you’re being careful?”
He smiled. “I’m always careful.”
I nodded and drew a line parallel to the road. “Marten will scout a strip about a half mile wide, about a mile back from the road. He’ll keep an eye out for their camp or their sentries so the rest of us don’t stumble into them accidentally.”
Hespe shook her head. “That’s no good. They won’t be that close to the road. If they’re looking to stay hid, they’ll be farther back. At least two or three miles.”
Dedan nodded. “I’d make sure I was at least four miles from the road before I hunkered down and made a habit of killing folk.”
“I think so too,” I agreed. “But they have to make their way to the road sooner or later. They have to post lookouts and travel back and forth for ambushes. They need to reprovision themselves. Since they’ve been here several months, odds are they’ve worn some sort of trail.”
I added a little detail to my dirt map with my stick. “After Marten has scouted, two of us will go in and make a careful search behind him. We’ll cover a thin strip of forest, searching it for any sign of their trail. The other two will keep an eye on the camp.
“We can cover about two miles a day. We’ll start on the north side of the road and search from west to east. If we don’t find a trail, we’ll cross to the south side of the road and work our way back from east to west.” I finished drawing in the dirt and stood back. “We’ll find their trail in a span of days. Maybe two, depending on our luck.” I leaned back and drove my stick into the ground.
Dedan stared bleakly at the rough map. “We’ll need more supplies.”
I nodded. “We’ll move camp every fifth day. Two of us will walk back to Crosson to get supplies. The other two will move the camp. Marten will rest.”