The Wise Man's Fear

by Patrick Rothfuss

  “Hoy,” I said, putting on the same accent. “You folk heading up Imre-way?”

  One of the men heaved his sack into the wagon and walked over, dusting off his hands. “Headin’ through there,” he said. “You looking for a ride?”

  I shook my head and brought the letter out of my travelsack. “I’ve got a letter for up that way. I was going to take it myself but my ship sails tomorrow. I bought it from a sailor off in Gannery for a full quater bit,” I said. “He had it himself off some noble gel for a single bit.” I winked. “She was quite urgent that it get to him, I hear.”

  “Yeh paid quater bit?” the man said, already shaking his head. “Yeh grummer. En’t nobody going to pay that much for a letter.”

  “Heh,” I said, holding up a finger. “Yeh en’t seen who’s it for yet.” I held it up for him to see.

  He squinted. “Jakis?” he said slowly, then his face lit with recognition. “Is that Baron Jakis’ boy, then?”

  I nodded smugly. “The eldest himself. Boy rich as that should pay a fair piece for a letter from his lady. Much as whole noble, I figure.”

  He eyed the letter. “Could be,” he said cautiously. “But look. It en’t got anything on it other than University. I been up that way. That en’t a small place.”

  “Baron Jakis’ boy en’t going to sleep in a tin shack,” I said crossly. “Ask someone what the fanciest place is, that’s where he’ll be.”

  The man nodded to himself, his hand creeping unconsciously toward his purse. “I suppose I could take it off your hands,” he said grudgingly. “But only at a quater bit. I’m taking a risk anyways at that.”

  “Have a heart, now!” I protested pitifully. “I brought it eight hundred miles! That’s worth better’n nothing!”

  “Fine,” he said, pulling coins out of his purse. “I’ll give you three bits then.”

  “I’d take half a round,” I grumbled.

  “You’ll take three bits,” he said, holding out a grubby hand.

  I handed him the letter. “Remember to tell him it’s from a noble lady,” I said as I turned to leave. “Rich tosh. Get whatever yeh can off him, that’s what I say.”

  I left the square, then straightened my shoulders and took off the hat. I pulled my shaed back out of my travelsack and swirled it easily around my shoulders. I started to whistle, and as I passed the bald old beggar, I returned his hat and gave him the three bits besides.

  When I first heard the stories people were telling about me at the University, I’d expected them to be short-lived. I thought they would flare up, then die just as quickly, like a fire exhausting its fuel.

  But that hadn’t been the case. The tales of Kvothe rescuing girls and bedding Felurian mixed and mingled with scraps of truth and the ridiculous lies I’d spread to bolster my reputation. There was fuel aplenty, so the stories swirled and spread like a brushfire with the wind blowing hard behind it.

  Honestly, I didn’t know if I should be amused or alarmed. When I went to Imre, people would point at me and whisper to each other. My notoriety spread until it was impossible for me to casually cross the river and eavesdrop on the stories people told.

  Tarbean, on the other hand, was forty miles away.

  After I left Drover’s Lot behind, I returned to the room I’d rented in one of the nicer parts of Tarbean. In this part of the city, the wind off the ocean brushed away the stink and the dust, leaving the air feeling sharp and clear. I called up water for a bath, and in a fit of lavish spending that would have left my younger self dizzy, I paid three pennies to have the porter take my clothes to the nearest Cealdish laundry.

  Then, clean and sweet smelling again, I went down to the taproom.

  I’d picked the inn carefully. It wasn’t fancy, but wasn’t seedy either. The taproom was low-ceilinged and intimate. It sat at the corner of two of Tarbean’s most well-traveled roads, and I could see Cealdish traders rubbing elbows with Yllish sailors and Vintish wagoneers. It was the perfect place for stories.

  It wasn’t long before I was lurking at the end of the bar, listening to how I had killed the Black Beast of Trebon. I was stunned. I had actually killed a rampaging draccus in Trebon, but when Nina had come to visit me a year ago, she hadn’t known my name. My growing reputation had somehow swept through the town of Trebon and gathered up that story in its wake.

  There at the bar, I learned many things. Apparently, I owned a ring of amber which could force demons to obey me. I could drink all night and never be the worse for it. Locks opened at the barest touch of my hand, and I had a cloak made all out of cobwebs and shadows.

  That was also the first time I heard anyone call me Kvothe the Arcane. It was not a new name, apparently. The cluster of men listening to the story simply nodded along when they heard it.

  I learned that Kvothe the Arcane knew a word that would stop arrows dead in the air. Kvothe the Arcane only bled if the knife that cut him was made of raw, untempered iron.

  The young clerk was building to the dramatic finish of the story, and I was genuinely curious as to how I was going to stop the demon beast with my ring shattered and my cloak of shadows nearly burned away. But just as I forced my way into Trebon’s church, shattering the door with a magic word and a single blow of my bare hand, the door of the inn burst open, startling everyone as it banged hard against the wall.

  A young couple stood there. The woman was young and beautiful, dark-haired and dark-eyed. The man was richly dressed and pale with panic. “I don’t know what’s the matter!” he cried, looking about wildly. “We were just walking and then she couldn’t breathe!”

  I was at her side before anyone else in the room had time to stand. She had half-collapsed onto an empty bench, with her escort hovering over her. She had one hand pressed against her chest while the other pushed him away weakly. The man ignored it and crowded close to her, speaking in a low, urgent voice. The woman kept sliding away from him until she was at the edge of the bench.

  I pushed him ungently aside. “I think she wants her space from you right now.”

  “Who are you?” he demanded, his voice shrill. “Are you a physician? Who is this man? Someone fetch a physician at once!” He tried to elbow me aside.

  “You!” I pointed to a large sailor sitting at a table. “Take this man and put him over there.” My voice snapped like a whip and the sailor jumped to his feet, grabbed the young gentleman by the back of his neck, and scuffed him tidily away.

  I turned back to the woman and watched as her perfect mouth opened. She strained and drew in only the barest rasp of a breath. Her eyes were wild and wet with fear. I moved close to her and spoke in my gentlest tones. “You will be fine. All is well,” I reassured her. “You need to look in my eyes.”

  Her eyes fixed on mine, then widened in recognition, in amazement. “I need you to breathe for me.” I laid one hand against her straining chest. Her skin was flushed and hot. Her heart was thrilling like a frightened bird. I laid my other hand along her face. I looked deeply into her eyes. They were like dark pools.

  I leaned close enough to kiss her. She smelled of selas flower, of green grass, of road dust. I felt her strain to breathe. I listened. I closed my eyes. I heard the whisper of a name.

  I spoke it soft, but close enough to brush against her lips. I spoke it quiet, but near enough so that the sound of it went twining through her hair. I spoke it hard and firm and dark and sweet.

  There was a rush of indrawn air. I opened my eyes. The room was still enough that I could hear the velvet rush of her second desperate breath. I relaxed.

  She laid her hand over mine, over her heart. “I need you to breathe for me,” she repeated. “That’s seven words.”

  “It is,” I said.

  “My hero,” Denna said, and drew a slow and smiling breath.

  “It were powerful strange,” I heard the sailor say on the other side of the room. “There were sommat in his voice. I swear by all the salt in me, I felt like a puppet with my string pulled.”

&nbs
p; I listened with half an ear. I guessed the deckhand simply knew to jump when a voice with the proper ring of authority told him to.

  But there was no sense in telling him that. My performance with Denna, combined with my bright hair and dark cloak, had identified me as Kvothe. So it would be magic, no matter what I had to say about it. I didn’t mind. What I had done tonight was worthy of a story or two.

  Because they recognized me, folk were watching us, but not coming very close. Denna’s gentleman friend had left before we thought to look for him, so the two of us enjoyed a certain privacy in our small corner of the taproom.

  “I should have known I’d come across you here,” she said. “You’re always where I least expect to find you. Have you migrated away from the University at last?”

  I shook my head. “I’m playing truant for a couple days.”

  “Are you heading back soon?”

  “Tomorrow, actually. I’ve got a fetter-cart.”

  She smiled. “Would you like some company?”

  I gave her a frank look. “You must know the answer to that.”

  Denna blushed a little and looked away. “I suppose I do.”

  When she looked down her hair cascaded off her shoulders, falling around her face. It smelled warm and rich, like sunshine and cider. “Your hair,” I said. “Lovely.”

  Surprisingly, she blushed even deeper at this and shook her head without looking up at me. “That’s what we’ve come to after all this time?” she said, darting a look up at me. “Flattery?”

  It was my turn to be embarrassed, and I stammered. “I ... I wouldn’t . . . I mean, I would . . .” I took a breath before reaching out to lightly touch a narrow, intricate braid, half-hidden in her hair. “Your braid,” I clarified. “It almost says lovely.”

  Her mouth made a perfect “o” of surprise, and one hand went self-consciously to her hair. “You can read it?” she said, her voice incredulous, her expression slightly horrified. “Merciful Tehlu, isn’t there anything you don’t know?”

  “I’ve been learning Yllish,” I said. “Or trying to. It’s got six strands instead of four, but it’s almost like a story knot, isn’t it?”

  “Almost?” she said. “It’s a damn sight more than almost.” Her fingers plucked at the piece of blue string at the end of her braid. “Even Yllish folk barely know Yllish these days,” she said under her breath, plainly irritated.

  “I’m not any good,” I said. “I just know some words.”

  “Even the ones that do speak it don’t bother with the knots.” She glared sideways at me. “And you’re supposed to read them with your fingers, not by looking at them.”

  “I’ve mostly had to learn by looking at pictures in books,” I said.

  Denna finally untied the blue string and began to unfurl the braid, her quick fingers smoothing it back into her hair.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I said. “I liked it better before.”

  “That’s rather the point, isn’t it?” She looked up at me, tilting her chin proudly as she shook out her hair. “There. What do you think now?”

  “I think I’m afraid to give you any more compliments,” I said, not exactly sure what I’d done wrong.

  Her demeanor softened a bit, her irritation fading. “It’s just embarrassing. I never expected anyone to be able to read it. How would you feel if someone saw you wearing a sign that said, ‘I am dashing and handsome’?”

  There was a pause. Before it could grow uncomfortable, I said, “Am I keeping you from anything pressing?”

  “Only Squire Strahota.” She made a negligent gesture toward her departed escort.

  “Pressing, was he?” I gave a half-smile, raising an eyebrow.

  “All men press, one way or another,” she said with mock severity.

  “They’re still keeping to their book then?”

  Denna’s expression grew rueful and she sighed. “I used to hope they’d disregard the book with age. Instead I’ve found they’ve merely turned a page.” She held up her hand, displaying a pair of rings. “Now instead of roses they give gold, and in the giving they grow sudden bold.”

  “At least you’re being bored by men of means,” I said consolingly.

  “Who wants a mean man?” she pointed out. “Little matter if his wealth is above or below the board.”

  I laid a gentling hand on her arm. “You must forgive these men of mercenary thought. These poor, rich men who, seeing that you can’t be caught, attempt to buy a thing they know cannot be bought.”

  Denna applauded delightedly. “A plea of grace for enemies!”

  “I merely point out that you yourself are not above the giving of gifts,” I said. “As I myself well know.”

  Her eyes hardened, and she shook her head. “There is a great difference between a gift given freely, and one that’s meant to tie you to a man.”

  “There’s truth to that,” I admitted.“Gold can make a chain as easily as iron. Still, one can hardly blame a man who hopes to decorate you.”

  “Hardly,” she said with smile that was both wry and weary. “Many of their suggestions are rather indecorous.” She looked at me. “What of you? Would you have me decorated or indecorous?”

  “I have given some thought to that,” I said with a secret smile, knowing I had her ring tucked safely away in my room at Anker’s. I made a show of looking her over. “Both have their merits, but gold is not for you. You are too bright for burnishing.”

  Denna gripped my arm and squeezed it, giving me a fond smile. “Oh my Kvothe, I’ve missed you. Half the reason I came back to this corner of the world was in the hope of finding you.” She stood and held out her arm to me. “Come, take me away from all this.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-EIGHT

  The Stories of Stones

  ON THE LONG RIDE back to Imre, Denna and I spoke of a hundred small things. She told me about the cities she had seen: Tinuë, Vartheret, Andenivan. I told her about Ademre and showed her a few pieces of hand-language.

  She teased me about my growing fame, and I told her the truth behind the stories. I told her how things had fallen out with the Maer, and she was properly outraged on my behalf.

  But there was much we didn’t discuss. Neither of us mentioned how we’d parted ways in Severen. I didn’t know if she had left in anger after our argument, or if she thought I had abandoned her. Any question seemed dangerous. Such a discussion would be uncomfortable at best. At worst it might reignite our previous argument, and that was something I was desperate to avoid.

  Denna carried her harp with her, as well as a large traveling trunk. I guessed her song was finished, and she must be performing it. It bothered me that she would play it in Imre, where countless singers and minstrels would hear and carry it out across the world.

  Despite this, I said nothing. I knew that would be a hard conversation, and I needed to pick the time for it carefully.

  Neither did I mention her patron, though what the Cthaeh had told me preyed on my mind. I thought on it endlessly. Had dreams about it.

  Felurian was another matter we didn’t discuss. For all the jokes Denna made about my rescuing bandits and killing virgins, she never mentioned Felurian. She must have heard the song I’d written, as it was much more popular than the other stories she seemed to know so well. But she never mentioned it, and I was not enough of a fool to bring it up myself.

  So as we rode there were many things unspoken. The tension built in the air between us as the road jounced away beneath the cart’s wheels. There were gaps and breaks in our conversation, silences that stretched too long, silences that were short but terrifyingly deep.

  We were trapped in the middle of one of those silences when we finally arrived in Imre. I dropped her off at the Boar’s Head, where she planned to take rooms. I helped her carry her trunk upstairs, but the silence was even deeper there. So I skirted hastily around it, bid her a fond farewell, and fled without so much as kissing her hand.

  That night I thought of ten
thousand things I could have said to her. I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep until the deep, late hours of night.

  I woke early, feeling anxious and uneasy. I had breakfast with Simmon and Fela, then went to Adept Sympathy where Fenton beat me handily three duels in a row, setting him in the top rank for the first time since I’d returned to the University.

  With no other classes, I bathed and spent long minutes looking through my clothes before deciding on a simple shirt and the green vest Fela said set off my eyes. I worked my shaed into a short cape, then decided not to wear it. I didn’t want Denna thinking of Felurian when I came to call.

  Lastly, I slipped Denna’s ring into my vest pocket and set off across the river to Imre.

  Once at the Boar’s Head I hardly had a chance to touch the door handle before Denna opened it and stepped out onto the street, handing me a basket lunch.

  I was more than slightly surprised. “How did you know. . .?”

  She wore a pale blue dress that flattered her and smiled winsomely as she linked arms with me. “Woman’s intuition.”

  “Ah,” I said, trying to sound wise. The nearness of her was almost painful. The warmth of her hand on my arm, the smell of her like green leaves and the air before a summer storm. “Do you know where we are bound as well?”

  “Only that you will take me there.” When she spoke she turned to face me, and I felt her breath against the side of my neck. “I gladly leave my trust in you.”

  I turned to face her, thinking to say one of the clever things I’d thought of last night. But when I met her eyes all words left me. I was lost in wonder, for how long I cannot even guess. For a long moment I was wholly hers. . . .

  Denna laughed, jogging me from a reverie that might have stretched a moment or a minute. We made our way out of town, talking as easily as if there had never been a thing between us but sunlight and spring air.