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Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (169 page)

BOOK: The Wise Man's Fear
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“I could not help but notice that you are armed,” he remarked, disapproval heavy on his voice.
My hand went unconsciously to Caesura. It was at my hip now, rather than over my shoulder. “Is there aught amiss with that, your grace? I have understood that all men keep the right to gird themselves in Vintas.”
“It is hardly
proper
.” He stressed the word.
“I understand that in the king’s court in Renere, there’s not a gentleman would dare be seen without a sword.”
“Well-spoken as you are, you are no gentleman,” Alveron pointed out coolly, “as you would do well to remember.”
I said nothing.
“Besides, it is a barbarian custom, and one that will bring the king to grief in time. No matter what the custom in Renere, in my city, my house, and my garden, you will not come before me armed.” He turned to look at me with hard eyes.
“I apologize if I have given any offense, your grace.” I stopped and offered him a more earnest bow than the one I’d given before.
My show of submission seemed to appease him. He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. “There’s no need for all that. Come, look at the mourningfire. The leaves will be turning soon.”
We walked for a piece of an hour, chatting amiably about small nothings. I was unfailingly polite and Alveron’s mood continued to improve. If catering to his ego kept me in his good graces, it was a small price to pay for his patronage.
“I must say that marriage suits your grace.”
“Thank you.” He nodded graciously. “I have found it much to my liking.”
“And your health continues well?” I asked, pressing the boundaries of public conversation.
“Exceeding well,” he said. “Another benefit of married life, no doubt.” He gave me a look that told me he would not appreciate further inquiry, at least not in so public a place as this.
We continued our walk, nodding to the nobles we passed. The Maer chatted on about trivialities, rumors in the court. I played along, filling my part in the conversation. But the truth was, I needed to have done with this so we could have an earnest conversation in private.
But I also knew Alveron could not be rushed into a discussion. Our talks had a ritual pattern. If I violated that, I would do nothing but annoy him. So I bided my time, smelled the flowers, and pretended interest in the gossip of the court.
After a quarter hour, there was a characteristic pause in the conversation. Next we would engage in an argument. After that we could go somewhere private enough to speak of important matters.
“I have always thought,” Alveron said at last, introducing the topic of our discussion, “that everyone has a question that rests in the center of who they are.”
“How do you mean, your grace?”
“I believe everyone has some question that drives them. A question that keeps them awake nights. A question they worry like a dog with an old bone. If you understand a man’s question, it brings you closer to understanding the man himself.” He looked sideways at me, half-smiling. “Or so I have always believed.”
I thought on it for a moment. “I would have to agree with you, your grace.”
Alveron raised an eyebrow at this. “As easy as that?” He sounded slightly disappointed. “I was expecting a bit of a struggle from you.”
I shook my head, glad for the easy opportunity to introduce a topic of my own. “I’ve been worrying at a question for some years now, and I expect I will worry it some few years more. So what you say makes a perfect sense to me.”
“Really?” he said hungrily. “What is it?”
I considered telling him the truth. About my search for the Chandrian and the death of my troupe. But there was no real chance of that. That secret still sat in my heart, heavy as a great smooth stone. It was too personal a thing to tell someone as clever as the Maer. What’s more, it would reveal my Edema Ruh blood, something I had not made public knowledge in the Maer’s court. The Maer knew I wasn’t nobility, but he didn’t know my blood was quite so low as that.
“It must be a heavy question for you to take so long in weighing it,” Alveron joked as I hesitated. “Come, I insist. In fact I will offer you a trade, a question for a question. Mayhap we will help each other to an answer.”
I could hardly hope for better encouragement than that. I thought for a moment, choosing my words carefully. “Where are the Amyr?”
“The bloody-handed Amyr,” Alveron mused softly to himself. He glanced sideways at me. “I assume you are not asking where their bodies are bestowed?”
“No, your grace,” I said somberly.
His face turned thoughtful. “Interesting.” I drew a relieved breath. I had half expected him to give a flip response, to tell me the Amyr were centuries dead. Instead he said, “I studied the Amyr a great deal when I was younger, you know.”
“Truly, your grace?” I said, surprised by my own good luck.
He looked at me, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Not
that
surprising. I wanted to
be
one of the Amyr when I was a boy.” He looked ever so slightly embarrassed. “Not all the stories are dark, you know. They did important things. They made hard choices that no one else was willing to. That sort of thing frightens people, but I believe they were a great force for good.”
“I’ve always thought so too,” I admitted. “Out of curiosity, which was your favorite story?”
“Atreyon,” Alveron said a little wistfully. “I haven’t thought of that in years. I could probably recite the Eight Oaths of Atreyon from memory.” He shook his head and glanced in my direction. “And you?”
“Atreyon is a bit bloody for me,” I admitted.
Alveron looked amused. “They weren’t called the bloody-handed Amyr for nothing,” he said. “The tattoos of the Ciradae were hardly decorative.”
“True,” I admitted. “Still, I prefer Sir Savien.”
“Of course,” he said, nodding. “You’re a romantic.”
We walked in silence for a moment, turning a corner and strolling past a fountain. “I was enamored with them as a child,” Alveron said at last, as if confessing something slightly embarassing. “Men and women with all the power of the church behind them. And that was at a time when all the power of Atur stood behind the church.” He smiled. “Brave, fierce, and answerable to no one save themselves and God.”
“And other Amyr,” I added.
“And, ultimately, the pontifex,” he finished. “I assume you’ve read his proclamation declaiming them?”
“Yes.”
We came to a small arching bridge of wood and stone, then stopped at the top of the arch and looked out over the water, watching the swans maneuver slowly on the current. “Do you know what I found when I was younger?” the Maer asked.
I shook my head.
“Once I’d grown too old for children’s stories of the Amyr, I started wondering more specific things. How many Amyr were there? How many were gentry? How many horse could they put to field for an armed action?” He turned slightly to gauge my reaction. “I was in Felton at the time. They have an old Aturan mendary where they keep church records for the whole of the northern farrel. I looked through their books for two days. Do you know what I found?”
“Nothing,” I said. “You didn’t find anything.”
Alveron turned to look at me. His expression held a carefully controlled surprise.
“I found the same thing at the University,” I said. “It seemed as if someone had removed information about the Amyr from the Archives there. Not everything, of course. But there were scarce few solid details.”
I could see the Maer’s own conclusions sparking to life behind his clever grey eyes. “And who would do such a thing?” he prompted.
“Who would have better reason than the Amyr themselves?” I said. “Which means they are still around, somewhere.”
“Thus your question.” Alveron started walking again, slower than before. “Where are the Amyr?”
We left the bridge and began to walk the path around the pond, the Maer’s face full of serious thought. “Would you believe I had the same thought after searching in the mendary?” he asked me. “I thought the Amyr might have avoided being brought to trial. Gone into hiding. I thought there might even be Amyr in the world after all this while, acting in secret for the greater good.”
I could feel the excitement bubbling in my chest. “What did you discover?” I asked eagerly.
“Discover?” Alveron looked surprised. “Nothing. My father died that year and I became Maer. I dismissed it as a boyish fancy.” He looked out over the water and the gently gliding swans. “But if you found this same thing half a world away. . . .” He trailed off.
“
And
I drew the same conclusion, your grace.”
Alveron nodded slowly. “It is disturbing that there might be a secret this important.” He looked around the garden at the walls of his estate. “And in my own lands. I don’t like that.” He turned back to me, his eyes sharp and clear. “How do you propose to search them out?”
I smiled ruefully. “As your grace pointed out, no matter how well-spoken or well-educated I am, I will never be nobility. I lack the connections and the resources to research this as thoroughly as I would like. But with your name to open doors, I could make a search of many private libraries. I could access archives and records too private or too hidden to be pruned. . . .”
Alveron nodded, his eyes not leaving mine. “I think I understand you. I, for one, would give a great deal to know the truth of this matter.”
He looked away as the sound of laughter drifted upward, mixing with the footsteps of a group of approaching nobles. “You’ve given me a great deal to think about,” he said in softer tones. “We will discuss this further in more privacy.”
“What time would be convenient for you to meet, your grace?”
Alveron gave me a long, speculative look. “Come to my rooms this evening. And since I cannot give you an answer, let me offer you a question of my own instead.”
“I value questions near as much, your grace.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-EIGHT
 
Notes
 
W
ITH NEARLY FIVE HOURS until my meeting with the Maer, I was finally free to go about my business in Severen-Low. From the horse lifts, the sky was so clear and blue it could break your heart to look at it. With that in mind, I made my way to the Four Tapers inn.
The taproom wasn’t busy, so it isn’t surprising that the innkeeper spotted me heading toward the back stairs. “Stop you!” he called out in broken Aturan. “Pay! Room only for paying men!”
Not wanting a scene, I approached the bar. The innkeeper was a thin, greasy man with a thick Lenatti accent. I smiled at him. “I was just visiting a friend. The woman in room three. Long dark hair.” I gestured to show how long. “Is she still here?”
“Ah,” he said, giving me a knowing look. “The girl. Her name Dinay?”
I nodded, knowing Denna changed her name as often as some other women changed their hair.
The greasy man nodded again. “Yes. The pretty dark eyes? She gone for long.”
My heart fell, despite the fact that I’d known better than to hope she would still be here after all this time. “Do you know where she might have gone?”
He barked a short laugh. “No. You and all the other wolves come sniffing after her. I could have sold knowing to you all to made a thick purse. But no, I haen’t idea.”
“Might she have left a message for me?” I asked without real hope. I hadn’t found any letter or note waiting for me at Alveron’s estate. “She was expecting me to find her here.”
“Was she?” he said mockingly, then seemed to remember something. “I think there a note found. Might be. Not much a reader me. You would like it?” He smiled.
I nodded, my heart lifting a little.
“She left without payment in her room,” he said. “Seventeen and a half pennies.”
I brought out a silver round and showed it to him. He reached for it, but I set it on the table and held it there with two fingers.
He scurried off into a back room and was gone for a long five minutes. He finally returned with a tightly folded piece of paper clutched in one hand. “I am find it,” he said triumphantly, waving it in my direction. “Not much good for paper here but kindling.”
I looked at the piece of paper and felt my spirits lift. It was folded against itself in the same fashion as the letter I’d had the tinker deliver. If she’d copied that trick, it meant she must have read my letter and left this note for me. Hopefully it would tell me where she had gone. How to find her. I slid the coin toward the innkeeper and took the note.
Once outside, I hurried to the shadow of a recessed doorway, knowing it was the closest thing to privacy I would find on the busy street. I tore the note open carefully, unfolded it, and edged into the light. It read:
Denna,
I have been forced to leave town on an errand for my patron. I will be away some time, perhaps several span. It was sudden and unavoidable, else I would have made a point to see you before I left.
I regret many of the things I said when we last spoke and wish I could apologize for them in person.
I will find you when I return.
Yours,
Kvothe
 
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