The Wise Man's Fear tkc-2, page 112
part #2 of The Kingkiller Chronicle Series
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
With 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
At eighth bell I made my way to the Maer’s rooms, leaving Caesura behind. I felt oddly naked without it. It’s strange how quickly we become accustomed to such things.
Stapes showed me into the Maer’s sitting room, and Alveron sent his manservant to invite Meluan to join us at her convenience. I wondered idly what would happen if she decided not to come? Would he ignore her for three days in silent rebuke?
Alveron settled onto a couch and gave me a speculative look. “I’ve heard some rumors surrounding your recent excursion,” he said. “Some rather fantastic things I’m not given to believing. Perhaps you’d like to tell me what really happened.”
For a moment I wondered how he’d managed to hear about my activities near Levinshir so quickly. Then I realized he wanted to know the details of our bandit hunt in the Eld. I breathed a mental sigh of relief. “I trust Dedan found you easily enough?” I asked.
Alveron nodded.
“I regretted having to send him in my stead, your grace. He is not a subtle creature.”
He shrugged. “No real harm was done. By the time he came to me the need for secrecy was past.”
“He did deliver my letter then?”
“Ah yes, the letter.” Alveron pulled it out of a nearby drawer. “I assumed it was some sort of odd joke.”
“Your grace?”
He gave me a frank stare, then looked down at my letter. “Twenty-seven men,” he read aloud. “Experienced mercenaries by their actions and appearance . . . A well-established camp with rudimentary fortifications.” He looked up again, “You can’t expect me to believe this as the truth. The five of you couldn’t possibly succeed against so many.”
“We surprised them, your grace,” I said with a certain smug understatement.
The Maer’s expression soured. “Come now, all provincial humor aside, I consider this to be in extremely poor taste. Simply tell me the truth and have done.”
“I have told you the truth, your grace. Had I known you would require proof I would have let Dedan bring you a sackful of thumbs. It took a full hour of arguing to drive the notion out of his head.”
This didn’t set the Maer back as I expected. “Perhaps you should have let him,” he said.
The humor of the situation was rapidly fading for me. “Your grace, if I were to lie to you, I would choose a more convincing tale.” I let him consider this for a moment. “Besides, if all you want is proof, simply send someone out to verify it. We burned the bodies, but the skulls will still be there. I’ll mark their camp for you on a map.”
The Maer took a different tack. “What of this other part? Their leader. The man who didn’t mind being shot through the leg? The one who stepped into his tent and ‘disappeared’?”
“True, your grace.”
Alveron eyed me for a long moment, then sighed. “Then I believe you,” he said. “But still, it’s strange and bitter news,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“Indeed, your grace.”
He gave me an oddly calculating look. “What do you make of it?”
Before I could answer, there was the sound of a female voice from the outer rooms. Alveron’s scowl vanished and he sat up straighter in his chair. I hid a smile behind my hand.
“It’s Meluan,” Alveron said. “If I am correct, she is bringing us the question I mentioned earlier.” He gave me a sly smile. “I think you will enjoy it, a puzzling thing indeed.”
CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-NINE
Lockless
Stapes escorted Meluan into the room while Alveron and I rose to our feet. She was dressed in grey and lavender, and her curling chestnut hair was pulled back to reveal her elegant neck.
Meluan was followed by two serving boys carrying a wooden chest. The Maer moved to take his wife’s elbow, while Stapes directed the boys to set the chest to one side of her chair. Alveron’s manservant hurried them outside and gave me a conspiratorial wink before he closed the door behind himself.
Still standing, I turned to Meluan and made my bows. “I am pleased to have the chance to meet with you again . . . my lady?” I made the last a question as I wasn’t sure how to address her. The Lackless lands used to be a full earldom, but that was before the bloodless rebellion, when they still controlled Tinuë. Her marriage to the Alveron complicated things too, as I wasn’t sure if there was a female counterpart to the title of Maershon.
Meluan waved her hand easily, dismissing the issue entirely. “Lady is well enough between us two, at least when we are closeted. I’ve no need for formality from one to whom I owe so great a debt.” She took hold of Alveron’s hand. “Please sit if you’ve a mind.”
I made another bow and took my seat, eyeing the chest as casually as possible. It was about the size of a large drum, made of well-jointed birch and bound in brass.
I knew the proper thing to do was engage in polite small talk until the matter of the chest was broached by one of the two of them. However, my curiosity got the better of me. “I was told you were bringing a question with you. It must be a weighty one for you to keep it so tightly bound.” I made a nod toward the chest.
Meluan looked at Alveron and laughed as if he had told a joke. “My husband said you weren’t the type to let a puzzle sit for very long.”
I gave a slightly shamefaced smile. “It goes against my nature, lady.”
“I would not have you battle your nature on my account.” She smiled. “Would you be so good as to bring it round in front of me?”
I managed to lift the chest without hurting myself, but if it weighed less than ten stone then I’m a poet.
Meluan sat forward in her chair, leaning over the chest. “Lerand has told me of the part you played in bringing us together. For that, my thanks. I hold myself in debt to you.” Her dark brown eyes were gravely serious. “However, I also consider the greater piece of that debt repaid by what I am about to show you. I can count on both hands the people who have seen this. Debt or no, I would never have considered showing you had not my husband vouchsafed me your full discretion.” She gave me a pointed look.
“By my hand, I will not speak of what I see to anyone,” I assured her, trying not to seem as eager as I was.
Meluan nodded. Then, rather than drawing out a key as I’d expected, she pressed her hands to the sides of the chest and slid two panels slightly. There was a soft click and the lid sprang slightly ajar.
Lockless, I thought to myself.
The open lid revealed another chest, smaller and flatter. It was the size of a bread box, and its flat brass lockplate held a keyhole that was not keyhole shaped, but a simple circle instead. Meluan drew something from a chain around her neck.
“May I see that?” I asked.
Meluan seemed surprised. “I beg your pardon?”
“That key. May I see it for a moment?”
“God’s bother,” Alveron exclaimed. “We haven’t come to the interesting bit yet. I offer you the mystery of an age and you admire the wrapping paper!”
Meluan handed me the key, and I gave it a quick but thorough examination, turning it in my hands. “I like to take my mysteries layer by layer,” I explained.
