The Wise Man's Fear tkc-2, page 66
part #2 of The Kingkiller Chronicle Series
Dedan scowled, grunted, and brought his hands up, making fists. He was a big man, and his mercenary leathers creaked and strained at the shoulders as he lifted his arms. He waited a moment, obviously hoping Tempi would make the first move, then he stomped forward, drew his arm back, and threw a punch, hard and heavy as a farmhand swinging an axe.
Tempi saw it coming and stepped away a third time. But halfway through his clumsy swing, everything about Dedan changed. He raised himself up on the balls of his feet and his ponderous haymaker punch evaporated. Suddenly, he no longer looked like a lumbering bull, and instead, he darted forward and snapped out three quick punches, fast as a bird’s wing flapping.
Tempi sidestepped one, slapped the other aside, but the third caught him high on the shoulder, spinning him partway around and knocking him backward. He took two quick steps out of Dedan’s reach, regained his balance, and shook himself slightly. Then he laughed, high and delighted.
The sound softened the expression on Dedan’s face, and he grinned in return, though he didn’t lower his hands or move off the balls of his feet. Despite this, Tempi stepped up, avoided another jab, and struck Dedan in the face with the flat of his hand. Not across the cheek, as if they were squabbling lovers onstage. Tempi’s hand came down from above and struck Dedan across the front of his face, from his forehead down to his chin.
“Arrhhgh!” Dedan shouted. “Black damn!” He staggered away, clutching at his nose. “What’s wrong with you? Did you just slap me?” He peered out at Tempi from behind his hand. “You fight like a woman.”
For a moment, Tempi looked as if he might object. Then he gave the first smile I had ever seen from him and gave a small nod and shrug instead. “Yes. I fight like a woman.”
Dedan hesitated, then laughed and clapped Tempi roughly on the shoulder. I half expected Tempi to dart away from his touch, but instead the Adem returned the gesture, even to the point of gripping Dedan’s shoulder and jostling him around playfully.
The display struck me as odd coming from someone who had been so reserved over the last several days, but I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Anything other than fidgety silence from the Adem was a blessing.
Even better, I now had a measure of Tempi’s fighting ability. Whether or not Dedan wanted to admit it, Tempi obviously had the better of him. I guessed the Adem reputation was more than just empty air.
Marten watched Tempi return to his seat. “Those clothes are still a problem,” the woodsman said, as if nothing much had happened. He eyed Tempi’s blood-red shirt and pants. “Might as well run around waving a flag as wear that in the trees.”
“I’ll talk with him about it,” I told the others. If Tempi was self-conscious about his Aturan, I guessed our conversation would go more smoothly without an audience. “And I’ll work out what he’ll do if he runs into them. You three can go settle in and get dinner started.”
The three of them scattered off, looking to claim the prime places for their bedrolls. Tempi watched them go, then turned back to look at me. He glanced down at the ground and took a small, shuffling step away.
“Tempi?”
He cocked his head and looked at me.
“We need to talk about your clothing.”
It happened again as soon as I started to talk. His attention slowly slid away from me, his eyes drifting down and to the side. As if he couldn’t be bothered to actually listen. As if he were a sulky child.
I don’t need to tell you how infuriating it is to try and have a discussion with a person who won’t look you in the eye. Still, I didn’t have the luxury of taking offense or putting off this talk. I’d already delayed this conversation too long.
“Tempi.” I fought the urge to snap my fingers in order to draw his attention back to me. “Your clothes are red,” I said, trying to keep it as simple as possible. “Easy to see. Dangerous.”
He gave no response for a long moment. Then his pale eyes darted up to mine and he nodded, a simple bob of the head.
I began to have a horrible suspicion that he might not actually understand what it was we were doing out here in the Eld. “Tempi, you know what we are doing out here, in the forest?”
Tempi’s eyes moved to my rough sketch in the dirt, then back up at me. He shrugged and made a vague gesture with both hands. “What is many but not all?”
At first I thought he was asking some strange philosophical question, then I realized he was asking for a word. I held up my hand and grabbed two of my fingers. “Some?” I grabbed three fingers. “Most?”
Tempi watched my hands intently, nodding. “Most,” he said, fidgeting. “I know most. Talk is fast.”
“We are looking for men.” His eyes slid away as soon as I started to speak, and I fought the urge to sigh. “We are trying to find men.”
Nod. “Yes. Hunt men.” He stressed the word. “Hunt visantha.”
At least he knew why we were here. “Red?” I reached out and touched the red leather strap that held the fabric of his shirt tight to his body. It was surprisingly soft. “For hunting? Do you have other clothes? Not red?”
Tempi looked down at his outfit, fidgeting. Then he nodded and went over to his pack and drew out a shirt of plain grey homespun. He held it up for me. “For hunting. But not fighting.”
I wasn’t sure what his distinction meant, but I was willing to let it go for now. “What will you do if visantha find you in the forest?” I asked. “Talk or fight?”
He seemed to think about it for a moment. “Not good at talk,” he admitted. “Visantha? Fight.”
I nodded. “One bandit, fight. Two, talk.”
He shrugged. “Can fight two.”
“Fight and win?”
He gave another nonchalant shrug and pointed to where Dedan was carefully picking twigs out of the sod. “Like him? Three or four.” He held out his hand, palm up, as if offering me something. “If three bandit, I fight. If four, I try best talk. I wait until three night. Then . . .” he made an odd, elaborate gesture with both hands. “Fire in tents.”
I relaxed, glad he had followed our earlier discussion. “Yes. Good. Thank you.”
The five of us had a quiet dinner of soup, bread, and a rather unimpressive gummy cheese we’d bought in Crosson. Dedan and Hespe bickered in a friendly way, and I speculated with Marten about what sort of weather we might expect over the next few days.
Other than that, there wasn’t much chatter. Two of us had already come to blows. We’d come a hundred miles since Severen, and we were all aware of the grim work ahead of us.
“Hold on,” Marten said. “What if they catch you?” He looked up at me. “We all have a plan if the bandits find us. We head back with them and you’ll track us down on the third day.”
I nodded. “And don’t forget the distraction.”
Marten looked anxious. “But what if they catch you? I don’t have any magic. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to track them down by that third night. Probably, sure. But tracking isn’t a certain thing. . . .”
“I’m just a harmless musician,” I reassured him. “I got in some trouble with the Baronet Banbride’s niece and thought it would be best if I legged it into the forest for a while.” I grinned. “They might rob me, but as I don’t have much, they’ll probably just let me go. I’m a persuasive fellow, and I don’t look like much of a threat.”
Dedan muttered something under his breath I was glad I couldn’t hear.
“But what if?” Hespe pressed. “Marten’s got a point. What if they take you back with them?”
That was something I hadn’t figured out yet, but rather than end the evening on a sour note, I smiled my most confident smile. “If they take me back to their camp, I should be able to kill them off myself without much trouble.” I shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. “I’ll meet you back at camp after the job is done.” I thumped the ground beside me, grinning.
I had intended it as a joke, sure Marten at least would chuckle at my flippant response. But I’d underestimated how deep Vintic superstition tends to run, and my comment was met with an uncomfortable silence.
There was little conversation after that. We drew lots for the watch, doused the fire, and one by one we drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Signs
After breakfast, Marten began teaching Tempi and me how to search for the bandits’ trail.
Anyone can spot a piece of torn shirt hanging from a branch or a footprint gouged into the dirt, but those things never happen in real life. They make for convenient plot devices in plays, but really, when have you ever torn your clothing so seriously that you’ve left a piece of it behind?
Never. The people we were hunting were clever, so we couldn’t count on them making any obvious mistakes. That meant Marten was the only one among us who had any idea what we were really looking for.
“Any broken twig,” he said. “They’ll mostly be where things are thick and tangled: waist high or ankle high.” He gestured as if kicking through thick scrub and pushing things aside with his hands. “Seeing the actual break is hard, so look at the leaves instead.” He gestured to a nearby bush. “What do you see there?”
Tempi pointed at a lower branch. He wore his plain grey homespun today, and without his mercenary reds, he looked even less imposing.
I looked where Tempi was pointing and saw the branch had been snapped, but not badly enough to break off.
“So someone has been through here?” I asked.
Marten shrugged his bow higher up on his shoulder. “I was. I did this last night.” He looked at us. “See how even the leaves that aren’t hanging strange are starting to wilt?
I nodded.
“That means someone has been by this way within a day or so. If it’s been two or three days, the leaves will brown out and die. You see both close to each other . . .” He looked at me.
“It means you have someone moving through the area more than once, days apart.”
He nodded. “Since I’m scouting and keeping an eye out for bandits, you’ll be the ones with your noses to the ground. When you find something like this, call me.”
“Call?” Tempi cupped his hands around his mouth and turned his head in different directions. He made a wide gesture to the surrounding trees and put his hand to his ear, pretending to listen.
Marten frowned. “You’re right. You can’t just go shouting for me.” He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. “Damn, we didn’t think this all the way through.”
I smiled at him. “I thought it through,” I said, and brought out a rough wooden whistle I’d carved last night. It only had two notes, but that was all we needed. I put it to my mouth and blew. Ta-ta DEE. Ta-ta DEE.
Marten grinned. “That’s a Will’s Widow, isn’t it? The pitch is dead on.”
I nodded. “That’s what I do.”
He cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, Will’s Widow is also called a night-jar.” He grimaced apologetically. “Night-jar, mind you. That’ll catch at the ear of any experienced woodsman like a fishhook if you go blowing it every time you want me to come take a look at something.”
I looked down at the whistle. “Black hands,” I swore. “I should have thought of that.”
“It’s a good idea,” he said. “We just need one for a daytime bird. Maybe a gold piper.” He whistled two notes. “That should be simple enough.”
“I’ll carve a different one tonight,” I said, then reached down for a twig. I snapped it and handed half to Marten. “This will do if I need to signal you today.”
He looked at the stick oddly. “How exactly will this help?”
“When we need your opinion on something we’ve found, I’ll do this.” I concentrated, muttered a binding, and moved my half of the stick.
Marten jumped two feet up and five feet back, dropping the stick. To his credit, he didn’t shout. “What in ten hells was that?” he hissed, wringing his hand.
His reaction had startled me, and my own heart was racing. “Marten, I’m sorry. It’s just a little sympathy.” I saw a wrinkle in between his eyebrows and changed my tack. “Just a small magic. It’s like a bit of magic string I use to tie two things together.”
I imagined Elxa Dal swallowing his tongue at this description, but pressed ahead. “I can tie these things together, so when I tug on mine . . .” I moved to stand over where his half of the twig lay on the ground. I raised my half, and the half on the ground lifted into the air.
My display had the desired effect. Moving together, the two twigs looked like the crudest, saddest string puppet in the world. Nothing to be frightened of. “It’s just like invisible string, except it won’t get tangled or caught on anything.”
“How hard will it pull at me?” he asked warily. “I don’t want it yanking me out of a tree when I’m scouting.”
“It’s just me on the other end of the string,” I said. “I’ll just jiggle it a bit. Like the float on a fishing line.”
Marten stopped wringing his hand and relaxed a little. “Startled me is all,” he said.
“That’s my fault,” I said. “I should have warned you.” I picked up the stick, handling it with a deliberate casualness. As if it were nothing more than an ordinary stick. Of course it was nothing more than an ordinary stick, but Marten needed to be reassured as to that point. It’s like Teccam said, nothing in the world is harder than convincing someone of an unfamiliar truth.
Marten showed us how to see when leaves or needles had been disturbed, how to spot when stones had been walked across, how to tell if moss or lichen had been damaged by someone’s passing.
The old huntsman was a surprisingly good teacher. He didn’t belabor his points, didn’t talk down to us, and didn’t mind questions. Even Tempi’s trouble with the language didn’t frustrate him.
Even so, it took hours. A full half day. Then, when I thought we were finally finished, Marten turned us around and started leading us back toward the camp.
“We’ve already been that way,” I said. “If we’re going to practice, let’s practice in the right direction.”
Marten ignored me and kept walking. “Tell me what you see.”
Twenty paces later, Tempi pointed. “Moss,” he said. “My foot. I walked.”
Realization dawned, and I began to see all the marks Tempi and I had made. For the next three hours, Marten walked us step by humiliating step back through the trees, showing us everything we had done to betray our presence there: a scuff against the lichen on a tree trunk, a piece of freshly broken rock, the discoloration of overturned pine needles.
Worst of all were a half-dozen bright green leaves that lay shredded on the ground in a tidy semicircle. Marten raised an eyebrow, and I blushed. I had plucked them from a nearby bush, idly shredding them while listening to Marten.
“Think twice and step carefully,” Marten said. “And keep an eye on each other.” He looked back and forth between Tempi and me. “We’re playing a dangerous game here.”
Then Marten showed us how to cover our tracks. It quickly became clear that a poorly concealed sign was often more obvious than one simply left alone. So over the next two hours we learned how to hide our mistakes and spot mistakes that others had tried to hide.
Only then, as afternoon was turning to evening, did Tempi and I begin searching this swath of forest bigger than most baronies. We walked close together, zigzagging back and forth, looking for any sign of the bandits’ trail.
I thought about the long days stretching out ahead of us. I’d thought searching the Archives had been tedious. But looking for a broken twig in this much forest made hunting for the gram seem like going to the baker for a bun.
In the Archives I had the chance to make accidental discoveries. In the Archives I’d had my friends: conversation, jokes, affection. Looking sideways at Tempi, I realized I could count the words he had said today: twenty-four, and the number of times he had met my eye: three.
How long would this take? Ten days? Twenty? Merciful Tehlu, could I spend a month out here without going mad?
With thoughts like this, when I saw some bark chipped off a tree and a tuft of grass bent the wrong way, I was flooded with relief.
Not wanting to get my hopes up, I motioned to Tempi. “Do you see anything here?” He nodded, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, then pointed to the grass I’d spotted. Then he pointed to a scuffed bit of exposed root I hadn’t noticed.
Almost light-headed with excitement, I pulled out the oak twig and signaled Marten. I twitched it very gently, not wanting to send him into another panic.
It was only two minutes before Marten came out of the trees, but in that time, I had already formed three plans as to how to track and kill the bandits, composed five apologetic soliloquies to Denna, and decided that when I got back to Severen, I would donate money to the Tehlin church as thanks for this tangible miracle.
I expected Marten to be irritated that we’d called him back so soon. But his expression was purely matter-of-fact as he came to stand next to us.
I pointed out the grass, the bark, and the root. “Tempi spotted the last.” I said, giving credit where credit is due.
“Good,” he said seriously. “Good job. There’s also a bent branch over there.” He gestured a few paces off to the right.
I turned to face the direction the trail seemed to indicate. “Odds are they’re going to be north of here,” I said. “Farther from the road. Do you think it would be better to scout things out a bit now, or wait until tomorrow when we’re fresh?”
Marten squinted at me. “Good lord, boy. These aren’t real trail signs. So obvious, all so close together.” He gave me a long look. “I left them. I needed to make sure you weren’t going to glaze over after a few minutes of looking.”
My elation fell from some place in my chest and landed around my feet, shattering like a glass jar tipped from a high shelf. My expression must have been pitiful, as Marten gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I should have told you. I’ll be doing it off and on every day. It’s the only chance we have to stay alert. This isn’t my first time hunting through haystacks, you know.”
