The Wise Man's Fear

and my friend the Maer would be the king.”

“Your friend?” I said appreciatively. “You know Maer Alveron?”

Threpe made a vacillating gesture. “Friend may be stretching things a little,” he admitted. “We’ve been corresponding for some years, exchanging news from our different corners of the world, doing each other a favor or two. It would be more appropriate to say we’re acquainted.”

“An impressive acquaintance. What is he like?”

“His letters are quite polite. Never a bit snobby even though he does stand quite a good rank above me,” Threpe said modestly. “He’s every bit a king except for the title and crown, you know. When Vintas formed, his family refused to surrender any of their plenary powers. That means the Maer has the authority to do most anything King Roderic himself can do: grant titles, raise an army, coin money, levy taxes—”

Threpe shook his head sharply. “Ah, I forget what I’m doing,” he said as he began to search his pockets. “I received a letter from him only yesterday.” He produced a piece of paper, unfolded it, then cleared his throat and read:

I know you are knee-deep in poets and musicians out there, and I am rather in need of a young man who is good with words. I cannot find anyone to suit me here in Severen. And, everything said, I would prefer the best.

He should be good with words above all, perhaps a musician of some sort. After that, I would desire him to be clever, well-spoken, mannerly, educated, and discreet. On reading this list you may see why I have had no luck finding such a one for myself. If you happen to know a man of this rare sort, encourage him to call on me.

I would tell you what use I intend to put him to, but the matter is of a private nature. . . .

Threpe studied the letter for a moment or two. “It goes on for a bit. Then he says, ‘As to the matter I mentioned before, I am in some haste. If there is no one suitable in Imre, please send me a letter by post. If you happen to send someone my way, encourage him to make speed.’ ” Threpe’s eyes scanned the paper for a moment more, his lips moving silently. “That’s all of it,” he said finally, and tucked it back into a pocket. “What do you think?”

“You do me a great—”

“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand impatiently. “You’re flattered. Skip all that.” He leaned forward seriously. “Will you do it? Will your studies,” he made a dismissive gesture westward, toward the University, “permit an absence of a season or so?”

I cleared my throat. “I’ve actually been considering taking my studies abroad for a time.”

The count burst into a wide grin and thumped the arm of his chair. “Good!” he laughed. “I thought I was going to have to pry you out of your precious University like a penny from a dead shim’s fist! This is a wonderful opportunity, you realize. Once in a lifetime, really.” He gave me a sly wink. “Besides, a young man like yourself would be hard-pressed to find a better patron than a man who’s richer than the king of Vint.”

“There’s some truth to that,” I admitted aloud. Silently, I thought, Could I hope for better assistance in my search for the Amyr?

“There’s much truth to that,” he chuckled. “How soon can you be ready to leave?”

I shrugged. “Tomorrow?”

Threpe raised an eyebrow. “You don’t give much time for the dust to settle, do you?”

“He said he was in haste, and I’d rather be early than late.”

“True. True.” He drew a silver gear-watch from his pocket, looked at it, then sighed as he clicked it closed. “I’ll have to miss some sleep tonight drafting a letter of introduction for you.”

I glanced at the window. “It’s not even dark yet,” I said. “How long do you expect it to take?”

“Hush,” he said crossly. “I write slowly, especially when I’m sending a letter to someone as important as the Maer. Plus I have to describe you, no easy task by itself.”

“Let me help you then,” I said. “No sense losing sleep on my account.” I smiled. “Besides, if there’s one thing I’m well-versed in it’s my own good qualities.”

The next day I made a round of hasty good-byes to everyone I knew at the University. I received heartfelt handshakes from Wilem and Simmon and a cheerful wave from Auri.

Kilvin grunted without looking up from his engraving and told me to write down any ideas I might have for the ever-burning lamp while I was away. Arwyl gave me a long, penetrating look through his spectacles and told me there would be a place for me in the Medica when I returned.

Elxa Dal was refreshing after the other masters’ reserved responses. He laughed and admitted he was a little jealous of my freedom. He advised me to take full advantage of every reckless opportunity that presented itself. If a thousand miles wasn’t enough to keep my escapades secret, he said, then nothing would.

I had no luck finding Elodin, and settled for sliding a note under the door of his office. Though since he never seemed to use the place, it might be months before he found it.

I bought a new travelsack and a few other things a sympathist should never be without: wax, string and wire, hook-needle and gut. My clothes were easy to pack, as I didn’t own many.

As I loaded my pack, I slowly realized I couldn’t take everything with me. This came as something of a shock. For so many years I’d been able to carry everything I’ve owned, usually with a hand to spare.

But since I’d moved into this small garret room, I’d begun gathering oddments and half-finished projects. I now had the luxury of two blankets. There were pages of notes, a circular piece of half-inscribed tin from the Fishery, a broken gear-clock I’d taken to pieces to see if I could put it back together again.

I finished loading my travelsack, then packed everything else into the trunk that sat at the foot of my bed. A few worn tools, a broken piece of slate I used for ciphering, a small wooden box with the handful of small treasures Auri had given me. . . .

Then I went downstairs and asked Anker if he would mind stowing my possessions in the basement until I returned. He admitted a little guiltily that before I’d started sleeping there, the tiny, slant-ceilinged room had been empty for years, and only used for storage. He was willing to leave it unrented if I promised to continue our current room-for-music arrangement after I returned. I gladly agreed, and swinging my lute case onto my shoulder I headed out the door.

I wasn’t entirely surprised to find Elodin on Stonebridge. Very little about the Master Namer surprised me these days. He sat on the waist-high stone lip of the bridge, swinging his bare feet over the hundred-foot drop to the river below.

“Hello Kvothe,” he said without turning his eyes from the churning water.

“Hello Master Elodin,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m going to be leaving the University for a term or two.”

“Are you really afraid?” I noticed a whisper of amusement in his quiet, resonant voice.

It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “It’s just a figure of speech.”

“The figures of our speaking are like pictures of names. Vague, weak names, but names nonetheless. Be mindful of them.” He looked up at me. “Sit with me for a moment.”

I started to excuse myself, then hesitated. He was my sponsor, after all. I set down my lute and travelsack on the flat stone of the bridge. A fond smile came over Elodin’s boyish face and he slapped the stone parapet next to himself with the flat of his hand, offering me a seat.

I looked over the edge with a hint of anxiety. “I’d rather not, Master Elodin.”

He gave me a reproachful look. “Caution suits an arcanist. Assurance suits a namer. Fear does not suit either. It does not suit you.” He slapped the stone again, more firmly this time.

I carefully climbed onto the parapet and swung my feet over the edge. The view was spectacular, exhilarating.

“Can you see the wind?”

I tried. For a moment it seemed as if . . . No. It was nothing. I shook my head.