The Wise Man's Fear

or two of amusing gossip.

“They’re wondering who you are,” he said after one such couple had passed behind a hedge. “By tonight it will be all the talk. Are you an ambassador from Renere? A young noble looking for a rich fief and a wife to go along? Perhaps you are my long-lost son, a remnant from my wilder youth.” He chuckled to himself and patted my arm. He might have continued, but he stumbled on a protruding flagstone and almost fell. I steadied him quickly, and eased him onto a stone bench beside the path.

“Damn and bother,” he cursed, obviously embarrassed. “How would that have looked, the Maer scrabbling about like a beetle on its back?” He looked around crossly, but we seemed to be alone. “Would you do an old man a favor?”

“I am at your disposal, your grace.”

Alveron gave me a shrewd look. “Are you indeed? Well, it’s a little thing. Keep secretive about who you are and what your business is. It’ll do wonders for your reputation. The less you tell them, the more everyone will be wanting to get from you.”

“I’ll keep close about myself, your grace. But I would have better luck avoiding the subject of why I’m here if I knew what it was. . . .”

Alveron’s expression went sly. “True. But this is too public a place. You’ve shown good patience so far. Exercise it a while longer.” He looked up at me. “Would you be so kind as to walk me to my rooms?”

I held out my arm. “Certainly, your grace.”

After returning to my rooms, I removed my embroidered jacket and hung it in the carved rosewood wardrobe. The huge piece of furniture was lined with cedar and sandalwood, scenting the air. Large, flawless mirrors hung on the insides of the doors.

I walked across the polished marble floor and sat on a red velvet lounging couch. I idly wondered how exactly one was supposed to lounge. I couldn’t remember ever doing it myself. After a moment’s consideration, I decided lounging was probably similar to relaxing, but with more money in your pocket.

Restless, I got to my feet and moved around the room. There were paintings on the walls, portraits and pastoral scenes done skillfully in oil. One wall held a huge tapestry that showed a vast naval battle in intricate detail. That occupied my attention for almost half an hour.

I missed my lute.

It had been terribly hard to pawn it, like cutting off my hand. I’d fully expected to spend the next ten days sick with worry, anxious that I wouldn’t be able to buy it back.

But without meaning to, the Maer himself had set my mind at ease. In my wardrobe hung six suits of clothing, fine enough for any lord. When they had been delivered to my room, I’d felt myself relax. My first thought on seeing them wasn’t that I could now mingle comfortably with court society. I thought that if worse came to worst, I could steal them, sell them to a fripperer, and easily have enough money to reclaim my lute.

Of course if I did such a thing, I would burn all my bridges with the Maer. It would render my entire trip to Severen pointless, and would embarrass Threpe so profoundly that he might never speak to me again. Nevertheless, knowing I had that option gave me a thin thread of control over the situation. It was enough so I could keep from going absolutely mad with worry.

I missed my lute, but if I could gain the Maer’s patronage, my life’s road would grow suddenly smooth and straight. The Maer had money enough for me to continue my education at the University. His connections could help me continue my research into the Amyr.

Perhaps most important was the power of his name. If the Maer were my patron, I would be under his protection. Ambrose’s father might be the most powerful baron in all of Vintas, a dozen steps from royalty. But Alveron was practically a king in his own right. How much simpler would my life become without Ambrose endlessly spiking my wheel? It was a giddy thought.

I missed my lute, but all things have their price. For a chance of having the Maer as a patron, I was willing to grit my teeth and spend a span bored and anxious, without music.

Alveron turned out to be right about the curious nature of his attendant court. After he called me to his study that evening, rumor exploded like a brushfire around me. I could understand why the Maer enjoyed this sort of thing. It was like watching stories being born.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX Power

Alveron sent for me again the next day, and soon the two of us were strolling along the garden paths again, his hand resting lightly on my arm. “Let’s head toward the south side.” The Maer pointed with his walking stick. “I hear the selas will reach full bloom soon.”

We took the left turning of the path and he drew a breath. “There are two types of power: inherent and granted,” Alveron said, letting me know the topic of today’s conversation. “Inherent power you possess as a part of yourself. Granted power is lent or given by other people.” He looked sideways at me. I nodded.

Seeing my agreement, the Maer continued. “Inherent power is an obvious thing. Strength of body.” He patted my supporting arm. “Strength of mind. Strength of personality. All these things lie within a person. They define us. They determine our limits.”

“Not entirely, your grace,” I protested gently. “A man can always improve himself.”

“They limit us,” the Maer said firmly. “A man with one hand will never wrestle in the roundings. A man with one leg will never run as quickly as a man with two.”

“An Adem warrior with only one hand might be more deadly than a common warrior with two, your grace.” I pointed out. “Despite his deficiency.”

“True, true,” the Maer said crossly. “We can improve ourselves, exercise our bodies, educate our minds, groom ourselves carefully.” He ran a hand down his immaculate salt-and-pepper beard. “For even appearance is a type of power. But there are always limits. While a one-handed man might become a passable warrior, he could not play a lute.”

I nodded slowly. “You make a good point, your grace. Our power has limits we can extend, but not indefinitely.”

Alveron held up a finger. “But that is only the first type of power. We are only limited if we rely upon the power we ourselves possess. There is still the type of power that is given. Do you understand what I mean by granted power?”

I thought a moment. “Taxes?”

“Hmm,” the Maer said, surprised. “That’s a rather good example, actually. Have you put much thought into this sort of thing before?”

“A bit,” I admitted. “But never in these terms.”

“It is a difficult thing,” he said, sounding pleased by my response. “Which do you think is the greater type of power?”

I only had to think for a second. “The inherent, your grace.”

“Interesting. Why do you say that?”

“Because a power you possess yourself cannot be taken away, your grace.”

“Ah.” He raised a long finger as if to caution me. “But we’ve already agreed that type of power is severely limited. Granted power has no limits.”

“No limits, your grace?”

Alveron nodded his head in concession. “Very few limits, then.”

I still didn’t agree. The Maer must have seen it on my face because he leaned toward me to explain. “Let’s say I have an enemy, young and strong. Let’s say he has stolen something of mine, some money. Are you with me?”

I nodded.

“No manner of training will make me the match of a quarrelsome twenty-year-old. So what do I do? I get one of my young, strong friends to go and box his ears. With that strength I can accomplish a feat which would be