The Wise Man's Fear

otherwise impossible.”

“Your enemy could box your friend’s ears instead,” I pointed out as we rounded a corner. An arching trellis turned the path ahead of us into a shaded tunnel, thick with deep green leaves.

“Let’s say I got three friends together,” the Maer amended. “Suddenly I’ve been granted the strength of three men! My enemy, even if he were very strong, could never be as strong as that. Look to the selas. Terribly difficult to cultivate, they tell me.”

We entered the shadow of the trellis tunnel where hundreds of deep red petals blossomed in the shade of leaf and arch. The smell was sweet and tremulous. I brushed a hand across one of the deep red blooms. It was unspeakably soft. I thought of Denna.

The Maer returned to our discussion. “You’re missing the point, anyway. The lending of strength is just a small example. Some types of power can only be given.”

He made a subtle gesture to a corner of the garden. “Do you see Compte Farlend over there? If you asked him about his title, he would say he possesses it. He would claim it is a part of him as much as his own blood. A part of his blood, in fact. Almost any noble would say the same thing. They would argue their lineage imbued them with the right to rule.”

The Maer looked up at me, his eyes glittering in amusement. “But they’re wrong. It is not inherent power. It is granted. I could take away his lands and leave him a pauper on the street.”

Alveron motioned me closer, and I leaned a bit. “Here is a great secret. Even my title, my riches, my control over people and the land. It is only granted power. It belongs to me no more than does the strength of your arm.” He patted my hand and smiled at me. “But I know the difference, and that is why I am always in control.”

He straightened and spoke in normal tones. “Good afternoon, Compte. Lovely day to be out in the sun, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed, your grace. The selas are quite breathtaking.” The Compte was a heavy man with jowls and a thick mustache. “My compliments.”

After the compte had passed us by, Alveron continued. “You notice he complimented me on the selas? I have never touched a trowel in my life.” He looked sideways at me, his expression slightly smug. “Do you still think inherent power is the better of the two?”

“You make a compelling point, your grace,” I said. “However—”

“You’re a hard one to convince. One last example, then. Can we agree that I will never be able to give birth to a child?”

“I think that is safe to say, your grace.”

“Yet if a woman grants me the right to wed her, I can give birth to a son. Through granted power, a man can make himself as fast as a horse, as strong as an ox. Can inherent power do this for you?”

I couldn’t argue that. “I bow to your argument, your grace.”

“I bow to your wisdom in accepting it.” He chuckled, and at the same time the faint ringing of the hour moved through the garden. “Oh bother,” the Maer said, his expression souring. “I must go take that dreadful nostrum of mine or Caudicus will be completely unmanageable for a span of days.” I gave him a quizzical look and he explained. “He somehow discovered that I poured yesterday’s dose in the chamber pot.”

“Your grace should be mindful of your health.”

Alveron scowled. “You overstep yourself,” he snapped.

I flushed in embarrassment, but before I could apologize he waved me into silence. “You’re right, of course. I know my duty. But you sound just like him. One Caudicus is enough for me.”

He paused to nod toward an approaching couple. The man was tall and handsome, a few years older than myself. The woman was perhaps thirty, with dark eyes and an elegant, wicked mouth. “Good evening, Lady Hesua. I trust your father is continuing to improve?”

“Oh yes,” she said. “The surgeon says he should be up before the span is through.” She caught my eye and held it briefly, her red mouth curving into a knowing smile.

Then she was past us. I found myself sweating a bit.

If the Maer noticed, he ignored it. “Terrible woman. New man every span of days. Her father was wounded in a duel with Esquire Higton over an ‘inappropriate’ remark. A true remark, but that doesn’t count for much once the swords are out.”

“What of the squire?”

“Died the day after. Pity too. He was a good man, just didn’t know enough to mind his tongue.” He sighed and looked up at the belling tower. “As I was saying. One physician is quite enough for me. Caudicus clucks over me like a mother hen. I hate taking medicine when I am already on the mend.”

The Maer did seem better today. He hadn’t really needed the support of my arm during our walk. I sensed he only leaned on me to give us an excuse to be talking so close together. “Your improving health seems proof enough that his ministrations work to heal you,” I said.

“Yes, yes. His potives drive away my illness for a span of days. Sometimes for months.” He sighed bitterly. “But they always come back. Shall I be drinking potions the rest of my life?”

“Perhaps the need for them will pass, your grace.”

“I had hoped the same thing myself. In his recent travels Caudicus gathered some herbs that worked wondrous well. His last treatment left me hale for nearly a year. I thought I was finally free of it.” The Maer scowled down at his walking stick. “Yet here I am.”

“If I could aid you in any way, your grace, I would.”

Alveron turned his head to look me in the eye. After a moment he nodded to himself. “I do believe you would,” he said. “How extraordinary.”

Several conversations of a similar sort followed. I could tell the Maer was trying to get a feel for me. With all the skill learned in forty years of courtly intrigue, he steered the conversation in subtle ways, learning my opinions, determining whether or not I was worthy of his trust.

While I didn’t have the Maer’s experience, I was a fair conversationalist myself. I was always careful with my answers, always courteous. After a few days, a mutual respect began to grow between us. Not a friendship such as I had with Count Threpe. The Maer never encouraged me to disregard his title or sit in his presence, but we were growing closer. While Threpe was a friend, the Maer was like a distant grandfather: kind but older, serious, and reserved.

I got the impression the Maer was a lonely man, forced to remain aloof from his subjects and the members of his court. I almost suspected he might have sent to Threpe for a companion. Someone clever but removed from the politics of court so he could have an honest conversation once in a while.

At first I dismissed such an idea as unlikely, but the days continued to pass and still the Maer avoided any mention of what use he planned to put me to.

If I’d had my lute I could have passed the time pleasantly, but it still lay in Severen-Low, seven days away from belonging to the pawnshop. So there was no music, just my echoing rooms and my damnable useless idleness.

As rumors about me spread, various members of the court came to visit. Some made a pretense of welcoming me. Others made a show of wanting to gossip. I even suspected there were a few attempts at seduction, but at that point in my life I knew so little of women that I was immune to those games. One gentleman even tried to borrow money from me, and I was hard pressed not to laugh in his face.

They told different stories and used different degrees of subtlety, but they were all there for the same reason: to glean information from me. However, since I was under the Maer’s instructions to be tight-lipped about myself, all the conversations were brief and unsatisfying.

All but one, I should say. The exception proves the rule.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN A Handful of Iron