The Wise Man's Fear

thing.”

Tempi shook his head as he climbed to his feet. “Come. Stand.”

I stood, and Tempi stepped close to me. “Striking with the head is clever. It is quick. Can startle if opponent is not ready. But I am not not ready.”

He stepped closer still, until we were almost touching chests. “You are the loud man,” he said. “Your head is hard. My nose is soft.” He reached out and took hold of my head with both his hands. “You want this.” He brought my head down, slowly, until my forehead pressed his nose.

Tempi let go of my head. “Striking with the head is quick. For me, little time. Can I move?” He moved my head down as he pulled away, and this time my forehead came into contact with his mouth instead, as if he were giving me a kiss. “This is not good. The mouth is soft.”

He tipped my head back again. “If I am very fast . . .” He took a full step back and brought my head down farther, until my forehead touched his chest. He let me go and I stood back up. “This is still not good. My chest is not soft. But this man has a head harder than many.” His eyes twinkled a little, and I chuckled, realizing he had made a joke.

“So.” Tempi said, stepping back to where we were before. “What can Tempi do?” He motioned. “Strike with the head. Slow. I show.”

Vaguely nervous, I brought my head down slowly, as if trying to break his nose.

Matching my slow speed, Tempi leaned forward and tucked his chin a bit. It wasn’t much of a change, but this time as I brought my head down, my nose met the top of his head.

Tempi stepped back. “See? Cleverness. Not mad-thinking word fire.”

“It was very fast,” I said, feeling slightly embarrassed. “I could not see.”

“Yes. Fighting is fast. Train to be fast. Train, not word fire.”

He gestured earnest and met my eye, a rarity for him. “I tell this because you are the leader. You need the knowing. If you think I have secret ways and iron skin . . .” He looked away, shaking his head. Dangerous.

We both sat back down next to our packs.

“I heard it in a story,” I said by way of explanation. “A story like we tell around the fire at night.”

“But you,” he pointed to me. “You have fire in your hands. You have . . .” He snapped his fingers, then made a gesture like a fire roaring up suddenly. “You have the doing of this, and you think the Adem have word fires inside?”

I shrugged. “That is why I ask of the Lethani. It seems mad, but I have seen mad things be true, and I am curious.” I hesitated before asking my other question. “You said who knows the Lethani cannot lose a fight.”

“Yes. But not with word fires. The Lethani is a type of knowing.” Tempi paused, obviously considering his words carefully. “Lethani is most important thing. All Adem learn. Mercenary learn twice. Shehyn learn three times. Most important. But complicated. Lethani is . . . many things. But nothing touched or pointed to. Adem spend whole lives thinking on the Lethani. Very hard.

“Problem,” he said. “It is not my place to teach my leader. But you are my student in language. Women teach the Lethani. I am not such. It is part of civilization and you are a barbarian.” Gentle sorrow. “But you want to be civilization. And you have need of the Lethani.”

“Explain it,” I said. “I will try to understand.”

He nodded. “The Lethani is doing right things.”

I waited patiently for him to continue. After a minute, he gestured, frustration. “Now you ask questions.” He took a deep breath and repeated. “The Lethani is doing right things.”

I tried to think of an archetypical example of something good. “So the Lethani is giving a hungry child food to eat.”

He made the wavering motion that meant, yes and no. “The Lethani is not doing a thing. Lethani is the thing that shows us.”

“Lethani means rules? Laws?”

Tempi shook his head. “No.” He gestured to the forest around us. “Law is from outside, controlling. It is the . . . the horse mouth metal. And the head strings.” Questioning.

“Bridle and bit?” I suggested. Motioning as if pulling a horse’s head about with a pair of reins.

“Yes. Law is bridle and bit. It controls from outside. The Lethani . . .” He pointed between his eyes, then at his chest. “. . . lives inside. Lethani helps decide. Law is made because many have no understanding of Lethani.”

“So with the Lethani a person does not need to follow the law.”

Pause. “Perhaps.” Frustration. He drew out his sword and held it parallel to the ground, its edge pointing up. “If you were small, walking this sword would be like the Lethani.”

“Painful for feet?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Amusement.

Anger. Disapproval. “No. Difficult to walk. Easy to fall on one side. Difficult to stay.”

“The Lethani is very straight?”

“No.” Pause. “What is it called when there is many mountain and one place for walking?”

“A path? A pass?”

“Pass.” Tempi nodded. “The Lethani is like a pass in the mountains. Bends. Complicated. Pass is easy way through. Only way through. But not easy to see. Path that is easy much times not go through mountains. Sometimes goes nowhere. Starve. Fall onto hole.”

“So the Lethani is the right way through the mountains.”

Partial agreement. Excitement. “It is the right way through the mountains. But the Lethani is also knowing the right way. Both. And mountains are not just mountains. Mountains are everything.”

“So the Lethani is civilization.”

Pause. Yes and no. Tempi shook his head. Frustrated.

I thought back to what he had said about mercenaries having to learn the Lethani twice. “Is the Lethani fighting?” I asked.

“No.”

He said this with such absolute certainty that I had to ask the opposite to make sure. “Is the Lethani not fighting?”

“No. One who knows the Lethani knows when to fight and not fight.” Very important.

I decided to change directions. “Was it of the Lethani for you to fight today?”

“Yes. To show Adem is not afraid. We know with barbarians, not fighting is coward. Coward is weak. Not good for them to think. So with many watching, fight. Also, to show one Adem is worth many.”

“What if they had won?”

“Then barbarians know Tempi is not worth many.” Slight amusement.

“If they had won, would today’s fight be not of the Lethani?”

“No. If you fall and break a leg in mountain pass, it is still the pass. If I fail while following the Lethani, it is still the Lethani.” Serious. “This is why we are talking now. Today. With your knife. That was not the Lethani. It was not a right thing.”

“I was afraid you would be hurt.”

“The Lethani does not put down roots in fear,” he said, sounding as if he were reciting.

“Would it be the Lethani to let you be hurt?”

A shrug. “Perhaps.”

“Would it be of the Lethani to let you be . . .” Extreme emphasis. “Hurt?”

“Perhaps no. But they did not. To be first with the knife is not of the Lethani. If you win and are first with the knife, you do not win.” Vast disapproval.

I couldn’t puzzle out what he meant by the last. “I don’t understand,” I said.

“The Lethani is right action. Right way. Right time.” Tempi’s face suddenly lit up. “The old trader man,” he said with visible enthusiasm. “In the stories with the packs. What is the word?”

“Tinker?”