The Wise Man's Fear

the ground.

I was up quickly with no harm done. It was a gentle throw on soft turf, and Tempi had taught me how to fall without hurting myself. But before I could advance again Shehyn stopped me with a gesture.

“Tempi has both taught you and not taught you,” she said, her expression unreadable. I forced my eyes away from her face again. So hard to break that lifetime’s worth of habit. “Which is both bad and good. Come.” She turned and walked closer to the tree.

It was bigger than I had thought. The smaller branches moved in wild, curving patterns as the wind tossed them about.

Shehyn picked up a fallen leaf and handed it to me. It was broad and flat, the size of a small plate, and surprisingly heavy. My hand stung and I saw a thin line of blood trailing down my thumb.

I examined the edge of the leaf and saw it was rigid, its edge as sharp as a blade of grass. Sword tree indeed. I looked up at the spinning leaves. Anyone standing near the tree when the wind was high would be cut to ribbons.

Shehyn said, “If you were to attack this tree, what would you do? Would you strike the root? No. Too strong. Would you strike the leaf? No. Too fast. Where then?”

“The branch.”

“The branch.” Agreement. She turned to me. “That is what Tempi has not taught you. It would have been wrong for him to teach you that. Nevertheless, you have suffered for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

She gestured for me to begin the Ketan. Automatically I fell into Catch Sparrows.

“Stop.” I froze in position. “If I am to attack you, where should it be? Here, at the root?” She pushed my leg and found it unyielding. “Here at the leaf?” She pushed at my upheld hand, moving it easily, but accomplishing little else. “Here. The branch.” She pushed gently against one of my shoulders, moving me easily. “And here.” She added pressure to my hip, spinning me around. “Do you see? You find the place to spend your strength, or it is wasted. Wasting strength is not of the Lethani.”

“Yes, Shehyn.”

She raised her hands, falling into the position where I had caught her before, midway through Heron Falling. “Make Thunder Upward. Where is my root?”

I pointed to her solidly planted feet.

“Where is the leaf?”

I pointed to her hands.

“No. From here to here is the leaf.” She indicated her whole arm and demonstrated how she could freely strike with her hands, elbows or shoulders. “Where is the branch?”

I thought for a long moment, then tapped her knee.

Though she gave no sign of it, I sensed her surprise. “And?”

I tapped her opposite side under her armpit, then her shoulder.

“Show me.”

I came in close to her, set one leg close against her knee, and made Thunder Upward, throwing her to the side. I was surprised at how little force was required.

However, instead of being thrown into the air to tumble to the ground, Shehyn gripped my forearm. I felt a jolt run up my arm and was pulled one staggering step to the side. Rather than being thrown Shehyn used her grip as leverage so her feet came down beneath her. She took a single perfect step and had her balance again.

Shehyn looked me straight in the eye for a long, speculative moment, then turned to leave, gesturing for me to follow.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED ELEVEN A Liar and a Thief

Shehyn and I returned to the complex of stone buildings to find Tempi standing outside, shifting nervously from foot to foot. That confirmed my suspicion. He hadn’t sent Shehyn to test me. She had found me on her own.

When we came close enough, Tempi held his sword out in his right hand, point down. His left hand gestured elaborate respect. “Shehyn,” he said, “I—”

Shehyn motioned for him to follow as she entered the low stone building. She motioned to a young boy. “Fetch Carceret.” The boy took off running.

Curiosity. I gestured to Tempi.

He didn’t look at me. Profound seriousness. Attend. It didn’t reassure me that these were the same gestures he had made on the road to Crosson when he thought we were walking into an ambush. His hands, I noticed, were shaking slightly.

Shehyn led us to an open doorway where a woman in mercenary reds joined us. I recognized the thin scars on her eyebrow and jaw. This was Carceret, the mercenary we had met while heading to Severen, the one who had pushed me.

Shehyn motioned the two mercenaries inside, but held up a hand to me. “Wait here. What Tempi has done is not good. I will listen. Then I will decide what is to be done with you.”

I nodded, and she closed the door behind her.

I waited for an hour, then two. I strained my ears, but I couldn’t hear anything from the other side of the door. A few people walked past in the hallway: two in mercenary reds, and another in simple grey homespun. Each of them looked at my hair, though none of them stared.

Instead of smiling and nodding as would have been sociable among barbarians, I kept my face blank, returned their small gestures of greeting, and avoided touching eyes.

Somewhere past the third hour, the door opened and Shehyn waved me inside.

It was a well-lit room with walls of finished stone. It was the size of a large bedroom at an inn, but seemed even larger due to the lack of any significant furniture. There was a small iron stove radiating gentle heat near one wall, and four chairs facing each other in a rough circle. Tempi, Shehyn, and Carceret filled three of them. At a gesture from Shehyn, I took the fourth.

“How many have you killed?” Shehyn asked. Her tone was different than before. Peremptory. It was the same tone Tempi used during our discussions of the Lethani.

“Many.” I responded without any hesitation. I might be thick at times, but I know when I’m being tested.

“How many is many?” Not a request for clarification. It was a new question.

“In killing men, one is many.”

She nodded slightly. “Have you killed men outside of the Lethani?”

“Perhaps.”

“Why do you not say yes or no?”

“Because the Lethani has not always been clear to me.”

“And why is that?”

“Because the Lethani is not always clear.”

“What makes the Lethani clear?”

I hesitated, though I knew it wasn’t the right thing to do. “The words of a teacher.”

“Can one teach the Lethani?”

I began to gesture uncertainty, then remembered hand-talk wasn’t appropriate. “Perhaps,” I said. “I cannot.”

Tempi shifted slightly in his chair. This wasn’t going well. For lack of any other ideas, I took a deep breath, relaxed, and tipped my mind gently into Spinning Leaf.

“Who knows the Lethani?” Shehyn asked.

“The windblown leaf,” I responded, though I cannot honestly say what I meant by it.