The Wise Man's Fear

around your sexplay.”

“Vashet,” I said. “I . . .”

She cut me off with a sharp gesture. “Whatever you are about to say, I have doubtless heard before from my poet king. But there are only so many hours of light in the day. So I ask you this: are you desirous of sex?”

I gave a helpless shrug, knowing it would be pointless to deny it.

“Would you like to have sex with me?”

I could still smell her. At that moment, I wanted it more than anything. “Yes.”

“Are you free of disease?” she asked seriously.

I nodded, too off balance to be startled by the frankness of the question.

“Very well then. If I remember correctly, there is a nice patch of moss out of the wind not too far from here.” She began to walk up a nearby hill, her fingers working the buckle that fastened her sword’s scabbard over her shoulder. “Come with me.”

Her memory did serve her well. Two trees arched their branches over a thick bed of soft moss that was snugged up against a small stony bluff, sheltered from the wind by some convenient bushes.

It quickly became obvious that what Vashet had in mind was not an afternoon of twining idly in the shade. To say she was businesslike would be a great disservice to her, as Vashet’s laughter always ran very close to the surface. But she was not flirtatious or coy.

She stripped off her mercenary reds without the least fanfare or teasing, revealing a few scars, and a body hard and lean and corded with muscle. Which isn’t to say that she wasn’t also round and soft as well. Then she teased me for staring as if I’d never seen a naked woman before, when the truth was I’d simply never seen one standing full naked in the sunlight.

When I didn’t undress fast enough to suit her, Vashet laughed and mocked my bashfulness. Stepping close, she stripped me naked as a plucked chicken, then kissed me on the mouth, her warm skin pressing against the entire front of my body.

“I’ve never kissed a woman my own height before,” I mused when we stopped for a breath. “It’s a different experience.”

“See how I continue to be your teacher in all things?” she said. “Your next lesson is this: all women are the same height lying down. The same cannot be said for your sort, of course. Too much depends on a man’s mood and his natural gifts.”

Vashet took my hand and brought us both to lie on the soft moss. “There,” she said. “As I suspected. Now you are taller than me. Does this set you at your ease?”

It did.

I was prepared for things to be awkward after Vashet and I returned from the bushes, and was surprised to find they were nothing of the sort. She did not suddenly grow flirtatious, which I wouldn’t have known how to cope with. Neither did she feel obliged to treat me with any newfound tenderness. This became clear somewhere around the fifth time she managed to lure me off my guard, catch me with Thunder Upward, and throw me roughly to the ground.

In all, she acted as if nothing odd at all had happened. Which meant either nothing odd had happened or something very odd had happened and she was pointedly ignoring it.

Which meant that everything was lovely, or everything was going terribly wrong.

Later, as I ate supper alone, I rolled what I knew of the Adem around in my head. No nudity taboo. They didn’t consider physical contact particularly intimate. Vashet had been very casual both before, during, and after our encounter.

I thought back to the naked couple I had stumbled onto several days ago. They had been startled, but not embarrassed.

Sex was viewed differently here, obviously. But I didn’t know any of the specific differences. That meant I didn’t have the first idea of how to conduct myself properly. And that meant what I was doing was dangerous as walking around blind. More like running blind, really.

Normally if I had a question about the Adem culture, I asked Vashet. She was my touchstone. But I could imagine too many ways for that conversation to go astray, and her goodwill was all that stood between me and the loss of my fingers.

By the time I finished eating, I’d decided it would be best to simply follow Vashet’s lead. She was my teacher, after all.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED SEVENTEEN Barbarian Cunning

The days passed quickly, as days tend to do when there is much to fill them. Vashet continued to teach me, and I turned the whole of my attention toward being a clever and attentive student.

Our amorous encounters continued, punctuating my training. I never initiated them directly, but Vashet could tell when I was unproductively distracted and was quick to pull me down into the bushes. “In order to clear your foolish barbarian head,” as she said.

Before and afterward I still found these encounters troubling. During, however, I was far from anxious. Vashet seemed to enjoy herself as well.

That said, she didn’t seem the least interested in much of what I had learned from Felurian. She had no interest in playing ivy, and while she did enjoy thousand hands, she had little patience for it, and it usually ended up being more like seventy-five hands. Generally speaking, as soon as we had caught our breath, Vashet was tying on her mercenary reds and reminding me that if I kept forgetting to turn my heel out, I would never be able to hit any harder than a boy of six.

Not all my time was spent training with Vashet. When she was busy, she set me to practice the Ketan, consider the Lethani, or watch the other students spar.

There were a few afternoons or evenings when Vashet simply sent me on my way. So I explored the surrounding town and discovered Haert was much larger than I’d originally assumed. The difference was that all its houses and shops weren’t huddled together in a knot. They were scattered over several square miles of rocky hillside.

I found the baths early on. By which I mean, I was pointedly directed there by Vashet with instructions to wash off my barbarian stink.

They were a marvel. A sprawling stone building built on the top of what I guessed was either a natural hot spring or some marvelously engineered plumbing. There were large rooms full of water and small rooms full of steam. Rooms with deep pools for soaking, and rooms with great brass tubs for scrubbing. There was even one room with a pool big enough for swimming.

All through the building, the Adem mingled without any regard for age, gender, or state of undress. This didn’t surprise me nearly as much as it would have a month ago, but it still took a great deal of getting used to.

At first I found it hard not to stare at the breasts of the naked women. Then, when some of that novelty faded, I found it hard not to stare at the scars that crossed the bodies of mercenaries. It was easy to tell who had taken the red even when their clothes were off.

Rather than fight my urge to gawk, I found it easier to go early in the morning or late at night when the baths were largely empty. Coming and going at odd hours wasn’t difficult, as there was no lock on the door. It was open at all hours for anyone to use. Soap and candles and towels were available for the taking. The baths, Vashet told me, were maintained by the school.

I found the smithy by following the noise of ringing iron. The man working there was pleasantly talkative. He was glad to show me his tools and tell me the names for them in Ademic.

Once I knew to look, I saw there were signs above the doors of the stores. Pieces of wood carved or painted to show what was sold inside: bread, herbs, barrel staves. . . . None of the signs had words, which was fortunate