The Wise Man's Fear

for me, as I had no idea how to read Ademic.

I visited an apothecary where I was told I was not welcome, and a tailor where I was greeted warmly. I spent some of the three royals I’d stolen to buy two new sets of clothes, as those I had with me were showing their miles. I bought shirts and pants in muted colors after the local fashion, hoping they might help me fit in just a little better.

I also spent many hours watching the sword tree. At first I did this under Vashet’s direction, but before long I found myself drawn back when I had time of my own to spend. Its motions were hypnotic, comforting. At times it seemed the branches wrote against the sky, spelling the name of the wind.

True to her word, Vashet found me a sparring partner.

“Her name is Celean,” Vashet told me over breakfast. “Your first meeting will be at the sword tree at midday. You should take this morning to prepare yourself however you think is best.”

At last. A chance to prove myself. A chance to match wits with someone at my own level of skill. A real contest.

I was at the sword tree early, of course, and when I first saw them approaching, I had a moment of confused panic when I thought the small figure at Vashet’s side was Penthe, the woman who had beaten Shehyn.

Then I realized it couldn’t be Penthe. The figure approaching with Vashet was short, but the wind revealed a straight, lean body with none of Penthe’s curves. What’s more, the figure wore a shirt of bright cornsilk yellow, not mercenary red.

I fought down a stab of disappointment, even though I knew it was foolish. Vashet had said she had found a fair fight for me. Obviously it couldn’t be someone who had already taken the red.

They came closer still, and my excitement guttered and died.

It was a little girl. Not even a young girl of fourteen or so. It was a little girl, no more than ten by my best guess. She was skinny as a twig and so short her head barely made it up to my breastbone. Her grey eyes were huge in her tiny face.

I was humiliated. The only thing that kept me from crying out in protest was the fact that I knew Vashet would find it unspeakably rude.

“Celean, this is Kvothe,” Vashet said in Ademic.

This young girl looked me up and down appraisingly, then took an unconscious half-step closer. A compliment. She considered me enough of a threat that she wanted to be close enough to strike at me if necessary. It was closer than an adult would have stood, because she was shorter.

Polite greeting, I gestured.

Celean returned my gesture. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed the angle of her hands implied polite nonsubordinate greeting.

If Vashet saw it, she made no comment. “It is my desire that the two of you fight.”

Celean looked me over again, her narrow face set in the typical Adem impassivity. The wind blew at her hair, and I could see a half-healed cut running from above her eyebrow up into her hairline.

“Why?” the girl asked calmly. She didn’t seem afraid. It sounded more as if she couldn’t think of the least reason she would want to fight me.

“Because there are things you can learn from each other,” Vashet said. “And because I say you will.”

Vashet gestured to me: Attend. “Celean’s Ketan is quite exceptional. She has years of experience, and is easily the match of any two girls her size.”

Vashet tapped Celean on the shoulder twice. Caution. “Kvothe, on the other hand, is new to the Ketan and has much to learn. But he is stronger than you, and taller, with a better reach. He also possesses a barbarian’s cunning.”

I looked at Vashet, unsure if she were poking fun at me or not.

“Also,” Vashet continued to Celean, “you will very likely have your mother’s height when you are grown, so you should practice fighting those larger than yourself.” Attend. “Lastly, he is new to our language, and for this you will not mock him.”

The girl nodded. I noticed Vashet hadn’t specified I couldn’t be mocked for other reasons.

Vashet straightened and spoke formally. “Nothing with the intention to injure.” She held up fingers, marking the rules she had taught me when we started hand fighting. “You may strike hard, but not viciously. Be careful of the head and neck, and nothing at all toward the eyes. You are each responsible for the other’s safety. If one of you gains a solid submission against the other, do not attempt to break it. Signal fairly and count it the end of the bout.”

“I know this,” Celean said. Irritation.

“It bears repeating,” Vashet said. Stern rebuke. “Losing a fight is forgivable. Losing your temper is not. This is why I have brought you here instead of some little boy. Did I choose wrongly?”

Celean looked down. Apologetic regret. Embarrassed acceptance.

Vashet addressed us both. “Injuring another through carelessness is not of the Lethani.”

I couldn’t see how my beating up a ten-year-old girl was of the Lethani either, but I knew better than to say so.

And with that, Vashet left us alone, walking to a stone bench some forty feet away where another woman in mercenary reds was sitting. Celean made a complicated gesture I didn’t recognize toward Vashet’s back.

Then the young girl turned to face me, looking me up and down. “You are the first barbarian I have fought,” she said after a long moment. “Are you all red?” She lifted her hand to her own hair to clarify her meaning.

I shook my head. “Not many of us.”

She hesitated, then reached out her hand. “Can I touch it?”

I almost smiled at this, but caught myself. I ducked my head a bit and bent down so she could reach.

Celean ran her hand through my hair, then rubbed some between her thumb and forefinger. “It’s soft.” She gave a little laugh. “But it looks like metal.”

She let go of my hair and stepped back to a formal distance again. She gestured polite thanks, then brought up her hands. “Are you ready?”

I nodded uncertainly, bringing up my own hands.

I wasn’t ready. Celean darted forward, catching me flat-footed. Her arm drove out in a punch straight toward my groin. Raw instinct made me crouch so it struck my stomach instead.

Luckily, by this point I knew how to take a punch, and a month of hard training had made my stomach a sheet of muscle. Still, it felt like someone had thrown a rock at me, and I knew I’d have a bruise by dinner.

I got my feet under me and flicked an exploratory kick at her. I wanted to see how skittish she was, and hoped to make her back away so I could get my balance settled and make better use of my longer reach.

It turned out Celean wasn’t skittish at all. She didn’t back away. Instead she slipped alongside my leg and struck me squarely in the thick knot of muscle directly above the knee.

Because of this I couldn’t help but stagger when my foot came back down, leaving me off balance with Celean close enough to climb me if she wanted. She set her hands together, braced her feet, and struck me with Threshing Wheat. The force of it knocked me over backward.

Given the thick grass, it wasn’t a hard landing. I rolled to get some distance and came back to my feet. Celean chased me and made Thrown Lightning. She was fast, but I had longer legs, and managed to back away or block everything she threw. She faked a kick and I fell for it, giving her the opportunity to hit me right above the knee in the same place as before.

It hurt, but I didn’t stagger this time, instead stepping sideways and away. Still she followed me, relentless and overeager. And in her haste she left an opening.

But despite the bruises and the fall she’d already given me, I couldn’t bring myself to throw a punch at such a tiny girl. I knew how solidly I could hit Tempi or Vashet. But Celean was such a tiny twig of a thing. I worried I would hurt her. Hadn’t Vashet said we were responsible for each other’s safety?

So instead I grabbed her with Climbing Iron. My left hand missed, but the long, strong fingers of my right hand wrapped all the way around her slender wrist. I didn’t have her in the proper submission, but now it was a game of strength, and I couldn’t help but win. I already had her wrist, all that remained was to grip her shoulder and I’d have her in Sleeping Bear before—

Celean made Break Lion. But it wasn’t the version I had learned. Hers used both hands, striking and twisting