The Wise Man's Fear Part 53

Alveron gave me a shrewd look. "Are you indeed? Well, it's a little thing. Keep secretive about who you are and what your business is. It'll do wonders for your reputation. The less you tell them, the more everyone will be wanting to get from you."

"I'll keep close about myself, your grace. But I would have better luck avoiding the subject of why I'm here if I knew what it was... ."

Alveron's expression went sly. "True. But this is too public a place. You've shown good patience so far. Exercise it a while longer." He looked up at me. "Would you be so kind as to walk me to my rooms?"

I held out my arm. "Certainly, your grace."

After returning to my rooms, I removed my embroidered jacket and hung it in the carved rosewood wardrobe. The huge piece of furniture was lined with cedar and sandalwood, scenting the air. Large, flawless mirrors hung on the insides of the doors.

I walked across the polished marble floor and sat on a red velvet lounging couch. I idly wondered how exactly one was supposed to lounge. I couldn't remember ever doing it myself. After a moment's consideration, I decided lounging was probably similar to relaxing, but with more money in your pocket.

Restless, I got to my feet and moved around the room. There were paintings on the walls, portraits and pastoral scenes done skillfully in oil. One wall held a huge tapestry that showed a vast naval battle in intricate detail. That occupied my attention for almost half an hour.

I missed my lute.

It had been terribly hard to p.a.w.n it, like cutting off my hand. I'd fully expected to spend the next ten days sick with worry, anxious that I wouldn't be able to buy it back.

But without meaning to, the Maer himself had set my mind at ease. In my wardrobe hung six suits of clothing, fine enough for any lord. When they had been delivered to my room, I'd felt myself relax. My first thought on seeing them wasn't that I could now mingle comfortably with court society. I thought that if worse came to worst, I could steal them, sell them to a fripperer, and easily have enough money to reclaim my lute.

Of course if I did such a thing, I would burn all my bridges with the Maer. It would render my entire trip to Severen pointless, and would embarra.s.s Threpe so profoundly that he might never speak to me again. Nevertheless, knowing I had that option gave me a thin thread of control over the situation. It was enough so I could keep from going absolutely mad with worry.

I missed my lute, but if I could gain the Maer's patronage, my life's road would grow suddenly smooth and straight. The Maer had money enough for me to continue my education at the University. His connections could help me continue my research into the Amyr.

Perhaps most important was the power of his name. If the Maer were my patron, I would be under his protection. Ambrose's father might be the most powerful baron in all of Vintas, a dozen steps from royalty. But Alveron was practically a king in his own right. How much simpler would my life become without Ambrose endlessly spiking my wheel? It was a giddy thought.

I missed my lute, but all things have their price. For a chance of having the Maer as a patron, I was willing to grit my teeth and spend a span bored and anxious, without music.

Alveron turned out to be right about the curious nature of his attendant court. After he called me to his study that evening, rumor exploded like a brushfire around me. I could understand why the Maer enjoyed this sort of thing. It was like watching stories being born.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX.

Power ALVERON SENT FOR ME again the next day, and soon the two of us were strolling along the garden paths again, his hand resting lightly on my arm. "Let's head toward the south side." The Maer pointed with his walking stick. "I hear the selas will reach full bloom soon."

We took the left turning of the path and he drew a breath. "There are two types of power: inherent and granted," Alveron said, letting me know the topic of today's conversation. "Inherent power you possess as a part of yourself. Granted power is lent or given by other people." He looked sideways at me. I nodded.

Seeing my agreement, the Maer continued. "Inherent power is an obvious thing. Strength of body." He patted my supporting arm. "Strength of mind. Strength of personality. All these things lie within a person. They define us. They determine our limits."

"Not entirely, your grace," I protested gently. "A man can always improve himself."

"They limit us," the Maer said firmly. "A man with one hand will never wrestle in the roundings. A man with one leg will never run as quickly as a man with two."

"An Adem warrior with only one hand might be more deadly than a common warrior with two, your grace." I pointed out. "Despite his deficiency."

"True, true," the Maer said crossly. "We can improve ourselves, exercise our bodies, educate our minds, groom ourselves carefully." He ran a hand down his immaculate salt-and-pepper beard. "For even appearance is a type of power. But there are always limits. While a one-handed man might become a pa.s.sable warrior, he could not play a lute."

I nodded slowly. "You make a good point, your grace. Our power has limits we can extend, but not indefinitely."

Alveron held up a finger. "But that is only the first type of power. We are only limited if we rely upon the power we ourselves possess. There is still the type of power that is given. Do you understand what I mean by granted power?"

I thought a moment. "Taxes?"

"Hmm," the Maer said, surprised. "That's a rather good example, actually. Have you put much thought into this sort of thing before?"

"A bit," I admitted. "But never in these terms."

"It is a difficult thing," he said, sounding pleased by my response. "Which do you think is the greater type of power?"

I only had to think for a second. "The inherent, your grace."

"Interesting. Why do you say that?"

"Because a power you possess yourself cannot be taken away, your grace."

"Ah." He raised a long finger as if to caution me. "But we've already agreed that type of power is severely limited. Granted power has no limits."

"No limits, your grace?" limits, your grace?"

Alveron nodded his head in concession. "Very few limits, then."

I still didn't agree. The Maer must have seen it on my face because he leaned toward me to explain. "Let's say I have an enemy, young and strong. Let's say he has stolen something of mine, some money. Are you with me?"

I nodded.

"No manner of training will make me the match of a quarrelsome twenty-year-old. So what do I do? I get one of my young, strong friends to go and box his ears. With that strength I can accomplish a feat which would be 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 only be given." 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 t.i.tle, he would say he possesses it. He would claim it is a part of him as much as his own blood. A part part of his blood, in fact. Almost any n.o.ble would say the same thing. They would argue their lineage imbued them with the right to rule." of his blood, in fact. Almost any n.o.ble 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 amus.e.m.e.nt. "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 my t.i.tle, 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 t.i.tle, 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 I know the difference, and that is why I am always in control." 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 pa.s.sed us by, Alveron continued. "You notice he complimented me 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?" 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 embarra.s.sment, 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 pa.s.s, 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 t.i.tle 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sed the time pleasantly, but it still lay in Severen-Low, seven days away from belonging to the p.a.w.nshop. So there was no music, just my echoing rooms and my d.a.m.nable 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 I MET BREDON ON MY fourth day in Severen. It was early, but I was already pacing my rooms, nearly insane with boredom. I'd had my breakfast, and it was hours before lunch. MET BREDON ON MY fourth day in Severen. It was early, but I was already pacing my rooms, nearly insane with boredom. I'd had my breakfast, and it was hours before lunch.

So far today I'd dealt with three courtiers come to pry at me. I dealt with them deftly, running our conversations aground at every opportunity. So where are you from, my boy? So where are you from, my boy? Oh, you know how it is. One travels so. Oh, you know how it is. One travels so. And your parents? And your parents? Yes actually. I had them. Two in fact. Yes actually. I had them. Two in fact. What brings you to Severen? What brings you to Severen? A coach and four, for the most part. Though I walked a bit as well. Good for the lungs, you know. A coach and four, for the most part. Though I walked a bit as well. Good for the lungs, you know. And what are you doing here? And what are you doing here? Enjoying good conversation, of course. Meeting interesting people. Enjoying good conversation, of course. Meeting interesting people. Really? Who? Really? Who? Why all sorts. Including you, Lord Praevek. You are quite the fascinating fellow ... . Why all sorts. Including you, Lord Praevek. You are quite the fascinating fellow ... .

And so on. It wasn't long before even the most tenacious rumormonger grew weary and left.

Worst of all, these brief exchanges would be the most interesting part of my day if the Maer didn't call for me. So far we'd conversed over a light lunch, three times during brief walks in the garden, and once late at night when most sensible people would be abed. Twice Alveron's runner woke me from a sound sleep before the sky began to color with the blue beginning of dawn's light.

I know when I am being tested. Alveron wanted to see if I was truly willing to make myself available to him at any unreasonable hour of the day or night. He was watching to see if I would become impatient or irritated by his casual use of me.

So I played the game. I was charming and unfailingly polite. I came when he called and left as soon as he was through with me. I asked no impertinent questions, made no demands on him, and spent the remainder of my day grinding my teeth, pacing my overlarge rooms, and trying not to think about how many days I had left before the span note on my lute expired.

Small wonder that a knock on that fourth day sent me scrambling for the door. I hoped it was a summons from the Maer, but at this point, any distraction would be welcome.

I opened the door to reveal an older man, a gentleman down to his bones. His clothes gave him away, certainly, but more important was the fact that he wore his wealth with the comfortable indifference of someone born into it. New-made n.o.bles, pretenders, and rich merchants simply don't carry themselves the same way.

Alveron's manservant, for example, had finer clothes than half the gentry, but despite the self-a.s.surance Stapes possessed, he looked like a baker wearing his holiday best.

Thanks to Alveron's tailors, I was dressed as well as anyone. The colors were good on me, leaf green, black, and burgundy, with silver workings on the cuff and collar. However, unlike Stapes, I wore the clothes with the casual ease of n.o.bility. True, the brocade itched. True, the b.u.t.tons, buckles, and endless layers made every outfit stiff and awkward as a suit of mercenary's leathers. But I lounged in it as easily as if it were a second skin. It was a costume, you see, and I played my part as only a trouper can.

As I was saying, I opened the door to see an older gentleman standing in the hall.

"So you're Kvothe, are you?" he asked.

I nodded, caught slightly off my stride. The custom in northern Vintas was to send a servant ahead to request a meeting. The runner brought a note and a ring with the n.o.ble's name inscribed. You sent a gold ring to request a meeting with a n.o.ble of higher rank than yourself, silver for someone of roughly the same rank, and iron for someone beneath you.

I didn't have any rank, of course. No t.i.tle, no lands, no family, and no blood. I was lowborn as they come, but no one here knew that. Everyone a.s.sumed the mysterious red-haired man spending time with Alveron was some flavor of n.o.bility, and my origin and standing was a much-debated topic.