‘White Riders’ Hunt’?”

These folk knew all about death. They killed their own livestock. They died from fevers, falls, or broken bones gone sour.

“That’s to be expected. I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you.” Bast smiled at him encouragingly. “Life’s too short for you folk to fret over little things.”

“He stole secret magics from the University. That’s why they threw him out, you know. And they

“Especially then,” she said. “Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce

Our hands and backs stiffen. Our eyes dim. Skin roughens and our beauty fades. The only exception is the voice. Properly cared for, a voice does nothing but grow sweeter with age and constant use.

“Back home we say: the tallest nail gets hammered down first.” He frowned. “It sounds better in Siaru.”

To be both rich and handsome was bad enough. But to have a voice like honey over warm bread on top of that was simply inexcusable.

So yes. It had flaws, but what does that matter when it comes to matters of the heart? We love what we love. Reason does not enter into it. In many ways, unwise love is the truest love. Anyone can love a thing because.That’s as easy as putting a penny in your pocket. But to love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.

showed Teccam in his classic pose: barefoot at the mouth of his cave, speaking to a crowd of young students.

“I think that means humor is rooted in social transgression. I can’t transgress because I can’t figure out what would be socially unacceptable. Everything seems the same to me.”

pitch and timbre of Haliax’s voice as clearly as my father’s. I could easily bring to mind the face of Cinder. His perfect, smiling teeth. His white, curling hair. His eyes, black as beads of ink. His voice, full of winter’s chill, saying: Someone’s parents have been singing entirely the wrong sorts of songs.

speed is the hallmark of a good musician. It’s understandable. What Marie had done at the Eolian was amazing. But how quickly you can finger notes is the smallest part of music. The real key is timing.

looked up and saw Devi staring at me from across the desk. Her lips were wet, her pale blue eyes intense. She shifted her shoulders back and forth in the slow, unconscious motion of a cat before it pounces.

Elodin nodded again and took a bite of his cinnas. As he chewed, he turned to look at me. By the light of the moon, I saw his eyes. They were cool, thoughtful, and perfectly, utterly sane.

“You should read Teccam’s Underlying Principles to prepare. Not a long book, but thick, if you follow me.” “If you lend

“There are two things you must remember. First, our names shape us, and we shape our names in turn.” He stopped his pacing and looked out at us. “Second, even the simplest name is so complex that your mind could never begin to feel the boundaries of it, let alone understand it well enough for you to speak it.”

and sediment. Tell me how the light reflects from it. Tell me how the world pulls at the mass of it, how the wind cups it as it moves through the air. Tell me how the traces of its iron will feel the calling of a loden- stone. All of these things and a hundred thousand more make up the name of this stone.” He held it out to us at arm’s length. “This single, simple stone.”

“This is the problem namers face. We must understand things that are beyond our understanding. How can it be done?”

“My point is this. In each of us there is a mind we use for all our waking deeds. But there is another mind as well, a sleeping mind. It is so powerful that the sleeping mind of an eight- year- old can accomplish in one second what the waking minds of seven members of the Arcanum could not in fifteen minutes.”

Inyssa has spoken the name of iron. Her waking mind does not know it, but her sleeping mind is wiser. Something deep inside Fela understands the name of the stone.”

Elodin would want us to read a two- hundred- year- old tax ledger from a barony in the Small Kingdoms, an outdated medical text, and a badly translated morality play.

The Chandrian were cursed. Signs showed

“The Adem mercenaries have a secret art called the Lethani,” I said. “It is the key to what makes them such fierce warriors.”

“What if someone told you they knew a type of magic that did more than that? A magic where you sort of wrote things down, and whatever you wrote became true?” She looked down nervously, her fingers tracing patterns on the tabletop. “Then, if someone saw the writing, even if they couldn’t read it, it would be true for them. They’d think a certain thing, or act a certain way depending on what the writing said.”

“You’d be amazed at how similar arrogance and confidence look at first glance.

It is not for nothing that they came to call me Kvothe the Arcane. My Alar was like a blade of Ramston steel.

“There’s no reason for you to know. It’s a holdover from older times, I think. Back when we had more to fear from our fellow arcanists. If you knew what names your enemy knew, you could guess his strengths, his weaknesses.” We were both silent for a moment, warming ourselves by the coals.

Elxa Dal smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what I actually said. Some part of you just filled in a familiar word.” “My sleeping mind translated it?” “Sleeping mind?” He gave me a puzzled look. “That’s what Elodin calls the part of us that knows names,” I explained.

“Names reflect true understanding of a thing, and when you truly understand a thing you have power over it.”

But I simply couldn’t afford the price of admission. A suit of passably fine clothes would cost at least a talent and a half, even if I bought them from a fripperer. Clothes do not make the man, but you need the proper costume if you want to play the part.

“You look like an Amyr,” she said. “Kvothe is one of the Ciridae.”

“He’s nice. He’s gentle, which people see as weak. And he’s happy, which people see as stupid.”

but it’s just like everywhere else: people cater to pompous, rude bastards like Ambrose, while the good souls like Simmon get brushed off as simpletons.”

“But he writes like he’s afraid someone might actually understand him.”

“self- contained exothermic accelerators,”

“The majority of important things cannot be said outright,” Elodin said. “They cannot be made explicit. They can only be implied.”

“First. Our young lovers can try to express what they feel. They can try to play the half- heard song their hearts are singing.”

“This is the path of the honest fool, and it will go badly. This thing between you is too tremulous for talk. It is a spark so faint that even the most careful breath might snuff it out.”

Her long hair was pinned up, leaving her elegant neck and shoulders bare. Her eyes were dark and her mouth was slightly redder than usual. Her long black gown was gathered close at her narrow waist and well- rounded hips. She was also displaying the most spectacular pair of breasts I’d ever seen at that point in my young

There was a second man, or rather the shape of a man in a great hooded robe. Inside the cowl of the robe was nothing but blackness. Over his head were three moons, a full moon, a half moon, and one that was just a crescent. Next to him were two candles. One was yellow with a bright orange flame. The other candle sat underneath his outstretched hand: it was grey with a black flame, and the space around it was smudged and darkened.

It wasn’t a leaf on his chest. It was a tower wrapped in flame. His bloody, outstretched hand wasn’t demonstrating something. It was making a gesture of rebuke toward Haliax and the rest. He was holding up his hand to stop them. This man was one of the Amyr. One of the Ciridae.

there was a woman with no clothes on, and a broken sword, and a fire.

“I was careful never to scrape off Tehlu’s name though. Or Andan’s, or any of the other angels,” she

Who keeps you safe from the Amyr, the Singers, the Sithe?

“They mark old roads. If anything, we’re safer being next to it. Greystones mark safe places. Everyone knows that.”

“It is man’s nature to dwell on what sits close to his heart.”

“But what does it mean?” I said. “It seems like she’s interested, but what if it’s just wishful thinking on my part? All those other men must think she’s interested too. But they’re obviously wrong. What if I’m

“There is a place not many folk have seen. A strange place called Faeriniel. If you believe the stories, there are two things that make Faeriniel unique. First, it is where all the roads in the world meet. Second, it is not a place any man has ever found by searching. It is not a place you travel to, it is the place you pass through while on your way to somewhere else.

about to sulk away, the fire flared and the beggar saw the four wore the blood- red clothes that marked them as Adem mercenaries.

of the Adem. He’d heard that they possessed a secret craft called the Lethani. This let them wear their quiet like an armor that would turn a blade or stop an arrow in the air.

“No, they were of the Aturan bureaucracy. They had . . . Vecarum— judiciary powers.” “They were called the Holy Order

They showed the Amyr was trusted so completely by the Order that his actions would never be questioned. And as the Order stood behind him, no church, no court, no king could move against him. For he was one of the Ciridae, highest of the Amyr.

“There’s some truth in most stereotypes. A seed they sprouted from.”

story holds a kernel of truth. If you promise to keep it to yourselves, I will tell you a secret.”

“But you know how it is. Noble

“The University has the most open- minded atmosphere since the church burned Caluptena to the ground.”

But the Alpura Prolycia Amyr was an open decree. It turned thousands of the most powerful men and women in the Aturan Empire into outlaws. It was one of the primary reasons for the collapse of the empire. There’s no reason for conflicting information.”

Oddly enough, I had no desire to ask anyone what was going on. When you ask as many questions as I do, you learn when they are appropriate.

“You looked too hard and didn’t see enough. Too much looking can get in the way of seeing, you see?”

Book of the Path, perfectly fashioned, right down to the tiny spoked wheel painted on the cover.

“Still looking,” he admonished more gently then before. “You need to go chase the wind for a while, you are too serious. It will lead you into trouble.”

“The Amyr, of course,” he said. “It’s always the Amyr with you lately. What’s your point?” “The point,” I whispered excitedly, “is that Gibea was a secret member of the order Amyr.”

“That means the order had secret members before the church denounced them! That means when the pontifex disbanded them, the Amyr had hidden allies. Allies that could keep them safe. That means the Amyr could still exist today, in secret, pursuing their work in subtle ways.”

“But naming cannot be taught by rule or rote. Teaching someone to be a namer is like teaching someone to fall in love. It is hopeless. It cannot be done.”

But all that really matters is what happens when the audience is watching. This is a truth all troupers know.

to overdo it. Didn’t Teccam say ‘Too much study harms the student?’

not the Calanthis, and my friend the Maer would be the king.” “Your friend?” I said appreciatively. “You know Maer Alveron?”

is an edge,” he said at last. “It is a high place with a chance of falling. Things are more easily seen from edges. Danger rouses the sleeping mind. It makes some things clear. Seeing things is a part of being a namer.”

“The name most fledgling namers were encouraged to find was that of the wind. After they found that name, their sleeping minds were roused and finding other names was easier.

There are fewer magics, more secrets, and only a handful of people who know the name of the wind.”

changes from place to place, but I know how to listen for its changing shape.” He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “You should go. Chase the wind. Do not be afraid of the occasional risk.” He smiled. “In moderation.”

“The Maer is old, old blood,” he said. “Not like most of the little nobility around these parts who can’t tell you who their great- grandfathers are. So treat him with respect.”

you look like you’re chasing money, they’ll see you as provincial.

“And remember: speak least if you would be most often heard. Oh!”

know a lady by her manner, a man by his cloth.”

mentioned in one of his letters that the young people in his court gamble. He thinks it’s a deplorable habit, so stay clear of it. And remember, small thaws make great floods, so be twice wary of a slowly changing season.”

all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and

Vintas, the gentry have power and money and privilege. Many rules simply do not apply to them.

was looking for: the Maer’s manservant, Stapes.

Alveron was older than I had expected. He had a serious face, proud around the mouth and eyes. His well- trimmed salt- and- pepper beard had very little black left to it, but his hair was still full and thick. His eyes too, seemed to belie his age. They were clear grey, clever and piercing. They were not the eyes of an old man.

“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.”

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.

“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?”

“Here is a great secret. Even my title, 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.

“One might assume that someone well- skilled in the subtle art of conversation could use long stretches of idle chatter to glean information from an unsuspecting victim.”

“Wearing a ring can indicate a debt, or that you are attempting to curry favor.” He looked at me. “If the Maer ever declines to take his ring back from you, it would be an indication he was willing to make your connection somewhat more formal.” “And not wearing the ring would be viewed as a slight,”

I’d wanted him to be indebted to me, not the other way around. Once you owe something to a member of the nobility, it is notoriously difficult to work your way free of their debt.

anger. A slow, smoldering anger, like hot coals beneath a thin layer of ash.

That’s another problem with power. If you possess too much, people don’t dare point out your mistakes. Power can be a terrible thing.”

“It takes away your choices,” he said. “It gives a man opportunities, but at the same time it takes others away.

Rumor forces us to act before we are ready, or ruins a situation before it becomes fully ripe.”

“Sometimes they don’t give it knowingly, sometimes they don’t give it willingly. Nevertheless . . . all power.”

“From what I understand, the Lackless family has an heirloom. Well, not an heirloom exactly, but an ancient thing that dates back to the beginning of their line.”

“I’ve always found that taking in some air is good for whatever troubles a body, though others disagree.”

“To save him the trouble of lying. He hasn’t the knack for it. And there is wisdom in what you said. Caution is always wisdom’s tool.”

Pride is always a better lever against the nobility than reason.

gibbet?” Bredon nodded seriously. “An

Earl of Svanis is, by strange inheritance, also the Viscount of Tevn. One man, but two different political entities.”

Alongside it was a second ring that wasn’t metal at all. It was smooth and white, and also had the manservant’s name carved in rough letters across the surface of it. I had no idea what such a thing might signify.

“A ring of bone indicates a profound and lasting debt.”

“Tak reflects the subtle turning of the world. It is a mirror we hold to life. No one wins a dance, boy. The point of dancing is the motion that a body makes. A well- played game of tak reveals the moving of a mind. There is a beauty to these things for those with eyes to see it.”

Do you enjoy the theater?” “Occasionally. Depending.”

Not just bandits, Ruh bandits. She said the word with such a weight of cold loathing in her voice that I was chilled to hear it. She hated the Ruh. Not the simple distaste most people feel for us, but a true, sharp hate with teeth in it.

broken glass sort of way. Broken glass won’t go out of its way to hurt you. You can even touch it if you’re careful. Some streets are dangerous as frothing dogs, where no amount of care will keep you safe.

THE THEOPHANY, Teccam writes of secrets, calling them painful treasures of the mind. He explains that what most people think of as secrets are really nothing of the sort. Mysteries, for example, are not secrets. Neither are little- known facts or forgotten truths. A secret, Teccam explains, is true knowledge actively concealed.

My patron gives me other things. He knows things I need to know.”

But before ten lines had passed her lips I was stunned for different reasons. She sang the story of Myr Tariniel’s fall. Of Lanre’s betrayal. It was the story I had heard from Skarpi in Tarbean.

Singing a new song is a nervous thing. More than that. It’s terrifying. It’s like undressing for the first time in front of a new lover. It’s a delicate moment.

He wore the traditional brown robe, belted with a length of rope. He

But most common was a blank look followed by fidgeting and a stubborn refusal to do so much as look me in the eye.

Marten wouldn’t eat meat that had the barest bit of pink to it or drink water that hadn’t been boiled or mixed with wine.

“Rain would make this road another road, this forest another forest.” He said each word distinctly, as if he had been deliberating on the statement all day. For all I knew, he had.

I don’t need to tell you how infuriating it is to try and have a discussion with a person who won’t look you in the eye.

nothing in the world is harder than convincing someone of an unfamiliar truth.

the more you know, the easier it is to pick up new ones. Ademic was my fourth.

“This is a story of Felurian. Lady of Twilight. Lady of the First Quiet. Felurian, who is death to men. But a glad death, and one they go to willingly.”

“Attractive as some things are, you have to weigh your risks. How badly do you want it, how badly are you willing to be burned?”

three hours to learn a handful of gestures, if you’ll pardon the pun.

“Not pointless.” I protested. “It’s the questions we can’t answer that teach us the most. They teach us how to think. If you give a man an answer, all he gains is a little fact. But give him a question and he’ll look for his own answers.”

“That way, when he finds the answers, they’ll be precious to him. The harder the question, the harder we hunt. The harder we hunt, the more we learn. An impossible question .

“They’re too proud to ask for help?” “Prouder than that,” Kvothe said. “The poorer you are, the more your pride is worth. I know the feeling.

night. Not every detail, but I knew the bones of them. I knew their shapes and how they would end.

“The Lethani is not doing a thing. Lethani is the thing that shows us.”

“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.”

“But only doing is not the Lethani. First knowing, then doing. That is the Lethani.”

“Not polite. Not kind. Not good. Not duty. The Lethani is none of these. Each moment. Each choice. All different.”

“But first you should think this over, boy. When you love something, you have to make sure it loves you back, or you’ll bring about no end of trouble chasing it.”

In the end the result was the same: the mansion was magnificent, huge and sprawling. But it didn’t fit together properly. There were stairways that led sideways instead of up. Some rooms had too few walls, or too many. Many rooms had no ceiling, and high above they showed a strange sky full of unfamiliar stars.

Tehlu who was Menda who you were. Watch over me in Menda’s name, In Perial’s name In Ordal’s name In Andan’s name Watch over me.

Looters become looted, while time and tide make us mercenaries all.

Her hands are tangled in my hair, pulling me close. Her mouth eager. Her tongue shy and darting. Her breath in my mouth, filling my head. The hot tips of her breasts brush my chest. The smell of her like clover, like musk, like ripe apples fallen to the ground

is no hesitation. No doubt. I know exactly what to do. My hands are on the back of her neck. Brushing her face. Tangled in her hair. Sliding along the smooth length of her thigh. Grabbing her hard by the flank. Circling her narrow waist. Lifting her. Laying her down

tense stillness settled inside of me, the sort of silence that comes before a thunderclap. I felt the air begin to crystallize around me.

felt as if this was the only time in my life I had been fully awake. Everything looked clear and sharp, as if I was seeing with a new set of eyes. As if I wasn’t bothering with my eyes at all, and was looking at the world directly with my mind. The sleeping mind, some piece of me realized faintly. No longer sleeping, I thought and smiled.

It made me proud that one of the Edema Ruh had gained a place in the stories the Fae tell each other.

learned things from these stories: a thousand small, scattered facts about the Fae. The names of the courts, old battles, and notable persons. I learned you must never look at one of the Thiana with both eyes at once, and that the gift of a single cinnas fruit is considered a terrible insult if given to one of the Beladari.

“another I would give a shield, and it would keep him safe from harm. another I would gift with amber, bind a scabbard tight with glamour, or craft a crown so men might look on you with love.”

Then closed it, deciding this was probably not the right time for questions. Half of seeming clever is keeping your mouth shut at the right times.

The shape in her lap looked like thick, dark cloth. Seeing this I realized what she reminded me of: my father sewing. Was she sewing by starlight?

“What was his name?” She shook her head. “no calling of names here. I will not speak of that one, though he is shut beyond the doors of stone.”

“have they the will, and know the way. there are a thousand half- cracked doors that lead between my world and yours.”

“many of the darker sort would love to use you for their sport. what keeps these from moonlit trespass? iron, fire, mirror- glass. elm and ash and copper knives, solid- hearted farmer’s wives who know the rules of games we play and give us bread to keep away. but worst of all, my people dread the portion of our power we shed when we set foot on mortal earth.”

“a clever mortal fears the night without a hint of sweet moonlight.”

do this so you cannot help but hear. a wise man views a moonless night with fear.”

“You’re an oracle,” I said. “Oracle. How quaint. Do not try to pin me with small names. I am Cthaeh. I am. I see. I know.”

“You assume you know everything. You laughed at faeries until you saw one. Small wonder all your civilized neighbors dismiss the Chandrian as well. You’d have to leave your precious corners far behind before you found someone who might take you seriously. You wouldn’t have a hope until you made it to the Stormwal.”

“Not many folk will take your search for the Amyr seriously, you realize,” the Cthaeh continued calmly. “The Maer, however, is quite the extraordinary man. He’s already come close to them, though he doesn’t realize it. Stick by the Maer and he will lead you to their door.”

“Blood, bracken, and bone, I wish you creatures had the wit to appreciate

because they wanted to, and because they could, and because they had a reason.

Why, because they were sloppy, and because you were lucky, and because something scared them away.”

“That’s right, I suppose you don’t need me to tell you what he looks like. You’ve seen him just a day or three ago.”

Don’t feel bad you didn’t recognize him. They have a lot of experience hiding those telltale signs.

“the things the Cthaeh says can leave men broken in their heads. but I would see if it were so. you are still my kvothe,

“You know all sorts of things you’re not supposed to. You know about the Berentaltha. You know about the white sisters and the laughing- way.

“In all fairness, my people are not known for making good decisions,” he said. “Every Fae girl and boy knows the Cthaeh’s nature, but there’s always someone eager to seek it out. Folk go to it for answers or a glimpse of the future. Or they hope

“The Rhinna?” Not seeing any recognition in the innkeeper’s face he shook his head in dismay. “The flowers are a panacea, Reshi. They can heal any illness. Cure any poison. Mend

“I swear it on the doors of stone. I am telling you three thousand times. There is nothing in my world or yours more dangerous than the Cthaeh.”

“Not wrong, Reshi, catastrophic. Iax spoke to the Cthaeh before he stole the moon, and that sparked the entire creation war. Lanre spoke to the Cthaeh before he orchestrated the betrayal of Myr Tariniel. The creation of the Nameless. The Scaendyne. They can all be traced back to the Cthaeh.”

“I know what sort of story I’m telling. This is no comedy.” Bast looked up at him with hollow, hopeless eyes. “But Reshi ...” His mouth moved, trying to find words and failing. The red- haired innkeeper gestured at the empty taproom. “This is the end of the story, Bast. We all know that.” Kvothe’s voice was matter- of- fact, as casual as if he were describing yesterday’s weather. “I have led an interesting life, and this reminiscence has a certain sweetness to it. But . . .”

“It’s not over if you’re still here,” Chronicler said. “It’s not a tragedy if you’re still alive.”

What’s more, there were a few pretty women in my audience. There is something powerfully beguiling about the excited eyes of a young woman. They can pull all manner of nonsense out of a foolish young man, and I was no exception to this rule.

“To Haert. To Shehyn.” “Are those cities?”

“What is the purpose of the Lethani, Tempi?” “To guide us in our actions. By following the Lethani, you act rightly.”

You were not supposed to give a thoughtful answer, you were supposed to give an earnest one. If you truly understood the Lethani, that knowledge would become obvious in your answers.

There are those who can say many things in one thing. My Shehyn is such. They say a thing in one breath and others will find meaning in it for a year.”

leads to thoughtfulness,” he said firmly. “It is delicate. That should always be the concern when one is speaking. To be too much talking.”

Every culture is different, but one thing is always true: the surest way to give offense is to refuse the hospitality of your host.

Perhaps it is beauty to move according to your nature.”

“Do you see? You find the place to spend your strength, or it is wasted. Wasting strength is not of the Lethani.”

complexion and grey eyes. Her hair was lighter than Tempi’s by a fine shade, and she wore it pulled back into a horsetail.

“That is my name. Vashet. The Hammer. The Clay. The Spinning Wheel.”

“You speak as a dog barks,” I said. “With no end. With no sense.”

“Where I’m from, we grow up speaking your language. And I spent four years as bodyguard and captain for a poet in the Small Kingdoms who also happened to be a king.

“That is because for us, speaking is private. Intimate. Facial expression too. And this . . .” She pressed her fingers to her throat. “The warmth a voice can make. The emotion it reveals. That is a very private thing.”

The names in the Ketan are meant to hide the truth, that we may speak of it without spilling its secrets to the open air.”

You can tell an Adem musician because when they travel they carry their tall screens on their backs.”

All of these things together. The Adem word for one who takes the red is Cethan.” She looked up at me. “And it is a very proud thing.”

“Did Tempi tell you of the nine- and- ninety tales?” she asked without preamble. “Of Aethe and the beginning of the Adem?”

Sometimes these towns are prosperous. Some have rich soil and generous weather. Some thrive on the trade moving through them. The wealth of these places is obvious. The houses are large and well- mended. People are friendly and generous. The children are fat and happy. There are luxuries for sale: pepper and cinnamon and chocolate. There is coffee and good wine and music at the local inn. Then there are the other sort of towns. Towns where the soil is thin and tired. Towns where the mill burned down, or the clay was mined out years ago. In these places the houses are small and badly patched. The people are lean and suspicious, and wealth is measured in small, practical ways. Cords of firewood. A second pig. Five jars of blackberry preserve.

More than that. Despite the lack of glittering banquet halls and fancy gowns, despite the absence of servants and statuary, each of these homes was like a tiny manor house. They were each of them wealthy in a quiet, practical way.

loving arms of Felurian, to the eager arms of Losine, and from thence to a long, barren stretch of training with Tempi as we traveled to Haert. That meant for three span, I had been constantly exhausted, anxious, confused, and terrified by turns.

you grew up thinking is quite wrongheaded and foolish. None of it as much as the strange customs you barbarians have built around your sexplay.”

chicken, then kissed me on the mouth, her warm skin pressing against the entire front of my body.

“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.”

THE DAYS PASSED QUICKLY, as days tend to do when there is much to fill them.

“The Lethani is the same everywhere,” she said firmly. “It is not like the wind, changing from place to place.”

The sweet smile of a young woman. There is nothing better in the world. It is worth more than salt. Something in us sickens and dies without it. I am sure of this. Such a simple thing. How strange. How wonderful and strange.

“The leaves will not cut deep, but be careful of your face and neck. The places where vessels and tendons are close to the surface.

“Rhinta?” I asked respectfully. “A bad thing. A man who is more than a man, yet less than a man.”

There were four corners, four stones, and four red- shirted mercenaries.

“Does this mean women have no anger of their own?” She laughed again. “No. All things have anger. But women have many uses for their anger. And men have more anger than they can use, too much for their own good.”

You can tell a man who has been keeping all his anger to himself. It goes sour in him. It turns against itself and drives him to breaking rather than making.”

think that is why you are so full of anger. Maybe you do not have more than women. Maybe the anger in you simply has no place to go. Maybe it is desperate to leave some mark. It hammers at the world. It drives you to rash action. To bickering. To rage. You paint and build and fight and tell stories that are bigger than the truth.”

“It means flame, and thunder, and broken tree.”

Cyphus bears the blue flame. Stercus is in thrall of iron. Ferule chill and dark of eye. Usnea lives in nothing but decay. Grey Dalcenti never speaks. Pale Alenta brings the blight. Last there is the lord of seven: Hated. Hopeless. Sleepless. Sane. Alaxel bears the shadow’s hame.

With all the hell that’s breaking loose in the world these days you can believe people are telling old stories more often. If the Chandrian are listening for names, I don’t doubt they’ve got a slow din of whispering from Arueh to the Circle Sea.”

No man is brave that has never walked a hundred miles. If you want to know the truth of who you are, walk until not a person knows your name. Travel is the great leveler, the great teacher, bitter as medicine, crueler than mirror- glass. A long stretch of road will teach you more about yourself than a hundred years of quiet introspection.”

But sometimes the best help a person can find is helping someone else.”

slow boil inside the hearts of good men who want justice, and finding it out of their grasp, decide vengeance is the next best thing.

Both the bones in his lower leg had broken in several places. I couldn’t see under the bandages, but his leg was hugely swollen. The skin above the bandages was bruised and mottled, stretched as tight as an overstuffed sausage.

“The first few times are the worst. You’ll get the shakes and lose some sleep. But that’s the price of doing what needs to be done.”

“He was getting too tangled up in the story. He can’t feel a thing halfway. A little time away will give him some perspective. Besides, I do have dinner to prepare, even if it’s only for three.”

eyes went distant for a moment, then he smiled again. “Kaysera. The poet killer.”

You called more than the wind. From what you’ve said, I believe you called Felurian’s name itself.”

was slender and sharp as a blade of grass, the other keen and graceful as a thorn.

“You’re right,” he said. “If everything is going to end in tears anyway, I should do what I want.”

wounded, terribly tired and older than his years. His expression, however, showed no surprise, no grief. It was merely resigned. It was the expression of a man who has finally received bad news he’d already known was on the way.

There, behind the tightly shuttered windows, he lifted his hands like a dancer, shifted his weight, and slowly took one single perfect step.