The Name of the Wind (58 page)

“Yes ma'am.” I sucked in air when she applied the antiseptic.

“I thought you weren't supposed to bleed,” she said matter-of-factly. “There's another legend proven false.”

“Speaking of.” Moving as little as possible, I reached out and pulled a book out of my travelsack, then laid it on her desk. “I brought back your copy of
Mating Habits of the Common Draccus.
You were right, the engravings added a lot to it.”

“I knew you'd like it.” There was a moment of silence as she began stitching me back together. When she spoke again, most of the playfulness was gone from her voice. “Were these fellows
really
hired to kill you, Kvothe?”

I nodded. “They had a dowsing compass and some of my hair. That's how they knew I was a redhead.”

“Lord and lady, wouldn't that just send Kilvin into a froth?” She shook her head. “Are you sure they weren't just hired to scare you? Rough you up a little to teach you to mind your betters?” She paused in her stitching and looked up at me. “You weren't stupid enough to borrow money off Heffron and his boys, were you?”

I shook my head. “You're the only hawk for me, Devi.” I smiled. “In fact that's why I stopped by today—”

“And here I thought you merely enjoyed my company,” she said, turning back to her needlework. I thought I detected a tinge of irritation in her voice. “Let me finish this first.”

I thought about what she'd said for a long moment. The tall man had said, “let's do him” but that could mean any number of things. “It's possible they weren't trying to kill me,” I admitted slowly. “He had a knife though. You don't need a knife to give someone a beating.”

Devi snorted. “And I don't need blood to get people to settle their debts. But it certainly helps.”

I thought about it as she tied off the final stitch and began to wrap me in a fresh bandage. Maybe it was meant to be a simple beating. An anonymous message from Ambrose telling me to mind my betters. Maybe it was a simple attempt to scare me off. I sighed, trying not to move too much as I did so. “I'd like to believe that's the case, but I really don't think so. I think they were really after blood. That's what my gut tells me.”

Her expression grew serious. “In that case I will spread the word a little,” she said. “I don't know about the part about killing their dogs, but I'll drop a few things into the rumor mill so people will think twice about taking that sort of job.” She chuckled low in her throat. “Actually, they're already thinking twice after last night. This will make them think three times.”

“I appreciate it.”

“Small trouble to me,” she said dismissively as she stood up and brushed off her knees. “A small favor to help a friend.” She washed her hands in the basin, then dried them carelessly on her shirt. “Let's hear it,” she said as she sat behind the desk, her expression suddenly businesslike.

“I need money for a fast horse,” I said.

“Leaving town?” She arched a pale eyebrow. “You never struck me as the running away sort.”

“I'm not running,” I said. “But I need to cover some ground. Seventy miles before it gets much after noon.”

Devi widened her eyes a bit. “A horse that could make that trip is going to cost,” she said. “Why not just buy a post note and switch out fresh horses all the way? Faster and cheaper.”

“There's no post stations where I'm going,” I said. “Upriver then into the hills. Little town called Trebon.”

“Alright,” she said. “How much are you looking for?”

“I'll need money to buy a fast horse with no dickering. Plus lodging, food, maybe bribes…. Twenty talents.”

She burst out laughing, then regained her composure and covered her mouth. “No. I'm sorry but no. I do have a soft spot for charming young men like yourself, but it's not on my head.”

“I have my lute,” I said, sliding the case forward with my foot. “For collateral. Plus anything else in here.” I put my travelsack on the desk.

She drew a breath, as if to refuse me out of hand, then shrugged and looked into the bag, poking around. She pulled out my copy of
Rhetoric and Logic,
and a moment later my handheld sympathy lamp. “Hello,” she said curiously, thumbing on the switch and pointing the light toward the wall. “This is interesting.”

I grimaced. “Anything except that,” I said. “I promised Kilvin I wouldn't ever let that out of my hands. I gave my word.”

She gave me a frank look. “Have you ever heard the expression beggars can't be choosers?”

“I gave my word,” I repeated. I unpinned my silver talent pipes from my cloak and slid them across her desk so they lay near
Rhetoric and Logic.
“Those aren't easy to come by, you know.”

Devi looked at the lute, the book, and the pipes, and drew a long, slow breath. “Kvothe, I can tell that this is important to you, but the numbers just don't add. You're not good for that much money. You're barely good for the four talents you owe me.”

That stung, mostly because I knew it to be the truth.

Devi thought about it for another second, then shook her head firmly. “No, just the interest…In two months you'd owe me over thirty-five talents.”

“Or something equally valuable in trade,” I said.

She gave me a gentle smile. “And what do you have worth thirty-five talents?”

“Access to the Archives.”

Devi sat. Her slightly patronizing smile frozen on her face. “You're lying.”

I shook my head. “I know there's another way in. I haven't found it yet, but I will.”

“That's a lot of
if.
” Devi's tone was skeptical. But her eyes were full of something more than simple desire. It was closer to hunger, or lust. I could tell she wanted into the Archives just as badly as I did. Perhaps even moreso.

“That's what I'm offering,” I said. “If I can pay you back, I will. If not, when I find a way into the Archives I'll share it with you.”

Devi looked up at the ceiling, as if calculating odds in her head. “With these things as collateral, and the possibility of access to the Archives, I can loan you a dozen talents.”

I stood up and swung my travelsack over my shoulder. “I'm afraid we're not bargaining here,” I said. “I'm just informing you as to the conditions of the loan.” I gave her an apologetic smile. “It's twenty talents or nothing. I'm sorry I didn't make that clear from the beginning.”

T
HREE MINUTES LATER I strode toward the doors of the nearest livery.

A well-dressed Cealdish man smiled at my approach and stepped forward to greet me. “Ah, young sir,” he said holding out his hand. “My name is Kaerva. Might I ask—”

“I need a horse,” I said, shaking his hand quickly. “Healthy, well-rested, and well-fed. One that can take six hours of hard riding today.”

“Certainly, certainly,” Kaerva said, rubbing his hands together and nodding. “All things are possible with the will of God. I'd be pleased to…”

“Listen,” I interrupted again. “I'm in a hurry, so we're going to skip the preliminaries. I won't pretend to be uninterested. You won't waste my time with a parade of hacks and nags. If I have not bought a horse in ten minutes, I will leave and buy one elsewhere.” I met his eye.
“Lhinsatva?”

The Cealdish man was aghast. “Sir, the purchase of a horse should never be so rushed. You would not pick a wife in ten minutes, and on the road, a horse is more important than a wife.” He gave a bashful smile. “Even God himself didn't—”

I cut him off yet again. “God's not buying a horse today, I am.”

The thin Cealdish man paused to collect his thoughts. “Right,” he said softly, more to himself than to me. “
Lhin,
come around and see what we have.”

He led me around the outside of the stables to a small corral. He gestured near the edge of the fence. “That dapple mare is as steady a horse as any you could hope for. She'll take you….”

I ignored him and looked over the half-dozen hacks that stood idly inside the fence. Though I had neither means nor reason to keep a horse, I knew good from bad, and nothing I saw here came close to suiting my needs.

You see, troupers live and die by the horses that pull their wagons, and my parents had not neglected my education in this area. I could size up a horse by the time I was eight, and a good thing too. Townsfolk regularly tried to pass off half-dead or gingered up nags to us, knowing that by the time we discovered our mistakes we'd be miles and days away. There was a world of trouble waiting for a man who sold his neighbor some sickly hobble, but what was the harm of swindling one of the filthy, thieving Ruh?

I turned to face the cavler, frowning. “You have just wasted two precious minutes of my time, so I'm guessing you still don't understand my position here. Let me be as plain as possible. I want a fast horse ready for hard riding today. For this I will pay quickly, in hard coin, and without complaint.” I held up my newly heavy purse in one hand and shook it, knowing he could tell the ring of true Cealdish silver inside.

“If you sell me a horse that throws a shoe, or starts to limp, or spooks at shadows, I will miss a valuable opportunity. A quite unrecoverable opportunity. If that happens, I will not come back and demand a refund. I will not petition the constable. I will walk back to Imre this very night and set fire to your house. Then, when you run out the front door in your nightshirt and stockle-cap, I will kill you, cook you, and eat you. Right there on your lawn while all your neighbors watch.”

I gave him a deadly serious look. “This is the business arrangement I am proposing, Kaerva. If you are not comfortable with it, tell me and I will go elsewhere. Otherwise, leave off this parade of drays and show me a real horse.”

The short Ceald looked at me, more stunned than horrified. I could see him trying to come to grips with the situation. He must think I was either a raving lunatic, or the son of some important noble. Or both.

“Very well,” he said, letting all the ingratiating charm fall from his voice. “When you say hard riding, how hard do you mean?”

“Very hard,” I said. “I need to go seventy miles today. Dirt roads.”

“Will you need saddle and tack too?”

I nodded. “Nothing fancy. Nothing new.”

He drew a deep breath. “Fine, and how much do you have to spend?”

I shook my head and gave a tight smile. “Show me the horse and name your price. A Vaulder would do nicely. If he's a little wild, I won't mind if it means he's got energy to spare. Even a good Vaulder mix could serve me, or a Khershaen forth horse.”

Kaerva nodded and led me back toward the wide doors of the stable. “I do have a Khershaen. A full-blood actually.” He made a gesture to one of the stablehands. “Bring out our black gentleman, double-quick.” The boy sprinted off.

The cavler turned back to me. “Gorgeous animal. I ran him through the traces before I bought him, just to be sure. Galloped him a full mile and he hardly even worked up a sweat, smooth a gait as ever I've felt, and I'd not lie to your lordship on that account.”

I nodded, a full-blooded Khershaen was exactly suited to my purpose. They had a legendary endurance, but there would be no avoiding the price, either. A well-trained forth horse was worth a dozen talents. “How much are you asking for him?”

“I'll want two solid marks,” he said without any hint of apology or wheedling in his voice.

Merciful Tehlu, twenty talents. He'd have to have silver shoes to be worth that much. “I'm in no mood for a lengthy dicker, Kaerva,” I said shortly.

“You've made me well aware of that, milord,” he said. “I'm telling you my honest price. Here. You'll see why.”

The boy hurried out leading a sleek monster of a horse. At least eighteen hands tall, proud head, and black from his nose to the tip of his tail. “He loves to run,” Kaerva said with genuine affection in his voice. He ran a hand along the smooth black neck. “And look at that color. Not so much as a pale whisker, that's why he's worth twenty if he's worth a single shim.”

“I don't care about the color,” I said absentmindedly while I looked him over for signs of injury or old age. There was nothing. He was glossy, young, strong. “I just need to move quickly.”

“I understand,” he said apologetically. “But I can't just ignore the coloring. If I wait a span or two, some young lord will pay just for the snappy look of him.”

I knew it was true. “Does he have a name?” I asked moving slowly toward the black horse, letting him smell my hands and get used to me. Bargaining can be hurried, but befriending a horse cannot. Only a fool rushes first impressions with a spirited young Khershaen.

“Not one that's stuck on him,” he said.

“What's your name, boy?” I asked gently, just so he could get used to the sound of my voice. He snuffed delicately at my hand, keeping close watch with one large, intelligent eye. He didn't back away, but he certainly wasn't at his ease either. I kept talking as I came closer, hoping he would relax at the sound of my voice. “You deserve a good name. I hate to see some lordling with delusions of wit saddle you with some terrible name like Midnight or Sooty or Scut.”

I came closer and lay one hand along his neck. His skin twitched, but he didn't pull away. I needed to be sure of his temperament as much as his stamina. I couldn't take the risk of jumping on the back of a skittish horse. “Someone half clever might dub you Pitch or Scuttle, ill-favored names. Or Slate, a sedentary name. Heaven forbid you end up Blackie, that's an ill-fitting name for a prince like you.”

My father always talked to new horses in this way, in a steady calming litany. As I stroked his neck, I kept speaking without giving any mind to what I said. Words don't matter to the horse, the tone of your voice is the important thing. “You've come a long way. You should have a proud name, so folk won't think of you as common. Was your previous owner Cealdish?” I asked.
“Ve vanaloi. Tu teriam keta. Palan te?”

I could sense him relax a bit at the sound of the familiar language. I walked onto his other side, still looking him over carefully and letting him get used to my presence.
“Tu Ketha?”
I asked him.
Are you coal? “Tu mahne?” Are you a shadow?

I wanted to say twilight, but I couldn't bring the Siaru word to mind. Rather than pause, I just bulled ahead, faking it as best I could as I eyed his hooves to see if they were chipped or cracked.
“Tu Keth-Selhan?” Are you first night?

The big black lowered his head and nuzzled me. “You like that one, do you?” I said with a bit of a laugh, knowing that what really happened was that he had caught scent of the package of dried apple I had tucked in one of the pockets of my cloak. The important thing was that he had a feel for me now. If he was comfortable enough to nuzzle at me for food, we could get along well enough for a hard day's ride.

“Keth-Selhan seems to suit him for a name,” I said, turning back to Kaerva. “Anything else I need to know?”

Kaerva seemed disconcerted. “He shies a bit on his right side.”

“A bit?”

“Just a bit. It stands to reason that he's probably a bit prone to spooking on that side too, but I haven't seen him do it.”

“How's he trained? Close rein or trouper style?

“Close.”

“Fine. You've got one minute left to make this deal. He's a good animal, but I'm not paying twenty talents for him.” I spoke with certainty in my voice, but no hope in my heart. He was a gorgeous animal, and his coloring made him worth at least twenty talents. Still, I'd go through the motions and hope to squeeze the man down to nineteen. That at least would leave me money for food and lodging when I got to Trebon.

“Very well,” Kaerva said. “Sixteen.”

Only my years of stage training kept me from gaping openly at his sudden drop. “Fifteen,” I said, feigning irritation. “And that will include the saddle, tack, and a bag of oats.” I began pulling money out of my purse as if the deal was already finished.

Unbelievably, Kaerva nodded and called for one of the boys to bring a saddle and tack.

I counted the money into Kaerva's hand as his assistant saddled the big black. The Ceald seemed uncomfortable meeting my eye.

If I didn't know horses as well as I do, I would have thought I was being swindled. Maybe the horse was stolen, or the man was desperate for money.

Whatever the reason, I didn't care. I was due a bit of good luck. Best of all, this meant that I might be able to resell the horse at a bit of a profit after I reached Trebon. Honestly, I would need to sell him as soon as I could manage, even if I lost money on the deal. Stabling, food, and grooming for a horse like this would cost me a penny a day. I couldn't afford to keep him.

I strapped my travelsack into a saddlebag, checked the cinch and stirrups, then swung myself up onto Keth-Selhan's back. He danced slightly to the right, eager to be off. That made two of us. I twitched the reins and we were on our way.

 

Most problems with horses have nothing to do with the horses themselves. They stem from the ignorance of the rider. Folk shoe their horses badly, saddle them improperly, feed them poorly, then complain that they were sold a half-lame, swayback, ill-tempered hack.

I knew horses. My parents had taught me to ride and care for them. While most of my experience had been with sturdier breeds, bred to pull rather than to race, I knew how to cover ground quickly when I needed to.

When they're in a hurry, most folk push their mount too hard too soon. They head out at a dead gallop, then find themselves with a horse lame or half dead inside an hour. Pure idiocy. Only a twelve-color bastard treats a horse that way.

But to be entirely truthful, I would have ridden Keth-Selhan to death if it would have brought me to Trebon in a timely fashion. There are some times when I am willing to be a bastard. I would have killed a dozen horses if it would have helped me get more information about the Chandrian and why they had killed my parents.

But ultimately, there was no sense in thinking that way. A dead horse wouldn't get me to Trebon. A live one would.

So I started Keth-Selhan at a nice walk to warm him up. He was eager to go faster, probably sensing my own impatience, and that would have been fine if I'd only needed to go a mile or three. But I needed him for at least fifty, maybe seventy, and that meant patience. I had to rein him back down to a walk twice before he resigned himself to it.

After a mile, I trotted him for a bit. His gait was smooth, even for a Khershaen, but a trot is jarring no matter what, and it pulled at the new stitches in my side. I urged him up to a canter after another mile or so. Only after we were three or four miles out of Imre and we came to a good, straight stretch of flat road did I nudge him up to a gallop.

Finally given the chance to run, he surged ahead. The sun had just finished burning away the morning dew, and farmers harvesting wheat and barley in the fields looked up as we thundered past. Keth-Selhan was fast; so fast that the wind tore at my cloak, stretching it behind me like a flag. Despite the fact that I knew I must cut quite the dramatic figure, I quickly grew tired of the drag on my neck, unfastened the cloak, then stuffed it into a saddlebag.

When we passed through a stand of trees, I brought Selhan back down to a trot. That way he got a little rest, and we didn't run the risk of rounding a corner and barreling into a fallen tree or slow-moving cart. When we came out into pastureland and could see our way clear, I gave him his head again and we practically flew.

After an hour and a half of this, Selhan was sweating and breathing hard, but he was doing better than I was. My legs were a rubbery mess. I was fit enough, and young, but I hadn't been in the saddle for years. Riding uses different muscles than walking, and riding at a gallop is just as hard as running unless you want to make your horse work twice as hard for every mile.

Suffice to say I welcomed the next stretch of trees. I hopped out of the saddle and walked to give both of us a well-deserved break. I cut one of my apples down the middle and gave him the larger half. I figured we'd come about thirty miles, and the sun wasn't even fully at zenith.

“That's the easy bit,” I told him, stroking his neck fondly. “Lord, but you are lovely. You're not half blown yet, are you?”