Kingkiller Chronicle [01] The Name of the Wind

by Patrick Rothfuss

  There were one hundred ninety-seven runes. It was like learning a new language, except there were nearly two hundred unfamiliar letters, and you had to invent your own words a lot of the time. Most students took at least a month of study before Cammar judged them ready to move on. Some students took an entire term.

  Start to finish, it took me seven days.

  How?

  First, I was driven. Other students could afford to stroll through their studies. Their parents or patrons would cover the expense. I, on the other hand, needed to climb the ranks in the Fishery quickly so I could earn money working on my own projects. Tuition wasn’t even my first priority anymore, Devi was.

  Second, I was brilliant. Not just your run-of-the-mill brilliance either. I was extraordinarily brilliant.

  Lastly, I was lucky. Plain and simple.

  I stepped across the patchwork rooftops of Mains with my lute slung across my back. It was a dim, cloudy twilight, but I knew my way around by now. I kept to the tar and tin, knowing that red tiles or grey slate made for treacherous footing.

  At some point in the remodeling of Mains, one of the courtyards had become completely isolated. It could only be accessed by clambering through a high window in one of the lecture halls or by climbing down a gnarled apple tree, if you happened to be on the roof.

  I came here to practice my lute. My bunk in Mews was not convenient. Not only was music viewed as frivolous on this side of the river, but I would only make more enemies by playing while my bunkmates tried to sleep or study. So I came here. It was perfect, secluded, and practically on my doorstep.

  The hedges had gone wild and the lawn was a riot of weeds and flowering plants. But there was a bench under the apple tree that was perfectly suited to my needs. Usually I came late at night, when Mains was locked and abandoned. But today was Theden, that meant that if I ate dinner quickly, I had nearly an hour between Elxa Dal’s class and my work in the Fishery. Plenty of time for some practice.

  However, when I reached the courtyard tonight, I saw lights through the windows. Brandeur’s lecture was running late today.

  So I stayed on the rooftop. The windows to the lecture hall were shut, so there wasn’t much chance of my being overheard.

  I put my back to a nearby chimney and began to play. After about ten minutes the lights went out, but I decided to stay where I was rather than waste time climbing down.

  I was halfway through “Ten Tap Tim” when the sun slipped out from behind the clouds. Golden light covered the rooftop, spilling over the edge of the roof into a thin slice of the courtyard below.

  That’s when I heard the noise. A sudden rustling, like a startled animal down in the courtyard. But then there was something else, a noise unlike anything a squirrel or rabbit would make in the hedge. It was a hard noise, a vaguely metallic thud, as if someone had dropped a heavy bar of iron.

  I stopped playing, the half-finished melody still running through my head. Was another student down there, listening? I put my lute back in its case before I made my way over to the lip of the roof and looked down.

  I couldn’t see through the thick hedge that covered most of the eastern edge of the courtyard. Had a student climbed through the window?

  The sunset was fading quickly, and by the time I made it down the apple tree most of the courtyard lay in shadow. I could see from here that the high window was closed; no one had come in that way. Even though it was quickly growing dark, curiosity won over caution and I made my way into the hedge.

  There was quite a lot of space there. Portions of the hedge were nearly hollow, a green shell of living branches, leaving enough room to crouch comfortably. I made note of the place as a good space for sleeping if I didn’t have enough money for a bunk in the Mews next term.

  Even in the fading light I could see I was the only one there. There wasn’t room for anything bigger than a rabbit to hide. In the dim light I couldn’t spot anything that could have made the metallic noise, either.

  Humming the catchy chorus of “Ten Tap Tim,” I crawled through to the other end of the hedge. Only when I came through the other side did I notice the drainage grate. I’d seen similar ones scattered throughout the University, but this one was older and larger. In fact, the opening might be large enough for a person to fit through, if the grate were removed.

  Hesitantly, I curled a hand around one of the cool metal bars and pulled. The heavy grate pivoted on a hinge and came up about three inches before stopping. In the dim light I couldn’t tell why it wouldn’t go any farther. I pulled harder, but couldn’t budge it. Finally I gave up and dropped it back into place. It made a hard noise, vaguely metallic. Like someone had dropped a heavy bar of iron.

  Then my fingers felt something that my eyes missed: a maze of grooves etching the surface of the bars. I looked closer and recognized some of the runes I was learning under Cammar: ule and doch.

  Then something clicked in my head. The chorus of “Ten Tap Tim” suddenly fit together with the runes I’d been studying under Cammar for the last handful of days.

  Ule and doch are

  Both for binding

  Reh for seeking

  Kel for finding

  Gea key

  Teh lock

  Pesin water

  Resin rock

  Before I could go any further, sixth bell struck. The sound startled me from my reverie. But when I reached out to steady myself, my hand didn’t come to rest on leaves and dirt. It touched something round and hard and smooth: a green apple.

  I emerged from the hedge and made my way to the northwest corner where the apple tree stood. No apples were on the ground. It was too early in the year for that. What’s more, the iron grate was on the opposite side of the small courtyard. It couldn’t have rolled that far. It must have been carried.

  Unsure of what to think, but knowing I was late for my evening shift in the Fishery, I climbed the apple tree, gathered up my lute, and hurried to Kilvin’s shop.

  Later that night I fit the rest of the runes to music. It took a few hours, but when I was done it was like having a reference sheet in my head. The next day Cammar put me through an extensive two-hour examination, which I passed.

  For the next stage of my education in the Fishery, I was apprenticed to Manet, the old, wild-haired student I’d met during my first days at the University. Manet had been attending the University for nearly thirty years, and everyone knew him as the eternal E’lir. But despite the fact that we held the same rank, Manet had more hands-on experience in the Fishery than any dozen higher-ranking students combined.

  Manet was patient and considerate. In fact, he reminded me of my old teacher, Abenthy. Except Abenthy had wandered the world like a restless tinker, and it was common knowledge that Manet desired nothing more than to stay at the University for the rest of his life if he could manage it.

  Manet started small, teaching me simple formulae of the sort required for twice-tough glass and heat funnels. Under his tutelage, I learned artificing as quickly as I learned everything, and it wasn’t long before we worked our way up to more complex projects like heat-eaters and sympathy lamps.

  Truly high-level artificing such as sympathy clocks or gearwins were still beyond my reach, but I knew that it was just a matter of time. Unfortunately, time was proving to be in short supply.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Burning

  OWNING A LUTE AGAIN meant I had my music back, but I quickly realized I was three years out of practice. My work in the Artificery over the last couple months had toughened and strengthened my hands, but not in entirely the right ways. It took several frustrating days before I could play comfortably for even an hour at a time.

  I might have progressed more quickly had I not been so busy with my other studies. I had two hours of each day in the Medica, running or standing, an average of two hours of lecture and ciphering each day in Mathematics, and three hours of studying under Manet in the Fishery, learning the tricks of the trade.

  And then th
ere was advanced sympathy with Elxa Dal. Out of class, Elxa Dal was charming, soft-spoken, and even a little ridiculous when the mood was on him. But when he taught, his personality strode back and forth between mad prophet and galley-slave drummer. Every day in his class I burned another three hours of time and five hours worth of energy.

  Combined with my paid work in Kilvin’s shop, this left me with barely enough time to eat, sleep, and study, let alone give my lute the time it deserved.

  Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer. So I began sleeping less to give her the time she needed.

  After a span of this schedule, I was tired. After three span I was still fine, but only through a grim, set-jaw type of determination. Somewhere around the fifth span I began to show definite signs of wear.

  It was during that fifth span that I was enjoying a rare, shared lunch with Wilem and Simmon. They had their lunches from a nearby tavern. I couldn’t afford a drab for an apple and meat pie, so I had snuck some barley bread and a gristly sausage out of the Mess.

  We sat on the stone bench beneath the pennant pole where I’d been whipped. The place had filled me with dread after my whipping, but I forced myself to spend time there to prove to myself that I could. After it no longer unnerved me, I sat there because the stares of the students amused me. Now I sat there because I was comfortable. It was my place.

  And, because we spent a fair amount of time together, it had become Wilem and Simmon’s place too. If they thought my choice an odd one, they didn’t speak of it.

  “You haven’t been around very much,” Wilem said around a mouthful of meat pie. “Been sick?”

  “Right,” Simmon said sarcastically. “He’s been sick a whole month.”

  Wilem glared at him and grumbled, reminding me of Kilvin for a moment.

  His expression made Simmon laugh. “Wil’s more polite than I am. I’m betting you’ve been spending all your free hours walking to Imre and back. Courting some fabulously attractive young bard.” He gestured at the lute case that lay at my side.

  “He looks like he’s been sick.” Wilem looked at me with a critical eye. “Your woman hasn’t been taking care of you.”

  “He’s lovesick,” Simmon said knowingly. “Can’t eat. Can’t sleep. You think of her when you should be trying to memorize your cipher.”

  I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “See?” Simmon said to Wil. “She’s stolen his tongue as well as his heart. All his words are for her. He can spare none for us.”

  “Can’t spare any time, either,” Wilem said into his rapidly dwindling meat pie.

  It was true of course—I had been neglecting my friends even more than I had been neglecting myself. I felt a flush of guilt wash over me. I couldn’t tell them the full truth, that I needed to make the most of this term because it would very likely be my last. I was flat broke.

  If you cannot understand why I couldn’t bring myself to tell them this, then I doubt you have ever been truly poor. I doubt you can really understand how embarrassing it is to only own two shirts, to cut your own hair as best you can because you can’t afford a barber. I lost a button and couldn’t spare a shim to buy a matching one. I tore out the knee of my pants and had to make due with the wrong color thread for mending. I couldn’t afford salt for my meals, or drinks on my rare evenings out with friends.

  The money I earned in Kilvin’s shop was spent on essentials: ink, soap, lute strings…the only other thing I could afford was pride. I couldn’t bear the thought of my two best friends knowing how desperate my situation was.

  If I suffered a piece of extraordinary good luck I might be able to muster two talents to pay the interest on my debt to Devi. But it would require a direct act of God for me to somehow gather enough money to pay that and next term’s tuition as well. After I was forced out of the University and squared my debt with Devi, I didn’t know what I’d do. Pull up stakes and head for Anilin to look for Denna, perhaps.

  I looked at them, not knowing what to say. “Wil, Simmon, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been so busy lately.”

  Simmon grew a little more serious, and I saw that he was earnestly hurt at my unexplained absence. “We’re busy too, you know. I’ve got rhetoric and chemistry and I’m learning Siaru.” He turned to Wil and scowled. “You should know I’m beginning to hate your language, you shim bastard.”

  “Tu kralim,” the young Ceald replied amiably.

  Simmon turned back to me, and spoke with remarkable candor. “It’s just that we’d like to see you more often than once every handful of days as you run from Mains to the Fishery. Girls are wonderful, I’ll admit, but when one takes one of my friends away, I get a little jealous.” He gave a sudden, sunny smile. “Not that I think of you in that way, of course.”

  I found it hard to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been missed. For a long time, I hadn’t had anyone to miss me. I felt the beginning of hot tears in the back of my throat. “Really, there isn’t a girl. I mean it.” I swallowed hard trying to regain my composure.

  “Sim, I think we’ve been missing something here.” Wilem was looking at me oddly. “Take a good look at him.”

  Simmon gave me a similar, analytical stare. That look from the two of them was enough to unnerve me, pushing me back from the edge of tears.

  “Now,” Wilem said as if lecturing. “How many terms has our young E’lir been attending the University?”

  Realization poured into Sim’s honest face. “Oh.”

  “Anyone care to tell me?” I said petulantly.

  Wilem ignored my question. “What classes are you taking?”

  “Everything,” I said, glad to have an excuse to complain. “Geometry, Observation in the Medica, Advanced Sympathy with Elxa Dal, and I’ve got my apprenticeship under Manet in the Fishery.”

  Simmon looked a little shocked. “No wonder you look like you haven’t slept in a span of days,” he said.

  Wilem nodded to himself. “And you’re still working in Kilvin’s shop, aren’t you?”

  “A couple hours every night.”

  Simmon was aghast. “And you’re learning an instrument at the same time? Are you insane?”

  “The music is the only thing that keeps me grounded,” I said, reaching down to touch my lute. “And I’m not learning to play. I just need practice.”

  Wilem and Simmon exchanged looks. “How long do you think he has?”

  Simmon looked me over. “Span and a half, tops.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Wilem leaned forward. “We all bite off too much sooner or later. But some students don’t know when to spit their mouthful. They burn out. They quit, or botch their exams. Some crack.” He tapped his head. “It usually happens to students in their first year.” He gave me a significant look.

  “I haven’t bitten off too much,” I said.

  “Look in a mirror,” Wilem suggested frankly.

  I opened my mouth to reassure Wil and Sim that I was fine, but just then I heard the hour being struck, and I only had time for a hurried good-bye. Even so, I had to run to make it to Advanced Sympathy on time.

  Elxa Dal stood between two medium sized braziers. In his well-trimmed beard and dark master’s robe, he still reminded me of the stereotypical evil magician that appears in so many bad Aturan plays. “What each of you must remember is that the sympathist is tied to flame,” he said. “We are its master and its servant.”

  He tucked his hands into his long sleeves and began to pace again. “We are the masters of fire, for we have dominion over it.” Elxa Dal struck a nearby brazier with the flat of his hand, making it ring softly. Flames kindled in the coal and began to lick hungrily upward. “The energy in all things belongs to the arcanist. We command fire and fire obeys.” Dal walked slowly to the other corner of the room. The brazier at his back dimmed whi
le the one he walked toward sparked to life and began to burn. I appreciated his showmanship.

  Dal stopped and faced the class again. “But we are also servants of fire. Because fire is the most common form of energy, and without energy, our prowess as sympathists is of little use.” He turned his back to the class and began erasing formulae from the slate board. “Gather your materials, and we’ll see who has to knock heads with E’lir Kvothe today.” He began to chalk up a list of all the student’s names. Mine was at the top.

  Three span ago, Dal had started making us compete against each other. He called it dueling. And though it was a welcome break from the monotony of lecture, this most recent activity had a sinister element too.

  A hundred students left the Arcanum every year, perhaps a quarter of them with their guilders. That meant that every year there were a hundred more people in the world that had been trained in the use of sympathy. People who, for one reason or another, you might have to pit your will against later in life. Though Dal never said as much, we knew we were being taught something beyond mere concentration and ingenuity. We were being taught how to fight.

  Elxa Dal kept careful track of the results. In the class of thirty-eight, I was the only one to remain undefeated. By this point, even the most thickheaded and grudging students were being forced to admit that my quick admittance to the Arcanum was something other than a fluke.

  Dueling could also be profitable in a small way, as there was a bit of clandestine betting. When we wanted to bet on our own duels, Sovoy and I placed bets for each other. Though as a rule I usually didn’t have much money to spare.

  Thus it was no coincidence that Sovoy and I bumped into each other while we were gathering our materials. I handed him two jots underneath the table.

  He slid them into his pocket without looking at me. “Goodness,” he said quietly. “Someone’s pretty confident today.”