Her eyes told me she didn’t believe me. “I didn’t eat any of the stew.”

  “It was in the ale too. I saw you drink that.”

  “Good,” she said. “I want to die.”

  I gave a deep sigh. “It won’t kill you. It’ll just make you miserable. You’ll throw up and be weak with muscle cramps for a day or two.” I raised the cup, offering it to her.

  “Why do you care if they kill me?” she asked tonelessly. “If they don’t do it now they’ll do it later. I’d rather die. . . .” She clenched her teeth before she finished the sentence.

  “They didn’t poison you. I poisoned them and you happened to get some of it. I’m sorry, but this will help you over the worst of it.”

  Krin’s gaze wavered for a second, then became iron hard again. She looked at the cup, then fixed her gaze on me. “If it’s harmless, you drink it.”

  “I can’t,” I explained. “It would put me to sleep, and I have things to do tonight.”

  Krin’s eyes darted to the bed of furs laid out on the floor of the tent.

  I smiled my gentlest, saddest smile. “Not those sorts of things.”

  She still didn’t move. We stood there for a long while. I heard a muted retching sound from off in the woods. I sighed and lowered the cup. Looking down, I saw Ellie had already curled up and gone to sleep. Her face looked almost peaceful.

  I took a deep breath and looked back up at Krin. “You don’t have any reason to trust me,” I said, looking straight into her eyes. “Not after what has happened to you. But I hope you will.” I held out the cup again.

  She met my eyes without blinking, then reached for the cup. She drank it off in one swallow, choked a little, and sat down. Her eyes stayed hard as marble as she stared at the wall of the tent. I sat down, slightly apart from her.

  In fifteen minutes she was asleep. I covered the two of them with a blanket and watched their faces. In sleep they were even more beautiful than before. I reached out to brush a strand of hair from Krin’s cheek. To my surprise, she opened her eyes and stared at me. Not the marble stare she had given me before, she looked at me with the dark eyes of a young Denna.

  I froze with my hand on her cheek. We watched each other for a second. Then her eyes drew closed again. I couldn’t tell if it was the drug pulling her under, or her own will surrendering to sleep.

  I settled myself at the entrance of the tent and lay Caesura across my knees. I felt rage like a fire inside me, and the sight of the two sleeping girls was like a wind fanning the coals. I set my teeth and forced myself to think of what had happened here, letting the fire burn fiercely, letting the heat of it fill me. I drew deep breaths, tempering myself for what was to come.

  I waited for three hours, listening to the sounds of the camp. Muted conversation drifted toward me, shapes of sentences with no individual words. They faded, mixing with cursing and sounds of people being ill. I took long, slow breaths as Vashet had shown me, relaxing my body, slowly counting my exhalations.

  Then, opening my eyes, I looked at the stars and judged the time to be right. I slowly unfolded myself from my sitting position and made a long, slow stretch. There was a solid crescent of moon hanging in the sky, and everything seemed very bright.

  I approached the campfire slowly. It had fallen to sullen coals that did little to light the space between the two wagons. Otto was there, his huge body slumped against one of the wheels. I smelled vomit. “Is that you, Kvothe?” he asked blurrily.

  “Yes,” I continued my slow walk toward him.

  “That bitch Anne didn’t let the lamb cook through,” he moaned. “I swear to holy God I’ve never been this sick before.” He looked up at me. “Are you all right?”

  Caesura leapt, caught the moonlight briefly on her blade, and tore his throat. He staggered to one knee, then toppled to his side, his hands staining black as they clutched his neck. I left him bleeding darkly in the moonlight, unable to cry out, dying but not dead.

  I tossed a piece of brittle iron into the coals of the fire and headed toward the other tents.

  Laren startled me as I came around the wagon. He made a surprised noise as he saw me walk around the corner with my naked sword. But the poison had made him sluggish, and he had barely managed to raise his hands before Caesura took him in the chest. He choked a scream as he fell backward, writhing on the ground.

  None of them had been sleeping soundly due to the poison, so Laren’s cry set them pouring from the wagons and tents, staggering and looking around wildly. Two indistinct shapes that I knew must be Josh and Fren leapt from the open back of the wagon closest to me. I struck one in the eye before he hit the ground and tore the belly from the other.

  Everyone saw, and now there were screams in earnest. Most of them began to run drunkenly into the trees, some falling as they went. But the tall shape of Tim hurled itself at me. The heavy sword he had been sharpening all evening glinted silver in the moonlight.

  But I was ready. I slid a second long, brittle piece of sword-iron into my hand and muttered a binding. Then, just as he came close enough to strike I snapped the iron sharply between my fingers. His sword shattered with the sound of a broken bell, and the pieces tumbled and disappeared in the dark grass.

  Tim was more experienced than me, stronger, and with longer reach. Even poisoned and with half a sword he made a good showing of himself. It took me nearly half a minute before I snuck past his guard with Lover Out the Window and severed his hand at the wrist.

  He fell to his knees, letting out a raspy howl and clutching at the stump. I struck him high in the chest and headed for the trees. The fight hadn’t taken long, but every second was vital, as the others were already scattering into the woods.

  I hurried in the direction I’d seen one of the dark shapes stagger. I was careless, so when Alleg threw himself on me from the shadow of a tree he caught me unaware. He didn’t have a sword, only a small knife flashing in the moonlight as he dove for me. But a knife is enough to kill a man. He stabbed me in the stomach as we rolled to the ground. I struck the side of my head against a root and tasted blood.

  I fought my way to my feet before he did and cut the hamstring on his leg. Then I stabbed him in the stomach and left him cursing on the ground as I went to hunt the others. I held one hand tight across my stomach. I knew the pain would hit me soon, and after that I might not have long to live.

  It was a long night, and I will not trouble you with any further details. I found all the rest of them as they made their way through the forest. Anne had broken her leg in her reckless flight, and Tim made it nearly half a mile despite the loss of his hand and the wound in his chest. They shouted and cursed and begged for mercy as I stalked them through the forest, but nothing they said could appease me.

  It was a terrible night, but I found them all. There was no honor to it, no glory. But there was justice of a sort, and blood, and in the end I brought their bodies back.

  I came back to my tent as the sky was beginning to color to a familiar blue. A sharp, hot line of pain burned a few inches below my navel, and I could tell from the unpleasant tugging when I moved that dried blood had matted my shirt to the wound. I ignored the feeling as best I could, knowing I could do nothing for myself with my hands shaking and no decent light to see by. I’d have to wait for dawn to see how badly I was hurt.

  I tried not to dwell on what I knew from my work in the Medica. Any deep wound to the gut promises a long, painful trip to the grave. A skilled physicker with the right equipment could make a difference, but I couldn’t be farther from civilization. I might as well wish for a piece of the moon.

  I wiped my sword, sat in the wet grass in front of the tent, and began to think.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-TWO

  The Broken Circle

  I had been busy for more than an hour when the sun finally peered over the tops of the trees and began to burn the dew from the grass. I had found a flat rock and was using it as a makeshift anvil to hammer a spare horseshoe into a different shape. Above the fire a pot of oats was boiling.

  I was just putting the finishing touches on the horseshoe when I saw a flicker of movement from the corner of my eye. It was Krin peeking around the corner of the wagon. I guessed I’d woken her with the sound of hammering iron.

  “Oh my God.” Her hand went to her mouth and she took a couple stunned steps out from behind the wagon. “You killed them.”

  “Yes,” I said simply, my voice sounding dead in my ears.

  Krin’s eyes ran up and down my body, staring at my torn and bloody shirt. “Are . . .” Her voice caught in her throat, and she swallowed. “Are you alright?”

  I nodded silently. When I’d finally worked up the courage to examine my wound, I’d discovered that Felurian’s cloak had saved my life. Instead of spilling open my guts, Alleg’s knife had merely given me a long, shallow cut across my belly. He had also ruined a perfectly good shirt, but I had a hard time feeling bad about that, all things considered.

  I examined the horseshoe, then used a damp leather strap to tie it firmly to one end of a long, straight branch. I pulled the kettle of oats off the fire and thrust the horseshoe into the coals.

  Seeming to recover from some of her shock, Krin slowly approached, eyeing the row of bodies on the other side of the fire. I had done nothing other than lay them out in a rough line. It wasn’t tidy. Blood stained the bodies, and their wounds gaped openly. Krin stared as if she were afraid they might start to move again.

  “What are you doing?” she asked finally.

  In answer, I pulled the now-hot horseshoe from the coals of the fire and approached the nearest body. It was Tim. I pressed the hot iron against the back of his remaining hand. The skin smoked and hissed and stuck to the metal. After a moment I pulled it away, leaving a black burn against his white skin. A broken circle. I moved back to the fire and began to heat the iron again.

  Krin stood mutely, too stunned to react normally. Not that there could be a normal way to react in a situation like this, I suppose. But she didn’t scream or run off as I thought she might. She simply looked at the broken circle and repeated, “What are you doing?”

  When I finally spoke, my voice sounded strange to my own ears. “All of the Edema Ruh are one family,” I explained. “Like a closed circle. It doesn’t matter if some of us are strangers to others, we are still family, still close. We have to be this way, because we are always strangers wherever we go. We are scattered, and people hate us.

  “We have laws. Rules we follow. When one of us does a thing that cannot be forgiven or mended, if he jeopardizes the safety or the honor of the Edema Ruh, he is killed and branded with the broken circle to show he is no longer one of us. It is rarely done. There is rarely a need.”

  I pulled the iron from the fire and walked to the next body. Otto. I pressed it to the back of his hand and listened to it hiss. “These were not Edema Ruh. But they made themselves out to be. They did things no Edema would do, so I am making sure the world knows they were not part of our family. The Ruh do not do the sort of things that these men did.”

  “But the wagons,” she protested. “The instruments.”

  “They were not Edema Ruh,” I said firmly. “They probably weren’t even real troupers, just a group of thieves who killed a band of Ruh and tried to take their place.”

  Krin stared at the bodies, then back at me. “So you killed them for pretending to be Edema Ruh?”

  “For pretending to be Ruh? No.” I put the iron back in the fire. “For killing a Ruh troupe and stealing their wagons? Yes. For what they did to you? Yes.”

  “But if they aren’t Ruh . . .” Krin looked at the brightly painted wagons. “How?”

  “I am curious about that myself,” I said. Pulling the broken circle from the fire again, I moved to Alleg and pressed it onto his palm.

  The false trouper jerked and screamed himself awake.

  “He isn’t dead!” Krin exclaimed shrilly.

  I had examined the wound earlier. “He’s dead,” I said coldly. “He just hasn’t stopped moving yet.” I turned to look him in the eye. “How about it, Alleg? How did you come by a pair of Edema wagons?”

  “Ruh bastard,” he cursed at me with blurry defiance.

  “Yes,” I said, “I am. And you are not. So how did you learn my family’s signs and customs?”

  “How did you know?” he asked. “We knew the words, the handshake. We knew water and wine and songs before supper. How did you know?”

  “You thought you could fool me?” I said, feeling my anger coiling inside me again like a spring. “This is my family! How could I not know? Ruh don’t do what you did. Ruh don’t steal, don’t kidnap girls.”

  Alleg shook his head with a mocking smile. There was blood on his teeth. “Everyone knows what you people do.”

  My temper exploded. “Everyone thinks they know! They think rumor is the truth! Ruh don’t do this!” I gestured wildly around me. “People only think those things because of people like you!” My anger flared even hotter and I found myself screaming. “Now tell me what I want to know or God will weep when he hears what I’ve done to you!”

  Alleg paled and had to swallow before he found his voice. “There was an old man and his wife and a couple other players. I traveled guard with them for half a year. Eventually they took me in.” He ran out of breath and gasped a bit as he tried to get it back.

  He’d said enough. “So you killed them.”

  Alleg shook his head vigorously. “No . . . were attacked on the road.” He gestured weakly to the other bodies. “They surprised us. The other players were killed, but I was just . . . knocked out.”

  I looked over the line of bodies and felt the rage flare up, even though I’d already known. There was no other way these people could have come by a pair of Edema wagons with their markings intact.

  Alleg was talking again. “I showed them afterward . . . How to act like a troupe.” He swallowed against the pain. “Good life.”

  I turned away, disgusted. He was one of us, in a way. One of our adopted family. It made everything ten times worse knowing that. I pushed the horseshoe into the coals of the fire again, then looked to the girl as it heated. Her eyes had gone to flint as she watched Alleg.

  Not sure if it was the right thing to do, I offered her the brand. Her face went hard and she took it.

  Alleg didn’t seem to understand what was about to happen until she had the hot iron against his chest. He shrieked and twisted but lacked the strength to get away as she pressed it hard against him. She grimaced as he struggled weakly against the iron, her eyes brimming with angry tears.

  After a long minute she pulled the iron away and stood, crying quietly. I let her be.

  Alleg looked up at her and somehow managed to find his voice. “Ah girl, we had some good times, didn’t we?” She stopped crying and looked at him. “Don’t—”

  I kicked him sharply in the side before he could say anything else. He stiffened in mute pain and then spat blood at me. I landed another kick, and he went limp.

  Not knowing what else to do, I took back the brand and began heating it again.

  There was a long silence. “Is Ellie still asleep?” I asked.

  Krin nodded.

  “Do you think it would help for her to see this?”

  She thought about it, wiping at her face with a hand. “I don’t think so,” she said finally. “I don’t think she could see it right now. She’s not right in her head.”

  “The two of you are from Levinshir?” I asked to keep the silence at arm’s length.

  “My family farms just north of Levinshir,” Krin said. “Ellie’s father is mayor.”

  “When did these come into your town?” I asked as I set the brand to the back of another hand. The sweet smell of charred flesh was becoming thick in the air.

  “What day is it?”

  I counted in my head. “Felling.”

  “They came into town on Theden.” She paused. “Five days ago?” Her voice was tinged with disbelief. “We were glad to have the chance to see a play and hear the news. Hear some music.” She looked down. “They were camped on the east edge of town. When I came to get my fortune read they told me to come back that night. They seemed so friendly, so exciting.”

  Krin looked at the wagons. “When I showed up, they were all sitting around the fire. They sang me songs. The old woman gave me some tea. I didn’t even think . . . I mean . . . she looked like my gran.” Her eyes strayed to the body of the old woman, then away. “Then I don’t remember what happened. I woke up in the dark, in one of the wagons. I was tied up and I . . .” Her voice broke a little, and she rubbed absentmindedly at her wrists. She glanced back at the tent. “I guess Ellie got an invitation too.”

  I finished branding the backs of their hands. I had been planning to do their faces too, but the iron was slow to heat in the fire, and I was quickly growing sick of the work. I hadn’t slept at all, and the anger that had burned so hot for so long was in its final flicker, leaving me feeling cold and numb.

  I made a gesture to the pot of oats I’d pulled off the fire. “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes,” she said, then darted a look toward the bodies. “No.”

  “Me neither. Go wake up Ellie and we can get you home.”

  Krin hurried off to the tent. After she disappeared inside, I turned to the line of bodies. “Does anyone object to my leaving the troupe?” I asked.

  None of them did. So I left.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-THREE

  Dreams

  It was an hour’s work to drive the wagons into a thick piece of forest and hide them. I destroyed their Edema markings and unhitched the horses. There was only one saddle, so I loaded the other two horses with food and whatever other portable valuables I could find.

  When I returned with the horses, Krin and Ellie were waiting for me. More precisely, Krin was waiting. Ellie was merely standing nearby, her expression vacant, her eyes empty.