Mest extinguished the leaf.

  “An interesting story.”

  “My head has been aching ever since.” Hobb massaged his temple. “By the way, the fellow wore a cloak like yours”—he pointed at the drying clothes—“only even more tattered. I thought perhaps he might be one of your kind.”

  Mest shook his head.

  “Mm-mm. I don’t think so. I’ve never heard of him. A creature that strange would have a reputation even among us.” He scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Still… there are a few peculiarities in what you told me.”

  “You don’t say…” Irony radiated from Hobb’s face.

  Mest gave his friend a flat look.

  “I obviously mean beyond the part where a demonic iron tower purchased food that suggested a remarkably healthy diet—and even thanked you for it. Kindly. You said you felt a strange sickness when you first came close to him, and that he… wavered? …split in two?”

  “It’s hard to describe clearly. I didn’t fully understand what I was seeing either… but yes. Something like that.”

  “And then he knocked the cup down, and it was as if someone slapped you awake from a dream—gone in an instant, everything back in its place.”

  Hobb considered this.

  “The cup did roll off, yes, but it never occurred to me that he struck it down on purpose. I was rather occupied with the thought of death. But what are you getting at?”

  Mest took a pull from his mug.

  “Maybe the fellow only wanted to make you believe he was a demonic giant. In essence, he succeeded. Why?—” he shrugged indifferently “—perhaps it made him more convincing. Still, decent of him to leave a tip. And not a small one. He could have bought everyone here a mug of ale with that much.” The corner of his mouth curved faintly. “Perhaps he was compensating in advance. Because of me.”

  Hobb’s eyebrows had long since climbed to the top of his forehead.

  “You’re not making fun of me?”

  “Why are you so surprised? You know such things exist.”

  “I do, of course—Anne’s earring is like that. But there’s some difference between a piece of jewellery and a walking landslide. I’ve never seen such a glamour with my own eyes… not even during my years in the Forest of Falling Waters.”

  “Well, now you have. You couldn’t have seen every strangeness in your adventuring days, Hobb. It seems this one slipped past before you sank into great prosperity. Don’t look at me like that—I’m not mocking you. I’ve simply been wearing down the soles of my boots a little longer, and I’ve gone far deeper and farther than we ever did together, that’s all. From here, from this little village… ahem, town… not much new can be learned, no matter how many travellers wander through.” He waved a weary hand. “Still, don’t be troubled. Ignorance is called a blessing for a reason. I am curious who he might have been. Before he left, you must have seen through him. Or rather… heard through him. You said some sort of sorrowful tone seeped beneath his speech.” He rested his chin on his fist and gazed dreamily at the bottles of drink. “A sorrowful wanderer… an aching heart hidden behind a harsh exterior… surely he sits upon a barren crag, his lonely gaze lost in the colors of the setting sun while the wind stirs his hair… if he has any.”

  “You do realise you sound as though you’re talking about yourself.”

  Instead of answering, Mest spread his hands.

  “In any case, if I’m right, you felt ill because for a moment you saw through the veil. And if I’m not—then you probably just soiled yourself.”

  “Hm. Yes… what? May the demons take you, you wretch!” His friend hurled the rag at him. “I tell you in confidence of the horror I endured, and you make sport of me!”

  Mest laughed heartily.

  “Here—your carefully guarded rag. You dropped it by accident. I see this is your weapon now, in place of a sword.”

  Hobb snatched it back with wounded pride.

  “Ah, curse it all… But then my head hurts because of this too?”

  “I suspect so.” Mest wiped the corner of his eye. “You have a good eye. With a few years’ effort, it might even become talent. But everything has its price. Things like this scrape a little at the brain. Don’t worry—it will pass by morning.”

  “I see. That’s a relief.” Hobb stared thoughtfully at the nearby table wrapped in somber half-shadow. “Then is Jasu more witless than usual for the same reason?”

  Mest glanced back flatly.

  “Jasu is a harder nut. He came into closer contact with our illusionist.” His voice grew dark without reason. “In his case, it won’t pass on its own.”

  Uncertain distress settled over Hobb’s face.

  “You’re sure…? If you say so. You have far more experience with such things. Can’t you help the poor fellow somehow?”

  “Chh… is he worth any effort from me?” Mest tossed back with forced indifference.

  “Don’t put on airs for me. I know you’re pretending. You’re not like that.”

  Mest rolled his eyes.

  “Fine. Have it your way. If you ask it, I’ll do what I can.”

  Hobb sighed with relief and shook his head.

  “I know he didn’t make the best first impression, but I like the lad. Sometimes he’s a blockhead, yet his mind and heart are in the right place—and he has a big heart, even if it doesn’t show.”

  “If you say so, Hobb, I believe you. And since you’ve said it several times, I ought to believe it several times over. In that case, I would like to heal him as well. The world has need of good people, doesn’t it?”

  Mest folded his hands before him and rested his chin upon them. His gaze spoke of heavy weighing and difficult decisions.

  “However… the remedy is unfortunately not simple. I must perform an ancient rite which, though it consists of only a few brief gestures of the hand, demands great effort from me and places a heavy burden upon the spirit. Moreover, there is a chance it may cause lasting damage to Jasu’s mind—leave it even more addled than it is already. But there is nothing else to be done. Either this, or nothing.” Lines of concern gathered upon his brow. “The healing ritual is most effective when his wits are already unhinged, so it would be best to wait until he works himself into a fury again.”

  Hobb listened in stunned silence.

  “I had no idea it was so serious. I thought only his temper had been stirred. In any case, thank you in advance—on Jasu’s behalf as well. I’m counting on you.” He leaned closer and continued in a quieter voice. “But won’t there be trouble if you do it here in the tavern? You know… the guests…”

  For a moment it seemed as though Mest might snicker, yet his face quickly vanished behind his mug. After draining the last of it, he noted with satisfaction that it had been good.

  “Ahh… it has flavor. Don’t worry—this time there will be no trouble. That reminds me, I meant to ask earlier… is there any chance I could sell anything here?”

  Hobb shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Mest. I don’t think so—at least not here in town. As you yourself said, you mostly see unfamiliar faces here.” His gaze swept across the room. “They don’t know you either. Most of them came from Belor—born there, lived there—and they think there isn’t much of anything beyond it in the world. If they travel a few days along worn roads and build a campfire, they already call themselves world-wandering adventurers. And you know what such people are like when they encounter something unfamiliar.”

  Mest snorted dismissively. He opened his small box and prepared another leaf for himself. After puffing on it thoughtfully, he set it beside the candle. With resignation he leaned on the counter, propped his face in his palm, and idly picked at the rim of his mug.

  “Those who spend their whole lives in their own shallow, foolish fairy-tale world—sunk into comforts and safety they did not create for themselves—are the ones most convinced they understand the workings of the world. Toward everything and everyone else they are either prejudiced or indifferent.” He raised his hand before him and examined his knuckles one by one. “They live every moment of their trivial existence as though it were of great significance, and imagine themselves the indispensable pillars of order and being, without whom the world would collapse.” He squinted suspiciously at one fingernail, then flicked a speck of dirt from beneath it. “Upon the meaningless deeds of their tiny self-adoring lives they build infinite arrogance, and through its fog they look down on everyone—even those they envy.” With the same now-clean nail he scratched at a tooth. “Out of pitiful fear of anything that exceeds the capacity of their narrow minds, and from their insatiable selfishness, they arrogate to themselves the right to destroy and to kill—believing, in their vanity, that such judgment is just and worthy.”

  From the far corner beyond the counter came a burst of rapid applause, followed by a resonant belch. Mest glanced there suspiciously but saw no one.

  Hobb scratched his head uncertainly.

  “Well… something like that. In any case, I’ll keep my ears open. Perhaps among the guests there’ll be someone who might buy a few things from you. And there are always the villages, of course.”

  “Should I start reaching into the moth-eaten purses of old dear acquaintances? What do you take me for? I wouldn’t accept a single coin from them. But if you ask around here, I’d be grateful. And since you mentioned the villages… might someone there need me?”

  “Hm.” Hobb rubbed his chin heavily. “I didn’t want to trouble you with it tonight right away… I thought we’d speak of it in the morning. Going there now, in the dark of night and the rain… Old Ben lives in a small village about two hours’ walk west of here, beyond the hills at the edge of a little grove. There’s a road leading there—you’ll know it by the meadow with the witness stones. He moved out of town with his son after… well… after it became a town. Tom has been ill for some time now. He can’t even get out of bed.”

  “I know. I’ve already been to see them.”

  Hobb looked at him in surprise.

  “Really?”

  “I meant to ask you where they lived, but as it turned out I happened to come from that direction. Ben was sitting outside the door, puffing on his pipe. He hugged me as though he meant to crush me. Tried to keep me there for the night at once, offered me everything under the sun. He planned to take Tom to Belor today by cart—would have stopped by you on the way. He said he’d already sent a lad with silver to try to bring back some worldly or holy healer from there, but the boy returned with only the silver. No one bothers to come this far. And Adern is farther still. In the end they stayed, because Ben feared his son wouldn’t survive the journey in his condition—no matter what a fine young man he’s become. And deep down he knows common healers likely can’t help anyway. Still… a desperate man tries everything he can.”

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  “And what’s wrong with him? Were you able to do anything?”

  Mest released a small cloud of smoke and shook his head.

  “Such things don’t happen by magic stroke. Ben told me his mother died not long ago…”

  Hobb lowered his head.

  “Yes. I know. The illness took her.”

  “If I could have arrived a little sooner…”

  “Forget blaming yourself all the time. You can’t be everywhere, always. You’ve already helped people here so much—again and again. Some things simply happen despite our best intentions and efforts. You should make peace with the fact that you’re not all-powerful.”

  “I know. But unfortunately neither of those comes easily—neither omnipotence nor peace. Peace is separated from resignation by only a hair, and resignation from indifference by another. At least this way something drives me, if nothing else then unreachable goals. Even that is better than nothing, isn’t it?” He stared rigidly at the glowing end of the leaf. “However it may be… I wasn’t here, and she died.” A silken cloud of smoke spread across the counter. “Even if Ben has grown old, he’s still as strong as when we roamed the unknown together…

  How long has it been? Twenty years since he settled, perhaps more. I think he chose well—and I hope he remains long for his son. As deeply as his wife’s death struck him, it’s no wonder the boy fell ill.”

  “Would grief alone make him sick?”

  Mest narrowed his eyes and drew once more on the leaf.

  “The color of mourning is black for a reason. Have you ever been in a house where someone is grieving? Even the air is different. As though a heavy veil had settled over everything, dimming even the sun’s light. To the one who mourns, all things become colourless and weighty—seen through a shroud of shadow. And darkness does not lift of its own accord, only if touched by light, whether from within or from without. If nothing drives it away, it sinks ever deeper into the soul and invites other shadows to dwell there. It deepens. Then the body, too, begins to break. You know this… it is not only the body that can fall ill, and not only the body that must be healed. Sometimes one must go deeper.”

  Hobb gave a low hum.

  “Well now… that is almost poetry. I still hold great respect for what you do. You could have turned your gifts to almost anything—mercenary, soldier, profiteer, bandit, one of those mourner-coat lackeys… anything at all.”

  “Silver-edged, you mean? Or why not gold while we’re at it?” Mest shook his head with a faint smile. “Yes, that would be just what’s missing.”

  “And yet you devote yourself to this. To healing. I remember when the four of us wandered together with Ben and Alor—these matters already concerned you more than squandering the spoils. And look: after all these years, you are still fighting for people.”

  Mest laughed softly.

  “Now I’m the one who must tell you not to exaggerate, or I’ll grow sentimental. I’m not nearly so tender-hearted—certainly not as pure-souled as you paint me.” He took another pull, then put out the leaf beside the others. “Quite simply, this is what I’m good at—and it pays reasonably well. Since of course I do charge for it. Not in Ben’s case, naturally, but gratitude alone doesn’t fill a stomach. In any event, I did what I could there and then. As I said, I carry a plant or two gathered along my road. One is called white candle. I found it deep—I doubt you’ve ever seen it. I left one behind until I return.”

  As he spoke of the rare find, a spark of enthusiasm lit his eyes—something not seen in him all evening.

  “When lit, it burns very slowly, almost as though time itself wished to halt around it. Its flame is bright white—hence the name. The light is meditative, and the smoke… strange, mist-like. It has a calming, loosening effect. One might say it helps the soul relax, settle, breathe again beneath the shadows. Of course, the plant alone is not enough for healing. But if Ben stays beside him, the boy will recover. I will certainly visit them again before I move on.”

  “Hm… this white candle truly is unknown to me. You must wander far deeper than we ever did together. We’re fortunate you come back to us now and then.” Warmth colored Hobb’s voice. “You’re a good man.”

  Mest gave another quiet laugh and waved the thought away.

  “A good man, nonsense… You don’t know all my sides, my friend—but perhaps that’s for the best. Still, thank you. The boy is fortunate Ben is his father. Others would drive me off with pitchforks for such things, calling them superstition. Ben still respects nature and all its beings, and would rather turn to them in faith than to this new mad world-religion and its Order. And that will not change. I fear one day it may be his undoing. You know what they call such things now—spirit- and demon-worship. May their One True God strike them down.” He grimaced and spat beside himself. “Mindless rabble. They couldn’t even come up with anything new.” He glanced at the floor. “Forgive the spitting. Habit.”

  “No harm done, my friend.” Hobb spat as well, for symmetry’s sake. “There. Better. Even the beer turns sour when we speak of such matters.”

  For a while Mest watched the candle flame sway in quiet peace. His gaze drifted somewhere into the past.

  “I’m glad the old man still lives. I always fear, when I leave, that it will be the last time I see him.” He began to roll another leaf, humming softly. “I’m sure he still wields a sword fearsomely, though the hoe grows heavier in his hands. I learned many things from him, once.”

  “Oh, Alor and I even more so,” Hobb murmured, nodding in remembrance. “Beside Ben I felt as though I’d first taken a weapon in hand that very day. Speaking of which—would you believe that this fool here has been learning swordplay from him for some time now?” He pointed toward Jasu. “Of his own will. Works the fields near the village, then goes to Ben whenever the old man has time.”

  A trace of mockery touched Mest’s voice.

  “So he too will become a gallant lad in some watchtower?”

  “No, no. Recently he’s set his mind on leaving—going out into the wilds.”

  Mest growled faintly as he drew again on the leaf.

  “Another self-made adventurer…”

  “I know how foolish it is,” Hobb said, shaking his head. “And yet… I understand the poor boy. He lived in the same village with Sahi—the one where Ben and his son live now. Their parents died long ago. Since then Jasu cared for the younger one. You remember. We helped as we could, but those were hard times for us too. You know it wasn’t always easy here.”

  “I know. And what became of them?”

  “Well—that’s just it. About two years ago, a few hooded men from the Order came here recruiting.” Hobb spat angrily. “They preached for days, spreading the swill they call holy word—how all otherworldly evil must be purged, how those who are not of the One World Faith must be punished, for surely they worship false gods and shadow-demons. You know the rest. In short… they washed Sahi’s mind clean with their demagoguery, and the child went with them. Of all people. Those like that are tormented even in the best of cases. In the worst…”

  He let the thought trail away.

  “Jasu tried everything to stop it. All he achieved was that Sahi left home all the more bitterly.”

  “Have these rats already begun gnawing even at the remote shards?” Mest muttered. “At least they once left alone those they did not count as human.”

  “That is true,” Hobb said, “but do not forget—since the road toward Adern opened, things have changed. We are a town now, after all. Even if we only call it that among ourselves, it cannot be denied that many pass this way because of the crossroads. Still, by great fortune, we attract little real attention. They have enough to occupy themselves elsewhere and no time for common folk like us. Only a few of their companies have ridden through, and even then merely in passing. They raised little dust. This was the only time a band of recruiters appeared here. Just the same, we remain cautious—should they ever decide to linger. There is nothing in the town they could openly condemn, of that I would swear. No one wants a merchant or a sellsword to let something slip. And in the villages the old ways are still known. Do not worry—we are long accustomed to living in the shadow of those half-mad, mourner-coat zealots. Besides, obsession or not, even they do not slaughter blindly whatever they see. If they wiped people out without cause, they would soon lose their good name. They punish otherworldly things, yes—and heads may fall if something wounds their fervor deeply enough. We all know this. That is why everything must be well hidden. If nothing catches their eye, they ignore common folk. They concern themselves far more with demons—or what they take for demons.”

  Mest gave a quiet laugh to himself.

  “And the Greys too, to my great fortune…” He drew on the leaf and gestured with it toward his friend. “This is where I would normally offer you some hollow proverb—better safe than sorry, and the like—but if you say everything is under control, then I believe you. I take it there has been no word of Sahi since.”

  Hobb leaned on the counter with a low growl.

  “There has. A few months later, news arrived that Sahi was dead. Supposedly their unit was caught in a great battle on some unknown shard.”

  “And how could anyone know that?”

  “Lately it is said that when volunteers fall, a letter is sent to their family—provided the family can be found and reached without trouble. In the Contiguous World there is at least a chance of it. The letter offers condolences, recounts what victories the loved one achieved, and how heroically they gave their life for the sacred cause. Alongside it they send a single silver coin. Compensation.”

  “Reassuring.”

  “When Jasu received the letter, he first hurled their filthy alms against the wall of his house—then flung it away with curses. He collapsed completely after that. A few days later he went to look for it, but could not find it. Then old Ben came to him. As it turned out, he had seen where the coin was thrown and kept it safe, lest a passerby pocket it or the rain wash it away. He did not want to burden the boy’s heart too soon, so he waited until Jasu wished to find it himself. Since then, he has always carried it with him.”

  Hobb watched Jasu darkly as the young man stared into his drink.

  “I fear it has become the symbol of some ominous vow.”

  Mest emptied his mug, then drew deeply on the leaf.

  “And so he grew closer to Ben and to Tom… and feeling he has nothing left to remain for, he decides to learn swordplay from the grand master. I see.”

  His voice turned distant behind the thickening smoke.

  “He prepares for the unknown dangers of the wild.”

  “At least, that is what he thought then. I understand the poor boy. His friends all went off to Belor to seek their fortune, but he stayed—so he could remain beside Sahi. And now he has lost Sahi too. He was left alone.”

  Hobb sighed softly.

  “But now things are different. Ben seems to have taken a liking to him, and the boy to Ben. He respects the old man deeply. With Tom they get along especially well—that is why he fears for him so much. And so he is despairing and angry again. It reminds me of how he was when Sahi died. I suppose the bad memories have stirred again.”

  He gestured toward Jasu.

  “You could tell him you have been there… that Tom is on the mend.”

  “I do not yet know whether he is mending,” Mest said quietly. “It is never wise to drink in joy in advance.”

  He watched Jasu for a long moment as the young man stared into his cup.

  Hobb, seeing the unexpected warmth in his friend’s eyes, looked at him in surprise.

  “I remember them,” Mest said with a small nod. “The two children in Ben’s village… Of course I remember. I simply did not recognize him after so long. I saw them when you first settled here… when was it?”

  He drew thoughtfully on the leaf.

  “More than ten years, surely… How old were they then?”

  “That was thirteen years ago now, my friend. They were around ten and six. Life flies.”

  Mest hummed softly through the smoke.

  “He would not remember me, then. Perhaps I only passed through once.”

  “Twice,” Hobb said. “You call me old, yet I remember better than you. Or have the many shards you have wandered robbed you of time itself? I know you helped them afterward as well, whenever you came through—even when you did not visit them directly. Not only them, but everyone. I do not forget such things. Nor do they, even if they never knew who their benefactor was.”

  He patted Mest’s shoulder gently.

  “You, man of secrets.”

  Mest drew once more on the leaf, then put it out beside the candle.

  “Let the nobles preen; that is their trade. My sack is already full of grateful handshakes and tears of joy, yet none of it can be eaten—so I do not hunger for more. In any case, it is better he stays here. At least he will not get himself killed. Swordplay and sorrow are worth nothing in the wild, and no one learns the blade in a year or two—not even with a good master. So he may practice in peace a while longer.”

  He glanced back over his shoulder.

  “And besides… I must heal him first.”

  “Yes,” Hobb said softly. “Ben struggled long enough even with me before I could hold a sword with any certainty. I have not been to see him for several days. I will go with you when you visit them.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “I am almost as glad as you are that the old man still stands. I think he will outlive us all.”

  Mest stretched his arms in idle comfort.

  “You see, Hobb? I told you. Fresh air works wonders. He digs in the village fields, while you have been steeping in ale-fumes here since time began. No wonder you are drying up.”

  “If you mock me too much, you will get no more beer,” Hobb warned, wagging a finger before waving the threat away. “I will not wander the world again. I am well enough here. This is where I belong. And I could not have helped Ben’s boy in any case. It seems you always arrive when someone needs you.”

  Mest’s mouth tightened slightly.

  “At least among you. Most others drive me off like a mangy dog. And that new faith—and its damned Order—would gladly wipe out my kind along with anything else that displeases them.”

  “Do not trouble yourself over the judgment of those who cannot see past their own noses,” Hobb said gently. “Anyone with a spark of sense in them respects you.”

  “Thank you. I do appreciate the words,” Mest replied. “But I am not whining out of self-pity. What troubles me is what I see around me.”

  He folded his arms.

  “That the world is falling apart is an old, gnawed bone. Everyone has heard it. Those who have seen it know the truth; those who have not either believe or do not. In either case, no one truly cares. Not even a cataclysm was enough to change anything. Whoever is fortunate lives well, and the suffering of others does not concern them. If their own comfort stands secure, they do not care how the world collapses—nor whether there will even be a world left for their children to inherit. And those who possess power alongside comfort turn it to their own gain, bringing suffering to others, then justify it with old or new ideologies while the rabble follows. The story is always the same in the end.”

  He exhaled slowly.

  “You asked where I have wandered. Many places. I have seen many dark things. Even standing upon the ruins of the world, people continue destroying—until there is nothing left to destroy.”

  Hobb stared down in troubled silence.

  Seeing his friend’s expression, Mest lifted his hands in apology.

  “Forgive me, Hobb. Pay no mind to the stench I am letting loose above your counter. I am very tired, and it darkens my mood. Once I have finally rested, I will not sound so bleak.”

  He managed a faint smile.

  “Pour me another beer, will you? I have talked too much and grown thirsty.”

  “Hrm. I do not like what you say, Mest. Not at all,” Hobb muttered. “Mostly because I agree with it. But of course—I will bring you a drink at once.”

  He hurried off toward the small casks at the far end of the counter.

  Left alone, Mest rubbed his face wearily, then drew a deep breath from the leaf and let the smoke close around him.

  Lost in thought, he idly scratched at a crack in the wooden counter while his gaze drifted farther and farther into the gently wavering candle flame.

  Through the soft grey veil of smoke, its reflection shimmered in his eyes…

  …and suddenly the flame flickered, flared, and began to dance sharply from side to side.