The Name of the Wind

“I move to strike both grievances,” Arwyl said. The physicker’s old voice coming as a bit of a surprise. “If Hemme set him in front of the class, he gave permission. And it isn’t malfeasance if you give him your hair and watch him stick it on the mommet’s head.”

“I expected him to have more control over what he was doing,” Hemme said, shooting a venomous look at me.

“It’s not malfeasance,” Arwyl said doggedly, glaring at Hemme from behind his spectacles, the grandfatherly lines on his face forming a fierce scowl.

“It would fall under reckless use of sympathy,” Lorren interjected coolly

“Is that a motion to strike the previous two grievances and replace them with reckless use of sympathy?” asked the Chancellor, trying to regain a semblance of formality.

“Aye,” said Arwyl, still glaring fearsomely at Hemme through his spectacles.

“All for the motion?” The Chancellor said,

There was a chorus of ayes from everyone but Hemme.

“Against?”

Hemme remained silent.

“Master Archivist, what is the discipline for reckless use of sympathy?”

“If one is injured by reckless use of sympathy, the offending student will be whipped, singly no more than seven times across the back.” I wondered what book Master Lorren was reciting from.

“Number of lashes sought?”

Hemme looked at the other masters’ faces, realizing the tide had turned against him. “My foot is blistered halfway to my knee,” he gritted. “Three lashes.”

The Chancellor cleared his throat. “Does any master oppose this action?”

“Aye,” Elxa Dal and Kilvin said together.

“Who wishes to suspend the discipline? Vote by show of hands.”

Elxa Dal, Kilvin, and Arwyl raised their hands at once, followed by the Chancellor. Mandrag kept his hand down, as did Lorren, Brandeur, and Hemme. Elodin grinned at me cheerily, but did not raise his hand. I kicked myself for my recent trip to the Archives and the bad impression it made on Lorren. If not for that he might have tipped things in my favor.

“Four and a half in favor of suspending punishment,” the Chancellor said after a pause. “The discipline stands: three lashes to be served tomorrow, the third of Equis, at noon.”

As I was deep into the Heart of Stone, all I felt was a slight analytical curiosity about what it would be like to be publicly whipped. All the masters showed signs of preparing to stand and leave, but before things could be called to a close I spoke up, “Chancellor?”

He took a deep breath and let it out in a gush. “Yes?”

“During my admission, you said that my admittance to the Arcanum was granted, contingent upon proof that I had mastered the basic principles of sympathy.” I quoted him nearly word for word. “Does this constitute proof?”

Both Hemme and the Chancellor opened their mouths to say something. Hemme was louder. “Look here, you little cocker!”

“Hemme!” the Chancellor snapped. Then he turned to me, “I’m afraid proof of mastery requires more than a simple sympathetic binding.”

“A double binding,” Kilvin corrected gruffly.

Elodin spoke, seeming to startle everyone at the table. “I can think of students currently enrolled in the Arcanum who would be hard pressed to complete a double binding, let alone draw enough heat to ‘blister a man’s foot to the knee.’ ” I had forgotten how Elodin’s light voice moved through the deep places in your chest when he spoke. He smiled happily at me again.

There was a moment of quiet reflection.

“True enough,” admitted Elxa Dal, giving me a close look.

The Chancellor looked down at the empty table for a minute. Then he shrugged, looked up, and gave a surprisingly jaunty smile. “All in favor of admitting first-term student Kvothe’s reckless use of sympathy as proof of mastery of the basic principles of sympathy vote by show of hands.”

Kilvin and Elxa Dal raised their hands together. Arwyl added his a moment later. Elodin waved. After a pause, the Chancellor raised his hand as well, saying “Five and a half in favor of Kvothe’s admission to the Arcanum.

Motion passed. Meeting dismissed. Tehlu shelter us, fools and children all.” He said the last very softly as he rested his forehead against the heel of his hand.

Hemme stormed out of the room with Brandeur in tow. Once they were through the door I heard Brandeur ask, “Weren’t you wearing a gram?”

“No, I wasn’t.” Hemme snapped. “And don’t take that tone with me, as if this were my fault. You might as well blame someone stabbed in an alley for not wearing armor.”

“We should all take precautions.” Brandeur said, placatingly “You know as well as—”Their voices were cut off with the sound of a door closing.

Kilvin stood and shrugged his shoulders, stretching. Looking over to where I stood, he scratched his bushy beard with both hands, a thoughtful look on his face, then strode over to where I stood. “Do you have your sygaldry yet, E’lir Kvothe?”

I looked at him blankly. “Do you mean runes, sir? I’m afraid not.”