The Name of the Wind

But Dal was already there, bringing a blanket to wrap around the boy. “You.” He pointed at one of the students at random. “Bring someone from the Medica. Go!” The student left at a run. “Foolish,” Master Dal murmured a binding for heat. He looked over at me. “You should probably walk around a bit. You don’t look much better than he does.”

There was no more dueling that day. The rest of the class watched as Fenton revived slowly under Elxa Dai’s care. By the time an older El’the from the Medica arrived, Fenton had warmed enough to begin shivering violently. After a quarter hour of warm blankets and careful sympathy, Fenton was able to drink something hot, though his hands still shook.

Once all the hubbub was finished, it was nearly third bell. Master Dal managed to get all the students seated and quiet long enough to say a few words.

“What we saw today was a prime example of binder’s chills. The body is a delicate thing and a few degrees of heat lost rapidly can upset the entire system. A mild case of chills is just that, chilling. But more extreme cases can lead to shock and hypothermia.” Dal looked around. “Can anyone tell me what Fenton’s mistake was?” There was a moment of silence, then a hand raised. “Yes Brae?”

“He used blood. When heat is lost from the blood, the body cools as a whole unit. This is not always advantageous, as the extremities can stand a more drastic temperature loss than the viscera can.”

“Why would anyone consider using blood then?”

“It offers up more heat more rapidly than the flesh.”

“How much would have been safe for him to draw?” Dal looked around the room.

“Two degrees?” someone volunteered.

“One and a half,” Dal corrected, and wrote a few equations on the board to demonstrate how much heat this would provide. “Given his symptoms, how much do you suppose he actually drew?”

There was a pause. Finally Sovoy spoke up, “Eight or nine.”

“Very good,” Dal said grudgingly. “It’s nice that at least one of you has been doing the reading.” His expression grew grave. “Sympathy is not for the weak of mind, but neither is it for the overconfident. If we had not been here to give Fenton the care he needed, he would have slipped quietly asleep and died.” He paused to let the words sink in. “Better you should know your honest limit than overguess your abilities and lose control.”

Third bell struck, and the room was filled with sudden noise as students stood to leave. Master Dal raised his voice to be heard. “E’lir Kvothe, would you mind staying behind for a moment?”

I grimaced. Sovoy walked behind me, clapped me on the shoulder, and muttered, “Luck.” I couldn’t tell if he was referring to my victory or wishing me well.

After everyone was gone, Dal turned and set down the rag he had been using to wipe the slate clean. “So,” he said conversationally “How did the numbers work out?”

I wasn’t surprised he knew about the betting. “Eleven to one,” I admitted. I’d made twenty-two jots. A little over two talents. The presence of that money in my pocket warmed me.

He gave me a speculative look. “How’re you feeling? You were a little pale at the end yourself.”

“I had a little shiver,” I lied.

Actually, in the commotion that followed Fenton’s collapse I had slipped out and had a frightening few minutes in a back hallway. Shivers that were close to seizures had made it almost impossible to stay on my feet. Luckily, no one had found me shaking in the hallway, my jaw clenched so tight that I feared my teeth might break.

But no one had seen me. My reputation was intact.

Dal gave me a look that told me he might suspect the truth. “Come over,” he made a motion to one of the still-burning braziers. “A little warm won’t hurt you.”

I didn’t argue. As I held my hands to the fire, I felt myself relax a bit. Suddenly I realized how weary I was. My eyes were itchy from too little sleep. My body felt heavy, as if my bones were made of lead.

With a reluctant sigh I pulled my hands back and opened my eyes. Dal was looking closely at my face. “I’ve got to go.” I said with a little regret in my voice. “Thanks for the use of your fire.”

“We’re both sympathists,” Dal said, giving me a friendly wave as I gathered my things and headed for the door. “You’re welcome to it any time.”

Later that night in the Mews, Wilem opened his door to my knocking. “I’ll be dammed,” he said. “Two times in one day. To what do I owe the honor?”

“I think you know,” I grumbled and pushed my way inside the cell-like little room. I leaned my lute case against a wall and fell into a chair. “Kilvin has banned me from my work in the shop.”

Wilem sat forward on his bed. “Why’s that?”

I gave him a knowing look. “I expect it’s because you and Simmon stopped by and suggested it to him.”

He watched me for a moment, then shrugged. “You figured it out quicker than I thought you would.” He rubbed the side of his face. “You don’t seem terribly upset.”