Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (30 page)

35

Samedi morning Quaeryt was up early, not because he particularly wanted to be, especially with the soreness and bruises on his upper arm and shoulder, but because the officers’ mess was open only from fifth to sixth glass and because he wanted to eat before he met with Straesyr, and he hadn’t seen anywhere else around the palace and its grounds to obtain food.

He ended up sitting at the junior officers’ table, several spaces from two undercaptains. No one joined him, and he was reluctant to press himself on others. He did listen, but most of what he overheard dealt with duties and routine, except for a brief interchange.

“… kept talking about the sisters…”

“… so she’s got sisters…”

“… no … this was something different, like the scholars or the choristers…”

“Sisters? Never heard of them…”

“Me neither … gave me the chills … left her right there…”

That had been the second time Quaeryt had heard about the sisters, whatever they were, and it sounded like he needed to learn more about them.

After eating a breakfast heavy on oatmeal porridge, which was thicker and more solid than any Quaeryt had sampled almost anywhere else, along with ham strips, dark bread, and even fruit preserves, Quaeryt made certain that he was in the anteroom outside the princeps’s study a good half quint before the palace bells rang out seventh glass. Even so, he waited another half quint before the aide at the writing table, upon hearing a bell, said, “You can go in, scholar.”

Quaeryt opened the door, entered the study, and closed the door behind himself.

Straesyr did not rise, but gestured to the chairs in front of the table desk. He wore a pale green tunic instead of the blue, with a high collar that reminded Quaeryt of a factor, yet in a way, he wore it almost as if it were a uniform.

“I trust all the arrangements are satisfactory.”

“Most satisfactory, sir.” Quaeryt settled into the chair on the left. “The food in the mess is quite good.”

“The governor insists on good fare for both soldiers and his officers, among other things. He’s very particular about that.” Straesyr’s lips curled momentarily. “Before we begin on dealing with your mission, I’d be curious to know how you became acquainted with Lord Bhayar.” The princeps smiled, but his eyes remained icy blue.

“When we were younger, he studied with the same scholars as I did. Lord Chayar sent him to the Scholarium, rather than have him tutored in the palace.”

“It’s said that Lord Chayar also had him trained in arms, both with the rankers and with junior officers. What do you know of that?”

“Very little, sir. Once, in passing, he made a remark about the sons of High Holders and that they should all spend time being trained like rankers in his father’s regiments. That was the only time I recall him saying anything.”

“You didn’t spend time as a soldier or armsman, then?”

“No, sir.”

“So you’ve been a scholar from birth, essentially.”

“No, sir. I was orphaned very young in the Great Plague and raised by the scholars. I left the scholars and spent six years or so before the mast, and then persuaded them to take me back.”

“Why did you return to the scholars?”

“Seafaring isn’t a way of life that takes to questions. Too much has been learned at the cost of lives, and trying new ways usually doesn’t turn out well.”

“Isn’t that true of most ways of life?”

“It is.” Quaeryt smiled wryly. “But a scholar can ask a few more questions and has the time to try to work out better ways. Or to find better reasons why the old ways work as they do, and that sometimes leads to better ways as well.”

Surprisingly, to Quaeryt, the princeps nodded. “What better ways are you seeking for Lord Bhayar?”

“He hasn’t said.” That was certainly true enough. “He wants to know more about why the people of Tilbor are so difficult.”

“He could have asked the governor or me.”

“Could he, sir?” asked Quaeryt politely, keeping his tone very deferential.

Straesyr stiffened for a moment, then nodded again. “I see your point, scholar. Your presence is the only safe way to raise the question, and that is why Lord Bhayar appointed you as my assistant and not the governor’s.”

“Lord Bhayar never gave me a reason. He just gave me the appointment.”

“His father often did the same. Did you ever meet him?”

“No, sir.”

“What about other members of his family?”

“I was briefly introduced to one of his sisters. I have since received missives from her, inquiring about the prevalence of certain historical practices of rulers.”

“You are most careful about your responses,” observed the princeps.

“I am a scholar beholden to others, sir. They often have many sources of information, as do you. Untruths would be inadvisable, as well as unwise.”

“What do you want to know from me?” asked Straesyr calmly, as if he had discovered what he wished to find out.

“A number of matters … but I would begin with the latest. Last night at the mess, I couldn’t help but overhear officers talking about the backlanders and the timber barons, as if they remained a considerable problem for you and the governor.”

“At one time or another, anyone with arms or power has been a problem,” replied Straesyr. “You did, however, hear correctly. Those who are currently fomenting the most trouble are those in the Boran Hills. Even the few … disruptions near Tilbora appear to be linked to them. I suspect that they are supported by the landholders there who are not High Holders. I have little trust in the High Holders, either, but whenever possible High Holders attempt to have others shed their blood and spend their golds.”

“Why would those landholders in the hills be interested in taking on Lord Bhayar’s forces? From what little I know, you and the governor have been fair to all in applying the laws, and that would seem to benefit them more than the High Holders.” Those were guesses on Quaeryt’s part, but they fit what he had observed so far.

“That is indeed a question. The old Khanars maintained a guard strong enough to defeat any two or three High Holders, but it was not large enough to deal with even a handful of them at once. So the Khanars tended not to upset the High Holders.”

“What happened to the Guard?”

“When the Pretender was defeated in battle—just below the palace, in fact—he attempted to retreat behind the walls, but the Guard closed the gates and left the Khanar and his clan followers to face Lord Chayar. The Guard commander claimed that the Pretender wasn’t the true Khanar of Tilbor. That made matters easier for Lord Chayar, even though he privately deemed the Guard unworthy. He didn’t want to execute all that were left of the two thousand. So he disbanded the Guard and exiled the officers to either Bovaria or Antiago … well, also Khel, but that was just before Kharst began his campaign to take over Khel.”

“Did any of the Guards take up arms against Lord Chayar later?”

Straesyr shrugged. “I doubt it. Some of them may have, but if they did, it had to be with the backwoods holders.”

“None of the High Holders caused trouble?”

“Only one. He refused to pay the overtariff Lord Chayar imposed. Chayar pulled down his holding and killed him. He had me sell off half the lands to pay the tariff and the costs of the attacks, and left the rest to the widow and heirs.”

That was a slightly different story than the one Quaeryt had heard from Sarastyn, but he nodded. “After that I take it no one refused to pay tariffs.”

“Not so far.” The princeps gave a short laugh. “Not in the nine years since.”

“How have the merchanters, factors, crafters, and growers done with their tariffs?”

“They pay them. Sometimes a few are late. There were more who were late until the governor—that was Governor Fhayt, the one before Governor Rescalyn—sent armed squads to collect.”

“I’d heard that there have been attacks on soldiers.”

“There have been,” admitted Straesyr.

“On men alone at night?”

“Oh … there have been a few killed by thieves and brigands. That happens everywhere. No. The attacks by their so-called partisans have been on squads on collection duties in the backlands.”

“Have you lost any entire squads?”

“Once, last year. Now we send out at least a company. We rotate the companies, except in the winter, when we use those trained in the snow.”

“Have you captured any of these partisans?”

“None who know anything. When we have, they’ve changed their meeting places.”

“What sort of weapons do they use?”

“They prefer to pick off soldiers with arrows or quarrels, rather than fight close at hand. That’s one reason why the regiment has few archers.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help frowning. The princeps’s statement seemed to make no sense.

“I see I’ve puzzled you. Tilbor is different. The towns are farther apart. Even the trees in the forests are farther apart. Their archers hide in trees or fire and run. Against these tactics, archers, even mounted archers, are mostly useless. Archers are far more effective against massed bodies of men, especially on foot and in the open. Cavalry or mounted infantry that can move quickly through the woods or on the roads are less of a target and are more effective at chasing the brigands down. The regiment does have one company of archers, but they’re seldom used.” Straesyr smiled tightly. “I’ll talk to the governor when he returns about letting you read the dispatches. I don’t see a problem, but that has to be his decision.”

“Thank you. Do you or the governor meet often with any of the High Holders?”

“We hold a reception here once every season. I think every single one and his wife have attended at least one a year. Every so often the governor is invited to dinners at the local High Holders’ estates, and he makes announced and unannounced visits with a cavalry company to different High Holders on a continuing basis. They do come to meet with the governor when they have problems with a ruling from the governor or Lord Bhayar. I’m the one who meets more often with factors and local merchants.…”

Quaeryt listened, asking a question now and again, for almost a glass.

“… that’s about all I can tell you. Do you have any questions that bear on your duties?” Straesyr finally asked.

“Scholars are respected in Solis, if warily, but in Nacliano, they are driven out. How have you seen them regarded here?”

“They have a school and a Scholars’ House to the southwest of here. I would say that they are regarded as in somewhat the same fashion as in Solis. Why do you ask?”

“I will need to ride through Tilbora and perhaps farther to gather information. I would rather not be a target.”

“You may be anyway, once others discover you are attached to the governor’s staff.”

Quaeryt laughed softly. “That is possible, but I doubt that most Tilborans would go out of their way to try to find out if one scholar is the one working for the governor as opposed to however many are not.”

“You do have a point there, until they come to recognize you.”

“Did the Khanar have a library as well, something that might have histories of Tilbor?”

“That’s on the first level, and it’s open to all officers. There’s a guard there, but only to make sure no volumes vanish.”

“Are there any records of how the Khanar dealt with the High Holders and…”

“There’s an entire archive. That’s also guarded, but you’re welcome to look there. Do you really think…?”

“There’s always a possibility. It’s probably small, but since you wished me to remain within the palace until after the governor’s return, I thought it couldn’t do any harm.” Quaeryt offered a smile. “And scholars are supposed to dig into old books and records.…”

“Ah … quite so.”

“That’s all I can think of for now, sir.” Quaeryt waited.

“There is one other matter. You will need a study here in the palace … for those times when you are not actively pursuing your tasks or need a place to write where I or the governor can conveniently find you. There is a small vacant chamber three doors to the right as you go out of the anteroom. It is little larger than a small storeroom, but it is suitably appointed and has a window. I expect you to be there at seventh glass from Lundi through Samedi unless you have previously informed me otherwise. I also expect brief written reports weekly, to be on my desk on Lundi morning … again, unless you are traveling or otherwise occupied.”

“Yes, sir. There may be certain matters not best put in ink.…”

“Then just write in the report that you need time to brief me on a matter relating to your duties.”

“Yes, sir.”

Straesyr smiled wryly. “I had always heard that some seamen were almost as disciplined as soldiers, and I’m pleased to see that you appear able to fit into the regiment. I do hope you will not disappoint the governor and me in that regard.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s all I have. Vhorym will show you your study.”

“Thank you.”

Straesyr nodded a dismissal, and Quaeryt stood, inclining his head before turning and leaving.

The aide who had been seated at the table desk in the anteroom rose. “Sir … the princeps asked me to show you your study.” He handed the scholar a brass key.

“I’d appreciate that. You’re Vhorym?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I assume I give my weekly reports to you so that you can put them on the princeps’s desk?”

“Yes, sir. I do that for the officers who report to the princeps.”

After only a day at the Telaryn Palace, Quaeryt found himself thoroughly reminded just why he’d left the sea and returned to the scholars.

The study to which Vhorym guided Quaeryt was paneled in polished oak. Even the inside shutters were of oiled and polished oak, as was the writing desk, with clean lines and none of the carved ornamentation that distinguished the desk used by the princeps.

Once Vhorym had left, Quaeryt walked to the window and opened the shutters, allowing light to flood into the chamber. Then he sat down before the desk, thinking.

Among other matters, Straesyr’s point about Quaeryt’s eventually being a target concerned the scholar. He’d always been able to fade into the background with his concealment shields, but, as he’d discovered in dealing with Chardyn, there were times when concealment wasn’t enough, and he had the feeling that he would encounter more of those situations in Tilbor, possibly many more. There would also be times when too many people would be watching him for him to appear to vanish. After he’d almost died trying to image gold, he’d become wary of trying to discover new imaging skills, only working to develop those he’d read or seen were possible. There were tales of great feats of imaging, but Quaeryt had more than a few doubts about the veracity of such stories. Yet, for all those doubts, he was plagued by the feeling that he might be too cautious.