Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (51 page)

“What do you think?” asked the High Holder, looking to Quaeryt.

“It’s beautiful. It’s also well laid out.” Quaeryt frowned. “The maze design…” He wasn’t about to blurt it out directly, but looked for a reaction.

“Is it familiar? It might be, to a scholar … or a chorister.” Freunyt offered an impish smile at odds with his appearance.

“Is that a version of the Path to Namelessness, then?”

“Exactly. With a few alterations to make it a functional maze that children and young people can navigate.”

Rescalyn glanced sideways at Quaeryt for a moment, then turned his attention back to Freunyt. “How have your harvests fared?”

“Well indeed. We’ve had no drenching rains and the maize and wheat corn are mostly harvested. We’ll have a bumper crop of late apples, and even the root crops look good. But the vineyards … the best year in ages.”

“That will be something, if the year’s vintages exceed this.” Rescalyn lifted his glass.

“I’m hopeful…”

Quaeryt listened, asked a few questions he hoped were innocuous, and listened more until the High Holder glanced back toward the terrace doors and a woman wearing a white lace apron over maroon trousers and tunic.

“I see our fare is waiting.” Freunyt turned, and the three men crossed the terrace.

Inside the salon, a moderate-sized circular table had been placed before the center window of the three located on the side of the salon toward the main entrance, and three places had been set, all facing the window. Freunyt took the center place and gestured for Rescalyn to sit to his right. After all three were seated, the server placed a plate in front of each, with a slice of greenish melon garnished with the thinnest strips of a pale meat.

“Honeysweet melon with the tastiest of my cured ham,” explained Freunyt.

As he did, a man in maroon refilled the diners’ goblets.

The balding Freunyt turned and smiled at Quaeryt. “I never thought to see a scholar here.” He lifted his goblet, as if in toast.

“A year ago, sir, I never thought I’d be in Tilbor, but why did you feel you would not see a scholar here? I know there are scholars in Tilbora, but it is as if most avoid mentioning them.”

“I know there are good men among them … and their school provides a most needed education for the children of factors and … others, but … let us say that there is little affection lost between those who lead the scholars and the High Holders of Tilbor.” The High Holder smiled at Rescalyn. “That might be a matter which Scholar Quaeryt could look into … and see for himself.”

“As a matter of fact,” replied Rescalyn, “Scholar Quaeryt brought up that matter recently, and I have authorized him to do so over the next week or so.”

“Good for you, Governor. It’s about time.” Freunyt’s eyes fixed on Quaeryt. “I would wager that their master scholar, that scoundrel who calls himself Phaeryn, will talk so calmly that you’ll think that they’re little more than teachers and collectors of books. Don’t believe him. Ask him what his so-called Scholar Chardyn did in the fight against the Khanara.”

“There was a battle against the Khanara? I thought Tyrena was Eleonyd’s daughter and she was acting as regent for her father.”

“She was, and rightfully so, until that Pretender Rhecyrd showed up at the head of that mob of hill holders and the norther dissident High Holders. That Scholar Chardyn was up to his elbows in blood, and none of it was his. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was the one behind the flaming of Lord Chayar’s envoy.”

Quaeryt got the strong feeling that what Freunyt had said was new even to Rescalyn, but he replied, “I’ve asked a few people about that time, and no one ever mentioned anything about a Scholar Chardyn. A shopkeeper in Tilbora said there was an armsman named Chardyn who served as a bodyguard for his father, who was a high officer in the Khanar’s Guard.”

“Oh … that’s true enough. It’s just not the entire truth. Chardyn left the scholars for a time to serve under his father. A very short time. Traesk was the only hill-bred officer ever to lead the Guard, and it was a sad day for Tilbor when they picked him.…” The High Holder shook his head. “Enough of such. We should talk of merrier matters.”

Now that I’ve been maneuvered to deal with the situation, I’m certain we will.
But Quaeryt only smiled and took a sip from his goblet.

65

Even though he had eaten modest portions and limited himself to two glasses of the tasty but powerful white wine, by the time Quaeryt and the governor were riding back to the Telaryn Palace, the scholar felt as though he wouldn’t need to eat for days.

It wasn’t the quantity, but how rich the food was.
And that richness was something to which he was unaccustomed.

What Quaeryt didn’t understand was why the entire luncheon and meeting had been set up as if to bring up the matter of the local scholars, especially when Rescalyn had been avoiding dealing with them for years.

It’s not good, because he’s planning something.
Quaeryt also couldn’t help but worry about Rhodyn’s sons, especially young Lankyt, and how they might fare if matters went badly. Yet, at the moment, Quaeryt had no idea what Rescalyn had in mind, and that concerned him more than a little. A great deal more than a little, in fact. For that reason, he said little for the first quint after they left Freunyt’s estate, and the governor did not press him, as if Rescalyn were doing some thinking of his own.

Then, as they followed the road westward around the base of a hill and the Telaryn Palace came into view, with the sun hanging just above it, Rescalyn asked, “What do you think of High Holder Freunyt, scholar?”

“He’s very knowledgeable and cultured … especially about wines and history. He also seems to know his lands and his people well.”

“That’s why he’s a successful High Holder. Most of them are educated, and exceptional. They wouldn’t stay High Holders if they were not.”

“You’ve met with all of them. Freunyt is the only High Holder with whom I’ve ever conversed. Would you say he is one of the most astute, or are others more or less astute?”

“I would say he is among the more astute, but there are others just as intelligent, and very few who are incapable of directing their holdings.”

“It doesn’t appear as though the High Holders have a particularly good opinion of the local scholars, either.”

“Either?”

Quaeryt couldn’t sense if Rescalyn’s gentle single word question happened to be lightly probing or an ironic comment. “At the princeps’s reception for factors on Samedi, I overheard a few remarks suggesting the local scholars are not held in great esteem by at least some factors. It was clear I was meant to hear such.”

“I had thought so from your request to visit the scholars. It will be interesting to see how they receive you on Vendrei. I would stress to you that you must not allow the scholars to in any way demean the authority you represent. That is one reason why I agreed with the princeps’s recommendation that you be escorted by a full company. The officer accompanying you will be ready to have his men use arms … if necessary. While I do hope such is not necessary, you should be aware of the possibilities.”

“I must say that I was troubled to hear that one of the scholars had been involved in supporting the Pretender. That suggests the hill holders have some influence there.”

“That is something you will have to determine. I would find it most useful if you could determine the extent of such influence. So, I suspect, would Lord Bhayar.”

“I will do my best, sir, but I am a scholar, not a cavalry officer or an envoy or minister.”

“I would scarcely know a true scholar from a false one. You, as a scholar, may well see what others would not.”

“That is possible.” How could Quaeryt disagree with that observation?

At the same time, another aspect of the luncheon with Freunyt bothered Quaeryt. The governor had asked Quaeryt to accompany him well before Quaeryt had raised the matter of the scholars to the princeps … and Quaeryt had scarcely mentioned the scholars at all until the Lundi after the reception. He decided to say nothing more, and since Rescalyn did not inquire further, they rode for a bit longer before the governor spoke again.

“We will be detouring through the vale on the way back to the palace. The vale is an unfortunate necessity, one my predecessor didn’t understand. Some of the men, usually the younger ones, do need a place away from the palace grounds in order to feel relaxed or to obtain some measure of female charms … To keep matters in order, I need to appear there upon occasion…”

“I’m certain your presence provides a certain reminder…”

Rescalyn laughed. “It appears to have a salutatory effect. My officers insist it does, and I heed their observations, especially in matters involving their men. I do not always do as they recommend, but I do listen and understand the spirit behind those recommendations. You cannot lead armies if you do not understand those you lead.”

“I suspect that is true of anyone leading anybody, sir.”

“Indeed, it is.” Rescalyn laughed again.

66

On Meredi morning, Quaeryt was up early and the first one into and out of the officers’ mess in order to be ready for the long ride to meet with High Holder Fhaedyrk. While Quaeryt had not seen the princeps when he had returned late on Mardi afternoon, Vhorym had informed Quaeryt that an Undercaptain Skeryl would command the squad escorting him.

Skeryl turned out to be young, at least for an undercaptain, possibly three or four years younger than Quaeryt, slightly round-faced despite a trim and muscular figure, with a cheerful smile and voice. Quaeryt decided to refrain from saying more than general pleasantries until they were well away from the palace walls … except that before he could say much, once they were barely beyond the lower gates, Skeryl spoke.

“Did you study to be a chorister before you became a scholar, sir?”

Quaeryt had a good idea from where that question had come, but he only smiled. “I studied history. You can’t learn about history without learning about Rholan and how the worship of the Nameless has affected the lands of Lydar.”

“And you never were interested in becoming a chorister?”

“I actually left the scholars and spent years before the mast as an apprentice quartermaster. That convinced me I’d rather be a scholar. How did you come to be an undercaptain?”

“I had three older brothers. They were better smiths than I was…”

For much of the rest of the ride, Quaeryt asked questions about Skeryl himself, but the kind designed to reveal as much about Tilbor as the undercaptain. He also worked, as he could, on maintaining and improving his shields. After riding, with breaks, some four and a half glasses, they reached the entry to High Holder Fhaedyrk’s estate—far less imposing than that of Freunyt, and far more chill in its hilly location. Quaeryt was glad to have worn the undress brown jacket over his regular browns, given the wind gusting downhill.

The gateposts were about the same size as those of Freunyt’s entry, but the iron gates were narrower and painted black, and the gatehouse barely large enough to hold the single guard who waved them through, while the paved lane was only wide enough for a single carriage or wagon. No gardens flanked the lane, just meadows with shaggy grasses that had turned the tan brown of fall. The meadows sloped north and upward to the mansion, and behind the dwelling were forests that extended to and over a ridge perhaps a mille uphill of the estate buildings. The main dwelling was of two levels, its walls of a mixture of natural stones, not dressed or cut, with a square tower at the west end, and extended perhaps seventy yards from one end to the other.

As Quaeryt and the squad neared the mansion, he made out a covered entry that extended to the paved lane, but not over it. A long waist-high hedge bordered the lane on the side away from the entry, extending some thirty yards on each side, but there were no gardens in front of the hedge, although the grass had been rough-cut to ankle height.

A wiry blond figure stepped out and halfway down the five wide stone steps, waiting. He wore a brown leather vest, with tooled designs on the leather, pressed brown trousers, and polished brown boots. His shirt was golden yellow and of shining silk.

Quaeryt reined up short of the entry. “Greetings, sir.”

“Greetings, master scholar, and welcome to Dyrkholm.” The High Holder turned his eyes to Skeryl. “The stables and quarters for resting are the second buildings in the upper side courtyard, Captain. My head ostler is waiting for you. You can water and feed your mounts, as you see fit, and there are refreshments for you and your men.”

Skeryl bowed in the saddle. “Our thanks and appreciation, sir.”

Fhaedyrk nodded, then turned. “Master scholar … again, welcome to Dyrkholm.”

Quaeryt hurriedly dismounted, then handed the mare’s reins to the ranker who rode forward.

“I will send word to you, Captain, when the scholar is ready to depart.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt walked to the steps, stopped at the bottom, and inclined his head. “High Holder.”

“Fhaedyrk, if you please. And you are Quaeryt? Fitting name for a scholar. Come.”

Quaeryt joined the wiry holder who had appeared shorter than the scholar but turned out to be the same height as they walked through the wide single door of the mansion into a smallish oblong entry foyer, with two staircases, one heading up to the east and one to the west, and then straight back into a modest hallway floored with cut and polished natural stones set in mortar, with a green bordered dark gray carpet runner in the middle.

“I trust you do not mind if my wife joins us for a light meal.”

“I’d be delighted.” Quaeryt didn’t have to counterfeit his pleasure; he had no doubts that Fhaedyrk’s wife was most likely to be as intelligent and perceptive as the High Holder, or she would not have been included.

The High Holder stopped at the last door on the right—already open—and gestured. “This is the summer parlor—that’s what Laekyna calls it.” He extended an arm to the slightly stocky blond woman standing beside the circular table located in a windowed nook and set for three. “Don’t you, dear?”