Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (53 page)

By the time he left his study, he still had not been able to discern what lay behind Straesyr’s instructions, but he did remember to stop by his quarters and don his undress jacket to wear to mess night. That took longer than he’d anticipated, and he had to hurry to reach the officers’ mess before the governor appeared.

“You had quite a ride the other day, sir,” observed Haestyn as Quaeryt approached. “The jacket makes you look like a scholar officer.”

“I think that was the princeps’s idea,” replied Quaeryt with a smile.

“Skeryl was impressed with the fare that High Holder laid out for them.”

“High Holder Fhaedyrk was kind and courteous—”

“All rise!”

Since he was still standing, Quaeryt merely stiffened.

“As you were,” called out Rescalyn. “Please be seated. I do have a few words.”

Chairs shuffled as the officers seated themselves.

“As some of the battalion majors know, the holders in and south of the Boran Hills have been quiet lately. Those of you who have been here a time know that, usually, but not always, such quiet is often followed by some sort of action by not just one holder, but by a number. I would like to say that the hill holders are finally accepting that they are a part of Telaryn. I doubt that I can. If this is like other times, we may need to send reinforcements to Boralieu. I am merely offering you an observation at present. I do hope that it remains such.” Rescalyn smiled ironically. “In the meantime, enjoy your fare.” He seated himself.

In the momentary silence, Quaeryt poured himself a lager rather than wine, then took a swallow. It wasn’t a fraction as good as what Fhaedyrk had served.

For a time, as the meal progressed he mostly listened.

“It seems like every year we’ve got a problem with the hill holders,” said Dueryl. “I still don’t see why.”

“It goes way back,” replied Haestyn. “Years ago, my uncle said, except I guess it was hundreds of years back, there weren’t any High Holders and hill holders. There were only holders. The Khanar offered special privileges to those holders who recognized and supported him, and who limited the number of men-at-arms. He also pledged to defend them against any other holder who attacked them. He called them High Holders. The hill holders and some of the others refused to reduce the size of their forces. They claimed the Khanar couldn’t protect them.” The captain shrugged. “I don’t know if it’s true or not, but that’s what he said.”

“You’re a scholar,” noted Dueryl, looking to Quaeryt. “Is that true?”

“I don’t know. There’s nothing in the histories I’ve read…” He paused. What was it that he’d read? He tried to remember for several moments before it came to him. “There is something called the Charter, but I never found anything about what it contained.”

“That’s what he called it,” interjected Haestyn. “Now, I remember.”

Quaeryt wanted to hit himself alongside his head. That explained a great deal about the hill holders, but it raised more than a few other questions, such as why the governors hadn’t tried to include the hill holders in the similar arrangement later offered to the High Holders. Or had they, and been refused?

He couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever understand all undercurrents that swirled through Tilbor.

68

Vendrei morning Quaeryt was up early. He wondered if he’d ever get back into a situation where he could sleep to a decent glass. Early as he was, at least half the regimental officers were already present when he entered the mess. Skarpa rose from where he sat alone at the end of the far table and beckoned to him.

Quaeryt joined the major and poured himself some tea before taking a helping of eggs scrambled with cheese and ham.

“Commander Myskyl ordered me to supply a company to support you today. He said you were going to visit the scholars.” Skarpa’s tone was even.

Too even,
Quaeryt reflected. “I requested an escort. The governor and princeps decided on a company.”

“Why does a scholar need such an escort?”

“Because the scholars are tied to the hill holders and backed the Pretender against the Khanara.”

Skarpa frowned.

Quaeryt waited.

“I was ordered—ordered, not requested—to send Undercaptain Gauswn and his company, and I don’t think that was the regimental commander’s idea.”

Quaeryt couldn’t say he was surprised and didn’t. “It’s likely it wasn’t.” He knew full well that the reason Gauswn had been chosen was that he was Tilboran, very junior, least likely to question Quaeryt, and expendable if anything went wrong. For that last reason alone, Quaeryt intended that nothing would go wrong. He also knew that intentions weren’t always realized.

“Why not? Do you know?”

“I don’t know. I do know the governor brought me to meet with a High Holder last Mardi. The only thing that was discussed was how out of step the scholars were with the High Holders and the people of Tilbor. That was after I went to a reception held by the princeps where I was meant to hear all sorts of comments about the scholars. None of them were favorable.”

“This stinks worse than week-old fish in high summer.” Skarpa’s voice was low.

“What would you suggest?”

“Besides keeping yourself and Gauswn alive? I don’t know.”

“Rescalyn’s remarks last night?”

“They could be a coincidence.”

Skarpa didn’t sound convinced, and Quaeryt certainly wasn’t. “They might be,” he offered cautiously.

“You don’t believe that.”

“Neither do you.”

Skarpa laughed, softly, but harshly. Then he shook his head. “Take care of Gauswn. He’ll make a good officer in time.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

There wasn’t much to be said after that, and Quaeryt and the major ate quietly and then departed on their respective ways.

Quaeryt gave his sealed envelopes to the dispatch rider and parted with another silver, reflecting as he did that he actually had a fair amount of pay coming to him, since he hadn’t drawn it the week before … something like thirty silvers, after the deductions for the mess. Except that he might not be back in time to draw his pay, not if matters at the Ecoliae were as he feared.

He shook his head as he walked toward the stables.

By a quint past seventh glass, Quaeryt and Gauswn were riding away from the lower gates of the palace toward the Ecoliae. Quaeryt carried the light shields that triggered into heavier shields. He was getting to the point where they felt natural and close to effortless, although the effort of maintaining the heavier shields was akin to that required for a fast walk.

“Can you tell me what this is all about, sir?” asked the undercaptain. “Major Skarpa said that there might be trouble with the scholars, and that I’m under your command.”

“I don’t know everything,” replied Quaeryt. “The problem lies with some of the senior scholars. They seem to have strong ties to the hill holders and have created problems with some High Holders. Neither the factors nor the High Holders trust them, and it shouldn’t be that way. We’re going there to look into the situation, because the governor thinks that I, as a scholar, should be able to see more.”

“What do you think you’ll find, sir?”

“Trouble of some sort. I’d be surprised if much force is required, except the force of presence of your company.” Quaeryt laughed. “But I’ve been surprised before, and that’s why you and your company are here.”

After a moment, Gauswn asked, “What are your orders and instructions?”

“Simply that no one is to leave the Ecoliae until I finish talking with the Master Scholar or, in his absence, the scholar princeps. In carrying out that order, have your men try not to do serious harm to anyone—unless the scholar attempts to do violence to any ranker.”

“Yes, sir. Not doing harm unless threatened—that’s a standing order. Anything else?”

Quaeryt thought. “Some of the scholars are trained in Sansang. You might caution your men that empty-handed scholars or those with a half-staff can also be dangerous.” He hoped Gauswn didn’t press him for details on how he knew. He’d rather not evade or lie.

Gauswn turned to the lead ranker riding behind him. “Did you hear that, Fhenoyt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pass that back to the other squads.” Gauswn returned his attention to Quaeryt.

Little more than a glass later, the company reached the base of the hill that held the Ecoliae and started riding up the brick-paved lane, with two scouts before Quaeryt and the undercaptain. Several scholars standing on the front section of the wide covered porch surrounding the main building of the Ecoliae turned and watched as the company of troopers rode from the brick-paved lane and stationed themselves by squads around the main building, positioned to watch the stables as well.

Accompanied by two rankers, Quaeryt rode forward and reined up short of the hitching ring before the front steps, whose bricks still needed repointing. He dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to the nearest ranker, then turned toward the steps.

“This is a place of learning. Do not enter if you have aught else on your mind,” declared the sharp-faced, dark-haired scholar who stood before the front steps, half-blocking the way.

For a moment, Quaeryt struggled to place the scholar. Then he laughed. “That precept doesn’t apply to this House of Scholars, Alkiabys. Not after all that you and Chardyn have done.”

“It is still a House of Scholars, and you are no scholar.”

“I’m far more a scholar than you or Chardyn. Stand aside. I’m only going to talk to Phaeryn and Zarxes … by myself. The troopers are here to see that no one leaves.”

Alkiabys stepped back, but Quaeryt strengthened his shields slightly, and made them more sensitive before walking up the steps. As he started to cross the porch, he saw Nalakyn stepping from the center door, his face creased in puzzlement.

“Wait here on the porch, Scholar Nalakyn … if you would.” Quaeryt softened the last few words before entering the center door.

Both Phaeryn and Zarxes stood in the foyer, waiting for him.

“The prodigal scholar…” offered Zarxes sarcastically.

“No … just the scholar assistant to the princeps of Tilbor.”

“Might I ask exactly why you are here, and under what authority?” asked Phaeryn.

“The authority is that of Lord Bhayar, as approved by Governor Rescalyn. Do you think that anyone could arrive with a company of Telaryn troopers without the governor’s approval?”

“There is that,” agreed the silver-haired Master Scholar. “Your response, however, begs the question as to why the governor has any interest at all in a group of near-impoverished scholars who have done little but study and teach.”

“I do so appreciate your definition of ‘little,’ Master Scholar Phaeryn.” Quaeryt coated his words with irony. “I came to talk to you.”

“Then we should repair to my study so that we do not disturb the other scholars,” replied Phaeryn.

“Perhaps we should.” Quaeryt sensed that was exactly what the other two wanted, but, if matters went as he planned, that would serve his purposes as well.

Zarxes’s eyes twitched, as if he had wanted to look to Phaeryn, but had decided against it.

“This way,
Scholar
Quaeryt, if that is truly your name.”

“It is, indeed, and always has been.” Quaeryt followed the two down the corridor to an open door … and inside.

Zarxes shut the door, deftly sliding the bolt, then stepped over beside Phaeryn.

The study was modest in size, if richly paneled in what Quaeryt thought was walnut. A wide desk was set forward of and between two windows flanked by dark green hangings, and three straight-backed chairs faced the desk. The side wall to Quaeryt’s right, as he faced the desk, was composed of floor-to-ceiling shelves, although less than a third of the space actually contained books. The wall to his left also held shelves. Two armchairs were set before the shelves on the left.

The silver-haired Phaeryn smiled politely. “You might explain why you need all those troopers if you are here merely to talk.”

“Oh … they’re just here to assure that we do talk. Some people, even scholars, have an aversion to discussing certain matters.”

“Might I assume the disappearance of Scholar Chardyn was your doing?” asked Zarxes.

“He disappeared? That would almost be a pity, except for the fact that he was a part of the botched efforts of the Pretender. As for assumptions, you can assume what you wish. All I know is that, if Scholar Chardyn vanished, it was a result of his own acts.”

“He disappeared in the middle of the night on the same night you departed … and you had nothing to do with it? That’s rather unlikely.”

“I never said I had nothing to do with it. I intimated that his disappearance was the result of his own decisions. Someone lurked in my room that night. I suspect that Scholar Chardyn discovered that I had been appointed scholar assistant to the princeps of Tilbor. I also suspect he knew what I had discovered.” Quaeryt smiled.

“Oh?” asked Phaeryn smoothly, moving toward one of the armchairs, against which rested what appeared to be a walking stick, but was more likely a half-staff. “And what was this dark and mysterious secret you discovered?”

Quaeryt smiled politely as Zarxes took a position before the other armchair, where another half-staff rested. “It was no secret to either of you. Actually, there were several secrets. One was the fact that you’d made several unsuccessful attempts to murder High Holder Fhaedyrk. Another was that you—or, more directly, Chardyn—were behind the bloody attack on Governor Fhayt. That didn’t include—”

Both Zarxes and Phaeryn attacked with their Sansang half-staffs. The staffs impacted his shields, and rebounded. Phaeryn’s dropped from his hands, while Zarxes dropped his and, drawing a wide-bladed knife from under his brown jacket, turned and slashed Phaeryn’s throat, then dropped the knife.

For a moment, that act froze Quaeryt. In that moment, Zarxes turned, took three steps to the shelves, and reached out. The shelves swung aside, revealing a circular staircase.

Quaeryt rushed toward the staircase, but the shelves closed with a dull thud.

He tried pressing or pushing where he’d seen Zarxes put his hand—on a seemingly ornamental protrusion on the bracket holding a lamp—but nothing happened. He glanced back at the still-struggling Phaeryn, whose bloody hands came away from his neck as he pitched forward, dying, if not already dead.