Scholar

by L. E. Modesitt

  “If you were a ruler or a governor, Scholar Quaeryt, you might possess the potential to be dangerous. As a scholar, you’re merely eccentric, and young for being so. Eccentricity is tolerated in the old, because we are believed unable to accomplish much. In the young, eccentricity is viewed as dangerous or a symptom of mental defect, neither of which is desirable.”

  “I will attempt to refrain from displaying such,” replied Quaeryt. “Are the remaining partisans the ones behind the occasional attacks on the governor’s soldiers?”

  “By definition, anyone who attacks an occupier of a land is a partisan. I personally suspect that many of those so-called partisans are rather well-dressed, well-armed, and well-fed. They might even be well-mounted. That is only a suspicion, you understand.”

  “Were I as eccentric and as suspicious as you seem to think,” said Quaeryt with a smile, “I would say that a High Holder who professed peaceful intentions while inciting others to violence indirectly might effectively strengthen his position, and that of all High Holders, with the governor.”

  “You’d not be the first to say so, but if you made that known, and could prove it to the governor, you might well be the first one to remain alive for saying such.”

  “Even among scholars?”

  Sarastyn laughed, softly. “Scholars must live in the world around them, no matter what one studies, and they must accept charity and funds—or take them—where they can. Can it be that one so traveled as yourself has found it otherwise?”

  “I wish that I could deny your observation, but … alas … I cannot.”

  “Since you cannot, have you other questions … of a less present historical nature?”

  “When was the Timber Road constructed, and did any High Holders oppose it?”

  Sarastyn cocked his head. “Fascinating question … fascinating.”

  The fact that there was no obvious sarcasm in the older scholar’s reply bothered Quaeryt far more than sarcasm would have, but he just waited to see what Sarastyn would say.

  “When the timbering clans of the Boran Hills began digging the road out of the very rocks of the hillsides, no one noticed. And few others noticed when they bought steads that yielded little—until the road across them appeared. By the time their efforts were too obvious to be concealed, there was little that High Holder Arimyn and High Holder Baelzyt could do, because the timbering clans had also constructed a shorter road from their timber road to the Reserve of the Khanar, a fact which did not escape the eyes of Ciendar—the son of Nidar the Great. Nor was Ciendar exactly displeased when the clans granted him freedom of passage, even for any timber he might wish to sell in Midcote. That strengthened the treasury.…” Sarastyn shrugged. “Arimyn and Baelzyt still pay annual tariffs to use the road.”

  “With all the timber of Tilbor, and all those who fish, why has no Khanar ever developed a fleet?”

  “What would have been the point? Outside of timber and fish, neither of which travels well for any great distance, what else do we send on the waves? What would a fleet protect? How would the Khanar have paid for it? Besides, ships require men who can work together day after day and who can take orders.” Another laugh followed. “Too few men in Tilbor can do either.”

  For the next glass Quaeryt asked more questions, not quite at random, but in a variety of areas, because the responses to his more direct questions had been less useful than he would have thought.

  Then, after another response, Sasastyn cleared his throat meaningfully. “Again, you have exhausted my voice and my memory, young Quaeryt, and it is time for me to depart and to refresh it.” The older man slowly stood.

  So did Quaeryt.

  The rest of the day was even less productive.

  He walked over to the anomen, looking for the ancient chorister, who might have some useful recollections, but the building was empty. He spent almost a glass studying it and found little remarkable there, except for noting that the recent repairs, while not exactly shoddy, looked to be of less than the highest quality of workmanship, almost as if they had been accomplished by students.

  They probably were.

  Later, he stopped by the tailor shop in the Ecoliae and picked up the garments he had ordered from Naxim. They were of surprisingly good quality, if of wool, which would limit when he could wear them when he returned to Solis, and far better, he had to admit, than those that he had lost in Nacliano.

  He wasn’t looking forward to another meal in the dining hall, but he also didn’t want to walk or ride the still-muddy roads, whether Sarastyn did or not.

  31

  As Sarastyn had predicted, Jeudi morning dawned bright, clear, and dry, and Quaeryt rode out immediately after breakfast, this time to follow those roads that were brick-paved to the east and north of the Ecoliae. Even with Sarastyn’s observations about the soils of Tilbor, he wasn’t about to risk the mare on muddy clay or dirt tracks. Others didn’t seem so reticent, and by eighth glass, Quaeryt found that there were farm wagons on the road, as well as others, although he did note that many of the wagons had wider wheel rims than those in the south.

  In following another brick road that branched off the main road a half mille or so past what he thought of as the circular crossroads, he came to an area of leveled rubble—a space that appeared to encompass four square blocks. Moreover, some of the houses adjoining that area appeared to be deserted, with holes in the walls where windows and doors once had been.

  Why had no one rebuilt? Was it considered ill fortune? Had Rescalyn or his predecessor forbidden it? Was it even the area that Lankyt had referred to?

  Those were questions he’d have to raise carefully, indirectly, or possibly not at all, if he could get someone to volunteer the information, but he had the feeling that how the Pharsi were treated was something Bhayar would have to consider carefully—given the lord’s ambitions. Less than a mille to the northeast from the razed area, after riding past modest but generally well-kept dwellings, he came to a set of brick pillars, one on each side of the road. Beyond the pillars, the narrow road widened into more of an avenue, with larger dwellings, all of them two stories, on each side. All were constructed of a dark reddish brick, but the roofs were not of thatch or tile but of split wooden shingles.

  Why wooden shingles when the brick and crafting is so good? He only had to ponder that for a moment before the answer came. Snow. Tiles were heavy, and so was slate, and if heavy snow and ice piled on the roofs in the winter, the weight on the roof could be heavy indeed. All the trim was painted, if in dull colors, and all exterior wood was either oiled or painted. Every dwelling had a stable attached by a walled and roofed walkway.

  Very cold winters …

  When Quaeryt returned to the Ecoliae slightly before fourth glass, he felt that he had a basic understanding of what types of people generally lived where in Tilbora, although not necessarily all the reasons why. But he could have spent weeks searching out those factors, and he didn’t have weeks.

  He managed to get the mare groomed and fed in less than two quints. Then he washed up—his face and hands—at the pump outside the stables and walked to the main building, looking for Chardyn. Despite the fact that he’d asked Yullyd about tavernas, he wanted to see what sort of a reply he would receive from Chardyn.

  He didn’t get a chance to seek out the Sansang master immediately, because Nalakyn immediately appeared.

  “Scholar Quaeryt, I didn’t see you around today. I feared you had already left us, and I had some questions I hoped you would address.”

  “I have a few moments now.” Quaeryt gestured toward three vacant chairs, set several yards from a larger grouping of seven scholars, in which the only one he recalled by name and face was Yullyd, although he’d certainly seen the others several times.

  “I would appreciate that.”

  Nalakyn did not move, and, after a moment, Quaeryt headed toward the chairs, where he settled into one and waited for Nalakyn to seat himself before saying, “While I am only a young sc
holar, as scholars go, and certainly without your length of study, I would be happy to address, as I can, your questions.”

  “You have traveled, and I have not. When you talked to the students, you outlined the structure of Lord Bhayar’s government. The fashion in which you described its organization is unlike any other, and I have not heard or read about that anywhere. Yet you seemed quite conversant with it. I have spent my entire life in Tilbora, and so have others, such as Scholar Chardyn, and none of us could have described the governing of the Khanars as cogently as you did the government of Lord Bhayar. Nor is there any document that does so. Without being a familiar of Lord Bhayar, how did you come by this knowledge?”

  Quaeryt smiled easily, even as he wondered if Nalakyn or Zarxes had come up with the question. “Part of that is simply because the Scholarium Solum is but a short walk from the palace of Lord Bhayar, and it is a palace, not an isolated fortress like the palace of the Khanars. One sees ministers passing by, and those who serve in the palace frequent the same tavernas as do scholars. I’ve made the acquaintance of some of the palace guards, and I know a scholar who has occasionally played and recited for Lord Bhayar and his ministers. Another fact is that Solis is far warmer than Tilbora, and there are more people, and they talk. Everyone in Solis talks. I have made a practice of listening. Also, the library at the Scholarium is excellent. There are books about the government of Hengyst and even how Rholan the Unnamer affected the way in which Telaryn is governed today. And, upon occasion, scholars are invited to the palace to provide information to ministers. I have not talked with any of Lord Bhayar’s ministers myself, but I have certainly heard of them and what they do.” Quaeryt shrugged, pleased that he had been able to deliver a perfectly truthful reply that was totally misleading.

  “Truly … Solis must be a very different place, but if it is so wonderful … if I might ask … why are you here?”

  “I believe I have mentioned that. In all of the wonderful library at the Scholarium there is not a single volume that deals with the recent history of Tilbor. A scholar’s future depends in part on his patrons, and in part on his scholarly efforts. In creating such worthwhile contributions, one must provide a patron with a way of … shall we say … establishing a legacy by means that are not considered acts or tools of the Namer. I suggested that such an updated history might reflect well upon my patron … and here I am.” He smiled wryly. “Even getting here proved more difficult than I had anticipated, and only Scholar Sarastyn seems to know much about recent history. Riding through Tilbora helps me match what he tells me to the city itself … but my task is proving more … difficult than I had anticipated.” Quaeryt saw Chardyn step out onto the porch, then walk to the railing and look eastward.

  “You are, if I might say so, among the younger scholars entrusted with such.”

  “An older scholar would have more wisdom and knowledge. That is true, but such an older scholar would be far less willing to take such a journey … and far less likely to need to do so.”

  Nalakyn nodded slowly. “I had not thought of that.”

  “If you will excuse me, I see Scholar Chardyn, and I have been seeking him. I need to make an inquiry of him.”

  “Of course. Of course … and thank you.”

  Quaeryt rose and smiled pleasantly. “You are most welcome.” He walked toward Chardyn.

  The Sansang master turned, as if sensing Quaeryt’s approach, and waited.

  Quaeryt reminded himself to keep Chardyn’s almost preternatural awareness in mind, particularly in the future. “Good afternoon.”

  “The same to you. You have that expression of inquiry, I do believe, Scholar Quaeryt, as befits your name.”

  “I do, but the inquiry is, alas, most mundane in nature. I think I’d like a change for supper this evening. Are there any good tavernas around?”

  “Tavernas?” asked Chardyn. “Are you looking for a good meal, or one of those where it doesn’t matter what you eat, so long as you can drink and listen to singers and spend too many coins?”

  “A decent meal, and a decent singer or two would be nice,” replied Quaeryt.

  Chardyn frowned. “Terazo probably has the best food, and the lager’s the cheapest at Rufalo’s. The food’s decent, sometimes better, at Jardyna. All three have singers, and so does Sullah’s, but you’d be fortunate to walk away from Sullah’s without losing your wallet or more. If you want to ride farther and don’t mind spending a silver or two, I’ve heard that Svaardyn is outstanding.”

  “That sounds a bit rich for me.”

  “Of those closer, the food’s better at Terazo, and the singing better at Jardyna,” offered Chardyn.

  “Thank you. I’ll have to give each a thought.” Quaeryt paused, then went on. “I was talking to Sarastyn the other day, and he mentioned a group who called themselves partisans. He didn’t seem to think that highly of them.”

  Chardyn laughed. “When life is calm, no one likes those who call themselves partisans, but when a ruler becomes tyrannical or a land is ruled by an outsider, the partisans are considered champions by those who feel oppressed.”

  “And now?”

  “Some think they’re brigands and thieves, and others think they’re champions.”

  “Who’s likely to think they’re oppressed?”

  “I think every man in Tilbor would have a different opinion,” replied Chardyn with a smile.

  Quaeryt nodded. “That’s likely true anywhere, from what I’ve seen. Oh … by the way, I haven’t seen Sarastyn today. Have you?”

  “He had a few too many of his ‘medicinals’ and didn’t feel well this morning. Scholar Tharxas has been looking in on him. I’m certain it will pass.”

  “I do hope so. He has proved most helpful.”

  “I am certain he has, but … he does have … certain lapses of memory, certain beliefs that are of the past, rather than the present.”

  “Such as his belief that the taverna where he takes his ‘medicinals’ is still the Ice Cleft?”

  “Precisely. When names change, more changes than the name.”

  “That is a very good point.” Quaeryt nodded.

  “I thought so.”

  “Thank you … and if you will excuse me…”

  “Of course.…”

  As he walked westward toward Jardyna, Quaeryt considered several things. He didn’t like the fact that Chardyn had known Sarastyn’s condition so precisely, but, while Quaeryt couldn’t help wondering about Sarastyn, he couldn’t very well accuse Chardyn of ill-treating Sarastyn, nor could he keep track of Sarastyn’s every move. He also hadn’t cared for Nalakyn’s inquiries. Both suggested it was time for him to move on … and sooner than he had told anyone.

  Lankyt’s directions proved adequate. It took far less than two quints for Quaeryt to reach the crossroads that held Jardyna on the southeast side and Rufalo’s some hundred yards to the north, on the west side, past a local chandlery and wool factorage. The painting of the garden on the signboard was far less artistic than the painting on Jorem and Hailae’s factorage, and while the signboard had been touched up, there were still parts where the paint was threatening to peel. The single oversized door, hung with massive iron straps, was of well-oiled oak, and the scents of food did not carry the odor of burned grease.

  Quaeryt opened the door and stepped inside. A slender woman dressed in a deep maroon tunic over black trousers turned. While her figure was girlish, the silver and blond hair and the slightly lined face were not.

  “Drinks? Or food?”

  “Both,” replied Quaeryt. “More food than drinks.”

  “You’re from the west, aren’t you?”

  “From Solis.”

  “I didn’t know Phaeryn was seeking scholars from there.”

  “He isn’t. I had a patron who sent me here.”

  “He must be indifferent to your wishes, then.” The woman’s smile was friendly, her tone bantering.

  “Not indifferent. Just wanting me to earn his support.”r />
  She laughed. “I’m Karelya. You can take any of the small tables that are empty—unless you’re expecting more than one person to join you.”

  “A small table will be fine.”

  “Pick any one that suits you.” She gestured toward her right.

  That half of the large room held fifteen or sixteen tables, with a massive ceramic stove in the middle of the end wall. It was covered with plants in pots, most of them flowering. What Quaeryt noted was that the small tables were those set against the oiled pine plank walls, while the larger tables, those seating six or eight and those seating four, were in the middle of the room. Two of the small tables were occupied, one by a white-haired man, and the other by a young couple. Three men wearing the leathers of teamsters sat around a table for four.

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt smiled, then made his way to the unoccupied table closest to the stove, taking the seat that put his back to the plants on the stove.

  He’d no sooner seated himself than Karelya reappeared.

  “Greeter and server?” he asked.

  “For the moment, until the evening girls appear. We stay open until ninth glass. That’s later than most, but still means we can close down before midnight.”

  “Unless there’s a really good crowd?”

  “That sometimes happens on Samedi nights, usually in midfall. In winter, it gets too cold. What will you have?”

  “What is there for me to have?”

  “The dinners tonight are fowl paprikash with potato dumplings, Skarnan noodles and beef, and mutton cutlets and fried potatoes. Each one is three coppers.”

  “The fowl, please. What about lagers or ale?”

  “Light and heavy lager, gold and brown ale. Two coppers for any of them.”

  “I’ll try the light lager.”

  “The light lager it is.” With a friendly smile, she was gone.

  If Jardyna was the less expensive taverna, he didn’t want to think about the more expensive places. He glanced to the other side of the taverna, where the tables were all small and crowded together, and where close to fifteen men were already seated and contemplating or drinking from large mugs. Only a surprisingly low murmur oozed into the eating area.