Scholar

by L. E. Modesitt

  Quaeryt murmured “In peace and harmony” with the others, and slipped only a copper into the offertory basket. His wallet was getting thin, and he didn’t want to try imaging within the stone walls.

  Phargos ascended to the pulpit for the homily with the crispness of an officer. “Good evening,” he offered in Bovarian.

  “Good evening,” came the murmured reply.

  “Under the Nameless all evenings are good…”

  Although he couldn’t help but wonder why the services were being conducted in Bovarian, Quaeryt had no trouble listening. Phargos’s voice was resonant and carried, and much of what he said made sense, especially one part.

  “… why is the term ‘sir’ not only respectful, but especially appropriate for an officer of the regiment?” Phargos paused, then went on. “It is appropriate because it conveys respect without using a name, and Naming is not only a sin, but it also undermines the discipline of the regiment. When titles and names are too frequently used, they supersede, with few realizing it, the common purpose of the regiment. Men, even officers, puff themselves up if they hear their titles and name too often. An ancient sage once observed that the surest sign of a land’s decline is when the length of the title of its ruler exceeds the length of his name manyfold … or when both take longer to say than the sentence which follows…”

  A low laugh came from several officers at that. Quaeryt smiled.

  After the benediction, Quaeryt lingered, since he saw Meinyt and Skarpa heading in his direction.

  “You came to services, scholar,” said Skarpa, his tone mock-accusatory.

  “I did indeed.”

  “But are not scholars dubious of the Nameless?”

  “We are dubious about everything, but in that regard, we follow the precepts of Rholan, because he was dubious about names. We’re dubious about names … and a few more things as well.”

  “Is there anything that you’re not dubious about?” asked Skarpa sardonically.

  “Only that seasons follow seasons, that rulers will always tariff, and that death comes to all.”

  “That leaves more doubt in life than most can accept.”

  “True,” replied Quaeryt, “but what men and women will accept and what they believe to be does not make such certain. It only comforts them.”

  “You sound more cynical than the Namer,” observed Meinyt dryly.

  “No. The Namer uses names to convey certainty where there is none. False certainty is the hallmark of the Namer.”

  “You should have been a chorister.”

  Quaeryt laughed. “I think not.” Not when you’re not even certain that there is a Nameless.

  The three walked together back toward the west wing, where Quaeryt took his leave and climbed up to his chamber.

  38

  On Lundi morning, Quaeryt made certain he was in his assigned study a good half quint before seventh glass, then walked over to the princeps’s anteroom.

  “Vhorym, is there any special format I should use for my reports?”

  “The standard form is like this, sir.” The squad leader turned to the wooden box beside his table desk and lifted the hinged cover, removing a thin leather folder and laying it on the desk before extracting a single sheet. “You see? The top line is the addressee, the second is the writer, the third the subject, and the last line of the heading the date.” He slipped the sheet back into the folder, and then replaced it in the file box.

  “You’re very organized.”

  “The governor … and the princeps … wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

  “Vhorym. One other thing … the princeps mentioned that when I do leave the palace grounds, I’m to log out. Where do I do that?”

  “In the gatehouse just inside the south side of the main upper gates, sir. There’s a log for both missions and individuals.”

  “Thank you. Later today, if the princeps asks, I’ll be down in the archives chamber. I should be there most of the day.” With that, Quaeryt returned to his study, where he remained, thinking, until two quints past the bells striking seventh glass. Then he left the study and made his way down to the lower level of the palace to continue his perusal of the seemingly innumerable boxes of papers in the more than capacious archives.

  While he had hoped to move from box to box, reading each in place, he ended up carrying a box at a time to the table under the lamps, because none of the other wall lamps held oil, and a hand lantern would have shed so little light that reading the papers would have been even more difficult.

  Thankfully, the documents in the other file boxes were in fact organized, not only by date, but by subject matter as well. By midmorning, Quaeryt had located and read through a set of files that contained records of all meetings of the Khanar’s Council for the three years prior to the last year of the khanarate, documented in a haphazard way by the scattered files in the first four boxes. He would have liked to have seen all of them, but what was missing was likely destroyed, especially anything bearing on the change in rulers.

  The Council records were mostly routine. One entire meeting had been devoted to the question of wastes being dumped into rivers and in particular, the Albhor River. Another meeting had been on whether the Khanar should set up a mint in the palace or continue to have coin struck by the gold- and silversmiths in Tilbora, and yet another had dealt with the penalties for conviction for logging on the properties of another. From what he could tell, not a single file was missing from that period, and all were reported either one hand or another, only two scripts alternating over the three years.

  Studying all those files took him until the second glass of the afternoon, when he left for a time to get some water—from one of the pitchers in the princeps’s anteroom—followed by a walk in the gardens, where he filched a late apple from one of the trees. The apple was crisp, but tart. Then he sat on a stone bench shaded by a well-trimmed juniper and thought about all that he had read so far that day.

  There wasn’t a single mention in any of the reports about trouble with either timber holders or High Holders in the north. Nor was there any mention about Tyrena, directly or indirectly. The impression he’d received was of a land at peace with itself. That left three likely possibilities. Either Eleonyd was being deceived by everyone on the Council and everyone reporting to him, or he managed the reports to eliminate any mention of unpleasantness, or the land was truly at peace with itself. Since the reports didn’t really go anywhere, and no one was ruling over Eleonyd, it was unlikely that the Khanar was having false reports made, or even that someone had substituted reports later, because what would have been the point after the khanarate had fallen?

  From what little Quaeryt had seen of Tilbor, except for the backwoods and timber holders, the people didn’t seem especially unruly. Stubborn and stiff-necked in a quiet way, but not rebellious … and if the regiment had been successfully recruiting for years …

  He paused—except for the scholars, and that might be because of Phaeryn’s and Zarxes’s connections to the timber holders. He rose from the bench, stretched, and took a deep breath, then headed back down to the archives.

  By two quints past fourth glass, his eyes were again blurring in the dim light of the two lamps in the archives, and it was getting close enough to time for the evening meal. He had to admit that he was surprised not to have found any other mention of Tyrena in any of the papers he’d viewed, but then, in that time period, she’d been old enough that little would have been said, and young enough, if Chardyn and Sarastyn were accurate, that marriage was not yet an issue. Or … someone had removed the papers dealing with her.

  While that omission bothered him, he doubted that, except for satisfying his own curiosity, it was terribly relevant to his mission for Bhayar. Still … until he knew otherwise, he couldn’t just dismiss the absence of Tyrena from the records.

  He was just heading up the lower staircase when he saw Vhorym coming down.

  “Sir? The princeps wanted me to let you know that th
e governor will see you at ninth glass tomorrow morning.”

  “Ninth glass. Thank you. Ah … where is his study?”

  “It’s on the other side of the rotunda exactly opposite the princeps’s study.”

  “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, sir.”

  Quaeryt let the squad leader hurry back up the stone steps, then made his way to the wash room near the mess, before returning to join the officers in the mess.

  “Scholar … come join us!” The call came from a tall captain that Quaeryt didn’t even recall seeing before.

  Quaeryt smiled and walked toward the table closest to the door, where the captain stood. “I’m Quaeryt, formerly with the Scholarium Solum in Solis.”

  “Kalphryn, senior captain, engineers.” He gestured to the place across from him.

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt sat, as did the captain.

  “Captain Meinyt said you came out from Solis. What news do you have?”

  “Solis is still as hot as ever in summer and harvest,” Quaeryt said wryly. “Nothing’s burned down; no one’s at war, or wasn’t when I departed; and I should have ridden overland with a courier, even if I’m not quite the worst rider in Lydar, because coming by ship got me wrecked and near-drowned.”

  Kalphryn smiled; the two captains beside him laughed.

  “We heard Rex Kharst had his eyes on Antiago,” said Kalphryn.

  “He probably does, but the word in the tavernas was that he was still having trouble with Khel.”

  “Word also is that you’re getting dispatches from Solis.”

  Quaeryt managed to laugh immediately. “Yes … I did get a missive from one who would rather be a student of mine, and it asked about how a scholar would determine how to trust those who would give advice.”

  “He must be wealthy.”

  “She is … and far beyond my reach, especially given her family’s proclivity to marry well. I’m doubtless a diversion. As for other news … there’s a new minister of finance, but I don’t recall his name, and there’s also a new pleasure house a mere five blocks east of the palace.…” Quaeryt went on for a time, trying to recall every bit of news and trivia that he could, occasionally taking a sip of the lager that had appeared in the mug before him, before finally ending, “… and on the voyage here, I did discover that the City Patrol chief of Nacliano doesn’t like scholars, or bookstores, and that some merchanters are now carrying cannon with shells that hold Antiagon Fire. That’s likely to mean that whatever war gets fought next will be largely on land.” Quaeryt turned to the engineer captain. “You have more experience in that, far more, than do I. What do you think?”

  “Nasty stuff, Antiagon Fire … not that much of it, though … few imagers can create it … still … you’d need warships with iron hulls and decks, and they’d be slow and sluggish under sail … be costly and take forever to build, too…”

  Quaeryt nodded and kept listening, even as he took a healthy helping of the sauce-covered cutlets and mashed potatoes on the platter passed down the table.

  39

  After breakfast on Mardi, Quaeryt went to his small but well-appointed study, where he settled in to think about all the documents he had read over the previous three days and what they had conveyed to him. At half a quint before ninth glass he crossed the second level of the palace to the south side and entered the anteroom to the governor’s study.

  An undercaptain in pristine greens looked up from the table desk nearest the closed door to the study. “Scholar Quaeryt. Please have a seat. The governor will be ready for you shortly.”

  Quaeryt sat in one of the wooden captain’s chairs set just out from the wall. He’d barely settled himself when the door to the study opened and a trim but muscular man of moderate height stepped out, wearing perfectly tailored undress greens, with the silver starbursts of a marshal on his collars and everything in place from his short blond hair, interspersed with a few silver strands, down to his polished black boots. The cheerful-looking pale green eyes that flanked a straight strong nose took in Quaeryt, and a smile appeared on the governor’s lightly tanned and weathered face.

  “So you’re the scholar Lord Bhayar sent?”

  “Yes, sir. Quaeryt Rytersyn.”

  “Come in.” With another smile, Rescalyn gestured and turned, as if expecting Quaeryt to follow him.

  Quaeryt did, and the undercaptain quickly stood and moved to close the study door behind him.

  Rescalyn did not seat himself behind the wide but simple table desk that held only a single leather folder. Instead, he stood by the window, not facing toward either it or Quaeryt. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? It’s hard to believe that in little more than a season, the snow will begin to fall.”

  Quaeryt knew that the cold struck early in Tilbor … but snow in the middle of autumn? “It’s a long winter here, I take it.”

  “Especially compared to Solis … if you can call the slight chill there in Ianus and Fevier winter.” The governor turned. “Do sit down.” He seated himself and waited several moments before speaking again. “The princeps tells me that you’re here to find out why the Tilborans are so stiff-necked and ungovernable.”

  “I don’t believe—”

  Rescalyn laughed genially and waved off Quaeryt’s words. “Spare me the politely worded qualifications and denials. He’s the Lord of Telaryn. He wants to know why I continue to need a full regiment, with supporting battalions, and all the golds they require ten years after his father conquered Tilbor. Either that or the High Holders in the rest of Telaryn are complaining about their tariffs, and he needs a better explanation. He’s got his hands full with the border problems with Kharst and with the Autarch of Antiago, and the last place he wants to be is another thousand milles farther away. So he sent you. I understand. There’s nothing mysterious about it.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t help but be impressed by the governor’s words and understanding, not to mention the warmth and understanding in his tone, or the amused smile with which Rescalyn had finished his statement. “He did express concern.”

  “Of course he did. Any ruler with brains would be concerned, and I’m glad to see that he is. I’ll be more than happy to make sure that you see and understand fully the problems we’re facing here, and I’ve already conveyed to the princeps that you’re to be given every opportunity to verify anything he or I may tell you—or to find, if you can, anything that contradicts what we may say. I doubt that you’ll find anything contrary to what we’ve reported to Lord Bhayar, but I can definitely understand why he needs to know. The best place to start would be the dispatch files, and when you leave here, I’ll have Undercaptain Caermyt take you there.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “I understand you’ve been studying in the Khanar’s library and the archives of the khanarate. What do you think so far?”

  “If the archives represent what happened, it appears that Tilbor was relatively well-governed until the last years, and then all internal organization in the palace suffered.”

  “You’re being careful in a scholarly way. When Eleonyd sickened, everything collapsed. That was always the problem with the khanarate. It all rested on the organization and personal strength of the Khanar. If he was strong and disciplined, so was Tilbor. If not … well … you can see what happened. That’s always a problem in governing. If there’s not enough structure, and the leadership is weak, the land falls. If there’s too much structure, no matter what kind of leadership there is, the land is far weaker than it should be.” Another smile followed. “What did you think of the library?”

  “I thought it most impressive, frankly.”

  “So do I. I’ve read several fascinating books from there … when I’ve had time away from my duties.”

  “Is there one you’d recommend?”

  “The library has so many excellent volumes that I’d be doing it and you a disservice to pick any one out … although I will say that there are some outstanding works I’ve never seen before in among
the volumes on history and tactics.” A more serious expression appeared. “What arrangements have you made for informing Lord Bhayar of your progress and findings?”

  “I had thought that presumptuous until I was here.”

  “So it would have been.” Rescalyn nodded. “I would suggest you send a report with the regimental courier who leaves for Solis every Vendrei morning at seventh glass. I don’t want to see your report, only that you make one, and I’ll go even farther. You can hand that sealed report to him just before he leaves the palace.”

  “I’d be happy to—”

  “Nonsense. That’s your report to your lord. There is one other recommendation I would offer. It’s up to you, of course, but I would suggest that you accompany patrols through various areas of Tilbor and see matters for yourself.”

  “That’s very kind of you, sir, and I would like very much to do that. I’d also like to hear what you have to say. Lord Bhayar was most complimentary about your abilities and perception.”

  “I’m not kind. Just practical.” Rescalyn paused. “I will certainly let you know what I think, but I will defer doing so until you have read the dispatches and seen more of Tilbor with regimental patrols. I’d like you to come to some conclusions before I say much.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t argue with that logic, even as he respected the way in which the governor had maneuvered matters. He also had to ask himself why there was something about the governor that bothered him. Rescalyn had been open and polite and direct, and certainly pleasant. He also hadn’t mentioned the local scholars, and that suggested, again, that Quaeryt proceed carefully in dealing with that area.

  Rescalyn stood. “It’s good to meet you, and I’m glad to see that Lord Bhayar shares my concerns about the unsettled nature of the hill country and backwoods here. Caermyt will show you the dispatch room.”