Scholar

by L. E. Modesitt

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 turn
ed 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?”

  Laekyna smiled, and her entire face came alive. For some reason, although the two looked not at all alike, for that moment, the High Holder’s wife reminded Quaeryt of Vaelora. “He does make fun of me, master scholar, but it is the most pleasant room in the summer.”

  “Any room is pleasant with you in it, dear.”

  Quaeryt could not miss the obvious affection in word and expression, and it cheered him, even as he warned himself that a man could love his wife and still be a foe not to be trusted.

  Fhaedyrk gestured to the table. “We took the liberty of preparing some light fare for you, knowing how far you have ridden.” He seated himself in the middle place, and Laekyna was already standing before the place to his right.

  Quaeryt took the chair to the High Holder’s left and sat down. “You’re very kind.”

  “It was kind of the princeps and governor to send you. Few wish to travel far from Tilbora. I thought we might begin with a cool potato soup.”

  As Fhaedyrk spoke, a server appeared with a dish and a ladle and began to fill the bowls, set on green porcelain chargers. A second server appeared and placed dark rolls on the small plates beside the chargers.

  “The rolls are sweet dark rolls with honeyed raisins. The raisins come from our lower vineyards. I can offer lager, white or red wine, or grape or berry juice.”

  “What would you recommend?”

  “I’m actually going to have lager.”

  “Fhaedyrk’s lager is the best in Tilbor,” added Laekyna.

  “Then I’ll have the lager.”

  After one swallow, Quaeryt agreed. “It’s not just the best lager in Tilbor; it’s the best I’ve had anywhere.”

  “You see, dearest,” said Laekyna. “I told you so.”

  Just from what was clearly the first course, Quaeryt would not have considered the fare “light” by any means, but suspected the time and terminology had been set for reasons of custom. If asked by other High Holders, Fhaedyrk could say, with perfect honesty, that he had met with Quaeryt in midafternoon and offered light refreshments to the assistant to the princeps, as was only courtesy after such a long ride.

  “How was the ride?”

  “Pleasant as four-glass rides go. Most of the time, there was a breeze, and that helped.”

  “Except in the winter,” commented Fhaedyrk wryly. “It’s usually a gale then.”

  “Are your winters here as bitter as in the north?”

  “They’re often more bitter, or so we’re told,” replied Laekyna. “It has to do with the way the hills channel the winds.”

  Quaeryt sensed that the meal was for light conversation and held the questions he had in mind. The main course was a meat pie, but the crust was so flaky and the sauce so light that it didn’t feel heavy at all.

  “You must try the berry custard—it’s Laekyna’s special recipe.”

  “My aunt’s actually.”

  “This is your version, and it’s better.”

  Quaeryt needed no urging. When he finished the last tasty spoonful of the custard, he turned to Laekyna. “That was excellent. I’ve never tasted better.”

  Laekyna smiled, and blushed slightly. “Thank you.”

  “I told you,” added Fhaedyrk proudly. After the slightest pause, he said, “I had not thought to find the assistant to the princeps to be a scholar.”

  Quaeryt understood. He also saw that Laekyna was studying him as well.

  “I’m from Solis, sir, and I was raised and educated there, but Lord Bhayar sent me here.”

  “Might I ask why?”

  “He expressed concerns about the number of soldiers it takes to keep order. I made the mistake of asking if the people of Tilbor were so different that they needed more order imposed by arms … or words to that effect. He said that I asked too many questions and sent me off.”

  Both listeners smiled.

  “What have you discovered?”

  “From what I’ve seen, except for the hill holders, the people and High Holders of Tilbor are a most orderly group that want to get on with their own lives.” Quaeryt paused slightly. “Recently, it’s come to my attention that some of the scholars may not be what they claim. What is your opinion on that?”

  “I would scarcely be in a position to judge that.”

  “I can understand your reticence to comment, sir, especially given your … shall we say … strained relations with the scholars at the Ecoliae…”

  “So far as I know, I have no relations with them.” Fhaedyrk’s voice turned cool.

  Laekyna continued to hold a pleasant expression.

  “Exactly.” Quaeryt smiled. “Nor would anyone in your position, especially, wish to have any relations with them.”

  “My position?”

  “Governor Fhayt was ambushed and nearly killed coming to visit you. The local scholars have attempted to have you killed at least once, and possibly more often.”

  “You have quite an imagination, especially for a scholar.”

  “Do I?” Quaeryt smiled again. “You also seemed to be one of the few High Holders who actually dared to put into writing in letters to Khanar Eleonyd reasonable observations about the source of Tilbor’s prosperity. You’re a very far-seeing and practical man. That’s one of the many reasons I requested a meeting with you.”

  “How did you know about my letters, might I ask?”

  “I read through the Khanars’ archives of the past several years when I first came to Tilbor. It took some time.”

  “All of them?” asked Laekyna.

  “I do not know what was not in the archives. There was an entire chamber. I read all that was there.”

  Fhaedyrk laughed. “I doubt Khanar Eleonyd read a fraction of what you did.”

  “Then did Khanara Tyrena?”

  “I’m sure that she did,” said Laekyna. “Her father, despite all the rumors, relied on her heavily.”

  Fhaedyrk and his wife exchanged a momentary glance.

  “You have traveled a great way, master scholar. Why? Surely not merely to meet me.”

  “Because you are a far-seeing and practical man, I wanted your thoughts on a matter.”

  “Oh? Even the governor has not so
openly sought my thoughts.”

  “I’m not the governor. I’m just a scholar assistant to the princeps attempting to find ways to make Tilbor even more peaceful.”

  “How might I have anything to do with that?”

  Quaeryt decided, for the moment, to ignore the direct thrust of the question. “Let us assume, for the moment, that Lord Bhayar would like the scholars in Telaryn to continue to provide schools and teaching. Yet in Tilbor, there are rumors that certain scholars have more of an interest in supporting those who would rather cause unrest. What course of action might preserve the abilities of the scholars to teach while removing their involvement with those who are little more than brigands with lands?”

  “You are most kind in your assessment of the hill holders.” The sarcasm was delivered gently.

  “I am perhaps not impartial. I accompanied a patrol through the hills to seek poachers who were plaguing a High Holder. We attacked no one, not until we were attacked. I took a crossbow quarrel in the shoulder from men who appeared to be minions of a holder Waerfyl. Later, after I recovered, I accompanied another patrol following two wagons full of coal stolen from another High Holder’s mine—where a number of miners were killed. In both cases, the men of the hill holder attacked the lands and men of High Holders. That scarcely seems like a protest against Lord Bhayar. Then I recently discovered that certain scholars were involved in actions that might have been construed as undermining the Khanara.” Quaeryt looked to Laekyna.

  She nodded. “There have been rumors of such. They were more than rumors. So what does this have to do with us?”

  “I was curious as to whether you had any idea who was behind the attack on Governor Fhayt and why the only time any governor has been attacked when coming to visit a High Holder happened to occur on a visit to you.”

  “I doubt there is any proof anywhere as to the identity of the attackers. Yet inquiries have suggested that a certain Sansang master has often been absent from the Ecoliae at the time of certain disruptions.”

  Laekyna’s eyes hardened just a fraction as her husband spoke.