Scholar ip-4

by L. E. Modesitt

  “I am. What can I do for you?” observed the scholar princeps in Bovarian.

  “I’m Quaeryt Rytersyn. I have been traveling, all the way from Solis,” replied Quaeryt in the same tongue, “and I had hoped to find room here.”

  “You know we are not scholars like those in Solis.”

  “I did not expect that you would be exactly the same. Nor does the moon have sons she acknowledges openly, yet learning exists under moonlight or sunlight, for all that the hunter may be Artiema’s guardian.”

  “Welcome, Quaeryt Rytersyn. I am Zarxes Zorlynsyn. What brings you here?”

  “A commission from a patron of scholars in Solis, to update the history of Tilbora.” Quaeryt smiled wryly. “I would have been at your doorstep earlier, but…” With that opening, he launched into a brief explanation of his travels, omitting his difficulties in Nacliano and how he had handled the reavers, concluding with, “… and as a result of holder Rhodyn’s kindnesses I have brought missives from him to his sons Syndar and Lankyt.”

  “Not many scholars arrive with their own mount.”

  “It was in part a gift from Holder Rhodyn in Ayerne, after the ship I was on was wrecked.” In a convoluted way, the mare had been a gift of sorts, because Zachys wouldn’t have parted with the mare without Rhodyn’s persuasive presence.

  “He wanted to assure you completed his tasks. I have met him but once, although he struck me as a man able to know and judge others well. I also thought he might be excellent at persuading them to his ends … as necessary.”

  “About staying here for a week?” prompted Quaeryt.

  “For the first night or so, we offer hospitality.” Zarxes cleared his throat.

  “And after that?” Quaeryt smiled easily.

  “A copper a night for the chamber. A copper for every meal. We would appreciate more if possible. The Khanars were always most generous to the scholars. Now…”

  “Now … you must charge for your students and for visiting scholars, as Scholars’ Houses do in most of Lydar.”

  “Unfortunately. Even so, there are months where…” Zarxes shrugged.

  “I am not wealthy,” replied Quaeryt, “but I can certainly forgo any need for hospitality. I am just pleased to be here.”

  “If you do not mind staying in the west wing … there are spacious chambers on the upper level, and the adjoining rooms are currently vacant. The first level can be … less than quiet.”

  “Is that where the student scholars are quartered?”

  “You have some knowledge of their habits, I see.” Zarxes smiled.

  “I was one for many years.”

  “I thought you might be.”

  Quaeryt ignored the knowing smile. When he’d been given his names, he’d been too young to know that Ryter was the most common name in Telaryn and that a great proportion of orphans bore the surname “Rytersyn.” “My parents died of the Great Plague when I was very young, and in a place where no one knew their names.”

  The princeps nodded. “You are welcome here. I will have young Gaestnyr fetch Syndar and Lankyt and then ready your chamber. You can wait for them on the porch. These days it is much cooler there.”

  “Oh … and because of the wreck, I will need to make arrangements for another few sets of scholar’s garb.”

  “That should be no problem at all. We have a fine tailor.” The princeps strode briskly out the door, and Quaeryt followed, waiting on the shaded porch and standing to catch the light breeze out of the east, while both Zarxes and Gaestnyr vanished in different directions.

  Before long, another young man, wearing the uncollared brown shirt and brown trousers of a student, appeared from the east side of the porch, which apparently circled the entire building. He was broad-shouldered and brown-haired and looked much as Rhodyn must have as a young man, Quaeryt thought.

  “Scholar … the princeps said that you had a missive for me?”

  “I have missives for two students,” Quaeryt said. “You are?”

  “Syndar Rhodynsyn.”

  Quaeryt lifted both missives from his jacket, looked at the names, and handed one to Syndar. “He wrote this late on Lundi.”

  “Who did?”

  For a moment, Quaeryt didn’t answer. Didn’t Syndar even know his father’s writing? “Your father did. The other missive is for your brother.”

  “Oh…” Syndar nodded. “I’m sorry, scholar. My thoughts were elsewhere. Thank you. I do appreciate your bringing it here.”

  “You’re welcome. I was pleased to do it. Your father and mother were most hospitable and kind.”

  “They are, indeed.” Syndar nodded again. “I do thank you.”

  Then he turned and left.

  Almost as soon as Syndar was out of sight, headed around the east side of the porch, another student, this one far more slender, walked toward the scholar from around the west corner of the porch. His steps were quick, almost eager, and he bowed immediately after stopping short of Quaeryt.

  “Scholar Quaeryt, sir? I’m Lankyt Rhodynsyn. The princeps said you might have a missive for me.”

  “I do indeed.” Quaeryt proffered the remaining missive.

  As soon as Lankyt saw his name, he smiled. “Thank you so much, sir. Thank you.”

  “Your father wanted to make sure that you got it, yet…” Quaeryt offered a curious expression and let his words die away.

  “What is it, sir?”

  “Your brother did not seem overjoyed.…”

  “He has many things on his mind.”

  “That is what he said, but I’m sure you do as well.” Quaeryt paused. “You have another brother. Your mother mentioned him. He’s in Bhorael, as I recall.” Rhodyn had only said not to mention the letters.

  “That’s Jorem.”

  “Your father didn’t say much about him. He seemed sad when he mentioned his name.”

  “Jorem and Father … they don’t see things the same way.”

  “I’ve heard that’s often true.”

  “You must get along well with your parents, sir,” said Lankyt with a laugh.

  “No. My parents died when I was very small. I was raised by the scholars.”

  “Oh … I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean…”

  “That’s all right. You were saying…”

  “It all happened because of the riots … and the Telaryn armsmen. Did you hear about the riots?”

  “Only that there were riots.” At the time, Quaeryt had just returned to Solis and hadn’t been that interested in much beside persuading the scholars to take him back. And Jorem had avoided talking about anything like that.

  “Old Lord Chayar had told the armsmen to leave the local girls alone. Some of them decided that no one would mind if they took some liberties with the Pharsi girls. Even the Tilborans looked down on them.”

  Quaeryt let himself wince.

  “I see you know about Pharsi women.”

  “I know that the women are the ones who run the households and that their husbands are usually the ones who do the obeying.”

  “Some of the soldiers ended up dead, and some were wounded. The governor-the old governor-sent the garrisons out to patrol the streets and then had his engineers destroy the four whole blocks where the armsmen were killed. Some of the dwellings and shops weren’t owned by Pharsi families, and the owners protested. The governor ignored them. He said they were all Tilborans, and he didn’t care who believed what. People started throwing rocks at the soldiers, and things got worse, and more people and more soldiers got killed, and then the armsmen killed a lot more people…” Lankyt shrugged. “I wasn’t here then, but that’s what the old scholars say happened.”

  “Those sorts of things can get out of hand, but I don’t understand what that has to do with your brother.”

  “Oh … he rescued a Pharsi girl and her parents. They were visiting their cousins, trying to help them leave Tilbor. The parents were badly hurt in the riots, but Jorem managed to get them all back to Bhorael. They had a produc
e factorage.”

  Quaeryt forced himself to wait.

  Lankyt finally went on. “He kept seeing Hailae, and they fell in love. After two years, when he was about finished with his studies, he wrote Father saying that he intended to marry Hailae. Father wrote back saying that was fine, and that he looked forward to having his son and new daughter taking over the holding. That was where the trouble started.”

  “Hailae wanted to stay near her family?” asked Quaeryt.

  “She was their only child, and they were ill. Father offered to bring everyone to Ayerne, but Hailae and Jorem said that they wanted to carry on the factorage. He did not wish to ask Hailae to give up all that her parents had sacrificed for, and their injuries were too great for them to run the factorage. Father was hurt, I think. That was when he sent Syndar here to study. I came a year later.”

  Quaeryt nodded slowly. “Your brother-Syndar-seems rather quiet. Withdrawn, almost.”

  Lankyt nodded. “He wants to stay and be a scholar. He never liked all that went into running a holding.”

  “And you?”

  “I’m ready to go back to Ayerne any time. Father wants me to stay until Year-Turn. I think he hopes Syndar will change his mind.”

  Quaeryt wanted to shake his head. So often brothers fought over an inheritance, and in the case of Rhodyn’s sons, it seemed as though the father would have preferred either son who didn’t want the holding to the one who did. “You really like Ayerne, don’t you?”

  Lankyt’s face brightened once more. “I’ve always loved it. I’ve studied about plants and trees, and I think there are things I could do that would make the holding even more prosperous. I’ve even visited the growers around here, the ones that the scholars say are the most successful…”

  Quaeryt nodded pleasantly, trying to hide a smile at the young man’s enthusiasm, as well as his own sadness, knowing that the expectations of others might well dampen those feelings.

  “… and Caella has already tried some of what I wrote her, and it’s working with her orchards.”

  “Your mother mentioned that.”

  “They didn’t think she could do it, either.” Abruptly, Lankyt stopped. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…”

  “You didn’t. I think you’ll make a fine holder.” If they’ll just give you the chance. “Just remember that no one likes change away from what’s familiar. If you can, show them how what you want to change is just another way of accomplishing the familiar. Show them with little things first. It only seems to take longer.”

  “Sir … it only seems…?”

  “When you fight to change people’s minds, they resist. When people resist, it takes longer.” Quaeryt laughed. “Now I’m the one who must apologize for acting like a chorister of the Nameless. And I do apologize.”

  “There is no need to apologize to me, sir … and I do thank you for bringing the missive to me. Will you be staying at the Ecoliae?”

  “For a few days, a week, perhaps a little longer.” After a smile, the scholar added, “I should not keep you longer, and I do need to get my mount out of the sun.”

  “Oh … yes, sir. Thank you again.” Lankyt nodded a last time, then hurried off clutching the missive in his hands.

  Quaeryt walked down from the porch and untied the mare from the old iron hitching rail, thinking about the differences between the three sons.

  As if he had been watching, Gaestnyr reappeared from the west end of the porch. “If you would follow me, sir?”

  “I’d be happy to, thank you.”

  As he led the mare behind young Gaestnyr around to the west end of the main building, presumably to the stable, and then to his quarters, his eyes ranged across the hillside below. Hot as the day was, he saw the signs of how far north Tilbor was. There were far fewer leafy trees, and those that he saw were mainly oaks and maples, while there were evergreens everywhere. Did the kind of trees affect people? Did those who lived around prickly evergreens tend to be more stiff and sharp?

  He suspected he would find out before too long.

  25

  Once he had inspected his chamber, which was larger than the one he had occupied in Solis, as well as cleaner, although it had double shutters, which suggested that the winter would be cold indeed, and left his small amount of gear, Quaeryt reclaimed the mare from the small stable and started on his way down the lane.

  To his right, farther west, were larger dwellings, the northern equivalent of villas, with thick walls and windows far smaller than those customary in Solis, or even in Nacliano. None was located on the actual crests of hills, but just slightly down from them, and most had a southern orientation. The lanes leading to them from the roads were angled to climb gently, and the roads themselves were not in the lowest part of the vales.

  He could also easily see the Telaryn Palace-what had been the Khanar’s Palace until ten years before, when Lord Chayar had taken Tilbora from the west-since it was situated on the highest of the low hills to the north of the city, and its extensive nondescript gray walls and square towers stood out above the golden grasses on the hillsides below. The lower hills flanking the palace were covered with evergreens and held no dwellings or structures that Quaeryt could see, suggesting that they had been reserved for the use of the Khanar-and now probably for the governor.

  Quaeryt wasn’t about to ride up to the palace-not yet. He wanted to ride through Tilbora and find out what he could before meeting Governor Rescalyn, and he turned the mare eastward onto the narrow but brick-paved road that appeared to lead into the center of Tilbora. For the first half mille or so, the way was bordered by modest dwellings with gardens, but there were no walled gardens or even walled courtyards the way there were in Solis. Even Nacliano had some walled courtyards. Quaeryt saw none. He also saw no grapes or figs, and every courtyard garden in Solis had some variety of one or the other.

  He saw wooden rail fences, and occasional stone and brick walls that were between knee-high and chest-high. The dwellings were smaller and more modest the closer he got to town, but none were built wall-to-wall as they were in other cities he had visited.

  After riding another half mille, he came to a brick-paved circle, a crossroads of sorts, in that two roads did cross, but various shops and other structures had been built all the way around the edge of the paved circle, leaving four equal arcs of buildings, each arc set between two roads. More than that, there was … something about the buildings. None quite looked like those he had passed earlier. All had narrower but longer windows, and every door had an iron grate that closed over it, although all were swung back at the moment. The types of shops seemed normal enough. He could pick out a small woolen shop, a tinsmith’s, a fuller, a cooper. One “quarter” held an inn, and the signboard suggested it had been named something different before, because the peeling paint revealed traces of another name, but not enough for Quaeryt to read it.

  A woman emptied a bucket of water on the bricks before a shop and then used a worn broom to sweep away dirt and other less benign objects.

  Was this a Pharsi area before? Or has it changed as some areas will with time?

  He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t about to stop and ask. Not at the moment, anyway.

  He kept riding, and before that long the narrow road ended at a stone-paved square that served the harbor area. At the east end was a knee-high seawall, also of the same gray stone. The mortar was cracking and missing in places in the wall, and the paving stones were uneven, as if they had not been reset in years. One pier jutted out from the south end of the square, a second from the north end, and a third and smaller pier was set farther to the north.

  Quaeryt rode around the edge of the square, past a chandlery and a cafe of sorts, and all manner of small shops, a number of which bore signboards sporting painted fish. There were fewer women than men on the narrow streets and sidewalks, and most of the women he saw looked older. He kept riding, going up one street and down another, but avoiding the alleys, and eventually ended up back
at the harbor square, where he reined up, trying to think over what he’d seen.

  The harbor area was far smaller than that of Nacliano, stretching little more than six or seven blocks north and south and three or four to the west from the three piers, none of which approached the length of the smallest in Nacliano, or even the short coastal pier in Solis. In reality, the piers were not even that, but wooden wharves built on what looked to be rough-stripped tree trunks sunk into the harbor floor.

  “You’d be looking for something, sir?” The inquiry came from another of the olive-green-clad city patrollers as he walked toward Quaeryt.

  “I’m new here, and I was just riding to get my bearings.” Quaeryt paused just slightly. “You don’t have harbor patrollers here, do you?”

  “No, sir. Why would we need them?” The patroller looked up at Quaeryt. His face was lined and ruddy, and his square-cut beard held streaks of gray.

  “The last port I was in was Nacliano, and they had harbor patrollers. I’ve never been here before and didn’t know if it might be the same.”

  The patroller smiled. “We’d not be needing them. Our folk don’t take to rowdiness or theft or any of that foolishness. We’re here for the times they need a mite of assistance.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  “You need a good stable … you might try Thayl’s place. It’s two blocks west of the small pier.”

  Quaeryt smiled at the indirect suggestion that he needed to move on. “If I do, I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.” He flicked the reins and guided the mare northward in the general direction of Thayl’s, not that he intended to stop there.

  When he reached a point opposite the smallest wharf, he did turn the mare in the direction suggested by the patroller. After a single block, he began to grin. Just before Thayl’s stable was another building, one with open second-floor windows. Several of the windows were adorned-if that were the proper term-with women wearing the sheerest of cotton shifts or blouses, and some of those blouses were not fastened in the slightest.

  The building had no signboard, but then it needed none, and he could see why Thayl might do a fair business stabling mounts for a short period of time. He rode by and took in the scenery. He’d seen better, and he’d seen worse, and in some places, like Nacliano, there wasn’t much difference between places like the Sailrigger and a brothel. He’d never patronized either type, not because he didn’t appreciate femininity, but because women like Hailae-or especially the not-quite-gangly Vaelora-were more to his taste. At the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder exactly how the brothel made its presence known in the depth of winter. Not that he had any intention of being around past Year-Turn to find out.