Scholar

27

The circle route that Quaeryt rode on Solayi afternoon had taken him a good three milles north and another mille south to a village so small that it had neither signs nor millestones to give a hint as to its name, and none of the handful of buildings holding shops and crafters had signage, In that, Tilbor clearly resembled the rest of Telaryn, since lettered signs were not exactly common anywhere, although more prevalent in port cities and in Solis. The village almost could have been one anywhere in greater Telaryn, except for the steeply pitched roofs and the narrow windows that hinted at long and cold winters.

After he returned to the Ecoliae and stabled and groomed the mare, Quaeryt washed off the sweat of the day, reminding himself that he needed to purchase more scholars’ garments on Lundi.

That evening, with little better to do and hoping to learn more, in one way or another, Quaeryt decided to take in services at the anomen next to the Ecoliae. He had to admit that he was not especially inclined to the worship of anything, particularly a deity as vaguely defined as the Nameless, although from what he had read about the Duodean practices in Caenen, the Nameless seemed far more acceptable, especially with regard to the precepts presented by the choristers.

The midharvest sun was almost touching the hills to the west when Quaeryt walked up the last part of the packed clay and dirt path from the Ecoliae and reached the old yellow-brick archway leading into the anomen. The doors were of antique oak, but recently oiled and in seemingly good repair. The interior was dim, lit only by four wall lanterns of polished brass, two on each side of the meeting hall, a space not quite twenty yards long and about ten wide. The walls were plastered smooth and had been recently whitewashed, but held no decoration or adornment, in keeping with the strict precepts of Rholan.

Quaeryt stood to the south side, halfway back from the sanctuary area, from where he watched as close to thirty students filed into the anomen, led by a scholar whom he did not recognize. Quaeryt picked out both Syndar and Lankyt, although neither appeared to notice him. By the time the chorister stepped to the front of the anomen, in addition to the students, there were close to twenty scholars present, of various ages, but he did not see either Chardyn or Sarastyn. He did see Zarxes and a silver-haired scholar who matched the description Chardyn had provided of Phaeryn.

Despite his short and wavy brown hair, the chorister of the anomen looked old and frail, with the hint of sagging jowls, and high cheekbones that accentuated the gauntness of his face. His wordless invocation warbled and wobbled painfully, so much so that Quaeryt had to conceal a wince.

Thankfully, when the chorister offered the greeting, his voice was stronger. “We gather together in the spirit of the Nameless and to affirm the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

Quaeryt did not sing the opening hymn, something about “the unspoken Namelessness of glory,” a song he had never heard.

After that was the confession, which sounded different when spoken in the Tellan of Tilbor. “We name not You, for Naming presumes, and we presume not upon the creator of all that was, is, and will be. We pray not to You for ourselves, nor ask from You favor or recognition, for such asks You to favor us over others who are also Yours. We confess that we risk in all times the sins of presumptuous pride. We acknowledge that the very names we bear symbolize those sins, for we strive too often to raise our names and ourselves above others, to insist that our small achievements have meaning. Let us never forget that we are less than nothing against Your Nameless magnificence and that we must respect all others, in celebration and deference to You who cannot be named or known, only respected and worshipped.”

Quaeryt did chime in with the chorus of “In peace and harmony.”

He added a pair of coppers to the offertory basket passed among the worshippers and then watched as the chorister ascended to the pulpit for the homily.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening,” came the murmured reply.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good, even those that seem less than marvelous.…” The chorister paused and cleared his throat, looking out over the small congregation for a long moment before continuing. “Those of you who are young and strong … you say that you are different from those who came before you, because you see them as older. You do not see them as they were when you were young or even unborn, when they were young and strong. But if you are fortunate, you in time will grow old, and those who follow you will in turn claim that they know better because they are young and strong. This insistence that you are right because you are young and strong is but another manifestation of Naming. You place your appearance above the consideration of what is right and just. Because men and women are often weak in spirit, it falls to those who rule to enforce what is right through strength. Yet because this is so, many claim that might makes right. That is an argument of the Namer. All virtues require the support of strength, but to claim those virtues are only virtues because they are supported by strength is error indeed.…”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but think about what the ancient chorister was saying. How did a ruler convey virtue beyond the strength with which it was necessarily enforced? How much did people respond to righteousness itself and how much to force? How could the two best be balanced?

As Quaeryt pondered those questions, he noted that Zarxes had turned and looked across those scholars attending and had paused in his glances to take in Quaeryt.

Quaeryt kept a pleasant smile on his face, but ignored the scrutiny, as if it were perfectly normal for the scholar princeps to ascertain which scholars and students were attending anomen, which, in fact, it doubtless was.

After the benediction, before anyone looked in his direction, Quaeryt raised a concealment shield and eased toward the tall silver-haired figure that he thought was Phaeryn, following him and Zarxes as the two walked down the rutted path from the anomen toward the brick lane leading back to the Ecoliae.

Neither scholar spoke until they were well away from the anomen and seemingly alone. Even then, Zarxes glanced back through the fading glow of twilight before he spoke.

Close as he was, Quaeryt had difficulty catching all the words.

“… you see the visiting scholar?”

“… can’t say that I did … haven’t met him … might recall … only your description … think he’s truly a scholar?”

“He is, most definitely.… That might pose a problem…”

“Oh?”

“Kellear sent a message the other day … rumors that Lord Bhayar is sending a scholar assistant to the princeps … couldn’t find out his name. About some things, Straesyr is closemouthed … worse than Rescalyn, and the governor has little love of us…”

“Even after…?”

“He’s not to be trusted … used as we can, but not trusted.”

“It could be a trap for Kellear. Did you warn him?”

“I’m not about to send messages to him. If he comes to see me, I’ll tell him.”

“When was the last time he came to see you?”

“Almost a year ago. That’s his choice.”

Quaeryt tried to fix that name in his memory-Kellear.

Phaeryn did not reply immediately, but finally asked, “You think this visiting scholar-what’s his name-might be the one?”

“He gave his name as Quaeryt.”

“… can’t be his real name…”

“… hardly think so.… Yet he spent several glasses this afternoon getting Sarastyn to talk about the history he said he was here to write about … some overheard what he asked, and his questions were detailed … also delivered letters to two students…”

“… must be handled with care…”

“… always … but … either way … it would be for the best. He has coin.”

“When did he say he would be leaving?”

“A week…”

“Have Chardyn or someone get him to give a day where everyone can hear…”

“I’d thought something like that…”

“Good. What about the plans to deal with Fhaedyrk?”

“… he’s wily … last man we sent drowned…”

“… proving to be a real problem … suggest underpaying tariffs to the governor?”

“… as much as Rescalyn visits them all?”

“… have to do something. Oh … Can you persuade Cedryk to wait for payment for the lambs?”

“He’ll wait another week … not that much longer…”

Quaeryt let the two slip farther ahead, if slowly, while watching his steps up the paved lane to the Ecoliae. He’d had a feeling about why he’d been given a large, comfortable, and comparatively isolated chamber, but it wasn’t pleasant to have such a feeling even partly confirmed.