Scholar

33

Once he had ridden down the lane down from the Ecoliae and was more than a mille away, Quaeryt dropped the concealment shield and continued slowly east and then south until he reached the Albhor River. From there he had to head farther upstream to find an unoccupied wharf from which he could drop Chardyn’s body and staff into the dark water. That way, if the body happened to be found, there would be a certain mystery as to how it arrived there, especially with no marks or wounds. If no one ever found it, that would create another mystery as to what had happened to Scholar Chardyn.

Chardyn’s disappearance or death should keep Phaeryn and Zarxes from immediately victimizing anyone else … and, hopefully, before too long, Quaeryt could find a way to deal with the pair-in a quiet way, because the last thing he wanted was an uproar over a Scholars’ House. There were too few of them in Telaryn as it was, and he didn’t want every city regarding scholars the way people seemingly did in Nacliano. And since the scholars and the governor appeared anything but on the most distant of terms, he’d have to bring up the matter slowly … and later. Especially since you’ll need scholars to be well-regarded for what else you have in mind.

After dropping the body, he rode back down the river to the ferry piers, where he turned north on the good road leading to the Telaryn Palace. He was careful to keep the mare well in the middle of the road and away from any shadows. The aching throbbing in his arm and shoulder reminded him that he needed enough time to be able to image a defense.

You might even think about a better way to use imaging as a defense. While that was a wonderful thought, at that moment he didn’t have the faintest idea how he might accomplish such a defense. All he’d been able to do was to use imaging to divert, disable, or kill people who were attacking him.

With those thoughts swirling through his head, he kept riding. After another half glass, he stopped and dismounted to water the mare at a public fountain in a small square that was eerily quiet. The square was dark, because Artiema had set, and there were no lamps or lanterns lit, but Quaeryt could see well enough. Then he mounted again and kept riding northward at a leisurely pace. He did worry that his progress through the outskirts of Tilbora was marked by the barking of dogs, but only one actually came anywhere close to the mare before stopping in an alleyway and barking until Quaeryt was well out of sight-or smell.

Even taking his time, before that long Quaeryt was soon on the north side of Tilbora and nearing the Telaryn Palace, and he began to look for a place where he could wait until it was light enough and late enough in the morning to ride up to the gates. He finally found a short hedgerow on the north side of a small field to the southwest of the palace, where he dismounted and tied the mare.

Eventually, dawn came, and then sunrise.

Once there was light, Quaeryt took out the wax-sealed document case, turning it over in his hands under the early light. Then, after looking more closely, he froze. The wax sealing the case had been replaced. It was still sealed, but not as he had sealed it. He’d looked at the case any number of times since leaving Rhodyn and Darlinka, but he hadn’t examined it closely.

He swallowed, then took out his belt knife and carefully scraped away the wax, easing open the case. Inside, in addition to the appointment letter and the letter from Vaelora was a small folded paper-and two golds. Quaeryt opened the paper and read the lines, written in Bovarian.

Please forgive me for this intrusion. While I am trusting, I am not that trusting. Accept these tokens as payment for my lack of trust, and my wishes that may all be well with you.

The signature was that of Rhodyn.

“The old namer-demon,” murmured Quaeryt, smiling as he did. He couldn’t blame the man for his care. Had the letter from Vaelora helped? Probably only in reinforcing that he was who he’d said he was. There wasn’t even a name at the bottom, only her initial.

After a moment, he took both the note from Rhodyn and the letter from Vaelora and slid them into the inside hidden jacket pocket, then slipped the golds into empty slots in his belt. The document case went into the larger inside jacket pocket. He straightened in the saddle and surveyed the lane again. He still had at least a glass to wait before he could approach the gates.

Only a handful of wagons passed the hedgerow lane on the main road while he waited. Finally, he judged that it was late enough that he could make his way to the palace.

As he neared the gates, he rode down through a vale and past a row of cafes and shops he didn’t recall from his previous ride through the area, seemingly located amid small plots of lands, and he wondered why they were there. Then his eyes flashed to the Telaryn Palace, and he nodded. To separate the soldiers from their pay and to provide diversions from boring duties, but away from the main part of Tilbora.

Before long, Quaeryt reined up short of the two guards before the gates. “Good morning.”

“What do you want, scholar?” demanded the shorter and stockier man, wearing the undress green uniform of a Telaryn soldier, set off by black boots and a wide black leather belt, with a matching short sword scabbard on one side and a knife sheath on the other. He was not wearing the uniform jacket, but few soldiers did except in winter-and almost never in Solis.

“I’m supposed to report to Princeps Straesyr. I’m his new scholar assistant.”

“And I’m-” began the guard who had spoken first, before the other guard cleared his throat. “What?”

“Seems to me … weren’t we looking for a scholar…?”

“… supposed to be here weeks ago…”

“The ship I was on got caught in a nor’easter, went on the rocks…” Quaeryt said loudly. “That slowed me down.”

“He’s probably the one. They said he was supposed to see the princeps first.” The taller guard turned back to Quaeryt. “What’s your name?”

“Quaeryt Rytersyn, from Solis.”

“Sounds like the same name. Better escort him up.”

“I’ll take him,” offered the shorter guard, with a sharp look at the other, before turning and calling, “Gate open!” Then he looked to Quaeryt. “Follow me.”

After several moments, the left side of the gate swung back far enough for the guard to walk through, and the scholar followed. The gate closed behind him. A single mount was tethered on the north side of the east tower, and the guard untied it and mounted. Without speaking, he urged the horse onto the planked bridge over the dry moat.

The hoofs of both mounts created a dull echo as they crossed the bridge. The towers on the far side appeared to be exactly as tall as the bridge was wide, and the cables that ran from the top of the towers to iron rings on the south end of the bridge were as thick as the wrists of a large man.

Absently, Quaeryt wondered if anyone had ever tried a winter attack on the palace, since it might have been easier to fill a section of the moat with snow and ice and then let it freeze solid. But then, how would you shelter and feed a large force in deep winter?

The angled approach to the palace was a stone-paved road wide enough for two wagons and with a slope gradual enough to be passable in winter.

If shoveled clear, thought Quaeryt, turning to the soldier riding slightly ahead. “Who has the duty of clearing the snow in the winter?”

“Whatever company is assigned,” replied the gate guard. “Usually the one with the most troublemakers the week before.”

“I suppose that keeps them in line.”

“Not always. A fellow can get stir-crazy. It’s gray all winter long. A squad in Third Company got so worked up they threw snowballs at the duty guards so that they could get out and shovel. But they’re all crazy in Fifth Battalion.”

Inwardly, Quaeryt winced, glancing out across the valley below lit in morning sunlight, trying to imagine it dark and gray, covered with ice and snow. He glanced back uphill. On the top of the long rise loomed the gray walls of the palace, walls that looked to extend a good half mille across the front alone. He hadn’t realized just how huge the area enclosed by the walls truly was.

When the two neared the top of the approach road and rode toward the gates at the east end of the palace, Quaeryt noted that they were open and swung outward and flush against the flanking towers. Each side was comparatively narrow-less than two yards wide-and extended upward some four yards. When closed, they would fit against the stone on both sides and along the top.

Two more guards stood outside the gates.

“It’s the scholar the princeps is expecting.”

The guards looked Quaeryt over, but said nothing. The space under the archway between the two towers was effectively a walled tunnel some five yards long. A second set of gates was recessed into the inside walls of the guard towers, and beyond them was a large open courtyard at least seventy yards on a side.

To the right of the capacious entry courtyard were severe stone buildings some three stories in height, looking like troop barracks, and farther to the west were the stables. Behind them were the walls, only a handful of yards higher than the barracks roofs. To the left and directly beyond the entry courtyard were gardens, and the scent of flowers was almost overpowering to Quaeryt.

Gardens? Given the grimness of the stone walls, he hadn’t expected gardens.

A single stone-paved lane, edged by a knee-high wall, led through the middle of the gardens, and the escort guard rode toward it. Again, Quaeryt followed. The terraced gardens were far more than ornamental, he soon realized, with apple, plum, pear, and sour cherry trees bordering herb and vegetable gardens, and an intricate series of stone conduits and miniature aqueducts between the gardens and trees.

The lane ended abruptly in a circular paved area, with that part of the arc beside the palace building itself bordered by a covered rotunda. Another pair of guards stood under the angled roof and before a set of polished oak doors bound in polished brass.

“The scholar’s here to see the princeps.”

“You can tie your mount at the end, the iron post,” said one of the guards.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt rode over to the post, where he dismounted and tethered the mare to the post, then walked back toward the doors. He had to assume that his mount and gear would be safe, but, if they weren’t, those would be the least of his worries.

The lower gate guard was already riding back eastward toward the upper palace gates when Quaeryt reached the two guards.

“Tell the squad leader inside why you’re here.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt stepped between the two and opened the door, only to find a second door two yards on, another sign that the winters were indeed long and cold.

When he stepped beyond the second door, he stood in a foyer, a circular space some fifteen yards across, but without the high ceiling he half-expected. The walls were half-paneled with wainscoting up to chest height, above which was white plaster. There were neither paintings nor hangings above the paneling, although vacant niches set into the walls above the paneling and spaced around the foyer once had likely held statues or other decorative items.

Set in the middle of the foyer was a table desk, and seated at the desk was another soldier, this one wearing undress greens, the uniform most officers and aides wore when they met with Bhayar. Quaeryt walked to the desk and stopped.

“Why are you here, scholar?”

“Lord Bhayar sent me. I’m Quaeryt Rytersyn. I was sent to be scholar assistant to Princeps Straesyr.”

The squad leader pointed to a bench on the left side of the foyer, but closer to the door than the table desk. “You’ll need to wait there while I check with his assistant.”

Quaeryt sat, then watched as the squad leader walked past the two guards stationed at the archway leading from the foyer. He was still waiting a quint later, but shortly after that, the functionary finally returned.

”He’ll see you shortly. One of his aides will come and take you to his study.” The squad leader resumed his position behind the desk.

Another half quint passed before yet another squad leader-this one graying-appeared and said, “Scholar … this way.”

Quaeryt stood and followed the squad leader past the soldiers guarding the main hallway leading from the foyer. He was beginning to feel as though he had been passing through an endless series of guards. A somewhat worn deep blue carpet runner ran down the center of the polished slate floor, and a series of paintings adorned the walls-in between the doors, all of which were closed. Most of the paintings appeared to be likenesses of past Khanars.

After some thirty yards the corridor opened onto a high ceilinged hall, with a grand marble staircase leading up to the second level and what appeared to be a railed gallery above circling the hall. As he followed the aide up the steps, Quaeryt noted that other corridors branched off the hallway on the lower level … and again on the upper level. Quaeryt noted a smaller staircase on the east side of the gallery, whose entry door was open, and he wondered where that led. At the top of the staircase, the squad leader turned right, moving parallel to the stone-pillared railing.

About a third of the way around the circular gallery was another corridor that the squad leader followed. At the end, another forty yards along past other doors, was a set of double doors, one of which was open. Another narrower hallway fronted the doors and extended east and west for about twenty yards in each direction.

Once he was inside the anteroom, Quaeryt again sat and waited for perhaps half a quint before being ushered into the princeps’s study-a large room with bookcases on the left-side wall, and an archway on the left, with recessed pocket doors half-open, leading to a room with a long table and chairs. A large and ornately carved desk was set before the waist-high north-facing windows, windows that were closed. The princeps stood behind the desk. Unlike everyone else Quaeryt had seen since he’d ridden up to the lower gates, Straesyr was not wearing a uniform, but a light blue tunic over black trousers. Yet the way he wore them suggested a uniform.

“Good morning. Please be seated.” The princeps followed his own words.

Quaeryt sat down in the center chair facing the desk. Straesyr wasn’t at all what he had anticipated. He’d pictured the princeps as a slender and bookish figure, but the man who had greeted him was as tall as Quaeryt himself, broad-shouldered, and his voice was warm and pleasant. Only the eyes resembled Quaeryt’s preconception, and they looked like pale blue ice, as though Straesyr regarded everything as something to be weighed, measured, or counted.

“You claim to be someone I’m expecting. Can you prove it?”

“I’m most certain that Lord Bhayar has sent you a thorough description of me. I’m Quaeryt Rytersyn, and I have been a scholar to him.” Quaeryt eased the document case from his jacket pocket, leaned forward, and extended it.

The princeps took it. “It looks rather worn.”

“It’s been through a storm and a shipwreck, sir.”

“What ship?”

“The Moon’s Son, out of Tilbora here. She was the first vessel I could get out of Nacliano.”

“There weren’t any Telaryn ships you could take?”

“Except for the ship that sailed just before I got to Nacliano, not a one that anyone knew of. The port people said that most of the ships that traveled regularly from Nacliano to Tilbora were ported out of Tilbora.”

“That’s regrettable, if so. It’s something I wouldn’t know.” Straesyr opened the case and extracted the appointment letter, then opened the leather folder on the desk and compared the two. Next, he looked at a second sheet and then at Quaeryt, alternating glances between paper and Quaeryt. Finally, he nodded. “You do seem to be the one Lord Bhayar sent, with an appointment to last until the end of Fevier, if necessary…”

He didn’t put that date in my letter. The end of Fevier … I do hope not. Quaeryt had no intention of staying in Tilbor even into winter, let alone all the way to the end of that frigid season.

“… I must say that both the governor and I are at a loss why he would send a scholar from Solis to Tilbora. I hope you can enlighten me.”

Quaeryt smiled pleasantly. “Lord Bhayar asked me if the people of Tilbor were different because no ruler in the history of Lydar has had so much difficulty in maintaining order so long after a conquest. I made the mistake of saying that I could not offer an opinion because I had not been to Tilbor and because there were no recent histories of Tilbor.” Quaeryt offered a helpless shrug. “And so … here I am.”

After a moment, Straesyr smiled, then shook his head. “You could have said that they were.”

“Then he would have asked in what fashion were their differences … and every effort on my part would have made my situation worse.”

“What exactly are you supposed to do here?” Straesyr returned the battered document case and the appointment letter to the scholar.

“Answer his question, based on what I observe and upon your experiences and those of the governor.”

“Why is this important to him, do you think?”

“I don’t know. It is possible he just disliked my asking too many questions and wanted to get rid of me or teach me a lesson of some sort. It is possible he is considering an attack on Antiago, or worried about an attack by Bovaria, and wants to see if I can discover some useful information that will make dealing with such easier. It is possible that he has something else in mind.”

Straesyr nodded slowly. “It is not particularly useful to second-guess a ruler. Nor is it useful to obstruct others in their duties. Neither the governor nor I would wish to make matters difficult for you to accomplish your report to Lord Bhayar. Likewise, you understand that in seeking the information to answer his inquiry, you should avoid any actions that make our efforts more difficult.”

“I understand. That is why, as possible, I would begin by gathering your thoughts and observations on what is different and unique about Tilbor, and then the governor’s. After that, I would like to talk with some of the junior officers who must deal with people on a daily basis. Only then would I venture into talking with the people in Tilbor, and that I would do as a visiting scholar.”

“That latter task might be both useful and difficult. The scholars here … let me just say that they do not seem to be excessively friendly. Anything you might discover that sheds light on that, in one way or another, might make your tasks easier.”

Quaeryt was the one to nod. “This is distressing to me. Knowledge that is not used properly is wasted, and there is no one better placed to use knowledge for good than a ruler. As I can, once I have a better understanding of the situation here, I would be more than happy to look into that matter, along with the other aspects of the question, of course.”

“Of course. Now … there is the matter of quarters. While there is certainly space in the barracks, there are a number of chambers here in the palace proper that would seem more conducive to your efforts, and several also have writing desks. Would those not be preferable?”

“One such would indeed, sir, but I would not wish to be a burden.”

“That is not a problem. Not at all. With you in the palace, of course, you will be a member of the junior officers’ mess. There is a charge-or deduction from your pay-of a copper a meal, or a silver and a half a week. As with all junior officers away from their postings, there is no charge for quarters. I would have you meet with Governor Rescalyn today, but he has been on an inspection tour to the north. He is not expected to return until Lundi or Mardi. Perhaps tomorrow you and I could meet, and I could brief you on those events and matters that bear upon your task.” Straesyr frowned, then smiled. “Seventh glass in the morning would be best.”

“Here, sir?”

“Precisely. Now … when we finish here, I’ll have my messenger conduct you to your quarters. I took the liberty of having your gear sent up already, and the ostler has stabled your mount. Except for today, you are responsible for grooming. In view of your position as one of my assistants, you will have access anywhere in the palace. Once you are briefed by me and have met the governor, you’re free to ride where you find it necessary. As with all officers, you are expected to log out and give either a destination or mission and an expected time of return. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” In short, you’re confined to the palace until Mardi, and he wants to know where you’re going or have been.

“Ah … Scholar Quaeryt,” murmured Straesyr, “there is one other small matter.”

“Sir?”

The princeps lifted the cover of the folder and took out a sealed missive. “This was sent to you by courier from Solis.”

Quaeryt didn’t have to counterfeit surprise. Who would send something to me? Who besides Bhayar even knew where I’d be? Rhodyn? But that wouldn’t have come by Telaryn courier. He took the missive and looked at the seal. He didn’t recognize the stylized image of a pen with the hilt of a sabre. A careful look also showed that the seal had been removed, if carefully, and then replaced, but the minute traces of wax on the paper suggested that it had been replaced on the same original paper.

The hand that had written his name was not unfamiliar, but he did not immediately recognize it, and he didn’t want to ponder over it with Straesyr looking on. “Thank you, sir. I had not expected correspondence.”

“Neither had we expected any for a scholar whose presence we had not anticipated prior to Lord Bhayar’s orders.” Straesyr rose from behind the desk. “The messenger is waiting.”

“Thank you, sir,” repeated Quaeryt. “I’ll be here at seventh glass tomorrow.”

The princeps merely nodded, and Quaeryt inclined his head in reply, then turned and left the study.

The messenger turned out to be a youthful ranker who jumped to attention when Quaeryt stepped back into the anteroom, slipping the missive and the document case inside his jacket.

“You’re in the northwest tower, sir. I’ll take you down past the officers’ mess first, and then to your quarters. That way, you’ll know the most direct way to the mess.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

As he followed the young ranker back to the upper rotunda and down the grand staircase, Quaeryt pondered the implications of what the princeps had said. Bhayar had said he would be quartered in the barracks, but Straesyr had placed him in a chamber in the palace proper. Was that because Rescalyn didn’t want him anywhere near the soldiers, or because both the governor and the princeps wanted to keep a close eye on him? Or both? And then, it was clear that Straesyr was more than a little unhappy with the local scholars.

“… all the chambers for the officers and the mess are in the west wing … it’s more like a separate building, except it’s connected by a covered and walled passageway … still cold as a corpse in the winter…”

Quaeryt listened attentively as the young man led him along the main corridor and then through the windowless walled passage to the “west wing” and through another two sets of double doors and then past the mess and to the far end of the building and up a narrow staircase to the third level.

“… think you and the chorister are the only ones up here … bathing chambers are all on the main level … be quite a cold climb in the winter…”

At the top of the stone staircase, they turned right and walked to the first door, which the ranker opened. As promised, Quaeryt’s “gear” was in the chamber, the canvas bag and the rolled-up scholars’ garments set neatly beside a narrow armoire. There was a wide writing desk, with a sconce above it holding an oil lamp. The bed was single, but wider than a scholar’s pallet, and bed linens, two blankets, and a single towel were folded and set on the bottom of the mattress. On one side of the bed was a night table and on the other a narrow three-drawer chest. The door had a sturdy bolt, but no bar and no lock.

“… captain says that the chambers on this end are for field-grade officers, majors and subcommanders,” concluded the ranker.

Once the ranker left, Quaeryt slid the bolt on the door and looked through his gear. It had been searched. That was clear because everything had been more neatly folded than he’d had time to do in his haste in leaving the Ecoliae. Then he hung his spare clothing in the armoire, and put his additional undergarments in the dresser. The chamber had been recently-and hurriedly-cleaned, he suspected, but whoever had done so had been thorough, because there was no dust anywhere.

He walked to the single narrow window and eased it open, enjoying the cool breeze and looking westward, although all he could see were the western walls and the sky above them, which held puffy clouds in the distance.

His room was doubtless one of the coldest in the palace in winter, but possibly one of the more comfortable in harvest and early fall, but it was also the farthest from the palace center where Rescalyn and Straesyr conducted the affairs of the governor on behalf of Lord Bhayar. Definitely, for the moment, at least, they didn’t want him too close to anyone.

He sat down at the desk and took out the mysterious missive, studied the script that spelled out his name, then used his belt knife and a touch of imaging to remove the blue wax seal without damaging the imprint. The first words told him the identity of the writer-and had she been anyone but Bhayar’s sister, he would have recognized the writing immediately. He just hadn’t believed that she would have written him.

Dear Scholar Quaeryt-

I take this liberty in writing you to continue the discussion we began in Solis, and I hope that this missive finds that you have arrived in health for your duties on behalf of Lord Bhayar …

Lord Bhayar? He shook his head. Without any reference to Bhayar as her brother, anyone who intercepted and read the letter could only assume that the writer was a woman-from the graceful script-highly placed in the court in Solis. Only someone who knew the court would likely understand to whom the “V” as a signature referred. But the references and the dispatch by Telaryn courier would make it more likely that, even if intercepted and read, the missive would reach him and also, he had to admit, give anyone with less than charitable intentions toward him some pause before acting immediately.

Had Vaelora thought that out as well?

Based on both letters he had received so far, he had to believe that she did-and that meant he was far more involved in the intrigues surrounding Bhayar than he’d ever had any intention of being … especially since one of the reasons he’d left Solis was to avoid such intrigues, knowing that he had no real power in the court.

… also trust that you have had a chance to think over my previous thoughts, unschooled as they may be, in view of your own observations …

… Lord Bhayar has observed on previous occasions that pursuit of the practical is most necessary for a ruler to be successful, but, from my own most limited experience, I believe that what is practical for one man may not be so for another, and even what is practical for most men may not be so for a woman. Likewise, what is practical for most women may not be so for most men. Such questions might seem to some as similar to an attempt to split a hair with a broadsword, yet the very raising of such an inquiry about any law or practice of a ruler can lead the way to greater insight and, one would trust, a more effective ruler.

Many have questioned the value of scholars and others who seek knowledge that has no apparent immediate value. I am no scholar, yet it would seem to me that the ores from which metals are refined have no immediate value, nor does a newborn babe have any immediate value …

Quaeryt could not but help smiling as he continued reading and finished the letter. He was also having trouble in not yawning.

He would have to reply to Vaelora, but he wasn’t about to try to write a cogent response after a long night with no sleep whatsoever … and certainly not when he still had not been able to deduce her motivations for writing. He re-folded the missive, then took both her letters and placed them in the document case.

The bed looked very inviting, and it would only take a few moments to make it up.