Scholar

41

Quaeryt was still thinking over all the dispatches he’d read in two days-close to two-thirds of them, he estimated-when he entered the officers’ mess for supper. This time he was earlier and took a place at the far table … and found that Phargos and then Skarpa joined him. With the major was a captain who looked to be about Quaeryt’s age.

“Taenyd, this is Scholar Quaeryt. He’s attached to the princeps’s staff.”

Taenyd nodded politely. “I heard we had a scholar now. Are you doing a history of the regiment or something?”

“More like a comparative history of Tilbor,” replied Quaeryt with a smile, pouring some of the lager. “I’m trying to write an explanation of why some Tilborans are so stiff-necked, especially those in the hills and the forests.”

“Most of- If you lived there, you’d be stiff-necked, too. The trees are so tall and thick that it’s always gloomy, even in midsummer. In winter, the snow’s always drifting down, even when it hasn’t snowed for days. It’s too cold to bathe, and most of the hill scum stink more than rank sows.…”

“Enough … enough,” protested Skarpa with a laugh. “You tell him too much, and he won’t have the scholarly joy of discovering it all on his own.”

“Scholarly joy? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” countered the captain, immediately flushing and turning to Quaeryt. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“For some scholars, you’re probably right,” admitted Quaeryt cheerfully. “And I’m sure not all Tilborans are stiff-necked. Some seemed very friendly when I rode through Tilbora.” He didn’t want to say more than that. He took a swallow of the lager-far better than that which he had had at the Ecoliae or the Jardyna.

“Most people in Tilbora are. They’re practical,” said the captain. “That’s why they get along with the governor.”

“He seems very practical.”

“That could be his patronymic,” interjected Phargos.

Conversation slowed as the platters appeared, this time a form of ribs stewed in a red sauce, accompanied by seasoned rice with raisins. Quaeryt had to admit that the food in the mess was excellent. After a time, he looked to Skarpa and asked in a low voice, “Is the fare the men get…?”

“Pretty much the same. The setting’s not nearly so nice. That’s the difference.”

Quaeryt nodded and took a swallow of the lager. The ribs were pepper-spiced and every bit as hot as anything he’d had in Solis.

“I saw you at the service on Solayi, scholar,” offered Phargos.

“I enjoyed your homily.”

The chorister laughed. “That’s what those who aren’t sure they believe in the Nameless always say.”

“I don’t believe, and I don’t not believe. I just don’t know if there is a Nameless.” Quaeryt grinned and added, “And if I said I did, wouldn’t that be a form of Naming?”

“You scholars…” Phargos’s voice held humor and exasperation.

“I told you he’d liven things up,” added Skarpa.

Quaeryt took more of the ribs, hot as they were, and even more rice. It had been a long day … listening as Taenyd talked with the young undercaptain who had seated himself beside him …

“… once you get beyond the lower hills … never know when someone’s going to let fly with an arrow or a crossbow bolt … was that way even for the Khanar’s Guard…”

“… don’t like anybody very much…”

“… think the hills are theirs…”

“Would muskets help at all?” asked Quaeryt, turning to Skarpa.

“Not likely. We’ve got one company of musketeers. They’re not much use except in a set battle. I’d send them to defend Ferravyl in case Kharst attacked there. They’re heavy and hard to move. No good in the rain, or in the snow … never replace pike and blades, not really. Rather have a halberd company than a musket company, and you know what most officers think of halberds.”

Quaeryt didn’t, but he let it pass, instead pointing out, “Bows aren’t much good in the rain, either.”

“No … but they’re light enough that the archers can get out of the way of a foot or mounted charge. Not that we have any archers right now. Well … one company, and that’s almost none.”

The conversation for the remainder of the meal dealt more with the weather and when the late-harvest rains would come and turn the back roads into quagmires.

Later, when Quaeryt left the mess, he made his way to the gardens to think. A light breeze rustled through the trees and plants, just enough to be pleasant-but he was anything but soothed. As he sat on a bench beside what looked to be a dwarf apple tree-and all the apples in easy reach had been picked, or perhaps harvested and stored for the winter-he couldn’t help thinking about the patrol on Meredi … and the matter-of-fact comments by Taenyd. Both reminded him that he’d considered a few times that he needed to expand his imaging abilities.

But how could he forget how he puked his guts out, or the endless days of fever, and the weeks regaining his strength after attempting to image a single gold? How could he not forget that?

Yet … if he kept riding on patrols, he’d need more imaging skills … and the strength to handle them.

Quaeryt took a deep breath. What exactly could he try to do? He did know that imaging things that were common, like wood or clay or bread, usually didn’t have a bad effect on him.

Could he image something like a shield? He frowned. Imaging things out of iron wasn’t easy, and iron was heavy. Besides, how could he hold it in place? Something that heavy would just fall to the ground. And trying to image an iron shield-or anything like it-would be useless against arrows or crossbow bolts because he’d have to react, and reacting after he got hit with an arrow wouldn’t be terribly useful … if he even happened to be in any condition to image anything.

There was water all around, and ice could stop an arrow … but ice thick enough to stop an arrow or crossbow bolt would be heavy. Not as heavy as iron, but too heavy to be practical.

He rubbed his forehead. There had to be a way.

Finally, when he could think of no more possibilities, he stood and started back to his quarters. He was tired. He hadn’t realized just how tiring reading dispatch after dispatch was. Maybe he could think better in the morning.

He just hoped the patrol wasn’t headed where he’d come under attack.