Scholar

43

After returning from the patrol, Quaeryt stabled and groomed the mare, then made his way up to the second level of the palace, where he stopped to inform Vhorym that he had returned and that he would be heading to the dispatch room.

“You might check your desk before you go to the dispatch room, sir.”

“Thank you. I will.” Quaeryt managed a smile, then turned and made his way to his study.

There on the desk was an envelope with his name on it, and underneath his name was also written “Scholar Assistant to the Princeps.”

Now what?

He opened the letter, took out the single sheet, and read:

THE HONORABLE RESCALYN CALYNSYN,

MARSHAL AND GOVERNOR OF TILBOR,

REQUESTS THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE

AT A RECEPTION IN THE PALACE,

AT THE SIXTH GLASS OF THE EVENING,

SAMEDI, 35 AGOSTAS

IN THE GREEN SALON.

There was no line suggesting a response, but then, since Quaeryt was assigned to the princeps, who reported directly to the governor, the invitation was essentially a command to appear … if a very polite one.

He had no formal attire, or even the equivalent of a dress uniform. The new browns were the best he could manage, and he had not worn one of the new sets yet. They’d have to do.

He slipped the invitation-or summons-back inside the envelope and placed the envelope in the single flat drawer in the table desk. Then he left the study and headed over to the governor’s anteroom to obtain the key to the dispatch room. He had to wait almost half a quint before Caermyt returned, and he began to wonder if he should image a copy of the key.

No. That’s an invitation to trouble, especially if you’re found there when Caermyt has the key. He could use an imaging concealment.…

He shook his head and waited.

Once he obtained the key, he hurried downstairs, but he’d no more than started to light the lamps in the dispatch room than he realized he had to write a report of his arrival to Bhayar immediately because the weekly dispatch rider left early the next morning … and he needed to finish the reply to Vaelora-for more reasons than one.

Rather than return the key, because he intended to finish reading the dispatches after the evening meal, he locked the dispatch room and hurried back to his own quarters, where he retrieved the letter he’d begun to Vaelora, before heading back to his formal study.

Once there, he started in on the report to Bhayar, knowing that it would likely be read long before it reached the Lord of Telaryn. He made it short, and the only inaccuracies were in what he did not report, because he mentioned the travel and the delay in Nacliano, as well as his concerns about the attitude toward scholars, but not his actions there. He also reported the storm and shipwreck, and his illness, possible poisoning, and his recovery, but then noted that after recovering he had traveled to Tilbora and reported to the princeps on the twenty-seventh of Agostas. He concluded by noting the courtesy and the helpfulness of both the princeps and the governor in allowing him full access to all parts of the Telaryn Palace and its records, as well as arranging for him to accompany various patrols.

Finishing the letter to Vaelora took more time. He did add a section about his duties in general and a few words about the one patrol on which he had ridden.

… Although this was the first patrol I accompanied, the governor has assured me that there will be many more so that I can fully experience the difficulties and the successes that he and his regiment have achieved and report most accurately to Lord Bhayar. It does appear that the problems he faces in dealing with Tilbor lie in the areas away from Tilbora, especially in the far north and in the hilly timberlands of the Boran Hills. He has also had much success in recruiting men and junior officers, especially from around Tilbora, where there are warmer feelings toward him and his men. I have not met with any High Holders or merchants but look forward to encountering the latter as time permits.…

I offer my deep appreciation for your thoughts and concerns, and especially for your efforts to assure that your correspondence did indeed reach me.

Quaeryt pondered the closing for a time before settling on “In sincerest admiration and appreciation.”

By the time he finished, addressed, and sealed both missives, it was approaching time for supper, and he slipped both inside the desk drawer, then left the study to wash up and make his way to the mess.

When Quaeryt stepped into the mess, he saw that the chamber was already almost completely filled, and all of the close to a hundred officers were wearing jackets. He recalled, if belatedly, that Jeudi night was mess night. He was wearing a jacket, but a scholar’s brown jacket was certainly not as formal as even the green jackets worn with undress greens.

“Your place is near the bottom of the nearest table, sir,” offered the squad leader by the doorway, “where the green oblong is. The far table is all for undercaptains.”

“Thank you.”

Quaeryt walked toward the nearest table, and located the only vacant place-where just to the left was a green cloth folded into an oblong. He sat down quickly.

To his left was a black-haired, thin-faced captain. “Greetings. You must be the scholar. I’m Haestyn.”

“Quaeryt. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Dueryl,” offered the undercaptain directly across the table from Quaeryt. “We wondered who was the new captain. Haestyn’s been junior captain for over a month.”

“Scholars don’t really have rank,” said Quaeryt. “I think they decided to put me between ranks for just that reason.”

“That sounds like regimental thinking,” murmured someone farther down the table among the undercaptains.

“All rise for the marshal!” boomed out a voice.

Along with the others, Quaeryt rose. He glanced toward the door, where Rescalyn stepped into the mess, also wearing the green undress uniform and jacket.

“As you were!” ordered Rescalyn.

The officers remained standing as Rescalyn walked to the end of the center table where he was greeted by a gray-haired commander, presumably Myskyl, Commander of the Regiment.

Then Rescalyn motioned, and all the officers seated themselves. The governor remained standing. After everyone was seated, he began to speak.

“Gentlemen of the mess … I can’t ever stand here and look out without feeling a debt of gratitude for the dedication and leadership you all embody.” There was a pause and then a grin. “But I’ll be the first to apply a boot to your backside if you ever try to rest on it … or on your laurels.…”

The way in which Rescalyn spoke brought low laughs from the assembled officers.

“… you may ask why we’re working so hard when most of our problems lie in and around the Boran Hills or with a few disgruntled High Holders so far to the north that they’re walled off behind ice for all but a few weeks out of the year. The reason is simple. There’s a ruler. Rex Kharst.” Rescalyn’s sardonic delivery brought more chuckles. “He has this habit of massacring people, and he’d like to put all of Lydar under his fat thumb. We have to be ready to deal with him when he tries … and after what he did to the good people of Khel, there’s no doubt that he’ll try, sooner more likely than later. Just keep that in mind.

“Now … I’d like to note particularly noteworthy evolutions this past week…”

As he listened, Quaeryt couldn’t help but note that the governor’s delivery was far better than his words and that most officers listened intently.

“… and like all marshals … I’ve probably used more words to say less … and I wish it were the other way around.… Enjoy yourselves.”

Abruptly, Quaeryt realized something else. Rescalyn had never mentioned Lord Bhayar. In fact, while the governor mentioned Bhayar to Quaeryt, Quaeryt had never heard the governor utter Bhayar’s name or title in public, and certainly not before his officers.

“Red or white wine, scholar?” asked Dueryl.

Quaeryt had seen the carafes on the table, but hadn’t actually paid them much attention, since he’d been concentrating on Rescalyn. “What’s on the platters?”

“Whitefish with a cream sauce or veal cutlets with mushrooms and brown sauce.”

“Red, thank you.” Quaeryt took the carafe and filled the goblet he’d been provided rather than the mug usually placed before each officer.

“Scholar … how soon do you think Kharst will attack?” That came from the captain beside Haestyn.

“I’m more of a historian. Historically, there are more attacks in late spring and summer. Offhand, I don’t know of any wars started in late fall or winter. If I had to guess…” Quaeryt paused, then went on, “I’d say that if he doesn’t attack now in the next week or so, it’s unlikely until spring. But, as I said, I’m a historian. What do you think?”

“If he attacked in midfall, we’d have trouble getting from here to the border with Bovaria.”

“You’d have to swing south of Montagne,” replied Quaeryt, “but that would only add a week or two, and his forces would have trouble in the north, especially if they tried to move on Extela.”

“He uses more muskets, and they aren’t much good in the rain, and there are a lot of cold rains north of Solis in fall and winter,” added someone else.

“… it rained in Khel, and that didn’t stop them…”

As the others talked, Quaeryt helped himself to the veal and mushrooms and the seasoned rice, as well as the stewed and sweetened quince slices. Then he began to eat, occasionally adding a comment, but mainly enjoying the fare and the wine.

Later, during a lull in the conversation, Quaeryt looked across at Dueryl. “I’ve been told we get paid tomorrow, but not the details.…”

“Oh … they set up a pay table here in the mess for the glass before the evening meal, and if you don’t want to take it, they’ll just leave it in your pay account until you do.”

“That’s good to know.”

A louder voice rode over the others. “I still say that we’ll be at war in less than a year.…”

“… where … with Kharst or the Antiagons?”

After leaving the mess, much later, Quaeryt headed back to the main part of the palace. He had to finish reading the remainder of the dispatches.