Scholar

51

For the next five days, all Quaeryt did was eat, rest, and drink lager-and clean off the area around the dressing with small amounts of clear spirits that he imaged when no one else was around. He had bouts of fever, or at least hot sweatiness, but those subsided after several days. He even slept through the time for services on Solayi, not that he’d planned to attend. While he slept a great deal, part of that was because he didn’t sleep all that well. He had to stay on his back and prop the arm on his injured side so that it wouldn’t move when he drifted off into a state that was more doze than true sleep. By Meredi, especially after the surgeon captain’s assessment that morning that the wound was healing nicely, he was feeling improved enough to begin exploring the fortress that was Boralieu.

Unlike the Telaryn Palace, Boralieu had been built for the sole purpose of providing an entrenched impregnable base for forces engaged in pursuing and attacking the wayward holders of the hills. The walls were tall enough and thick enough that only massive siege engines could have toppled them, and the post had been built over two springs that supplied water. The windows were double-shuttered and even narrower than those in Tilbora, and most of the open space within the walls was stone-paved to eliminate mud when the heavy winter snows melted. The interior of the post was simple enough that Quaeryt finished walking through it within two glasses, and that was more than soon enough, because he definitely felt tired when he returned to the officers’ mess and sank into one of the spare wooden chairs at the table.

During his enforced rest, he’d thought about everything about Tilbor that he could recall, as well as what he might have done, especially in developing better shields. The one thing that he did remember that struck him as both odd and promising was the feeling that something had ripped through his thoughts just before the quarrel had struck him. He had to question if in fact his thoughts were somehow linked to his shields. Yet he wasn’t certain how to test that; he didn’t want to make himself a target to see, and he wasn’t in any condition to do much of great physical effort yet. But the idea held promise.

He couldn’t hold the really strong shields for all that long, but could he train his reactions so that such a rip or impact on the lighter shields could instantly create heavier ones close to him? It was worth looking into … more than worth looking into if he wanted to survive in Tilbor.

Then there were the larger, if less personal, questions. From what he could figure, there were close to four thousand officers and men at the Telaryn Palace, and more than another three thousand in the four outposts. Together, they represented the largest concentrated force in all Telaryn, and all were controlled by Rescalyn. Rescalyn had certainly opened every record to Quaeryt and granted him access everywhere. So far as Quaeryt could determine, Rescalyn was an inspiring and effective commander, and one whose acts benefited Bhayar and all Telaryn, including Tilbor. So why did Quaeryt feel something was wrong?

For a time, he just sat in the mess and sipped lager, thinking, not able to put anything in any sort of perspective.

Abruptly, he recalled one of the passages in the book that Rescalyn had read-the one about the best strategy being the one that was so open that no one even understood that it was a strategy. He shook his head ruefully. He’d been looking for what was hidden. What about what was hidden in plain sight?

“Scholar … are you feeling better?” Skarpa paused at the door to the mess.

As he did, a ranker stepped past the major. Quaeryt frowned, realizing that in the indirect light where the two stood, he couldn’t tell the difference between their undress uniforms.

Skarpa stepped inside and walked over to where Quaeryt sat. “Are you all right?”

“Oh … I’m sorry. I was thinking.” The scholar gestured to a chair. “Do you have a moment.”

“A few, but not many. Taenyd’s company is coming in from a west valley patrol, and I’ll need to debrief them.”

“I was thinking … about uniforms. The undress greens worn by the officers and the rankers are almost the same except for the collar insignia.…”

“Oh … that’s just good tactics. If the enemy could easily see who the officers are, they’d concentrate on them. That’s especially important out in the hills. The brigands always want to get officers.”

So … the only one who stood out on that patrol was one scholar …

“Was that something that the governor came up with?”

“That was before he was governor. He was stationed in Ferravyl as a commander. You know, watching the Bovarians on the other side of the river. Sometimes, they’d come downstream and try to pick off officers from their riverboats with long-range crossbows. They always targeted officers. He realized it was because their uniforms were too different. He persuaded Lord Chayar to make the change. Some of the older officers didn’t approve. They liked their fancy uniforms. The marshal said they wouldn’t like them near so much if they were leading their men. Then he suggested that the dress uniforms be as fancy as ever, because balls and parades were where people paid attention to gilt and glitz. That didn’t make him popular, either. It might have been why Fhayt was appointed the first governor of Tilbor.”

Quaeryt nodded. “Governor Rescalyn’s very practical.”

“He’s a soldier’s soldier. The men-and the officers-would do anything for him. They’d take on the Namer if the governor told them. They know he’d be with them. He’s not a rear-hilltop marshal.”

“I got that impression.” Quaeryt paused. “You know. I think when I go on other patrols I should be wearing green also.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” replied Skarpa. “I should have thought of that. We just haven’t had a scholar out here before.” He frowned. “Weren’t you supposed to go back to Tilbora?”

“No one told me anything. I thought I’d just go back when you did.” The fact that no one had mentioned his return suggested other possibilities. “In another week or so, I ought to be able to ride.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll see what the surgeon says. I need to see more. One patrol-not even one patrol-won’t give me a very good understanding of what you and your men go through.”

“I don’t know about that,” replied Skarpa with a laugh. “You came about as close as anyone to experiencing the worst.”

“Then I need to see the best and what’s neither.”

“Are all scholars so stubborn?”

“No. Only those that have to report back to Lord Bhayar.”

Skarpa stood. “I’ll see you at supper. I need to find out what Taenyd discovered.”

Quaeryt watched the major walk out of the mess. Then he took another swallow of the lager. It wasn’t bitter in his mouth, but the conversation with Skarpa had left a bitter residue in his thoughts.

He definitely needed to figure out a way to improve his shields-and soon.