Scholar

58

What Skarpa had predicted after the “visit” to convey the governor’s concerns to Waerfyl did in fact come to pass, if after the coal thefts from High Holder Eshalyn. Day after day went by, with Quaeryt accompanying patrol after patrol-and there was no sign of attacks, of poaching, of timber thefts. Nor did any of the High Holders send messages to Boralieu reporting such. What the commander or the major learned from the captive was apparently little, because Skarpa only said that the man had told everything he knew, and that was almost nothing except he’d been ordered to join the raid on the coal mine by a subchief of Saentaryn, and he’d never seen the holder himself.

Quaeryt discovered he had become a much better rider, and his shields worked largely as he had hoped, although he had not been able to make them sensitive enough to keep away predatory insects and still not have them set themselves at the slightest intrusion, but he could live with that. He still wore the undress green shirt on patrols.

He thought he’d be heading back to the Telaryn Palace with Sixth Battalion, but he’d heard no word. By Jeudi the thirty-third of Erntyn, he decided that, even if he didn’t get such word, he intended to go-unless someone sent orders forbidding his return. He’d learned all he was likely to learn, for his purposes, in the time he’d spent at Boralieu.

That night at the mess, he sat across the table from Skarpa.

“It’s been quiet for a while, and it will be for a few more weeks, maybe even to near the end of Feuillyt or Finitas or into winter,” noted the major.

“Did you ever find out more about why Saentaryn ordered the raid?”

“We can’t prove he did, and there’s been no more trouble. The commander did send the one captive back with a message that suggested there shouldn’t be. If there is, we’ll probably have to do something.” Skarpa shook his head. “There won’t be. Not now. Saentaryn doesn’t want to risk us torching his hold this close to winter. Besides, he got the coal.”

“That doesn’t seem … right.”

“It’s not a question of right. It’s a question of when you decide you want to lose troopers and what you get for it.”

Quaeryt had understood that before he asked the question, but wanted to hear Skarpa’s reply. “When will Sixth Battalion get rotated back here?”

“The whole battalion? Not until Avril, most likely. Meinyt’s company might have to go to the northwest outpost in Fevier. I haven’t heard yet. He might not, since they’re here so late in the year. I suggested that to make the company spend three winters in a row on outpost duty wasn’t fair to either Meinyt or the men.”

“Do you think-”

“The commander’s a fair man. He’ll make a recommendation to the governor, and unless there’s a special reason, the governor will accept it. I’m hopeful Meinyt will be able to enjoy winter in the comparative warmth of Tilbora. Nothing in Tilbor’s really that comfortable in winter, but you never really get warm at Boralieu and the outposts. Maybe that’s why so many of the hill holders are such Namer-chosen serpents. Nothing ever warms their blood or their hearts.”

Quaeryt finished the tough cutlet with the last morsel of tasty sauce, then took a swallow of lager. Tired as he was getting of the lager, the thought of drinking ale was even worse. “What makes a fireplace or a stove far warmer than a fire are the bounds placed on the fire by the containment of the hearth or the stove. Men who recognize no boundaries save those of their own flames of ambition lose the warmth of their hearts without even knowing it.”

“You sound like Rholan might.”

“Hardly.” Quaeryt shook his head.

“I’d have to doubt that, my scholar friend.” Skarpa glanced down the long table, grinned, and lowered his voice. “I didn’t see you at services on Solayi. Gauswn was disappointed.…”

“He seems to think I’m something I’m not. I’m just a scholar who knows a bit about Rholan and the background of those who follow the Nameless.”

“You’re more than that, even if you’re trying to sound like you don’t believe in the Nameless.”

“I don’t disbelieve. I don’t know, but I believe in the precepts that Rholan and others set forth.”

“For a doubter, you’re a powerful chorister.”

“That’s one of the problems with words. Those who master them think that they’ve mastered more than the words themselves. Most haven’t.”

“That sounds even more like Rholan to me, except better.”

Quaeryt sighed loudly and dramatically. “I’m not a chorister. I’m not even a scholar of the Nameless.”

“You could fool me and most of the officers.”

Quaeryt couldn’t think what else to say that wouldn’t end up with him in the position of protesting so much that he’d end up convincing Skarpa and those around that he was what he wasn’t.

“Scholar?” asked a voice from behind Quaeryt’s shoulder.

Quaeryt turned, and seeing Commander Zirkyl, immediately stood. “Sir. You surprised me.”

“That can be good or bad.” Zirkyl’s light voice was dry. “By the way, I couldn’t help but overhear your comments about the mastery of words convincing people they have greater abilities when they don’t. You’re right about that. That wasn’t what I came over to see you about, though. I’m going to prevail upon you to speak as chorister at services this coming Solayi. Everyone has said you gave an excellent homily two weeks ago, and I think they’re more than tired of me. Since you’ll be returning to Tilbora with Sixth Battalion next Meredi, that will be the last chance many of them will have to avoid hearing me.”

While the literal meaning of the commander’s words was correct, since most of those attending would be leaving when Quaeryt did, the scholar wasn’t certain that was exactly what Zirkyl meant. In any case, all he could do was nod and say, “If that is your wish, sir, I’ll do my best.”

“I’m certain it will be very good. Thank you, scholar.”

As the commander walked away, Quaeryt looked across the mess table at Skarpa. The major was smiling.

“Did you hear that?”

“Every word. I told you the commander was good at using the resources at his disposal effectively.”

“He’s very good,” agreed Quaeryt. Too good, in this case. He shouldn’t have protested so eloquently or for so long, but then he hadn’t seen the commander slip up behind him.

“Gauswn will be pleased. So will many of the others.”

Quaeryt winced.

“Gauswn’s a good undercaptain.”

“I know he is. He just sees more in me than there is. Besides, the commander is a good speaker and chorister, I’m certain.”

“He is. You’re better.”

“I think this is a case where familiarity breeds a desire for difference, and I’m just different.” Before Skarpa could contradict him, Quaeryt asked, “How early will Sixth Battalion set out on Meredi for the return to Tilbora?”

“I’ll let you change the subject this time, scholar, because you still have to give that homily.” Skarpa grinned, then added, “By sixth glass.”