Scholar

59

On Samedi morning, Quaeryt rode another uneventful patrol, this one to the southeast, far longer, so that he did not return until just before the evening meal, at which he ended up next to Duesyn, who, he discovered, was actually from Nacliano and had been promoted to captain the past Juyn. The good captain knew nothing about the sad state of affairs concerning scholars in his home city, and said that it must have happened after he had been posted to the regiment from duty near Ruile.

Quaeryt was so tired that he almost slept through breakfast on Solayi and then went back to his quarters and took a nap. By late afternoon, though, he woke feeling famished and made his way to the officers’ mess, where he wheedled a lager from the attendants and waited for the evening meal.

He’d barely seated himself when Gauswn stepped into the mess, looked around, spotted him, and then walked over. “Good afternoon, sir.”

“Good afternoon.”

“You will be speaking tonight, won’t you? At services?”

“I will.” As if I had any choice.

“Thank you. I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say.” After a very polite nod, the undercaptain turned and left the mess.

Quaeryt took a long swallow from his mug.

Before long, Skarpa and Meinyt joined him.

“I haven’t seen you around today,” offered the major as he sat down across from the scholar.

“Yesterday’s patrol wore me out. I thought I was almost recovered, but…”

“Oh … you went with Duesyn on the southern sweep,” said Skarpa. “That’s long and boring, but we do that one because High Holder Dymaetyn and High Holder Fhaelyn kept asking for it to keep poachers away. They never had any.” He shook his head.

“It was a way to show the other High Holders that the governor listens to them,” offered Meinyt.

“He listens to all the High Holders. He meets with them all the time. He just doesn’t always do what they want,” countered the major.

“Has he ever met with the hill holders?” asked Quaeryt.

Skarpa cocked his head. “I can’t say as I know. If he does, it isn’t often. They said they didn’t meet often with the Khanars, either. Most stiff-necked folk in all Tilbor. You were there when I had to deliver the commander’s message to that young snot Waerfyl, him in his red vest, daring me and the commander to torch his holding.”

“I wish you had,” murmured Meinyt.

“And then what? We’d have to torch every holding in the hills and abandon them for years or spend hundreds of troopers chasing down every man or boy with a bow or crossbow. Armies and regiments aren’t meant to fight brigands and outlaws.”

Quaeryt wondered about that. With the winters so long and cold, what would happen if most of the holds were destroyed? What would people do in the winter? Rather than raise that point, he just listened.

“What do you do then?” asked Meinyt. “Let them get away with it?”

Skarpa shrugged.

Quaeryt considered the question without commenting as the rest of the officers and the food arrived.

The evening meal consisted of some form of potato dumplings and chunks of meat in a brown gravy so spicy that Quaeryt couldn’t begin to determine the origin of the meat, although he guessed it was most likely mutton. The brown bread was hot and moist, though, and that helped.

After eating, as before, Quaeryt followed the officer acting as chorister for the entire service-Commander Zirkyl this time-into the dining hall and stood to one side while the commander led worship from the invocation to confession and through the offertory, before standing aside and letting Quaeryt move forward to delivery the homily.

“Good evening,” he offered in Tellan.

“Good evening,” came the reply.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good … and even if they weren’t, I somehow think that having a less than perfect evening is to be preferred over the alternative of having no evening.” Quaeryt didn’t expect a laugh, and he didn’t get one.

“Some of you may have heard of the term ‘nomenclature.’ No, it’s not a fancy substitute for good old-fashioned swearing. It’s the study of names, and the words it comes from mean literally to summon or command a name. For all that, do we really study what names are? We’re all familiar with what the names of people and things mean, and even where many of those names come from.

“But what is a name? We say that it is a noun, and a noun describes or is the term or definition of a person, place, or thing. But is that all it is? As people, we need names. They serve a function. They allow us to talk to each other, and to let others know who we are as opposed to other human beings. But let me ask another question.” Quaeryt paused.

“Why do we capitalize a name when we write it? That’s a simple question, isn’t it? In terms of grammar, names are officially ‘proper names,’ and that is why names are capitalized. But then, would anyone want an improper name?”

A low laugh rippled across the officers and rankers.

“Yet … by capitalizing our names and the names of others, we are declaring that we are special, that we have a greater identity or are of greater import to the world than do those objects or creatures who share the same common name, such as trees, or rocks, or pebbles, or ants, or cattle. At times, people name animals, especially those that are loved or that have served faithfully, and those names accord them somehow a higher place than animals that bear no names. Yet no higher power, not even the Nameless, has bestowed our proper names upon us. No … we give them to our children, as our parents did to us.

“By what right do we claim a special position in capitalizing our names? Do not all creatures on this earth have a use and a worth, whether or not each has a proper name as opposed to just a creature name? What is our worth and use? Is it measured by a name? Rholan certainly did not believe so. Or is it measured by our usefulness and accomplishments?…

“Yet how often do accomplishments become mere nouns, common names written on the pages of history by struggling scholars far more skilled than I in an effort to capture the essence of those deeds? Do those who read the words understand that essence, or do they only focus on the words and names … losing that essence and understanding?

“Rholan understood how easily names, even personal and proper names, could become so much more and so much worse than the sounds we use to identify ourselves as individuals … so … when we think of a name, especially our own, we should not fall in love with it, but regard it for what it is-a tool like any other tool. Like any tool, it can be most useful, and when misused, it can become dangerous, even deadly.…”

Even though the homily was short, Quaeryt knew he’d said enough, perhaps more than enough, and he stepped back to let the commander deliver the benediction.

Only after most of the worshippers had left did Zirkyl turn to Quaeryt. “You amaze me, scholar. To start with a grammar lesson and then tie it into another inspection of Naming … I’ve never heard any chorister do that.”

“I haven’t either, sir,” added Skarpa as he approached.

“You may be wasted as a scholar,” continued Zirkyl.

“Alas, sir, that is what I am.”

The commander shook his head. “Such a pity.”

Quaeryt wasn’t about to point out that the prime requisite for a chorister was to believe in the Nameless, and that he was only certain about believing in some of the precepts of the Nameless. Instead, he said, “We cannot be anything we wish; we can only be the best at what we are.”

Zirkyl nodded slowly, but then added, “Do not set your sights too low, master scholar.”

If you only knew, Commander. If you only knew. “I will keep that very much in mind, sir.”

“See that you do.” The commander smiled before he turned and left Quaeryt with Skarpa.

“What do you have your sights set on, scholar?” asked Skarpa, his tone half-amused.

“Not to let thoughts of fame and glory impede what I wish to accomplish,” replied Quaeryt lightly. “And you?”

“I’d like to be an effective regimental commander.”

“You just might be,” said Quaeryt, smiling. “Do you want to join me for another lager? I think we can persuade them to serve us.”

“Yes … but I’ll take ale.”

The two walked back into the officers’ mess.