Scholar

68

Vendrei morning Quaeryt was up early. He wondered if he’d ever get back into a situation where he could sleep to a decent glass. Early as he was, at least half the regimental officers were already present when he entered the mess. Skarpa rose from where he sat alone at the end of the far table and beckoned to him.

Quaeryt joined the major and poured himself some tea before taking a helping of eggs scrambled with cheese and ham.

“Commander Myskyl ordered me to supply a company to support you today. He said you were going to visit the scholars.” Skarpa’s tone was even.

Too even, Quaeryt reflected. “I requested an escort. The governor and princeps decided on a company.”

“Why does a scholar need such an escort?”

“Because the scholars are tied to the hill holders and backed the Pretender against the Khanara.”

Skarpa frowned.

Quaeryt waited.

“I was ordered-ordered, not requested-to send Undercaptain Gauswn and his company, and I don’t think that was the regimental commander’s idea.”

Quaeryt couldn’t say he was surprised and didn’t. “It’s likely it wasn’t.” He knew full well that the reason Gauswn had been chosen was that he was Tilboran, very junior, least likely to question Quaeryt, and expendable if anything went wrong. For that last reason alone, Quaeryt intended that nothing would go wrong. He also knew that intentions weren’t always realized.

“Why not? Do you know?”

“I don’t know. I do know the governor brought me to meet with a High Holder last Mardi. The only thing that was discussed was how out of step the scholars were with the High Holders and the people of Tilbor. That was after I went to a reception held by the princeps where I was meant to hear all sorts of comments about the scholars. None of them were favorable.”

“This stinks worse than week-old fish in high summer.” Skarpa’s voice was low.

“What would you suggest?”

“Besides keeping yourself and Gauswn alive? I don’t know.”

“Rescalyn’s remarks last night?”

“They could be a coincidence.”

Skarpa didn’t sound convinced, and Quaeryt certainly wasn’t. “They might be,” he offered cautiously.

“You don’t believe that.”

“Neither do you.”

Skarpa laughed, softly, but harshly. Then he shook his head. “Take care of Gauswn. He’ll make a good officer in time.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

There wasn’t much to be said after that, and Quaeryt and the major ate quietly and then departed on their respective ways.

Quaeryt gave his sealed envelopes to the dispatch rider and parted with another silver, reflecting as he did that he actually had a fair amount of pay coming to him, since he hadn’t drawn it the week before … something like thirty silvers, after the deductions for the mess. Except that he might not be back in time to draw his pay, not if matters at the Ecoliae were as he feared.

He shook his head as he walked toward the stables.

By a quint past seventh glass, Quaeryt and Gauswn were riding away from the lower gates of the palace toward the Ecoliae. Quaeryt carried the light shields that triggered into heavier shields. He was getting to the point where they felt natural and close to effortless, although the effort of maintaining the heavier shields was akin to that required for a fast walk.

“Can you tell me what this is all about, sir?” asked the undercaptain. “Major Skarpa said that there might be trouble with the scholars, and that I’m under your command.”

“I don’t know everything,” replied Quaeryt. “The problem lies with some of the senior scholars. They seem to have strong ties to the hill holders and have created problems with some High Holders. Neither the factors nor the High Holders trust them, and it shouldn’t be that way. We’re going there to look into the situation, because the governor thinks that I, as a scholar, should be able to see more.”

“What do you think you’ll find, sir?”

“Trouble of some sort. I’d be surprised if much force is required, except the force of presence of your company.” Quaeryt laughed. “But I’ve been surprised before, and that’s why you and your company are here.”

After a moment, Gauswn asked, “What are your orders and instructions?”

“Simply that no one is to leave the Ecoliae until I finish talking with the Master Scholar or, in his absence, the scholar princeps. In carrying out that order, have your men try not to do serious harm to anyone-unless the scholar attempts to do violence to any ranker.”

“Yes, sir. Not doing harm unless threatened-that’s a standing order. Anything else?”

Quaeryt thought. “Some of the scholars are trained in Sansang. You might caution your men that empty-handed scholars or those with a half-staff can also be dangerous.” He hoped Gauswn didn’t press him for details on how he knew. He’d rather not evade or lie.

Gauswn turned to the lead ranker riding behind him. “Did you hear that, Fhenoyt?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pass that back to the other squads.” Gauswn returned his attention to Quaeryt.

Little more than a glass later, the company reached the base of the hill that held the Ecoliae and started riding up the brick-paved lane, with two scouts before Quaeryt and the undercaptain. Several scholars standing on the front section of the wide covered porch surrounding the main building of the Ecoliae turned and watched as the company of troopers rode from the brick-paved lane and stationed themselves by squads around the main building, positioned to watch the stables as well.

Accompanied by two rankers, Quaeryt rode forward and reined up short of the hitching ring before the front steps, whose bricks still needed repointing. He dismounted and handed the mare’s reins to the nearest ranker, then turned toward the steps.

“This is a place of learning. Do not enter if you have aught else on your mind,” declared the sharp-faced, dark-haired scholar who stood before the front steps, half-blocking the way.

For a moment, Quaeryt struggled to place the scholar. Then he laughed. “That precept doesn’t apply to this House of Scholars, Alkiabys. Not after all that you and Chardyn have done.”

“It is still a House of Scholars, and you are no scholar.”

“I’m far more a scholar than you or Chardyn. Stand aside. I’m only going to talk to Phaeryn and Zarxes … by myself. The troopers are here to see that no one leaves.”

Alkiabys stepped back, but Quaeryt strengthened his shields slightly, and made them more sensitive before walking up the steps. As he started to cross the porch, he saw Nalakyn stepping from the center door, his face creased in puzzlement.

“Wait here on the porch, Scholar Nalakyn … if you would.” Quaeryt softened the last few words before entering the center door.

Both Phaeryn and Zarxes stood in the foyer, waiting for him.

“The prodigal scholar…” offered Zarxes sarcastically.

“No … just the scholar assistant to the princeps of Tilbor.”

“Might I ask exactly why you are here, and under what authority?” asked Phaeryn.

“The authority is that of Lord Bhayar, as approved by Governor Rescalyn. Do you think that anyone could arrive with a company of Telaryn troopers without the governor’s approval?”

“There is that,” agreed the silver-haired Master Scholar. “Your response, however, begs the question as to why the governor has any interest at all in a group of near-impoverished scholars who have done little but study and teach.”

“I do so appreciate your definition of ‘little,’ Master Scholar Phaeryn.” Quaeryt coated his words with irony. “I came to talk to you.”

“Then we should repair to my study so that we do not disturb the other scholars,” replied Phaeryn.

“Perhaps we should.” Quaeryt sensed that was exactly what the other two wanted, but, if matters went as he planned, that would serve his purposes as well.

Zarxes’s eyes twitched, as if he had wanted to look to Phaeryn, but had decided against it.

“This way, Scholar Quaeryt, if that is truly your name.”

“It is, indeed, and always has been.” Quaeryt followed the two down the corridor to an open door … and inside.

Zarxes shut the door, deftly sliding the bolt, then stepped over beside Phaeryn.

The study was modest in size, if richly paneled in what Quaeryt thought was walnut. A wide desk was set forward of and between two windows flanked by dark green hangings, and three straight-backed chairs faced the desk. The side wall to Quaeryt’s right, as he faced the desk, was composed of floor-to-ceiling shelves, although less than a third of the space actually contained books. The wall to his left also held shelves. Two armchairs were set before the shelves on the left.

The silver-haired Phaeryn smiled politely. “You might explain why you need all those troopers if you are here merely to talk.”

“Oh … they’re just here to assure that we do talk. Some people, even scholars, have an aversion to discussing certain matters.”

“Might I assume the disappearance of Scholar Chardyn was your doing?” asked Zarxes.

“He disappeared? That would almost be a pity, except for the fact that he was a part of the botched efforts of the Pretender. As for assumptions, you can assume what you wish. All I know is that, if Scholar Chardyn vanished, it was a result of his own acts.”

“He disappeared in the middle of the night on the same night you departed … and you had nothing to do with it? That’s rather unlikely.”

“I never said I had nothing to do with it. I intimated that his disappearance was the result of his own decisions. Someone lurked in my room that night. I suspect that Scholar Chardyn discovered that I had been appointed scholar assistant to the princeps of Tilbor. I also suspect he knew what I had discovered.” Quaeryt smiled.

“Oh?” asked Phaeryn smoothly, moving toward one of the armchairs, against which rested what appeared to be a walking stick, but was more likely a half-staff. “And what was this dark and mysterious secret you discovered?”

Quaeryt smiled politely as Zarxes took a position before the other armchair, where another half-staff rested. “It was no secret to either of you. Actually, there were several secrets. One was the fact that you’d made several unsuccessful attempts to murder High Holder Fhaedyrk. Another was that you-or, more directly, Chardyn-were behind the bloody attack on Governor Fhayt. That didn’t include-”

Both Zarxes and Phaeryn attacked with their Sansang half-staffs. The staffs impacted his shields, and rebounded. Phaeryn’s dropped from his hands, while Zarxes dropped his and, drawing a wide-bladed knife from under his brown jacket, turned and slashed Phaeryn’s throat, then dropped the knife.

For a moment, that act froze Quaeryt. In that moment, Zarxes turned, took three steps to the shelves, and reached out. The shelves swung aside, revealing a circular staircase.

Quaeryt rushed toward the staircase, but the shelves closed with a dull thud.

He tried pressing or pushing where he’d seen Zarxes put his hand-on a seemingly ornamental protrusion on the bracket holding a lamp-but nothing happened. He glanced back at the still-struggling Phaeryn, whose bloody hands came away from his neck as he pitched forward, dying, if not already dead.

Quaeryt tried to image part of the mechanism away, but nothing happened except that his head felt like it would split where he stood.

Iron-lined … or metal anyway … behind all that.

Quaeryt sprinted to the study door, fumbled with the bolt, then flung open the door and sprinted down the corridor and out onto the porch. As he started across the porch to issue orders to Gauswn, a figure with a half-staff launched himself at Quaeryt, only to rebound from the scholar’s shields. Quaeryt ignored the interruption as he stopped at the edge of the porch. “Gauswn! Send a patrol out to look for a scholar with silver-blond hair and beard! That’s Zarxes. He killed the Master Scholar. Have them capture any scholar they see away from the scholarium. Then report back to me inside.” Then he whirled and jabbed a finger at the middle-aged and gray-haired scholar who stood waiting. “Nalakyn-find me a sledge and an ax! Bring them to the Master Scholar’s study! Now!”

The scholar paled, then swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt thought that Zarxes had probably used the hidden staircase to access an escape tunnel, if one happened to be located near the staircase. Quaeryt had few doubts about that, but he needed to make certain, just on the off chance that Zarxes was holed up down below.

He turned in time to see the man who had attacked him-Alkiabys-scurry across the porch and into the building by the eastern front porch door. He took a step in that direction, then stopped. He couldn’t afford the time to chase Alkiabys.

“None of you are to leave the porch or the building!” He turned and hurried back inside and down the corridor to Phaeryn’s study. Several scholars and students backed away from him as he did. Absently, he realized that neither Lankyt nor Syndar were among them.

He stopped in the study doorway, but the only figure inside was the sprawled and motionless form of the Master Scholar. In a few moments, Nalakyn appeared with a sledge, followed by a young scholar bearing an ax, then by Gauswn.

Quaeryt stepped back. “Nalakyn, Undercaptain, inspect the body. I’d like you to see what happened before anyone else disturbs matters.” A few moments wouldn’t matter so far as Zarxes happened to be concerned. He was either running-and while the cavalry patrol might catch him, Quaeryt wouldn’t-or hidden in the lower levels, in which case he wasn’t going anywhere soon.

Gauswn knelt first, away from the blood pooled on the polished but worn wooden floor. “A single cut across the throat. It’s deep.”

Nalakyn bent over and then straightened. He was pale when he rose, and he swallowed several times. “Why … why would Zarxes do that?” He frowned. “Where did he go? None of us saw him.”

“I was hoping you could shed some light on why the princeps did that. Think it over. Now … there’s a hidden staircase behind those shelves. That’s how he left. If anyone knows how to open it … fine. If not, we need to break through it.” He looked to Nalakyn.

“I didn’t know there was anything there, sir.”

“Which side was swung out, sir?” asked Gauswn, rising to his feet.

Quaeryt concentrated, trying to remember. “The left.”

“Then there might be a catch somewhere between the planks that form the edges of the cases there.” Gauswn took the ax from the student scholar, hefted it, then stepped toward the seemingly unbroken wall of shelves.

Three deftly aimed strokes of the ax-so precise that Quaeryt had to wonder where the undercaptain had learned to handle it-and one slightly splintered polished support later, the section of shelves leaned forward, but only about a third of a yard, if that.

Gauswn stepped away. “The back is lined with iron, and there’s an iron rod affixed to a plate. A long cold chisel would be better. I’ll just break the ax, otherwise.”

So Quaeryt found himself waiting for another fraction of a quint before another student hurried back with the cold chisel.

Finally, Gauswn snapped the junction between rod and plate and the shelves swung open. “I should go first, sir.”

“No. You follow me.” Quaeryt stepped around the undercaptain, contracted his shields so that they were close to his body and strengthened them, and then eased down the circular wooden staircase, sturdy enough that it did not even creak once.

At the bottom of the staircase he faced an open space and two doors. Both were closed, but in the dim light that filtered down, he could see bootprints on the dusty stone floor leading to the door on the right. He stepped forward and opened the door-only to find shelves stacked with bottles that looked to hold wine.

He studied the wine closet again, until he saw where the dust had been disturbed. He tried to lift the bottle, but it did not move. He tried to pull it toward him. There was a slight give, but nothing more. He pushed the neck of the bottle, and the entire back of the closet swung away, revealing a long tunnel curving toward the west and angling downhill, a tunnel not quite tall enough for Quaeryt to stand erect.

Quaeryt stepped back into the lower level of the building. “Undercaptain, you might have some men follow the tunnel and see where it leads. But have them be careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt opened the second door. The shelves there held dusty squat jars. He touched several, but they all also adhered to the wooden shelves on which they rested. He pulled and pushed on almost a score before the back of the closet swung away.

This time, Quaeryt swallowed. Beyond the false closet was a squarish chamber, in which blades were racked on one part of the wall, crossbows on another, seven pikes on another … and various other weapons and accouterments, some of which Quaeryt had never seen.

“Mother of the Namer…” Gauswn looked to Quaeryt.

“I think we know a little better why not too many people in Tilbora are exactly fond of the dear scholars.” Quaeryt shook his head. “This will keep. Go see about getting men to follow the tunnel and see if the patrols had any fortune in finding the good scholar Zarxes. Or the young one who tried to attack me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The dust suggested that neither the armory nor the tunnel had been used at least in a few weeks, but Quaeryt didn’t see any reason to point that out. The expressions on Nalakyn’s face suggested that the preceptor of students hadn’t known, either, although Quaeryt would have wagered that Alkiabys knew … and that raised the question of where Chardyn’s assistant had gone. Quaeryt doubted Alkiabys was anywhere near the Ecoliae, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if there happened to be another tunnel, and even another armory. In fact, the way matters were going, he would have been shocked if there weren’t.

When Quaeryt followed Gauswn up the narrow spiral staircase and emerged back in the Master Scholar’s study, he looked at Nalakyn, who had remained, as if frozen. “Nalakyn, I imagine you’re the most senior scholar here. I want every scholar to come to the door of the study and see this, but no one is to touch the body. Then I want them all to assemble in the dining hall. The students will have to remain in the building for now, but they don’t have to see the body or attend the assembly. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“After the meeting, we’ll discuss arrangements for the pyre. There will be no services and no memorial.”

“Sir?”

“I don’t think the scholars can afford a memorial to a traitor to Lord Bhayar, and I certainly don’t intend to allow it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you may go.” Quaeryt did not take a deep breath until he was momentarily alone. Then he headed for the front porch to see if the company’s troopers had been able to find Zarxes. He paused for a moment as he noticed the figure of the ancient chorister walking away from Gauswn, again mounted, but he had to wait only a few moments before the undercaptain rode over.

“Any fortune in finding the princeps?”

Gauswn’s reply was simple. “No … sir.”

“I didn’t think they would. What about the other one?”

“They’re still looking…” Gauswn looked down from his mount at Quaeryt. “What would you have us do now?”

“I’m going to meet with the scholars. After that, I’m going to write a quick report to the governor so that one of your men can ride back and inform him. Then we both wait for orders. In the meantime, no scholar goes anywhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt walked around the entire porch, but it was empty. After a time, he made his way to the dining hall. As he stepped inside, the murmurs died to absolute silence.

“Please be seated.” He waited until everyone was in a chair before he continued. “The reason you are assembled here is very simple. Both your reputations and possibly your lives are in danger. Some scholars have been involved in acts against both High Holders and the former governor of Tilbor. In addition, when I brought this matter up before the Master Scholar and the princeps less than a glass ago, your beloved princeps attacked me with the half-staff of the Sansang and then slashed the throat of Master Scholar Phaeryn. He escaped through the secret tunnel from the study of the Master Scholar. I requested Scholar Nalakyn to have you all view the study so that there would be no mistake about what occurred.

“Hard as it may be for some of you to accept what has happened, the fact is that the roots of the problem lie years in the past. That past is past, and anyone who attempts to use it as a cause or as a reason will suffer. I don’t care about the past. Neither does the governor. Nor does the princeps of Tilbor. We all care about the present and what happens from now onward.

“I will be acting as Master Scholar to oversee the transition to a true scholarium, one devoted to scholarship and study, and to education. The school will continue. The practice of Sansang will not. For the moment, Scholar Nalakyn will act as princeps.” Quaeryt stopped and waited for several moments. “I trust that is clear. For a time longer, no one will leave the scholarium. Anyone who does leave, when that is allowed, will no longer be considered a scholar, and their name and description will be sent to every scholarium in Telaryn.” He turned to Nalakyn. “You may say whatever you think appropriate after I leave. Then join me in the princeps’s study.”

Quaeryt walked out of the dining hall and to the princeps’s study, where he sat down and began to write a summary of exactly what had happened so that Gauswn could send one of the rankers with the report to the governor. When he finished, since Nalakyn had not arrived yet, Quaeryt went to find Gauswn.

The undercaptain was in the rear courtyard and rode over to where Quaeryt stood on the edge of the rear covered porch.

“Here’s the report to the governor. Oh … could your man go to my quarters at the palace and pick up some gear? I have the feeling I may be here much longer than you or your men.”

Gauswn frowned. “Sir … is that safe? Staying here?”

“It will be.” One way or another.

“But with an armory like that…?”

“There’s another one somewhere as well, and probably another tunnel, but the scholars responsible are dead or fleeing to the hill holders. Most of those left just want to be scholars, and they never wanted to be anything else. And that’s what they will be.”

“Yes, sir.” Gauswn didn’t sound totally convinced.

“If you’d get that report off to the governor…”

“Oh … yes, sir.”

“I need to meet with the preceptor of students. He’ll be acting princeps. I’ll have to act as Master Scholar for a time.”

“You’re the only one who could, sir.”

Quaeryt couldn’t refute that, and didn’t try. “I’ll be in the princeps’s study if you need me.” He turned and headed back across the porch, glancing to the northwest, where dark clouds were massing for an autumn-afternoon thunderstorm.

He still had to wait almost half a glass for Nalakyn.

“I’m sorry, sir. It took a while.”

“It did. You were in the dining hall a long time. What did they say-besides being outraged?” asked Quaeryt, his tone gently ironic.

“I pointed out that you were a scholar and that you represented Lord Bhayar … and that you had the power to remake or destroy the Ecoliae. Some of them didn’t like it. I also pointed out that when you left, Chardyn vanished, and that when you returned, Zarxes killed the Master Scholar and fled.” Nalakyn shrugged apologetically. “It seems to me that opposing you and Lord Bhayar isn’t a good idea. Most of them understood what I meant. Some of them only understood that you have power.”

Quaeryt understood the distinction, and that didn’t make him any happier. The next days would be anything but pleasant. At the same time, he had the feeling that, somehow, he’d played into Rescalyn’s hands … and that bothered him even more.