Scholar

72

Mardi passed without incident, as did Meredi. They also passed without any word from either the princeps or the governor. By midday on Jeudi, Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder exactly what was happening at the Telaryn Palace … or elsewhere in Tilbor. He had the feeling that a storm was looming over the horizon, most likely coming from the Boran Hills, but then … maybe he’d just misjudged both Rescalyn and the hill holders.

At the knock on the open door of the Master Scholar’s study, Quaeryt looked up. He tried not to stare at the ancient chorister who stood there. “Yes … what can I do for you, chorister?”

“Master Scholar … a few words with you?”

“I’m not the Master Scholar. I’m just acting as one, trying to reorder matters. You can certainly have a few words and more.” Quaeryt paused. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know your name.”

As he settled into the seat across the desk from Quaeryt, the old man laughed. “That’s fitting enough for a servant of the Nameless, don’t you think?”

Quaeryt shrugged helplessly and offered an embarrassed smile. “I’ve heard two of your homilies. I’ve liked what you had to say in both of them, but no one ever mentioned your name.”

“You were there last Solayi. I fear I do not recall the other time. Oh … I am Cyrethyn.”

“That was when I first visited the scholarium, in Agostas. I was only here for a few days. You talked about the arrogance of the young and the strong, equating it in a sense, to Naming.”

“You flatter me, Master Scholar, by recalling what I said nearly two months ago. Such flattery is pleasurable, but I do not deserve it. That is why I am here. I am old. I am old in part because I am not brave. I have known for many years that Zarxes and Phaeryn received golds from Zorlyn. I knew that Chardyn had something to do with the death of Lord Chayar’s envoy. I knew many things. But I did nothing because I knew nothing would change, and I would die. As I said, I am not brave. So I am here to do what little I can.” The chorister smiled wryly. “Are you an honest scholar, Master Quaeryt?”

“I would like to say that I am, but I have been known to stretch and distort the facts of situations. I have misrepresented matters upon occasion by not revealing all that should have been revealed. I have rationalized that by telling myself that I did so in the service of seeking greater truths and more information. I do not know that I have been totally honest in that regard.”

“That you are willing to assess yourself so suggests you are honest.”

“Honest does not mean good,” Quaeryt pointed out.

Cyrethyn chuckled. “That might make a good homily.”

“It might, at that.”

After a brief silence, the chorister spoke again. “There is one other matter that I believe you should know.”

“What might that be?”

“As in all things, matters are not what they might seem to be. Your governor-Rescalyn-met with Phaeryn. That was five years ago. So far as I know, that was the only time they met.”

“That … it seems unlikely…”

“That may be, but only two people here and alive know about that meeting. I was one; the other was Zarxes. I do not sleep well. Many of my age do not. I was walking well after midnight when I heard a rider. As I told you, I am not brave. I hid in the bushes near where the secret tunnel emerges. I was surprised to see another man walk down the lane. It was Zarxes. They said little, except that Phaeryn said Rescalyn had offered a workable arrangement. Phaeryn said he had accepted it. He had no choice, not if he wanted to keep the Ecoliae intact and the golds coming from Zarxes’s sire. Zarxes agreed. Neither asked whether the governor could be trusted. Then Phaeryn entered the tunnel, and Zarxes walked the mount back to the stables. No one would have known that the Master Scholar had left the Ecoliae that night.”

“Why would they do that?”

“You know why Phaeryn would. The Ecoliae was failing. The only golds outside of fees for the school that he received came from Zorlyn. Yes, I know about the canvas bag sent monthly. As for the governor … it had to suit his ends. What those might be, I do not know.”

Quaeryt feared he knew exactly what those ends were. “Why did you come here? You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better than you think, scholar. You are a scholar who offers a better homily than most choristers. You profess not to know whether there is a Nameless, but act in accord with the principles set forth by the best of those who have followed the Nameless. You question more than you declare, and listen more than you speak.” Cyrethyn smiled.

“That sounds like you’ve been talking to a certain undercaptain.”

“Why not? I’ve known him since he was a student here, years ago. He was honest then and seems to have remained so. I saw him ride up, and I begged a few moments of his time.”

Quaeryt nodded. That, in a strange way, made sense … if anything did.

“I do have one favor to ask, master scholar. I ask that you not disappoint Gauswn. He believes in you.”

Quaeryt almost swallowed his tongue. That was the last thing he would have expected.

“For all the goodness you try to conceal, scholar, you are too cynical.” The chorister paused. “Then, perhaps, that cynicism is what protects your ideals.” He rose, slowly, from the chair. “I hope that what I have told you may assist you in determining your course. Every datum refines a position more accurately. So the experienced quartermasters say.”

“Unless it reveals that other sightings are inaccurate.” Quaeryt rose.

“You are too careful for that, master scholar.” Cyrethyn smiled, and his eyes twinkled. “I just may talk about honest evil on Solayi.”

“If I’m still here, I’ll be there to listen.”

After the old chorister left, Quaeryt sat back down behind the table desk, thinking.

Had Cyrethyn been telling the truth? Quaeryt had no way of verifying that. Yet why would the old chorister lie? Certainly, choristers, for all their professions of sanctity, ranged from the purest in word and deed to those who cloaked pure evil in the raiment of the Nameless. At the same time, every word Cyrethyn had spoken rang with truth … and, if true, explained more than a few things, and possibly provided an even greater reason why poor Kellear had been killed, because with Phaeryn and Kellear dead, who besides Zarxes would have known about the “agreement” between Rescalyn and Phaeryn? But then, Kellear might not even have known.

Quaeryt shook his head.