Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (71 page)

It may be that the news of other happenings has not reached you, in view of your duties and responsibilities, but it appears as if the Autarch of Antiago is tending to forget his most felicitous past relationships with Telaryn and is responding to a courtship of sorts from the Rex of Bovaria.…

Quaeryt read quickly through the next few paragraphs, which recounted various bits of news from Solis, all of which suggested that Rex Kharst was bent on annexing Antiago in one fashion or another in the years ahead … if not sooner.

… all of these events have given much pause, it is said, to Lord Bhayar, and those who know him well are given to suggesting that he has devoted much thought to readying Telaryn to weather the tempests that appear on the horizon. What preparations he will make and in what fashion has not been made known to any, only that he is about to undertake such, and that much may well change in the months and years to come. What this bodes for us, and for this most felicitous correspondence, I do not know, only that your words and the thoughts of receiving them have enlightened and warmed me, and that I would most earnestly hope that I will be able to count on continuing to receive such.

Quaeryt swallowed at the closing—“Your devoted Vaelora.”

Was her life that constricted in the palace that his comparatively few letters afforded such pleasure? Were her words rhetorical excess, based on the wistful fancies of a young woman who felt totally imprisoned by who she was?

He shook his head. Whatever the reason for the plea, he could not fail to reply to her, perhaps because he had seen—in the persons of Rescalyn’s exiled Bovarian mistress, of Hailae, and even of Tyrena, if only through the vista of a vanishing past—the way in which events could stifle the spirit of brilliant and accomplished women. He could not free Vaelora, but he could, he hoped, offer words that would stimulate and perhaps comfort, although, given the fierceness of her spirit, he could not ever be condescending or pitying.

And yet … even the act of replying to such a missive, even if carefully, oh so carefully accomplished, increased the risk of Bhayar’s displeasure … and for that matter the displeasure of anyone of power who wanted to form an alliance or gain greater power or access to Bhayar. Such displeasure could easily turn into attacks that might be difficult for even an accomplished imager to stop or divert.

For all that … you will reply …

He eased, awkwardly, a sheet of paper from the desk drawer.

96

Quaeryt barely made the mess on Solayi morning and had no more than seated himself when a figure walked swiftly toward him—Phargos.

“I was hoping to catch you,” said the chorister, settling into the seat across from Quaeryt. “I’m not going to ask you to deliver a homily.” A wide smile followed. “From what I’ve heard, mine would be most unfavorably compared to yours.”

“I’m certain that wouldn’t be true,” replied Quaeryt. “The homilies of yours that I’ve heard have always been enlightening.”

“I’m afraid it would be. Undercaptain Gauswn is convinced you’re the second coming of Rholan. So are a few others.”

“I’m nothing of the sort. You, of all people, know that.” Quaeryt poured tea into his mug, carefully, still feeling awkward in only having one hand to use.

“I do. I’m just not sure exactly what you are. You’re almost all things to all people. You’re a good officer to Skarpa and those who saw you in combat. You’re a good chorister to those who have heard your homilies. You’re obviously a good scholar to those who value scholarship.” Phargos shook his head. “I don’t think anyone, even you yourself, knows truly what you are.” The smile returned. “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Did you know that Gauswn wants to leave the regiment when his time is up and become a chorister?”

“I didn’t know. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. When would that be?”

“His commitment ends on the thirty-fifth of Erntyn next year. Cyrethyn would like for him to study with both of us and succeed him as the chorister for the scholarium. We’ve gotten some good junior officers from there, and it would help to have a chorister who’s friendly to Telaryn and the regiment. Those are my thoughts on the matter. What are yours?”

Quaeryt grinned. “You don’t want my thoughts. You want to know if I’d approve of him. Yes, I would. He’s good at heart, and intelligent. He’d represent change, even though it wouldn’t be that great a change, and the scholarium could use that.” Quaeryt paused. “You don’t even need my approval. What’s the problem?”

“Cyrethyn is frail. He’s very frail. I worry he may not live another year.”

“Do you want me to talk to Straesyr to see if he’d release Gauswn early on the condition he starts immediately at the scholarium?”

“Cyrethyn is far more frail than he lets on.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.” Phargos rose. “Unlike with some, with you, those words mean what they say.”

Quaeryt served himself one of the thick cooling cheese omelets and scarcely warm bread, then took a sip of his tea. As he ate, he couldn’t help but think about Phargos’s comment, especially as it applied to Vaelora. Was he something he wasn’t to her? He’d certainly never tried to deceive her—perhaps to mislead anyone who intercepted and read his words, but not her. For those reasons, composing a response to her latest missive had been difficult, and he had yet to finish that reply, but he did have a few days before another courier would leave for Solis.

What did he feel about her?

He shook his head. Did what he felt really matter? At best, all he’d ever be would be a correspondent who provided a window of sorts to a world her brother would never let her enter. And that, he could and would do.

Except … you’d like to do more for her.

He pushed that thought away. Anything more was beyond his power—even as a hidden imager.

The remainder of the day he divided his time between working on his reply to Vaelora, considering how to improve the scholarium, what he would say to Straesyr on Lundi in regard to Gauswn, and even resting. He was least successful at resting, with his thoughts swirling in so many different directions that he finally rose from his bunk feeling more exhausted than when he had stretched out on it.

After the evening meal, he did make his way to the palace anomen and take in services, as much as to hear what Phargos had to say as anything, in hopes that the chorister’s words might offer some wisdom to settle his thoughts.

Phargos began his homily with the standard opening, the one that Quaeryt had always heard. “… under the Nameless all evenings are good.… Almost all of you have just returned from a campaign against the hill holders. I have already heard tales of endless attacks and total destruction, and pondered what had led to such. The easy answer is Naming and the Namer … but easy answers are not always good answers.

“Recently, I talked to a man. Some of you know him. Some don’t. I asked for his help in a matter some would call small and some would not. He said that he would do what he could. From this man, those words meant what they said. At the same time, I realized that so often we equate words with Naming. That is not so. Words followed by honest action are not Naming. Empty words or duplicitous words are the same as Naming. Promising help and not helping is a form of Naming. Saying good things in public about someone and undermining them in private are Naming, and so often empty words or deceptive words build on each other and lead to devastation and destruction…”

Quaeryt had to agree with those sentiments, although the indirect reference to him—he thought it was to him, but perhaps it was not—bothered him. Still … what Phargos said about words was right—even if Quaeryt still had no idea of whether there even happened to be a Nameless.

97

Lundi morning, Quaeryt woke to gusty winds that filled his quarters with chill drafts and rattled the shutters. Outside under gray skies, fine light snowflakes danced on the gusty winds. As he shivered his way into his browns, he knew that it was bound to be far colder with far more snow falling in the Boran Hills, and that meant a much slower and more laborious return for those battalions not remaining at Zorlyn’s hold or at Boralieu.

After breakfast, he made his way to meet with Straesyr. He had to wait almost a quint in the anteroom before the princeps arrived.

“You’re always prompt, scholar. Come on in.”

Quaeryt entered after the princeps and closed the door, then took a seat in front of the desk.

“Why don’t you tell me your view of the campaign? I’d like your views on what worked well, what didn’t work so well, and why.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt shifted his weight in the armchair, enough so that he could rest the splint on the short wooden arm, then cleared his throat. “Governor Rescalyn planned the campaign exceedingly well. He also understood from the beginning the need not to become unduly distracted by the continual attacks from small forces of hill rebels…” He went on to talk for almost a glass about what he had seen and the need for the kind of campaign Rescalyn had planned and executed. “… all the destruction was necessary because nothing less would have ended the power of the hill holders to disrupt and restrict formal governing from either Tilbora or Solis.”

“I’ve already heard from several High Holders that they think the additional tariffs on the remaining hill holders are too low. They complain that they’ve paid for more than their fair share. What would you tell them, master scholar?”

“That the price paid by the dead hill holders was far greater than what they have paid, that the higher tariff levels on the remaining hill holders will continue for several years, and that harvesting a ram’s wool for years is more productive than slaughtering or starving it.”

“That won’t make them happy.”

“Nothing will make them happy. If they’re happy, you’re not tariffing enough, because that means they feel like they’re paying less than what they should.”

“You sound like Rescalyn.”

“I never disagreed with his governing.”

“As we discussed, you will, of course, continue to supervise the scholarium.”

“Of course.”

“And I will have you study the ledgers so that you can begin to watch the tariffs and expenses…” Straesyr went on to outline other duties and details he had in mind for Quaeryt. When he finished that enumeration, he looked to the scholar. “Are there are other matters we need to discuss?”

“There is one that Chorister Phargos brought to my attention.”

“Oh?”

“Undercaptain Gauswn—from Sixth Battalion—had at one time studied to be a chorister of the Nameless. Gauswn would like to leave the regiment when his time is up to become a chorister. That isn’t a problem, I would believe, but the problem lies in the fact that the current chorister at the scholarium is quite frail, and his years are numbered, perhaps even limited to months. Phargos feels, and I agree, that Gauswn would make an excellent replacement for Cyrethyn, but it would be beneficial for all, I believe, if Gauswn could be released earlier to study with Cyrethyn before the old chorister is no longer able to impart his knowledge.”

“Gauswn … he’s the one who kept you from being trampled, isn’t he?”

“He is. He’s also the one who’s often conducted services at Boralieu when Commander Zirkyl was unavailable. Chorister Phargos made the point that some good young officers have come from the scholarium, and that having Gauswn be chorister there would be beneficial to Telaryn. If Cyrethyn dies before Gauswn’s service ends…” Quaeryt shrugged.

Straesyr frowned. “I’d like to talk to Myskyl when he returns. That should be within the week. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good idea. It will also aid in continuing to change the outlook at the scholarium. You’d likely lose Gauswn anyway, and this way, Major Skarpa has more time to groom his replacement.”

“That makes sense. We can work it out.” The princeps nodded slowly. “I’ll still have to talk to the commander. You’re not to say a word to anyone, even Phargos.”

“I understand, sir. I will tell him that I asked you, and you and Commander Myskyl will decide.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Not at the moment, sir.”

“Then you should get on with those matters.” But Straesyr did smile warmly as Quaeryt slowly rose from the chair.

Quaeryt didn’t return to his own small study until almost ninth glass, where he began on the various tasks the princeps had assigned him.

Given his physical condition, the remainder of the week passed, steadily, if not swiftly. On Jeudi, Quaeryt spent a good glass with Straesyr and several more with the chief accounts clerk and a stack of ledgers, learning enough about the tariff and expense accounts so that he could assist Straesyr at least until Bhayar sent word as to what he intended to do about who would be governor, if not Straesyr, and who would be princeps if the princeps became governor.

On Vendrei, Quaeryt dispatched his reply to Vaelora, one on which he had labored long and carefully. Commander Myskyl returned, in another light snowstorm that tapered off around sunset, with those battalions—and the engineers—who would not be immediately posted to the Boralieu or to Zorlyn’s hold, now being called Rescalyt. With Myskyl came several hundred prisoners … or refugees.

Quaeryt was not included in the discussions between the governor and the commander, which was probably a good idea, he decided upon reflection.

On Samedi morning, the princeps informed Quaeryt that many of his recommendations had been taken and that the scholarium would need to foster some twenty-one orphans. He also gave his decision regarding Undercaptain Gauswn, and on that afternoon Quaeryt rode, with the escort of a squad from Sixth Battalion, to the scholarium, where he spent the rest of the day with Nalakyn and Yullyd over those matters and a quint with Cyrethyn informing him about the acting governor’s decision to release Gauswn from his obligation at the end of Finitas. While there, he recovered the gear and clothing he had left—and everything was as he had left it.

Quaeryt actually rested on Solayi. He did not attend services.

On Lundi morning, a courier delivered a letter to the Telaryn Palace, a letter that made its way up to the princeps’s anteroom, from where Vhorym delivered it to Quaeryt in his small study.