L. Modesitt - Scholar

Quaeryt moved to the front of the south side and watched as twenty or so students filed into the anomen, led by Nalakyn. It took Quaeryt several moments to find both Syndar and Lankyt. Syndar didn’t look in his direction, but Lankyt looked back at Quaeryt for several moments, then offered a nod. From what Quaeryt could tell, almost every scholar was present, and all sneaked surreptitious looks in his direction before the ancient chorister stepped to the front of the anomen. If possible, his wordless invocation warbled and wobbled even more painfully than the last time Quaeryt had heard him. Quaeryt spent as much time watching the worshippers as paying attention to the greeting, murmuring the opening hymn and confession, then adding coppers to the offertory basket.

He wondered exactly what the chorister would say in his homily.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good, even those that seem less than marvelous.…” The chorister cleared his throat, then studied the congregation for a painfully long time before speaking. “We witnessed on Vendrei the results of Naming. Some will say that the Master Scholar died because troopers accompanied a scholar to the scholarium…”

Quaeryt was impressed that the ancient chorister used the new term for the Ecoliae.

“… but the Master Scholar did not die because of the troopers. The troopers never used their weapons against anyone. The Master Scholar died for another reason. He died because he was a tool of those who have for generations put their names above the needs of all Tilbor. Even the High Holders have considered those needs. You all know I have no love of those who flaunt titles. I have less love for those who sow mistrust and misrepresent what is. Misrepresentation is yet another forming of Naming. It is one of the most pernicious forms of Naming. Those who use misrepresentation take a grain of what is true and then spin a fabric of deceit from that truth. They magnify the importance of a small truth. They make that small truth large enough to conceal their deceit behind it…”

Quaeryt listened intently, concealing a smile. The old chorister had seen far more than he had ever revealed, and just as clearly, he had been no true supporter of either Phaeryn or Zarxes.

After the benediction, Quaeryt deliberately avoided the chorister, for to have spoken to him at that moment would have lessened the impact of the homily. Instead, he motioned to Nalakyn. The two walked down the rutted path from the anomen toward the brick lane leading back to the scholarium.

“The chorister knew what Phaeryn and Zarxes were doing.” Quaeryt let the words hang.

Nalakyn said nothing for several paces. “I worried about Chardyn more than I did about the Master Scholar. Chardyn had ties to the hill holders, and he was not to be trusted. I thought that Phaeryn kept him so that no one would attack the … scholarium … or because he feared Chardyn. You know that Chardyn’s father was the head of the Khanar’s Guard?”

“I learned that.”

“Most scholars are not men of action. If you had watched the Sansang practices, you would have seen that only a few younger scholars took part. Most of those who did practice were students. The Master Scholar allowed Chardyn to require students to learn some Sansang because they would not be scholars and because it would benefit them to have some training in defending themselves without using forbidden weapons. Most of us were not unhappy when Chardyn vanished.” Nalakyn paused. “You had something to do with that, did you not?”

“Scholar Chardyn vanished because of his own actions, not because of mine,” replied Quaeryt. “There were others who fell afoul of him, I learned later, and their golds and silvers found their way back to the Ecoliae.”

“There were rumors … but there was never any proof. I never saw the Master Scholar or Zarxes do anything untoward.”

“Even with the armories and the tunnels?”

“The tunnels were there for escape. The armories were there for protection. None of us ever took up weapons-except, it appears, for Chardyn, Phaeryn, and Zarxes. Perhaps one or two others, but I do not know who they might be.”

As they walked toward the scholarium, Quaeryt asked questions and listened. He had no doubts that Nalakyn was kind … but the preceptor of students was also credulous and not the strongest of personalities. Yet who else was respected and could set the right tone for reforming the scholarium into what Quaeryt envisioned? Could Yullyd and Nalakyn together manage to keep the school and scholarium operating?

Quaeryt had his doubts … but he also didn’t see any other immediate options.

He faced an even larger problem. While his “visit” to the scholarium and his subsequent inspections and findings had proved, at least to him, that Phaeryn and Zarxes had been linked to the hill holders, why hadn’t Rescalyn done something earlier? Surely, the governor had to have known long before Quaeryt had arrived. In fact, Rescalyn couldn’t have known that Bhayar was going to send Quaeryt to Tilbora. Bhayar himself hadn’t known until Quaeryt had planted the idea.

So why had Rescalyn seized upon the scholars and the Ecoliae so readily? Because it fit in with something he was already planning?

That made an unfortunate kind of sense to Quaeryt-and it also meant that he needed to return and “report” to the governor as soon as possible.

On Lundi morning, Quaeryt left the scholarium early enough that he and the two troopers who accompanied him rode through the eastern gates of the Telaryn Palace at half past seventh glass. He had barely reined up in the side courtyard when he saw the form of a ranker being carried on a wooden platform by six men in full uniform. Behind them walked a drummer, playing a slow funereal roll. The ranker had died, presumably in the line of duty, but Quaeryt had received no word about fighting. Besides, anyone who had died in the hills would have been placed on a pyre there, and not at the Telaryn Palace. He glanced to the two rankers beside him.

“Do you know what happened?”

“No, sir.” Both shook their heads.

Quaeryt dismounted, then handed the mare’s reins to the nearer ranker. “I could be several glasses.”

“We’ll be near the officers’ stable, sir.”

“Good.”

The scholar turned and, after another look in the direction of the northern part of the courtyard and the funeral party, headed toward the door to the palace.

The duty squad leader looked up from the table desk. “Scholar, sir?”

“What happened? The funeral party?”

“One of the governor’s messengers got careless yesterday afternoon. He was running an errand. He slipped and went over one of the railings in the palace … fell and hit his head on the stone below.”

“Who was it?”

“Kellear … he was used mostly as a messenger. Nice young man … very pleasant.”

Kellear … Kellear … Quaeryt had heard that name before. He knew he had. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Accidents happen, sir. We wish they didn’t, but they do.”

Quaeryt nodded, still puzzling over where he’d heard the name. From the foyer of the palace, he headed down the main corridor and then up the main stairs to the governor’s study. At the top, he paused. The railing was more than waist-high … and what sort of errand was a ranker running on Solayi, not that the governor couldn’t order it? There was also the fact that no one besides the ranker-and the governor-would likely have been in the area above the stairs.

At that moment, he recalled where he’d heard the name before … and from whose lips. He stiffened, then took a deep breath, before resuming his steps toward the governor’s anteroom, hoping that his deliberate breach of the implied chain of command would yield the results he needed to verify his suspicions.