L. Modesitt - Scholar

Myskyl was silent, but his eyes never left Quaeryt. Finally, he cleared his throat. “How did you manage it?”

“I managed nothing, sir. If you will ask every single person who saw me on the field, you will find that I was struck down before the last part of the fighting ended.” Quaeryt looked down at the heavy splint.

Myskyl shook his head. “I have asked everyone. They all say what you have told me. Yet the governor is dead. He was killed by a hill holder quarrel that should not have been able to penetrate his plate. It did. I do not believe in coincidences.”

“Nor do I, sir. Yet it happened. Sometimes, things happen that we cannot explain. One can deny that they should have, but they did. One can claim it was the work of the Namer or the Nameless, but nothing changes.”

“No … they do not.” Myskyl moistened his lips.

“What will you do now?”

“Why are you asking, scholar?”

“I still have to report to Lord Bhayar.”

“So you do.” A short bitter laugh followed before the commander continued. “As the governor planned, I’ve sent messages to the remaining hill holders. I sent a company with each messenger as well.”

“Will they agree to terms?”

“Rescalyn didn’t think they would. I think they might. We’ll see.”

“What are you going to do with Zorlyn’s holding, sir?”

“That’s up to the princeps. He’s the acting governor. He may not even know yet, unless the couriers have reached him, but it’s his decision. After we finish with the other hill holders, I’ve recommended that we move two or three battalions here and make it a permanent base. We’d have control, and all the crop tithes would support the base here. We’d have to reduce the numbers at Boralieu. The lands of the other holdings will become Lord Bhayar’s.”

“That sounds like a good plan, sir.”

“It was the governor’s.”

“He was a good commander and a good governor.” Just one who was far too ambitious.

“He was.” Myskyl stood. “You’ll be going back to Boralieu with the rest of the wounded when the roads firm up. From there, when the fighting’s over, one way or another, you’ll go back to Tilbora.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt struggled to his feet.

“I’d hope there won’t be any more strange occurrences.”

“So do I, sir.” Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned. He could feel the commander’s eyes on his back as he walked out of the study.

He hadn’t liked what he’d done. But he’d seen enough to know just where Rescalyn’s unbridled ambition would lead, both for Bhayar and for himself.

… and yet … would Rescalyn have made a better ruler of Telaryn than Bhayar?

Quite possibly, if he merely succeeded Bhayar, reflected Quaeryt, as he limped back toward Sixth Battalion, but what he would have had to do to consolidate his rule would have negated his abilities. And … Bhayar was a good ruler, for all his faults. The cost of a civil war to everyone, and the deaths and the unrest, would have far outweighed the benefits of a ruler who might have been a better ruler. Then, too, there was the problem that Rescalyn had no heirs, and succession was yet another problem, while Bhayar already had two sons.

The risks for Telaryn-and you-were too great.

He kept walking.

A sunny Samedi followed Vendrei, and an even warmer Solayi followed Samedi-and Myskyl, thankfully, did not request that Quaeryt offer a homily at the evening services. Quaeryt avoided attending, afraid that he would hear either a eulogy of some sort to Rescalyn or thanks for the great victory over Zorlyn. While it had been a significant victory, and the one that, for all intents and purposes, broke the power of the hill holders, even if Myskyl might have to ravage another holding, going to those services would have reminded Quaeryt of all the costs that were never mentioned … and his own part in how matters turned out. So he remained with those of Sixth Battalion who did not attend.

On Mardi morning, a column of the riding wounded, those, like Quaeryt, who were on the way to recovery, left Zorlyn’s holding and made their way back to Boralieu. Quaeryt rode an almost-broken-down gelding, since no one seemed to know where the mare was-or if she had even survived the battle. She’d carried him through so much … and to have her vanish … He tried not to think about that … as well as other matters-at least not until he felt better.

They arrived at Boralieu well after sunset on Meredi, but before total darkness. Quaeryt had not heard whether the remaining hill holders had agreed to terms when they left, and no one of the small contingent that remained at Boralieu had any word on what had occurred when they arrived.

Over the next two days, Quaeryt forced himself to write up a report for Bhayar, one that summarized exactly what had happened during that part of the campaign in which he had participated, but which said nothing at all about his personal efforts. Between the physical effort of writing it one-handed, which took more care than he had anticipated, and the mental effort of seeking exactly the right words and phrases, the report took far longer than he had thought it would.

Because the mess was more suited to writing, because he felt the walls of his small quarters were pressing in on him, because the bunk was uncomfortable for sitting and the chairs in the mess were far more comfortable than the single rickety one in his quarters, he spent most of his time in the officers’ mess. Late on Vendrei afternoon, Quaeryt was again sitting at the long table there when he heard riders outside in the courtyard. He debated getting up to see who they were, and if they had news, but decided he’d find out before long. Besides, walking any distance was still painful, especially as the day wore on.

He saw several captains and undercaptains he did not know coming and going, and that suggested that a fair-sized contingent had returned. In turn, that indicated a high likelihood that the remaining hill holders had capitulated … but that was only an indication.

Almost a glass later, a ranker peered into the mess from the door. “Scholar Quaeryt, sir?”

“Yes?”

“Commander Zirkyl would like to see you, sir. He’s in his study.”

“I’ll be right there.” Quaeryt rose carefully, then followed the ranker down the adjoining corridor to the open study door.

“Come in, scholar.”

Quaeryt did close the door behind him, then settled into one of the chairs in front of Zirkyl’s table desk. “I did not know you were among those who returned, sir.”

“I brought back those who had accompanied me from here to deal with the hill holders at Zorlyn’s holding. We arrived back here less than a glass ago. On Jeudi, Commander Myskyl received word from the last of the hill holders, accepting the terms he offered. Once that happened, he dispatched us.” Zirkyl looked directly at Quaeryt. “You’ve been sending reports to Lord Bhayar, I understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Commander Myskyl’s couriers will be leaving here tomorrow morning, one for Tilbora to inform the acting governor, and one to Solis to report on the result of the campaign against the hill holders. Commander Myskyl asked me to tell you that you are welcome to have the courier carry your report to Solis as well. If you wish to do so, you should have it ready by seventh glass.”

“It is largely written, sir, except I did not know that the remaining holders had accepted terms.”

“I doubt that they were overjoyed … but defying the commander now would have been turning bare backs to the Namer.”

“Where should I bring the report? To the courtyard by the gates?”

“By the guardhouse. I’ll let the courier know that you will have a dispatch for him.”