L. Modesitt - Scholar

Did Myskyl interrogate every ranker in Sixth Battalion?

“… Several officers seem to think that you’re under the protection of the Nameless, for all that you protest that you don’t know if the Nameless exists. Yet you are a most effective chorister in delivering homilies. Everyone the commander talked to insists that you asked for no special treatment.” Straesyr paused, then asked, “What are you? Why are you here? Most important, what really happened to the governor?”

“I’m sure you already know that, sir. He was hit in the chest with a crossbow quarrel. The quarrel was the kind the hill holders used, but no one could find who did it.”

“That’s another question. Who could put a quarrel through solid plate armor? Your name suggests it all-there are just too many questions around you.”

“That may be, sir, but there are the same questions around everyone. There were as many questions around the governor, but no one even thought of asking them.”

“Rescalyn was a good commander and strategist. Do you even understand, scholar…”

“I understand quite well, sir. He understood that the hill holders could fight forever against company-sized or even battalion-sized attacks. He built the regiment to the size necessary to destroy the major hill holds, if not more, and expanded the engineers. While he was doing that, he was giving the hill holders the illusion that they were holding their own, but he was consolidating support for himself and Telaryn everywhere outside of the hills, and using the hill holders as an example of brigandry. Then he attacked and destroyed the major holds one after the other. He removed the key holds … and then sent-well, Commander Myskyl did, but it was the governor’s plan-terms to those few surviving, demanding tribute and submission-or their destruction-and their agreement to follow the rules governing all the High Holders. After he took Zorlyn’s hold and destroyed most of his supporters, the others, all of them much weaker, capitulated.”

“Will they remain so?”

“You know the answer to that, sir. You may have to marshal the regiment once more against some recalcitrants to prove the point. But … if you make that point to all the officers … you may not. Word will get out.” Quaeryt paused, then added, “Rescalyn’s strategy wouldn’t have worked in a warmer clime, because the fighters could live off the land after the regiment left, but the winters are so harsh and long here that without stockpiles and supplies, that’s not feasible-and that’s why Waeryl, Saentaryn, Zorlyn, and the others fought rather than scattering into the hills.…”

“You saw this … when?”

“Some of it within weeks of arriving … some of it not until the campaign was well along.”

“It’s a tragedy that one of the last hill brigands was able to kill Rescalyn … if that’s what happened. Do you know how to use a crossbow?”

“I’ve never even picked one up, sir. As all the rankers and officers will tell you, I can barely defend myself with a half-staff. I’ve been wounded and injured twice and feel fortunate to have survived.” Quaeryt wasn’t about to raise the point that he’d been forced to learn to defend himself because Rescalyn had detailed him to assignments with Sixth Battalion that had continually exposed him to danger.

A flash of puzzlement crossed Straesyr’s face.

Quaeryt continued. “Rescalyn’s life ended with the reputation as a great strategist, an excellent commander, and a good governor. That’s how he will be remembered, and everyone will regard his death as a tragedy. That’s how it should be, rather than with Telaryn being torn apart.”

“You don’t really think-”

“Governor,” Quaeryt said firmly, “and you are governor in fact, at least until Bhayar decides otherwise, you know as well as I do what would have happened with the near-fanatical loyalty of the regiment to Rescalyn. He was a hero. It’s best left there.”

“Lord Bhayar is fortunate to have scholars such as you, Master Quaeryt.” Straesyr’s voice was surprisingly mild, almost at odds with the words he spoke.

“No, sir. Lord Bhayar is wise enough to use the talents of those who serve him loyally.” Quaeryt had a certain doubt that Bhayar always did so, but he had no doubts whatsoever that what Rescalyn had intended, after rebuilding the “regiment,” would have created far more death and devastation than anyone could have envisioned.

“How much of this is Lord Bhayar and how much is because of you? You never trusted Rescalyn from the first, did you?”

“Let us just say that I worried about his ambitions being greater than were in the interests of Lord Bhayar.”

“How did you know?”

“From his acts, his behavior, and even from the books he read. He wanted to be another Hengyst.”

“You may well be right, but where is the proof?”

“Rescalyn was far too brilliant to leave a written plan, or even footprints. But if one looks at the way he reorganized the regiment without ever letting on to Lord Bhayar actually how many men he had or how every dispatch emphasized in one way or another, never overplayed, the dangers of the hill holders…”

“That kind of proof is thin indeed.”

“And the way in which he used your wife’s safety against you.” Rather than reveal how he knew that, Quaeryt went on, “I suspected that in the way you mentioned family. Then, there was the warning you gave me, telling me to take care at a time when I wasn’t going into battle. More than anything, it was that the sum total of all the little things pointed to one end. He never mentioned in any dispatch the way he’d reorganized the regiment on the company and battalion level. Why did he leave the scholars alone when he knew their ties and links? His excessive efforts to build personal loyalty among the officers and men … his failure to ever mention Lord Bhayar to them … all those things…”

Straesyr shook his head. “You’re a dangerous man, scholar, to deduce so much, so accurately, from such small indicators.”

“What about you?” Quaeryt asked bluntly.

“Me? I’ve been ambitious, the Nameless knows, but I’d be more than pleased to end my days as governor here, not that such is likely now … and my family would be as well. That would never have suited Rescalyn.”

“You don’t know what Lord Bhayar will do. For what it’s worth, my words about you will be favorable.”

Straesyr’s smile was both rueful and wintry.

Quaeryt waited.

“That leaves the matter of what to do with you.”

“My term as your assistant lasts until the end of Finitas.” Not that Quaeryt wanted to stay in Tilbor even that long.

“That’s not exactly true,” replied Straesyr. “The letter from Lord Bhayar said that you were to be released in time to reach Solis before the end of winter. According to the surgeon-I did ask about your condition-you shouldn’t be riding as much as you did. You’ll be here longer than you had hoped. I don’t have to release you by the end of Finitas.”

Quaeryt didn’t answer immediately. Winter in Tilbor? What would Bhayar say? He’d suggested that Quaeryt might as well stay in Tilbor if he didn’t return by the end of winter. But how could Quaeryt even meet that deadline if he didn’t leave before winter truly set in?

Before Quaeryt could speak, Straesyr went on. “I’m going to have to handle both positions. At the very least, scholar, I’ll need assistance, and I expect such, especially in matters dealing with the scholarium.”

After a moment, Quaeryt replied, “I can help there … and with anything else you feel comfortable with me doing.”

“Comfortable?” Straesyr raised his eyebrows. “You’re more than competent, but I can’t say I’m comfortable. As I said a moment ago, you’re a dangerous man.” He paused. “The biggest immediate problem will be all the prisoners Commander Myskyl is marching back. What would you do with them?”