L. Modesitt - Scholar

“Apprentice out the youths. Relocate the adults as you can. Foster the orphaned children under five. The scholarium could help there, although they’d need some golds for clothing and food. You might have to offer some silvers for apprentices to begin with.”

“The scholarium would need golds anyway. You had that in mind all along.”

“I did … if I thought the new Master Scholar could make matters work.”

“It appears as though he is … or rather, his scholar princeps is.”

“I thought it might work out that way.”

“A number of matters have worked out the way you thought. A man would be wise to consider your views. Did Rescalyn ever ask you yours?”

“Only when he thought I might agree with him.”

“Did you ever raise questions about his acts or views? To him directly?”

“I hinted that the size of the regiment was large enough for other endeavors after dealing with the hill holders. He avoided dealing with that, and assigned me to Sixth Battalion for the attack on Zorlyn’s holding. Sixth Battalion was always in the fore and was one of the two lead battalions.”

“That is representative of his methods.” Straesyr nodded. “Scholar … there is one other thing.”

“Sir?”

Straesyr’s countenance broke into a smile as he extended an envelope. “This arrived with the last courier.”

As Quaeryt took the envelope, his eyes dropped to the script-Vaelora’s hand. “Thank you, sir.” For reasons he wasn’t certain he wanted to investigate at that moment, the existence of the missive seemed to lift a burden off his shoulders.

Is that because she writes because she wants to?

He looked to Straesyr. “Is there anything else, sir?”

“Not for the moment. We should talk on Lundi morning. You look like you could use some rest. I won’t need any written reports from you. You can just tell me anything you haven’t already then.”

“Thank you, sir.” Quaeryt stood slowly, nodded, and retreated to his study.

Once there, he opened the letter.

My Dearest Scholar Quaeryt-

“My Dearest”? Rhetorical excess? Or does she have dreams … more like delusions … or are the delusions yours? Quaeryt frowned, then swallowed. If she really feels that way … Bhayar would be anything but pleased. Anything but pleased. He took a deep breath before he continued reading.

Your latest missive was most entertaining as well as informative, so much so that I had to share it with members of my family. Unhappily, some were not so amused as was I, but even the sternest acknowledged your perception and wit …

Good … but will that be enough now that your brother has since discovered that he no longer has a “good governor” and undoubtedly superior commander? And that you address me as “Dearest”-or was that a way to assure I got the letter? He hoped so, or he might be marooned in Tilbor forever.

… and the wisdom behind such fascinating observations, although I must, as a mere young woman of no great worldly experience, defer to those with far greater apperception of the world as it is and not as I would have it.

I must also confess that I miss hearing your wit and perceptive comments in person, although in truth, I needs must also acknowledge that such occasions were far fewer in number than I, and I hope you, would otherwise have wished. For, as you know from your observations of the palace and the court, how could matters have been otherwise? Yet, in these times and perhaps in all times, a wise woman, or a young woman who is intelligent enough to seek the counsel of women far wiser and more powerful, must learn to seek where she can the company of minds who are not unsympathetic to her deepest feelings and convictions, be that company in correspondence, in conversation, or more happily otherwise. Wherever that dialogue may occur, it is to be valued and cherished, for even one so sheltered as I have been knows that it is rare indeed in any company, and so do I cherish those words you dispatch to me.

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.

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?”