L. Modesitt - Scholar

The only problem was that he couldn’t find much about the Charter, except that it was an agreement between the Khanar and some of the holders of that time. Quaeryt had the feeling that the Charter was one of those events that everyone at the time knew and therefore wrote little about it, only to have the details fade over the years. There was probably a book somewhere, but …

He shook his head.

Other books did provide various insights and by the time he needed to leave the library for the day, he thought he had a somewhat better grasp of Tilboran history, at least until the time of Eleonyd.

When Quaeryt finally entered the mess for supper, he could see far fewer officers-roughly half as many as on Vendrei night-but one was Major Skarpa, who motioned for Quaeryt to join him and another major. “This is Quaeryt. He’s the scholar assistant to the princeps I told you about. Quaeryt, this is Daendyr. He’s in charge of supplies for the regiment.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” said Quaeryt as he took the seat across from Skarpa.

“I’ve never seen a scholar attached to a regiment before.”

“He’s on the governor’s staff,” Skarpa said. “They had to give him officer status.”

Daendyr nodded.

“What have you been doing today?” Skarpa handed the pitcher of amber lager to Quaeryt, who filled his mug.

“Seeing what was in the Khanar’s library.…”

“Who reads all that?” asked Daendyr.

“I’ve read some of them,” admitted Skarpa. “A couple of the books on mounted tactics are good.”

“Then why didn’t they use them?”

“The Khanar’s Guard did. They gave us a lot of trouble, even though we outnumbered them.” Skarpa shook his head. “Then, all of a sudden, they just withdrew, and left the Khanar and his militia or whatever they were outside the palace moat and walls. We would have taken them sooner or later, but it was a lot easier that way.”

“They didn’t have any imagers?” asked Quaeryt. “I heard…”

“Lord Chayar did something about that. We never heard. It wouldn’t matter anyway. Imagers can only do so much, and that doesn’t change things in a pitched battle.”

“What about the High Holders?” asked Quaeryt.

“What about them? They really didn’t fight any more than they had to. The ones here in the south didn’t like the Khanar much. They called him the Pretender or some such.”

“It sounds like he wasn’t very well-liked anywhere.”

Daendyr shook his head. “The backwoods and Boran Hills holders liked him, and so did the High Holders around Noira.”

“The High Holders in the far north don’t count for much. They never have,” countered Skarpa.

“Where do the sisters fit in?” asked Quaeryt.

“The sisters?” Daendyr’s face screwed up in puzzlement.

“Oh … they’re a bunch of spinsters who supposedly poison men who beat their wives,” explained Skarpa. “Something like that, anyway.”

“Where do you get that?” asked Daendyr.

“You hear things.”

“Makes me glad I didn’t wed a local.”

“Have you all been posted here since … since the end of the fighting?”

“We have,” said Skarpa. “They’ll rotate field-grade officers who are married after three years.”

“If they ask, and most won’t,” added Daendyr.

“What about the rankers?”

“They stay for the duration of their term.”

“When they’re mustered out…?”

“They get their bonus and a ride on a transport wagon back to Solis or the closest large town to where they signed up. If they’ve done two ten-year terms, they get a stipend for life. It’s not much, two silvers a month, but…”

“And the marshal sends replacement recruits?”

Daendyr shook his head. “Tilbor’s a part of Telaryn. We have to recruit locals now. We have been for more than eight years.”

“We haven’t had trouble that way at all,” added Skarpa. “The governor makes certain the troops get good rations, and the quarters are good. The uniforms are better than what most of them ever wore.”

“If it weren’t for the backwoods and the northern brigands, it’d be a better life than most of them would ever have.”

“It is anyway.” Skarpa’s tone was wry.

At that moment, a large platter of sliced roast mutton arrived, accompanied by a pitcher of brown gravy and sliced roast potatoes, as well as a large serving dish of spiced stewed apples.

“The mutton’s much better than squid,” observed Skarpa.

“It’s good, but I still like the squid,” said Daendyr.

“You’re from Thuyl. You would.”

Quaeryt smiled and served himself healthy portions of everything before him. It had been a long day since breakfast, and the mess didn’t serve a midday meal.

After eating, and mostly listening, as Quaeryt walked back toward his third-floor quarters, thoughts swirled through his mind. He was getting a picture of how matters were going in Tilbor, and it did appear that the troubles facing the governor and the regiment centered on the backwoods holders and the northern High Holders. In that vein, he also found it interesting that both Phaeryn and Zarxes were from backwoods holder families. He needed to find out if Straesyr or the governor knew that, but, since he wanted to avoid total destruction of the Ecoliae and persecution of scholars, he definitely couldn’t ask directly. He also wasn’t ready to reveal what he’d been doing in the days before he’d arrived at the Telaryn Palace.

And he did need to write some sort of reply to Vaelora.

He also couldn’t help but wonder about the note he’d found in Considerations Behind the Strategy of War . If it had been written by Tyrena, given the handwriting, it had likely been written several years before the war … and if it had been that obvious to her …

He shook his head.

If anything, there were fewer officers at breakfast on Solayi morning than on Samedi night. Quaeryt ate alone, then made his way to the chamber in the lowest level of the palace that held the archives of the khanarate. As the princeps had said, the entry was guarded by an older ranker.

“Good morning, sir. The assistant to the princeps said you might be here.”

“I’m here. Do you know anything about how the records are arranged?”

“No, sir.” The ranker paused. “Excepting that all the papers from the last year or so are in the four wooden boxes on the long table just inside. There.” He pointed. “I’d be guessing that there was no one left to put them in proper order.”

“That might have been difficult,” agreed Quaeryt. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir. Don’t see many down here.”

Quaeryt stepped into the chamber, a stone-walled and windowless enclosure a good ten yards wide and forty deep. The chamber was so still that he could hear the unevenness of his steps and the scuffing sound of the boot on his bad leg. There were two oil lamps lit, both near the table pointed out by the guard, but the rest of the space faded from gloom into near blackness.

He walked to the box nearest the door and stopped. When he lifted the wooden top off the box, a container a yard long, and half a yard deep and tall, he immediately saw that, if anything, the ranker had understated the lack of organization. Papers of all sizes and types, some in leather folders, but most not, were just crammed in, side by side. Dust billowed out, as if no one had looked in the boxes for some time.

He eased the first box to the rear of the long sturdy table and took out the first span of papers from the right end of the box and then set them on the table in front of the box. He picked up the first sheet, glanced at a cargo manifest of some sort, saw that it dealt with woolens and other types of cloth, and set it aside. The second, third, and fourth sheets comprised a petition from a town council requesting the Khanar improve the bridge over a stream because the horses of the Khanar’s Guard had damaged it beyond the ability of the town to repair and it required replacement.