L. Modesitt - Scholar

He paused-except for the scholars, and that might be because of Phaeryn’s and Zarxes’s connections to the timber holders. He rose from the bench, stretched, and took a deep breath, then headed back down to the archives.

By two quints past fourth glass, his eyes were again blurring in the dim light of the two lamps in the archives, and it was getting close enough to time for the evening meal. He had to admit that he was surprised not to have found any other mention of Tyrena in any of the papers he’d viewed, but then, in that time period, she’d been old enough that little would have been said, and young enough, if Chardyn and Sarastyn were accurate, that marriage was not yet an issue. Or … someone had removed the papers dealing with her.

While that omission bothered him, he doubted that, except for satisfying his own curiosity, it was terribly relevant to his mission for Bhayar. Still … until he knew otherwise, he couldn’t just dismiss the absence of Tyrena from the records.

He was just heading up the lower staircase when he saw Vhorym coming down.

“Sir? The princeps wanted me to let you know that the governor will see you at ninth glass tomorrow morning.”

“Ninth glass. Thank you. Ah … where is his study?”

“It’s on the other side of the rotunda exactly opposite the princeps’s study.”

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Quaeryt let the squad leader hurry back up the stone steps, then made his way to the wash room near the mess, before returning to join the officers in the mess.

“Scholar … come join us!” The call came from a tall captain that Quaeryt didn’t even recall seeing before.

Quaeryt smiled and walked toward the table closest to the door, where the captain stood. “I’m Quaeryt, formerly with the Scholarium Solum in Solis.”

“Kalphryn, senior captain, engineers.” He gestured to the place across from him.

“Thank you.” Quaeryt sat, as did the captain.

“Captain Meinyt said you came out from Solis. What news do you have?”

“Solis is still as hot as ever in summer and harvest,” Quaeryt said wryly. “Nothing’s burned down; no one’s at war, or wasn’t when I departed; and I should have ridden overland with a courier, even if I’m not quite the worst rider in Lydar, because coming by ship got me wrecked and near-drowned.”

Kalphryn smiled; the two captains beside him laughed.

“We heard Rex Kharst had his eyes on Antiago,” said Kalphryn.

“He probably does, but the word in the tavernas was that he was still having trouble with Khel.”

“Word also is that you’re getting dispatches from Solis.”

Quaeryt managed to laugh immediately. “Yes … I did get a missive from one who would rather be a student of mine, and it asked about how a scholar would determine how to trust those who would give advice.”

“He must be wealthy.”

“She is … and far beyond my reach, especially given her family’s proclivity to marry well. I’m doubtless a diversion. As for other news … there’s a new minister of finance, but I don’t recall his name, and there’s also a new pleasure house a mere five blocks east of the palace.…” Quaeryt went on for a time, trying to recall every bit of news and trivia that he could, occasionally taking a sip of the lager that had appeared in the mug before him, before finally ending, “… and on the voyage here, I did discover that the City Patrol chief of Nacliano doesn’t like scholars, or bookstores, and that some merchanters are now carrying cannon with shells that hold Antiagon Fire. That’s likely to mean that whatever war gets fought next will be largely on land.” Quaeryt turned to the engineer captain. “You have more experience in that, far more, than do I. What do you think?”

“Nasty stuff, Antiagon Fire … not that much of it, though … few imagers can create it … still … you’d need warships with iron hulls and decks, and they’d be slow and sluggish under sail … be costly and take forever to build, too…”

Quaeryt nodded and kept listening, even as he took a healthy helping of the sauce-covered cutlets and mashed potatoes on the platter passed down the table.

After breakfast on Mardi, Quaeryt went to his small but well-appointed study, where he settled in to think about all the documents he had read over the previous three days and what they had conveyed to him. At half a quint before ninth glass he crossed the second level of the palace to the south side and entered the anteroom to the governor’s study.

An undercaptain in pristine greens looked up from the table desk nearest the closed door to the study. “Scholar Quaeryt. Please have a seat. The governor will be ready for you shortly.”

Quaeryt sat in one of the wooden captain’s chairs set just out from the wall. He’d barely settled himself when the door to the study opened and a trim but muscular man of moderate height stepped out, wearing perfectly tailored undress greens, with the silver starbursts of a marshal on his collars and everything in place from his short blond hair, interspersed with a few silver strands, down to his polished black boots. The cheerful-looking pale green eyes that flanked a straight strong nose took in Quaeryt, and a smile appeared on the governor’s lightly tanned and weathered face.

“So you’re the scholar Lord Bhayar sent?”

“Yes, sir. Quaeryt Rytersyn.”

“Come in.” With another smile, Rescalyn gestured and turned, as if expecting Quaeryt to follow him.

Quaeryt did, and the undercaptain quickly stood and moved to close the study door behind him.

Rescalyn did not seat himself behind the wide but simple table desk that held only a single leather folder. Instead, he stood by the window, not facing toward either it or Quaeryt. “Beautiful day, isn’t it? It’s hard to believe that in little more than a season, the snow will begin to fall.”

Quaeryt knew that the cold struck early in Tilbor … but snow in the middle of autumn? “It’s a long winter here, I take it.”

“Especially compared to Solis … if you can call the slight chill there in Ianus and Fevier winter.” The governor turned. “Do sit down.” He seated himself and waited several moments before speaking again. “The princeps tells me that you’re here to find out why the Tilborans are so stiff-necked and ungovernable.”

“I don’t believe-”

Rescalyn laughed genially and waved off Quaeryt’s words. “Spare me the politely worded qualifications and denials. He’s the Lord of Telaryn. He wants to know why I continue to need a full regiment, with supporting battalions, and all the golds they require ten years after his father conquered Tilbor. Either that or the High Holders in the rest of Telaryn are complaining about their tariffs, and he needs a better explanation. He’s got his hands full with the border problems with Kharst and with the Autarch of Antiago, and the last place he wants to be is another thousand milles farther away. So he sent you. I understand. There’s nothing mysterious about it.”

Quaeryt couldn’t help but be impressed by the governor’s words and understanding, not to mention the warmth and understanding in his tone, or the amused smile with which Rescalyn had finished his statement. “He did express concern.”

“Of course he did. Any ruler with brains would be concerned, and I’m glad to see that he is. I’ll be more than happy to make sure that you see and understand fully the problems we’re facing here, and I’ve already conveyed to the princeps that you’re to be given every opportunity to verify anything he or I may tell you-or to find, if you can, anything that contradicts what we may say. I doubt that you’ll find anything contrary to what we’ve reported to Lord Bhayar, but I can definitely understand why he needs to know. The best place to start would be the dispatch files, and when you leave here, I’ll have Undercaptain Caermyt take you there.”