Scholar

by L. E. Modesitt

  “The former scholar princeps slit the throat of the Master Scholar and fled. The Sansang master vanished some weeks before that, and his assistant fled, presumably to the Boran Hills, with the scholar princeps. The governor has requested that I serve for a time as Master Scholar in order to return the scholarium to a place of learning and study, similar to other scholaria throughout Lydar.”

  “There has been some word of that,” admitted the factor.

  “I have found that the preceptor of students has always been devoted to the schooling provided by the scholarium. He has also not been involved in those activities that many have found less than scholarly. Likewise, the bursar appears most honest.” Quaeryt smiled politely and waited.

  “I had not heard ill of the preceptor … even under the previous Master Scholar.”

  “Are you considering having one of your children study here?”

  Embrayt nodded. “My second son. He is sharp of mind and wit, but…”

  “His talents do not lie in your factoring?”

  “One leg is not as it should be.”

  “I do understand.”

  “I noticed.…”

  Quaeryt nodded. “It has been that way from when I was young, perhaps from birth. How old is your son?”

  “He will be twelve in Finitas.”

  “Would he be amenable to being separated from his family?”

  “He would miss us, I am certain. He would not miss those of his age.”

  Quaeryt also understood that. “Would you like to speak to Scholar Nalakyn about the course of study?”

  Embrayt smiled and shook his head. “There is no need. That, I knew before I came. I wished to meet you before we decided. Now I can talk to Emdahl and hope he will agree that his future lies in study.” The factor rose.

  Quaeryt stood as well. “We will wait on your decision.”

  “We will see.” The factor nodded and turned to leave the study.

  Quaeryt moved quickly so that he could escort Embrayt out, and the two walked side by side down the corridor. Quaeryt did open the front door, but he stopped at the top of the steps.

  The factor stopped as well, then nodded to Quaeryt. “Good day, master scholar.”

  “The same to you, and a pleasant ride home.”

  When Embrayt walked down the steps, Quaeryt turned his study on the waiting coach—painted or stained dark brown with brass trimmings and drawn by a marched pair of chestnuts. The coachman was also dressed in brown. With such a carriage, Embrayt had to be well off, if not more so.

  What does he factor? That wasn’t the sort of question that he could have asked under the circumstances, but he did wonder as he watched the team and coach leave the scholarium.

  “Sir?”

  Quaeryt turned to see Lankyt standing at the edge of the porch near the steps.

  “Yes, Lankyt?”

  “Some of the others say the governor is going to close down the Ecol—I mean, the scholarium. That’s because he hates the scholars.”

  “One never should guess about what is in someone’s mind or thoughts. I won’t, but I will say that, if the governor wanted to close the scholarium, why would he order me to restructure it so that it is like all the other good scholaria in Telaryn? He could far more easily have instructed me to proceed with closing it down and turning out the scholars and students.”

  “He still could, sir.”

  “He could indeed. Is that likely when Lord Bhayar has dispatched a scholar to Tilbor?”

  Lankyt frowned, then said quickly, jabbing a finger in the direction of the departing coach, “Is one of his sons going to study here?”

  “He is considering it.”

  “Who is he?”

  “His name is Embrayt. He’s a factor.”

  “He’s wealthy, then.”

  “I imagine so, with that coach and team.”

  “No … I’ve heard his name. He owns a brick factorage and a produce factorage, and some other things, too.”

  Quaeryt nodded. “What else have you heard?”

  “That’s all.” Another pause followed. “Are you going to stay as Master Scholar?”

  “For a time, anyway. Lord Bhayar sent me to be an assistant to the princeps. Even if I go back to the Telaryn Palace, I’d probably still be charged with dealing with the scholarium.”

  “Lankyt?” called a youthful voice from the east end of the porch.

  “I’m coming,” replied the student loudly, before turning back to Quaeryt and saying in a much lower voice, “Good day, sir.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t help smiling as the young man hurried off.

  74

  Solayi arrived, and the day passed with no messages and no word from the palace, from either Straesyr or the governor. The lack of communication tended to confirm that Quaeryt wasn’t in the best of graces with either man, but that neither wanted to act against him directly, and until one, especially the governor, or the other could, he was relegated to reforming the scholarium. As part of that effort, he devoted himself, among other matters, to writing out a set of principles for the scholars of the scholarium.

  As the time for services approached, he put down the pen, rose from the table desk, and stretched. Then he left the study and walked to the rear porch, since the way to the anomen was shorter from there. He was halfway across the porch when Nalakyn hurried up to join him.

  “Are you going to services, master scholar?”

  “I am.”

  “Might I accompany you?”

  “Of course.” Quaeryt understood that Nalakyn wanted to bring up something.

  “Do you know how long you will be … posted here as Master Scholar?”

  “No. Neither the princeps nor the governor has said.”

  “You have named me as acting princeps…”

  Quaeryt understood. “You think that I should formalize who will be in charge in my absence?”

  “It would make matters clearer.”

  Quaeryt smiled faintly. “I can and will write out a plan of succession, but it will be good only with the approval of the governor. It will also only be good for one year after my permanent departure. After that, as in every other scholarium in Telaryn, the Master Scholar must be approved by a majority of the scholars over the age of thirty. I trust that will suffice.”

  “Ah … yes, sir.”

  “I will also make your position as scholar princeps official, but you will continue as preceptor of students as well.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “I’m glad you brought it up.” And Quaeryt was. What Nalakyn had suggested was something Quaeryt should have done earlier, just to give the scholarium the best chance of survival if anything happened to him. “One other thing—I’m also working on a set of principles for the scholarium. When I’ve finished the first draft, I’d like your thoughts about any additions or changes you’d like me to consider.”

  “Yes, sir. I’d be happy to look it over. Perhaps Yullyd…”

  “I’ll have him look at it as well.”

  Quaeryt didn’t have much more to say, and they were almost at the anomen. He just walked in and stood on the left side, about halfway back. Even so, when Cyrethyn appeared, his eyes flicked to Quaeryt, and the chorister gave the faintest of nods.

  As usual, Quaeryt did not sing out loudly, but watched the scholars and students. More than a few cast glances in his direction. When the time came for the homily, he waited, wondering if Cyrethyn would deliver what he suggested.

  After the opening for the homily, the chorister left no doubt.

  “Earlier this week, I visited the Master Scholar. I owe this homily to him. He raised a question that I never heard stated so directly. Can an honest man be evil? Or can he do evil while being honest? My immediate thought was that such was not possible. Yet the more I thought about it, the less convinced I became. What if such a man were honestly convinced that what he did was for the best? Could he not tell the honest truth and still do evil?

  “We do not
think this is possible because in the life most of us live, we cannot be evil and lie. If you ask the miller if he has given you fair value, he cannot cheat you and give honest reply. Nor can the weaver give you cloth with a thread count that cheats you without lying, if he is asked. But what of those we cannot ask? What of those whose words are true, yet whose actions in accord with those words lead to evil?

  “A holder tells his tenants that they must give more of their crop yield to him because his costs have risen. He tells the truth, but is that increased tariff not evil for those tenants? The lord of a land goes to battle, saying the battle is necessary. Even if he tells the truth, does that battle not cause evil for many who are innocent? The words and the names are spoken in truth. Yet evil follows.

  “In a similar fashion, that is why Naming can be so evil. We can name a person or a thing honestly, but the name we give it, and the respect we pay that name, conceals its evil. The glory of battle and the tales of heroism conceal the evil of the deaths of young men who believed they were doing right … or doing what they had to do, trying to survive. Increasing one’s profits honestly, if one is a merchant or a factor, is said to be good. If he does so by increasing his prices, that is an honest act, done openly. Yet if those who must buy his goods are poor and in bad times, that honest act is evil for them, even as it may be necessary for the merchant to keep his shop.

  “Likewise, is blind honesty always good? Is it good to tell an elderly widow or a scholar in failing health that death stands waiting …

  “Claiming that one is honest when one ignores the results of such honesty is indeed a form of Naming. Why? Because the very word ‘honesty,’ like Naming, places the word above the action and the results of that action…”

  As he stood there, listening, Quaeryt was troubled by the homily.

  75

  On Lundi, Quaeryt completed the statement of policies and the document of succession and dispatched a copy to Straesyr with a letter noting that it clearly fell within the princeps’s authority since it was a nonmilitary matter. Then, early on Mardi morning, a student rushed into the dining hall and halted at the table where Quaeryt sat with Yullyd and Nalakyn.

  “Sir, there are soldiers riding up the lane.” The youth’s voice cracked with the last words.

  Quaeryt stood immediately. “How many?”

  “Not all that many. About as many as are here now. Twenty or twenty-five?”

  “Then … it’s not bad news for the scholarium. It might just be a message for me.” Quaeryt offered a smile he didn’t feel to the other two. “If you’ll excuse me…”

  “You’ll let us know?” asked Nalakyn nervously.

  “As soon as I can.” Quaeryt walked swiftly out of the dining hall and then to the front porch. He arrived just as a squad leader, followed by his men, reined up short of the steps.

  “Scholar, sir … You’re Scholar Quaeryt, are you not?”

  “The very same, Squad Leader.”

  “Yes, sir.” The squad leader paused, then said, “The governor requests that you accompany us to join him in the campaign against the hill holders.”

  “What’s happened?” Quaeryt had several thoughts on the possibilities. With Zarxes’s and Alkiabys’s disappearance through the secret tunnel, neither the hill holder revolt nor Rescalyn’s summons surprised him greatly. He’d half-anticipated that something would happen sooner, but the delay suggested that the hill holders had spent some time organizing and that Rescalyn faced a combined force. Then, that was only his surmise.

  “The hill holders have gathered an army. They killed most of one company on a patrol and have besieged Boralieu.”

  To Quaeryt, that made little sense unless they’d also declared that their quarrel was with the governor or Lord Bhayar and they were urging others to rise against Telaryn. But he doubted that the squad leader would know those details. “What about Rheusyd and second squad? Are they to remain or to join us?”

  “They are also to accompany us.”

  “Are we going back to the palace or are we to meet the governor on the road?”

  “He was leaving the Telaryn Palace when we did. We’re to rejoin the force on the road.”

  “I need to tell Rheusyd and his men and gather some gear. I won’t be long.”

  By the time Quaeryt reentered the building, both Yullyd and Nalakyn were standing in the foyer. They both looked at him inquisitively. He gestured toward the Master Scholar’s study, and they followed him.

  Once inside, with the door shut, he turned. “The hill holders have revolted…” He went on to explain, then added, “You’re Master Scholar in my absence, Nalakyn. Yullyd, you’re the scholar princeps. While nothing is certain, I think it likely that, whatever happens, the scholarium will continue. If the rebels prevail—which is most unlikely—they will wish it. If the governor wins, he certainly won’t shut it down.”

  “What … about you … sir?” asked Nalakyn.

  “I’ve always served Lord Bhayar and the governor. What happens in the next month or so will determine how I serve them in the future. In the meantime, you two have to carry on.” Quaeryt grinned. “And make sure you charge new students the new fees.”

  “Yes, sir,” agreed Yullyd.

  “I need to gather my gear and talk to Rheusyd. I’m going to leave some clothing here.” Such as dress and undress jackets and a set of good browns.

  Since Rheusyd wasn’t in the dining hall, Quaeryt hurried upstairs, gathered a second set of browns and other items together, including the worn green uniform shirt, and put them in the circular kit bag they had arrived in, then hurried back to the main floor. As he left the building for the stable, Quaeryt saw Lankyt waiting on the rear porch, a worried expression on his face. Recalling what he had told the young man on Samedi, he couldn’t help but suspect that Lankyt would be even more worried about the future of the scholarium. Lankyt’s fears were justified, despite what Quaeryt had told Nalakyn and Yullyd, because, if anything happened to Quaeryt, while the scholarium would likely remain, who would be left to stand up for the scholars and students against the past not-so-benign neglect of the governor?

  “Sir?”

  “I’ve been recalled to duty with the governor’s forces. The hill holders have attacked the post at Boralieu.”

  “They’ve rebelled?” Lankyt’s voice held incredulity.

  “They wouldn’t call it such,” replied Quaeryt dryly. “I don’t think that they’ve ever believed they owed allegiance to any ruler. They always bargained with the Khanar or ignored him, and the governor has shown that Lord Bhayar won’t be bargained with or ignored.” Even if it has been a while coming.

  “They couldn’t have done this because the governor sent you here. They couldn’t.”

  “That was just the excuse they were looking for. They’ve been attacking the patrols out of Boralieu for years.” But they think that Rescalyn double-crossed them over the Ecoliae when his “agreement” with Phaeryn was just designed to set matters up the way Rescalyn wanted it. It was more than clear to Quaeryt that Rescalyn had promised not to dismantle the Ecoliae so long as the scholars refrained from overt action against the Telaryn Palace—effectively setting up the hill holders as the prime source of opposition, suiting Rescalyn’s long-term plans perfectly.

  “Will you be back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Lankyt looked down, then raised his eyes. “Best of fortune, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Quaeryt smiled warmly, then hurried toward the stables to find Rheusyd.

  Less than a half glass later, Quaeryt rode near the head of the two squads beside Lharym, the leader of the squad sent to fetch Quaeryt. The scholar’s gear fit easily behind his saddle.

  “They’ll be taking the river road for a good twenty milles,” offered Lharym.

  Quaeryt nodded, forbearing to note that he’d traveled that route twice before. “Do you know if the rebel holders sent any word or declaration to the governor?”

  “No, sir. I don’t.
Captain Theyn didn’t, either.”

  “Has anyone said how many rebels there are under arms?”

  “Thousands … that’s the word.”

  If there were thousands, a lot of them weren’t likely to be all that well trained, unlike Rescalyn’s “regiment.” But then, Quaeryt reflected, he could be wrong in that assessment.

  Almost a glass went by before Quaeryt rode up to the command group, not quite at the front of the long column riding northwest on the river road.

  “Scholar! Over here!” Rescalyn’s voice boomed over the sounds of men and mounts.

  As Quaeryt rode toward the governor, he had to admit that, especially on horseback, Rescalyn was a commanding figure, erect in the saddle and radiating confidence.

  “Governor, I’m reporting as you requested.”

  “You made haste.” Rescalyn smiled. “Even with that leg of yours, you’d make a good cavalry officer.” He gestured. “Ride with me.”

  Quaeryt guided the mare alongside the larger black gelding ridden by the governor, noting that the rankers and officers before and behind them moved away, giving Rescalyn space.

  “It appears that your efforts to convince the local scholars to abandon their opposition to Lord Bhayar are about to bear fruit—the bitter kind.”

  “Sir?” Quaeryt was fairly certain he knew what was coming.

  “Young Waerfyl, Saentaryn, Demotyl, and Huisfyl have declared their independence from Telaryn. They claim that the imposition of a foreign scholar over the true scholars of Tilbor is an absolute confirmation of the fact that Telaryn intends to destroy all independence of belief and thought in Tilbor. They are the ones who sent the message with a wounded ranker, but they claim other holders have also joined them. Since you precipitated this fracture, I thought you should participate in the aftermath.” Rescalyn smiled warmly.

  Quaeryt debated for a moment, then spoke. “I’m glad I was able to bring about what you’ve been seeking, sir.”

  Rescalyn’s momentary frown vanished almost immediately. Then he laughed. “You’re far more than a scholar, Master Quaeryt. How did you deduce that?”