Scholar ip-4

by L. E. Modesitt

  “I will.”

  Before Quaeryt’s words had died away, Yullyd was on his way down the corridor to his study. Yullyd’s last words had been a reminder to keep paying, as well as an indication of the perilous state of the finances of the Ecoliae.

  Quaeryt kept his frown to himself and walked out onto the covered north porch. There he looked in the direction of the Telaryn Palace, where the sky was merely overcast, but a gust of cool wind prompted him to turn to the northwest, where dark clouds had massed and were moving toward Tilbora. Another gust of wind swept the porch, strong enough to shake some of the heavy wooden chairs and to move others fractionally. Then came the patter of rain on the roof, a patter that died away, then repeated itself.

  Quaeryt decided against taking a ride, at least for the while. He could always pore over the library, although Sarastyn had been dismissive of the Ecoliae’s holdings. Still, there might be something of value there, even if not along the lines of his purported research, and he might find something else that would shed light on better ways for the governor to deal with Tilbor. He reentered the building and walked to the northeast corner.

  The library at the Ecoliae was hardly that-just a large chamber some ten yards long and eight wide, filled with wall shelves and two rows of freestanding head-high, back-to-back bookcases. While a thin graying scholar who had been seated at one of the tables near Quaeryt on Solayi night looked up from the table desk near the door, then nodded pleasantly, there were no bars on the windows and no grated doors guarding the library. Quaeryt did note a solid lock on the door and inside shutters on the windows.

  Not knowing what was shelved where, and deciding against asking for obvious reasons, since he had no idea who did, or who didn’t, inform Zarxes or Chardyn, he began by starting at the top shelf on the outer wall and taking down the first book and opening it to see the title-The Practice and Profession of Music. A quick sampling of that set of shelves suggested that all were about music and drama. The books about drama surprised Quaeryt, since only the largest cities had playhouses, and most drama was produced in the smaller theatres of High Holders, as was virtually all orchestral music-except when Lord Bhayar had his band play in the Palace Square on special holidays, such as Year-Turn or Summer-Light.

  The next two shelves held various works on philosophy, including one that would have intrigued Quaeryt had he felt he had the time to read it-Rholan as Philosopher. The very title might have gotten the author drowned or burned at one time, but when Quaeryt read the name on the title page, he almost laughed. The book had been written by Ryter Rytersyn. He did thumb through the introduction quickly, and one paragraph caught his eye.

  … Rholan is revered to this day, and doubtless will be so for generations to come as the voice of the Nameless, as the Unnamer, as the man who destroyed the sacredness of names, yet few, if any, have remarked upon the fact that he used common nouns, names, to do so … suggesting either conscious irony or even a great sense of humor …

  Quaeryt smiled, thinking he might have liked to have met the author, but that was rather unlikely, since, if the date was correct, the man, or possibly the woman, given the pseudonym, had been dead for over a century. Then he moved to the next shelf.

  After more than a glass, Quaeryt realized that Sarastyn, if anything, had understated the lack of historical tomes in the library. He found one short shelf of histories, and all seventeen books dealt with other lands-Bovaria, Khel, Tela, Ryntar, Antiago, Ferrum, Jariola-but not Tilbor, or they were rather dated geographies.

  His eyes were blurring, almost tearing, when he finally left the library after three odd glasses and made his way outside into the cool air brought by the harvest storm. The heavy rain had begun to turn the brick lane down to the road into a small stream, and the road below into a river. With the rain now coming down in sheets, he wasn’t about to take the mare out for a ride … and if it kept falling, he’d have to suffer through another evening meal at the Ecoliae.

  He did sigh quietly at that thought, then decided to return to the library. Perhaps, amid all the dross and irrelevancies, he might find something of value. Perhaps.

  30

  The rain was still falling on Meredi morning, if more steadily, rather than in sheeting gusts, but Quaeryt saw no point in trying to ride on roads that were streams if they were paved-which most weren’t-and quagmires if they weren’t. He didn’t see Sarastyn anywhere, and, for lack of anything better to do, he made his way back to the library.

  This time he did stop before the quiet scholar apparently in charge of the chamber. “I’ve seen you here and in the dining hall, but I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Quaeryt.”

  “Foraugh. I’m the librarian. I imagine you’ve guessed that.”

  The librarian’s heavy and thick Tellan accent suggested he might not be from Tilbora, and Quaeryt asked, “I get the feeling you’re not from this part of Tilbor. Is that right, or am I just too unfamiliar with the northeast of Lydar?”

  “No, sir. You’ve that right. I’m from the hills south of Midcote. That’s the oldest part of Tilbor. That was what my grandpere said, anyway. Usually, he was right. He was a potter, and these days folks will fight over his work.”

  “How did you come to be a scholar?”

  “I spoiled too many pots. My father sent me here. He said that education ruined a man for honest work, but since I was ruined anyway, it couldn’t do me any more harm.” Foraugh offered a crooked smile.

  “How long have you been here?”

  “Sixteen years. Five as a student-copyist, and eleven as a scholar.”

  “The copying paid for your schooling?”

  “I doubt that it did, but Master Scholar Phaeryn said it did.”

  “I noticed there aren’t many books on history.”

  “No. When we returned from the hills after the war, almost all the history references were gone. I’ve borrowed and copied what I could find…”

  “Didn’t anyone stay here during the war-to look after things?”

  “Scholar Chardyn and a few others did. From what he said, I think the partisans may have taken over the Ecoliae for a time.”

  “The partisans?”

  “Oh … that was the name they gave themselves. They were the ones who kept fighting after Lord Chayar’s soldiers captured and executed Khanar Rhecyrd. The fighting in parts of Tilbora lasted over a year, closer to two.”

  “It must have seemed the right thing for Scholar Chardyn to do, then, after his service to Khanar Rhecyrd.”

  “I would judge so, but he never speaks about that time. None of us do. Those were the black years.”

  “I imagine times were very difficult for most people.”

  “The High Holders didn’t fare that badly. They have their own guards and armsmen, and the governor didn’t want to fight them, not after they attacked High Holder Jaraul, and lost almost five hundred soldiers to his two hundred.”

  “They killed Jaraul?”

  “They did, but, later, the governor pardoned him and granted half the lands back to his widow and surviving son. That was part of the agreement between the High Holders and Lord Chayar … well, the agreement signed on his behalf by the governor. That stopped the fighting between the High Holders and the governor. After that … the partisans had to give up. Mostly, anyway, except for occasional attacks on careless soldiers.”

  “The governor caught most of them?”

  “Oh, no. They just slipped away, back to whatever they’d been doing. Well … as they could. It didn’t make sense to fight much when they’d been betrayed by the High Holders.”

  “For a time, the High Holders gave them support, until they-the High Holders-reached an agreement with the governor?”

  “I don’t know. It seemed that the High Holders used the partisans as a tool to help force the governor to come to an agreement. Then they forgot how many partisans died.”

  Quaeryt let himself wince. “That seems…”

  “The way the High Holders always hav
e been, in any land. Are they any different in Solis?”

  “They’re … less direct, I’d say, but probably no different.”

  Foraugh offered a sad smile. “You see?”

  “None of the students come from their families?”

  “They seldom leave their estates, and they have tutors, mainly from Bovaria. The wealthiest of our students would be paupers compared to the poorest children of the High Holders.”

  That was no surprise to Quaeryt, but the answer he already knew wasn’t why he’d asked the question. “Then, the older timbering families, like those of Master Scholar Phaeryn, they’re not High Holders?”

  “No. They’re highlanders and backlanders. They have lands, but not hoards of golds. Not most of them anyway. They also own the timber road to Midcote.”

  “So most of the timber from Tilbor comes from Midcote?”

  “It always has.”

  Despite talking to Foraugh for another glass, Quaeryt learned little more. Nor did an additional glass in the library turn up anything new of note. When he finally left the library and stepped out onto the porch, the rain had stopped, and the clouds had retreated to a high overcast that appeared to be thinning. He had begun to consider what of those inquiries he had determined to be necessary he might best pursue with Sarastyn when Scholar Princeps Zarxes approached.

  “Ah … Quaeryt, what do you think of our harvest rains?”

  “For the sake of the holders and growers, I hope they had most of their harvesting done-or that what is left is mainly hay … or the like.”

  “You sound like a grower. Do you have relations who are?”

  “None that I know of, sir,” replied Quaeryt politely. “And you?”

  “Not I. Phaeryn and I come from timbering families. I grew up with an ax in my hands, while Phaeryn was raised riding through those lands and marking trees.” Zarxes smiled broadly. “I have not seen much of you, except in the dining hall, although I hear you have made many inquiries of Sarastyn. Will you be with us much longer?”

  “I anticipate at least until the end of the week, if not longer. I’m learning a great deal from Sarastyn, and even some from Scholar Chardyn.”

  “Ah, yes. They each know history in a differing fashion. Well … I will look forward to reading whatever you write … if, of course, you can have a copy made for our poor library.”

  “That decision, sir, I will have to defer to my patron.”

  “You never did mention his name, I don’t believe.”

  “I did not. That was his wish.”

  “His command, perhaps?”

  “Hardly. He does not express himself to me in that fashion, for which I am grateful.”

  Make of that what you will.

  “You should be. In that you are most fortunate.”

  “I suspect it is just that he is perceptive. He is a good patron, and one I would not wish to lose. So I listen, and he sees that.”

  “Many are not so reasonable, such as Lord Bhayar.”

  “I have never been in any position to make that judgment,” replied Quaeryt with a light laugh. “From what everyone says, I would not wish to be.”

  “Nor I.” Zarxes smiled pleasantly. “It would appear we will have a sunny and pleasant afternoon. Do enjoy it, as you can.”

  “I have more to learn, but I will.” As I can, while always being aware of what lies behind me.

  Zarxes did not glance back.

  Shortly, the sun began to break through the overcast, and then the wind picked up. Directly after the sunshine strengthened, Sarastyn appeared on the south porch, and Quaeryt immediately approached the older man.

  “More questions, Scholar Quaeryt?”

  “Of course. Once I have thought over what I’ve learned from you, then I discover I have more questions.”

  “That is always the way for a scholar.” Sarastyn looked out to the south. “The Ice Cleft will be open before all that long. But before that, I will endeavor to provide suitable responses.”

  “It will be open … after all the rain?”

  “Especially after all the rain. Here in Tilbor the soil is thin and drains well, too well the growers say, and with this wind, even the muddiest of byways will be passable by tomorrow. The Ice Cleft is on the main road, and I’m careful where I put my feet.” Sarastyn raised his thin eyebrows. “Your question, Scholar Quaeryt?”

  “Who were the partisans?”

  “You might as well ask the name of the wind-or the Nameless,” replied Sarastyn gruffly. “Any Tilboran-except a High Holder-could be a partisan at some time or another.” The old scholar snorted. “There have been partisans in Tilbor since the first Khanar. Anyone who acts on a grievance against a ruler or a High Holder declares himself a partisan.”

  “Has anyone written about partisans who changed things-or have any been that successful?”

  “Most partisans are more successful in stopping change than making it. To stop change, all you have to do is kill people who can effect change. To make a change in the way a land does things, you have to convince people, and few want to change.”

  “So the best way to make a change is to convince people you’re restoring the old ways that they loved?” Quaeryt’s voice was only slightly sardonic.

  “If you were a ruler or a governor, Scholar Quaeryt, you might possess the potential to be dangerous. As a scholar, you’re merely eccentric, and young for being so. Eccentricity is tolerated in the old, because we are believed unable to accomplish much. In the young, eccentricity is viewed as dangerous or a symptom of mental defect, neither of which is desirable.”

  “I will attempt to refrain from displaying such,” replied Quaeryt. “Are the remaining partisans the ones behind the occasional attacks on the governor’s soldiers?”

  “By definition, anyone who attacks an occupier of a land is a partisan. I personally suspect that many of those so-called partisans are rather well-dressed, well-armed, and well-fed. They might even be well-mounted. That is only a suspicion, you understand.”

  “Were I as eccentric and as suspicious as you seem to think,” said Quaeryt with a smile, “I would say that a High Holder who professed peaceful intentions while inciting others to violence indirectly might effectively strengthen his position, and that of all High Holders, with the governor.”

  “You’d not be the first to say so, but if you made that known, and could prove it to the governor, you might well be the first one to remain alive for saying such.”

  “Even among scholars?”

  Sarastyn laughed, softly. “Scholars must live in the world around them, no matter what one studies, and they must accept charity and funds-or take them-where they can. Can it be that one so traveled as yourself has found it otherwise?”

  “I wish that I could deny your observation, but … alas … I cannot.”

  “Since you cannot, have you other questions … of a less present historical nature?”

  “When was the Timber Road constructed, and did any High Holders oppose it?”

  Sarastyn cocked his head. “Fascinating question … fascinating.”

  The fact that there was no obvious sarcasm in the older scholar’s reply bothered Quaeryt far more than sarcasm would have, but he just waited to see what Sarastyn would say.

  “When the timbering clans of the Boran Hills began digging the road out of the very rocks of the hillsides, no one noticed. And few others noticed when they bought steads that yielded little-until the road across them appeared. By the time their efforts were too obvious to be concealed, there was little that High Holder Arimyn and High Holder Baelzyt could do, because the timbering clans had also constructed a shorter road from their timber road to the Reserve of the Khanar, a fact which did not escape the eyes of Ciendar-the son of Nidar the Great. Nor was Ciendar exactly displeased when the clans granted him freedom of passage, even for any timber he might wish to sell in Midcote. That strengthened the treasury.…” Sarastyn shrugged. “Arimyn and Baelzyt still pay annual tariffs to use the road.
”

  “With all the timber of Tilbor, and all those who fish, why has no Khanar ever developed a fleet?”

  “What would have been the point? Outside of timber and fish, neither of which travels well for any great distance, what else do we send on the waves? What would a fleet protect? How would the Khanar have paid for it? Besides, ships require men who can work together day after day and who can take orders.” Another laugh followed. “Too few men in Tilbor can do either.”

  For the next glass Quaeryt asked more questions, not quite at random, but in a variety of areas, because the responses to his more direct questions had been less useful than he would have thought.

  Then, after another response, Sasastyn cleared his throat meaningfully. “Again, you have exhausted my voice and my memory, young Quaeryt, and it is time for me to depart and to refresh it.” The older man slowly stood.

  So did Quaeryt.

  The rest of the day was even less productive.

  He walked over to the anomen, looking for the ancient chorister, who might have some useful recollections, but the building was empty. He spent almost a glass studying it and found little remarkable there, except for noting that the recent repairs, while not exactly shoddy, looked to be of less than the highest quality of workmanship, almost as if they had been accomplished by students.

  They probably were.

  Later, he stopped by the tailor shop in the Ecoliae and picked up the garments he had ordered from Naxim. They were of surprisingly good quality, if of wool, which would limit when he could wear them when he returned to Solis, and far better, he had to admit, than those that he had lost in Nacliano.

  He wasn’t looking forward to another meal in the dining hall, but he also didn’t want to walk or ride the still-muddy roads, whether Sarastyn did or not.

  31

  As Sarastyn had predicted, Jeudi morning dawned bright, clear, and dry, and Quaeryt rode out immediately after breakfast, this time to follow those roads that were brick-paved to the east and north of the Ecoliae. Even with Sarastyn’s observations about the soils of Tilbor, he wasn’t about to risk the mare on muddy clay or dirt tracks. Others didn’t seem so reticent, and by eighth glass, Quaeryt found that there were farm wagons on the road, as well as others, although he did note that many of the wagons had wider wheel rims than those in the south.