Scholar ip-4

by L. E. Modesitt

  … and yet … would Rescalyn have made a better ruler of Telaryn than Bhayar?

  Quite possibly, if he merely succeeded Bhayar, reflected Quaeryt, as he limped back toward Sixth Battalion, but what he would have had to do to consolidate his rule would have negated his abilities. And … Bhayar was a good ruler, for all his faults. The cost of a civil war to everyone, and the deaths and the unrest, would have far outweighed the benefits of a ruler who might have been a better ruler. Then, too, there was the problem that Rescalyn had no heirs, and succession was yet another problem, while Bhayar already had two sons.

  The risks for Telaryn-and you-were too great.

  He kept walking.

  93

  A sunny Samedi followed Vendrei, and an even warmer Solayi followed Samedi-and Myskyl, thankfully, did not request that Quaeryt offer a homily at the evening services. Quaeryt avoided attending, afraid that he would hear either a eulogy of some sort to Rescalyn or thanks for the great victory over Zorlyn. While it had been a significant victory, and the one that, for all intents and purposes, broke the power of the hill holders, even if Myskyl might have to ravage another holding, going to those services would have reminded Quaeryt of all the costs that were never mentioned … and his own part in how matters turned out. So he remained with those of Sixth Battalion who did not attend.

  On Mardi morning, a column of the riding wounded, those, like Quaeryt, who were on the way to recovery, left Zorlyn’s holding and made their way back to Boralieu. Quaeryt rode an almost-broken-down gelding, since no one seemed to know where the mare was-or if she had even survived the battle. She’d carried him through so much … and to have her vanish … He tried not to think about that … as well as other matters-at least not until he felt better.

  They arrived at Boralieu well after sunset on Meredi, but before total darkness. Quaeryt had not heard whether the remaining hill holders had agreed to terms when they left, and no one of the small contingent that remained at Boralieu had any word on what had occurred when they arrived.

  Over the next two days, Quaeryt forced himself to write up a report for Bhayar, one that summarized exactly what had happened during that part of the campaign in which he had participated, but which said nothing at all about his personal efforts. Between the physical effort of writing it one-handed, which took more care than he had anticipated, and the mental effort of seeking exactly the right words and phrases, the report took far longer than he had thought it would.

  Because the mess was more suited to writing, because he felt the walls of his small quarters were pressing in on him, because the bunk was uncomfortable for sitting and the chairs in the mess were far more comfortable than the single rickety one in his quarters, he spent most of his time in the officers’ mess. Late on Vendrei afternoon, Quaeryt was again sitting at the long table there when he heard riders outside in the courtyard. He debated getting up to see who they were, and if they had news, but decided he’d find out before long. Besides, walking any distance was still painful, especially as the day wore on.

  He saw several captains and undercaptains he did not know coming and going, and that suggested that a fair-sized contingent had returned. In turn, that indicated a high likelihood that the remaining hill holders had capitulated … but that was only an indication.

  Almost a glass later, a ranker peered into the mess from the door. “Scholar Quaeryt, sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “Commander Zirkyl would like to see you, sir. He’s in his study.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Quaeryt rose carefully, then followed the ranker down the adjoining corridor to the open study door.

  “Come in, scholar.”

  Quaeryt did close the door behind him, then settled into one of the chairs in front of Zirkyl’s table desk. “I did not know you were among those who returned, sir.”

  “I brought back those who had accompanied me from here to deal with the hill holders at Zorlyn’s holding. We arrived back here less than a glass ago. On Jeudi, Commander Myskyl received word from the last of the hill holders, accepting the terms he offered. Once that happened, he dispatched us.” Zirkyl looked directly at Quaeryt. “You’ve been sending reports to Lord Bhayar, I understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Commander Myskyl’s couriers will be leaving here tomorrow morning, one for Tilbora to inform the acting governor, and one to Solis to report on the result of the campaign against the hill holders. Commander Myskyl asked me to tell you that you are welcome to have the courier carry your report to Solis as well. If you wish to do so, you should have it ready by seventh glass.”

  “It is largely written, sir, except I did not know that the remaining holders had accepted terms.”

  “I doubt that they were overjoyed … but defying the commander now would have been turning bare backs to the Namer.”

  “Where should I bring the report? To the courtyard by the gates?”

  “By the guardhouse. I’ll let the courier know that you will have a dispatch for him.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Don’t thank me. According to the commander, Lord Bhayar’s the one who should be thanking you.” Zirkyl offered a sad smile. “That is all I wanted to tell you. I do have a few other matters…”

  “Yes, sir.” Quaeryt stood, as gracefully as he could, then turned and limped from the commander’s study and headed back toward the mess.

  While he would have liked to send a letter to Vaelora, he decided that asking a special courier to carry it would not be a good idea, besides which, he frankly wasn’t certain what he would-or should-write, given the way matters stood in Tilbor. Or if he could find the right words in the time he had.

  94

  What with one thing and another, almost a week passed before Quaeryt joined Sixth Battalion on its return to Tilbora the following Jeudi. Once more, he rode with Skarpa, still awkwardly because the splinted arm, even in a sling, tended to unbalance him, although he had been reunited with the mare.

  “How did you find her?” he had asked when one of Skarpa’s rankers had led her out to him before they left Boralieu.

  “I didn’t,” Skarpa had replied. “Gauswn did. While we were waiting for the hill holders to decide, he had his men search for her. It took a couple of days to find her. Seventh Battalion had her. He said it wasn’t right that she wasn’t with you.”

  “I do appreciate it.” He’d reminded himself to thank the undercaptain with more than words, for both saving his life and finding the mare, although he had ridden across the courtyard to Gauswn and offered those words of gratitude almost immediately.

  Gauswn had insisted that he’d only done what was right and went on to say, “You’ll change things, sir. You will. Like Rholan.”

  That comparison had appalled Quaeryt, but he couldn’t say that, not when he likely owed the undercaptain his life … and the mare. All he’d been able to do was reiterate his thanks and gratitude. But Gauswn’s words and worshipful attitude had preyed on him throughout the journey.

  Finally, on Vendrei afternoon, as Sixth Battalion turned off the river road and headed directly along the back road toward the Telaryn Palace, Quaeryt again turned to Skarpa.

  “I’ve been thinking about Gauswn. I worry that he thinks I’m something that I’m not. I’m just a scholar trying to do the best I can.”

  Skarpa laughed. “I’ll grant that you’re a scholar. I’ll not grant that you’re just a scholar. No officer and man in Sixth Battalion would say you’re just a scholar. You’re as good a chorister as many, and you’re a better officer than many who wear the bars. There’s a lot more I don’t know. I do know that Commander Myskyl wouldn’t cross you.”

  “He wouldn’t cross me? I’m a near-penniless scholar.” Quaeryt laughed.

  “You were sent by Lord Bhayar. You get letters from his family…”

  Quaeryt managed not to wince. Did the entire regiment know that?

  “… and you’ve survived battles and wounds. I recall you also got t
hrough storms and a shipwreck. Myskyl knows that. He wouldn’t cross you for all the new-minted silvers he found in Zorlyn’s strong room.”

  “Didn’t he have a silver mine?” asked Quaeryt, deciding to change the subject as quickly as he could, especially since he’d wondered about the Ecoliae’s receipt of new-minted silvers. “Someone said…”

  “He does. Or he did.”

  “And he was minting his own silvers?”

  Skarpa looked quizzically at Quaeryt. “One of the majors said they found coin dies. Why does it matter? Silver’s silver.”

  “It would help explain how Zorlyn could afford to pay so many armsmen, for one thing.” And for another, it would explain why Rescalyn needed to take Zorlyn’s lands and holding.

  Skarpa nodded. “It would. Some of us wondered about that, even with all his lands.”

  Quaeryt’s thinking about Zorlyn brought to mind Zarxes. “Do you know if they found two scholars among the captives there?”

  “The two that ran off from the scholarium? Can’t say that I do.”

  Quaeryt wondered if he’d ever find out, or if Alkiabys and Zarxes had been part of the heavy cavalry that had been largely killed at the end of the battle. He shook his head.

  There are always things left unresolved, no matter how much you want to know how they turn out. That’s life.

  After a long silence, Skarpa finally spoke again. “Tell me. What will you do now?”

  “I don’t know. I’m only supposed to be the scholar assistant to the princeps until close to the end of winter. I’m supposed to return to Solis before the first day of spring.”

  “No offense … but should you be traveling before that arm has healed more? And all those bruises?”

  “Some of the bruises have healed.”

  “Not all, I’d wager.”

  “Not all of them,” Quaeryt admitted. Not wanting to dwell on the possibility of spending a long cold winter in Tilbora, he asked, “What will Myskyl do with the regiment now? Has he said?”

  “That’s up to the princeps-I’d guess he’s the acting governor for now. He’ll need to step up recruiting. That won’t be a problem now. Some of the senior squad leaders will be trained to be undercaptains, maybe even a few squad leaders.”

  “And you?”

  “I’ll keep being a major. What else do I know? It’s a better life than many.” Skarpa laughed. “I’ve got some golds put by, enough to live quiet-like if I go out on an injury stipend or make it to full-stipend age. We’ll all get battle pay. You, too, I’d guess.”

  Quaeryt hadn’t even thought about pay or golds-but he hadn’t drawn his pay in something like two months. At half a gold a week-even with the deductions for the mess-that would total more than four golds.

  He smiled, if faintly. The golds had never meant that much to him, but that was probably because he’d never wed or had family to think about. And, the way his life was going, he never would.

  95

  Quaeryt needed to report to Princeps Straesyr. So, on Samedi morning, just after seventh glass, he made his way from “his” study to the anteroom to the princeps’s study.

  “He thought you might be here early,” replied Vhorym, in a manner more pleasant than Quaeryt recalled. “You can go on in, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Although his arm was still splinted and in a sling, it felt somewhat better, but every movement still hurt as Quaeryt limped into the princeps’s study and closed the door behind himself.

  You’d think you’d feel better than this after two weeks.…

  The first thing Quaeryt noted was that Straesyr no longer wore a tunic. Instead, he wore a marshal’s uniform. The second thing that the scholar noted was that the acting governor appeared far more comfortable in the uniform.

  Straesyr did not rise, but gestured to the chairs before the desk. “You’re still recovering, I see.”

  “It’s likely to be a while, sir.” Quaeryt eased himself into the nearest chair.

  “I’ve received several reports from Commander Myskyl, and the few remaining hill holders have agreed to terms and have even tendered part of their tariffs as evidence of good faith.”

  As evidence of fear, I suspect. “I had not heard about their payments, sir. I did know that they had agreed to terms.”

  “They did indeed. Myskyl sent along their letters of agreement. Every one of them practically groveled. Not surprising.”

  “Do you know how the High Holders feel?”

  “The ones I’ve heard from are pleased, naturally.” Straesyr’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “I’ve had three inquiries about purchasing the lands of the rebel holders. I wrote back that, if they wished, they could inquire of Lord Bhayar, since the lands were now his. I’ve heard nothing further.” He paused. “I also received an interesting report from the commander about you. You were most effective in battle. What was also unusual, apparently, was the difficulty the rebels had in actually striking you, and the fact that you managed to evade most blows you did not seem to see coming…”

  Did Myskyl interrogate every ranker in Sixth Battalion?

  “… Several officers seem to think that you’re under the protection of the Nameless, for all that you protest that you don’t know if the Nameless exists. Yet you are a most effective chorister in delivering homilies. Everyone the commander talked to insists that you asked for no special treatment.” Straesyr paused, then asked, “What are you? Why are you here? Most important, what really happened to the governor?”

  “I’m sure you already know that, sir. He was hit in the chest with a crossbow quarrel. The quarrel was the kind the hill holders used, but no one could find who did it.”

  “That’s another question. Who could put a quarrel through solid plate armor? Your name suggests it all-there are just too many questions around you.”

  “That may be, sir, but there are the same questions around everyone. There were as many questions around the governor, but no one even thought of asking them.”

  “Rescalyn was a good commander and strategist. Do you even understand, scholar…”

  “I understand quite well, sir. He understood that the hill holders could fight forever against company-sized or even battalion-sized attacks. He built the regiment to the size necessary to destroy the major hill holds, if not more, and expanded the engineers. While he was doing that, he was giving the hill holders the illusion that they were holding their own, but he was consolidating support for himself and Telaryn everywhere outside of the hills, and using the hill holders as an example of brigandry. Then he attacked and destroyed the major holds one after the other. He removed the key holds … and then sent-well, Commander Myskyl did, but it was the governor’s plan-terms to those few surviving, demanding tribute and submission-or their destruction-and their agreement to follow the rules governing all the High Holders. After he took Zorlyn’s hold and destroyed most of his supporters, the others, all of them much weaker, capitulated.”

  “Will they remain so?”

  “You know the answer to that, sir. You may have to marshal the regiment once more against some recalcitrants to prove the point. But … if you make that point to all the officers … you may not. Word will get out.” Quaeryt paused, then added, “Rescalyn’s strategy wouldn’t have worked in a warmer clime, because the fighters could live off the land after the regiment left, but the winters are so harsh and long here that without stockpiles and supplies, that’s not feasible-and that’s why Waeryl, Saentaryn, Zorlyn, and the others fought rather than scattering into the hills.…”

  “You saw this … when?”

  “Some of it within weeks of arriving … some of it not until the campaign was well along.”

  “It’s a tragedy that one of the last hill brigands was able to kill Rescalyn … if that’s what happened. Do you know how to use a crossbow?”

  “I’ve never even picked one up, sir. As all the rankers and officers will tell you, I can barely defend myself with a half-staff. I’ve been wounded and injured twice
and feel fortunate to have survived.” Quaeryt wasn’t about to raise the point that he’d been forced to learn to defend himself because Rescalyn had detailed him to assignments with Sixth Battalion that had continually exposed him to danger.

  A flash of puzzlement crossed Straesyr’s face.

  Quaeryt continued. “Rescalyn’s life ended with the reputation as a great strategist, an excellent commander, and a good governor. That’s how he will be remembered, and everyone will regard his death as a tragedy. That’s how it should be, rather than with Telaryn being torn apart.”

  “You don’t really think-”

  “Governor,” Quaeryt said firmly, “and you are governor in fact, at least until Bhayar decides otherwise, you know as well as I do what would have happened with the near-fanatical loyalty of the regiment to Rescalyn. He was a hero. It’s best left there.”

  “Lord Bhayar is fortunate to have scholars such as you, Master Quaeryt.” Straesyr’s voice was surprisingly mild, almost at odds with the words he spoke.

  “No, sir. Lord Bhayar is wise enough to use the talents of those who serve him loyally.” Quaeryt had a certain doubt that Bhayar always did so, but he had no doubts whatsoever that what Rescalyn had intended, after rebuilding the “regiment,” would have created far more death and devastation than anyone could have envisioned.

  “How much of this is Lord Bhayar and how much is because of you? You never trusted Rescalyn from the first, did you?”

  “Let us just say that I worried about his ambitions being greater than were in the interests of Lord Bhayar.”

  “How did you know?”

  “From his acts, his behavior, and even from the books he read. He wanted to be another Hengyst.”

  “You may well be right, but where is the proof?”

  “Rescalyn was far too brilliant to leave a written plan, or even footprints. But if one looks at the way he reorganized the regiment without ever letting on to Lord Bhayar actually how many men he had or how every dispatch emphasized in one way or another, never overplayed, the dangers of the hill holders…”