“So the marshal will need another day or two to establish a position and base from which to mount the attack on Villerive?” asked Meinyt.
“He will inform us in due course.”
“Four days, at least,” predicted the older subcommander.
“He might surprise us,” suggested Skarpa.
“Oh … a week, then.”
“I doubt that. Lord Bhayar is not likely to be that patient,” said Skarpa, looking to Quaeryt. “That is my thought, but you know him better than any of us.”
Quaeryt shrugged. “He can be very deliberate, but he gets impatient when there is little reason for delay.”
Skarpa nodded. “I’d wager it will be far less than a week. Make sure your men get plenty of rest. There will be little of that after we advance on Villerive.” The commander reached into the dispatch case and extracted two envelopes, passing them to Quaeryt. “These arrived with Deucalon’s message.”
“Thank you.” As he took the envelopes, Quaeryt immediately recognized Vaelora’s script on one. The other was addressed to “Scholar Quaeryt Rytersyn, Aide to Lord Bhayar” in a hand Quaeryt did not recognize.
“That’s all for now.” Skarpa glanced around the chamber as he stood. “Very modest for a plaque room. Must not be too many gamblers here.” He started for the door.
“Or this is where the modest gamblers meet,” replied Quaeryt.
“More likely those who don’t gamble well,” said Meinyt, following Skarpa.
He’s probably right about that, thought Quaeryt.
After leaving Skarpa, Quaeryt returned to the courtyard, where he told the imagers that while they would be at evening mess, they were free to walk the town, but only in pairs. Then he retreated to his room on the second floor of the inn, a space scarcely large enough to hold a bed and a table and chair. He smiled wryly as he closed the door and sat on the narrow straight-backed chair. The narrow space reminded him of the inn at Nacliano, a place whose name momentarily eluded him as he struggled to remember it.
The Tankard … that was it. For some reason, that recalled the patroller who’d destroyed the innkeeper’s priceless Cloisonyt vase just to prove he could, and that brought a comparison to mind. Was there really any difference between the patroller and Kharst, each destroying things of value to show power? Aren’t there better ways to show power?
He shook his head, then looked at the two envelopes, deciding to open the mysterious one and save Vaelora’s letter until he had dealt with the other-one that was far thicker, as if it contained more than a few sheets of paper. Who would be addressing me that way and as an aide to Bhayar? Shaking his head, he used his belt knife to slit the large envelope, finding inside a single sheet of paper-and another envelope, addressed to Governor Quaeryt Rytersyn, Extela, Montagne Province.
The single sheet was thick high quality paper. He began to read.
Scholar Quaeryt-
Upon arriving in Extela, I received the letter from you that awaited me, as well as your summary of the situation facing me as governor. I must state that I was greatly impressed with the scope of your accomplishments in the short length of time in which you served as governor, and I can see why Lord Bhayar would require your abilities in dealing with the Bovarians. Your direct approach, while possibly not practical for governing over an extended period of time, will doubtless make my tenure as governor far more pleasant than it might otherwise have been. I will consider your recommendations most carefully in the months ahead and wish you the very best in your present capacity.
I have also enclosed a letter which arrived shortly after I did and trust it will reach you in good stead.
My felicitations and best wishes for you in the campaign ahead.
At the bottom were a signature and title-Markyl Quintussyn, Governor, Montagne Province, by the grace of Lord Bhayar of Telaryn.
Who is writing you as governor? He realized that it was likely someone from Tilbora, since word might not have reached Tilbor that he’d been replaced. Straesyr, Nalakyn? Those were the two most likely. Curious, he immediately slit the enclosed envelope and extracted the sheet within.
Dear Governor Quaeryt:
I trust this missive finds you and your lady well and prosperous.
I find myself writing in search of guidance, for there are none here for whose advice I can ask. All come to a chorister for such …
Quaeryt glanced to the bottom of the missive, taking in the signature-“Gauswn Holussyn, Chorister, Scholarium of Tilbora.” He smiled faintly, realizing that he’d never known Gauswn’s patronymic, then resumed reading.
… and my experience in matters other than being an armsman and a junior officer is most limited. Master Scholar Nalakyn has improved the course of studies considerably, but in all other matters he is reluctant to reach decisions. Instead of following his own mind or deferring to the princeps, he inquires about every matter from the least to the greatest with every scholar. Long and lengthy discussions follow. In the end, the scholar princeps decides, but not until many faces are red and flushed. I understand that all the scholars will make their wishes known as to who will be master scholar in another nine months, but matters may be most unruly by then. As a young chorister who is not a scholar, I believe there is little I can or should do, yet for all the efforts you made to save the scholarium, I felt I would be remiss in not informing you.
There is another matter that gnaws at me. Before you departed, you arranged for two young imagers to become student scholars. You drafted rules and procedures for them. At present, those appear to suffice, but Chartyn and Doalak often come to talk to me because the other students and the scholars will have little to do with them, save as necessary in instruction and other scholarium matters and duties. They are good youths, but I have some doubts as to whether either would wish to be a chorister, and their isolation is pushing them away from wishing to be scholars, despite their talents. If you have any suggestions or advice, I would be most grateful.
May the Nameless continue to watch over and protect you.
With a sigh, Quaeryt lowered the letter. He had worried about Nalakyn from the beginning, but there hadn’t been many choices open to him … and less time. If Bhayar had let him remain in Tilbor as princeps for longer, he could have done something. But then … he couldn’t do what he was doing now, and that might yield greater results. Yet, what could he tell Gauswn?
Counsel him to be patient? Quaeryt shook his head. Patience would serve Gauswn well personally, but it wouldn’t help the Tilboran scholarium.
As for the two young imagers … the reactions that they faced were exactly why he wanted to create a place that would be both a school and more for imagers-but that couldn’t happen unless and until Bhayar was successful and Bhayar realized that the imagers had been instrumental in that success … and both aspects of that were anything but certain at the moment.
Because he’d need to think over a response, he set aside Gauswn’s letter and picked up the one from Vaelora, noting that the seal had been lifted and replaced. He shook his head. That didn’t surprise him.
My dearest,
We have traveled quickly and today arrived in Tresrives at the third glass of the afternoon. The quarters here are even more deserted than when we were here together …
Just from Tresrives … not Solis? Quaeryt stopped reading and looked at the date at the bottom of the letter-the twenty-fourth of Juyn, nearly a month? Then he looked at the date on the letter from Governor Markyl-the third of Agostas.
Markyl’s letter had taken roughly two weeks less time to reach him from a destination almost twice as far away, even though Vaelora’s missive had been sent on the most frequently traveled dispatch route. Why had her correspondence taken so much longer?
The most logical reason was that Vaelora’s letter had languished somewhere along the way.
The discrepancy bothered Quaeryt. Is that just because you’d far rather hear from Vaelora and wanted to know she was doing well? That was certainly one reason, but her correspondence hadn’t
