Scholar

92

The snow lasted for only another day and tapered off near late afternoon on Jeudi. The sun returned on Vendrei, warmer than in days, and began to melt away everything that had accumulated. Vendrei afternoon, Quaeryt received a summons to meet with Myskyl, who was acting marshal for the regiment-or what remained of it.

The scholar limped up the hill, slowly following his escort, because his bad leg was worse, and his “good” leg was bruised in places all the way down from hip to just above the ankle. There were bruises across his chest and thighs as well, already turning yellow-purple, and others in places he couldn’t see but certainly could feel.

When he reached what could only be called a manor house or mansion, even a small palace, he was escorted into the study by a junior squad leader, a study every bit as large as the one the governor had used at the Telaryn Palace, and at least as lavishly appointed, with dark paneled walls, and deep green hangings.

Myskyl turned from where he had been looking out the bay window overlooking the walled garden and walked back to the ornately carved goldenwood desk. “Please be seated, scholar.” He sat behind the desk and waited for Quaeryt to ease himself into the cushioned wooden armchair before speaking. “I’m not an envoy or a courtier, scholar. I’m a soldier. I don’t pretend to be anything else. I speak what I think. You present a puzzle. You’re as brave and as resourceful as any junior officer I have, more so than most. Your courage is unquestioned. You’ve saved countless other officers and men. Yet … the governor was troubled by you. So am I. I’m also disturbed by the fact that he was killed by a crossbow quarrel at the end of the battle when no one saw any archers. No one has yet found a crossbow anywhere on the field. I’m even more troubled because that quarrel went straight through the plate the governor wore under his shirt and jacket. That can happen. It did happen. But it has to happen at close range.”

I imaged the quarrel through plate? No wonder I lost shields … a wonder I’m alive. “I don’t know what to say, sir. You seem to think I might know something about his death. Major Skarpa can tell you that I did not even know that the governor had died when I finally could think and talk again.”

“Strange things happen around you, scholar. Tell me why you are here. I know you told the governor. But tell me.”

“It’s no secret I was sent by Lord Bhayar. It’s no secret that Lord Bhayar is concerned about the costs and the numbers of soldiers required to keep order in Tilbor. It’s no secret that Lord Bhayar believed that Governor Rescalyn was an outstanding commander and a good governor. The way he planned and conducted the campaign against the hill holders proves that point. I reported all that. Well … I did, except for the last part of the campaign, but that’s exactly what I will report.”

“The governor said something to the effect that you were always everything you said you were, but that you were more than that. What else are you?” Myskyl’s voice was cool.

“I am what I am, sir. Many men are more than what they say they are. Governor Rescalyn was more than he said he was. You know that. I am truly sorry he was killed. He was a great commander, and that is how he will be remembered. It is also how he should be remembered.” Quaeryt smiled faintly. “Don’t you think so?”

Myskyl was silent, but his eyes never left Quaeryt. Finally, he cleared his throat. “How did you manage it?”

“I managed nothing, sir. If you will ask every single person who saw me on the field, you will find that I was struck down before the last part of the fighting ended.” Quaeryt looked down at the heavy splint.

Myskyl shook his head. “I have asked everyone. They all say what you have told me. Yet the governor is dead. He was killed by a hill holder quarrel that should not have been able to penetrate his plate. It did. I do not believe in coincidences.”

“Nor do I, sir. Yet it happened. Sometimes, things happen that we cannot explain. One can deny that they should have, but they did. One can claim it was the work of the Namer or the Nameless, but nothing changes.”

“No … they do not.” Myskyl moistened his lips.

“What will you do now?”

“Why are you asking, scholar?”

“I still have to report to Lord Bhayar.”

“So you do.” A short bitter laugh followed before the commander continued. “As the governor planned, I’ve sent messages to the remaining hill holders. I sent a company with each messenger as well.”

“Will they agree to terms?”

“Rescalyn didn’t think they would. I think they might. We’ll see.”

“What are you going to do with Zorlyn’s holding, sir?”

“That’s up to the princeps. He’s the acting governor. He may not even know yet, unless the couriers have reached him, but it’s his decision. After we finish with the other hill holders, I’ve recommended that we move two or three battalions here and make it a permanent base. We’d have control, and all the crop tithes would support the base here. We’d have to reduce the numbers at Boralieu. The lands of the other holdings will become Lord Bhayar’s.”

“That sounds like a good plan, sir.”

“It was the governor’s.”

“He was a good commander and a good governor.” Just one who was far too ambitious.

“He was.” Myskyl stood. “You’ll be going back to Boralieu with the rest of the wounded when the roads firm up. From there, when the fighting’s over, one way or another, you’ll go back to Tilbora.”

“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt struggled to his feet.

“I’d hope there won’t be any more strange occurrences.”

“So do I, sir.” Quaeryt inclined his head, then turned. He could feel the commander’s eyes on his back as he walked out of the study.

He hadn’t liked what he’d done. But he’d seen enough to know just where Rescalyn’s unbridled ambition would lead, both for Bhayar and for himself.

… 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.