Scholar

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