28
While Quaeryt rose before fifth glass on Lundi so that he could observe the students-and Chardyn-at Sansang practice, he raised a concealment shield before he left his chamber and moved as silently as possible down the stairs, which creaked only once or twice under his weight, and out onto the section of the porch overlooking the green. As he watched in the grayish light before sunrise, he could see that Sansang definitely had its roots in nonbladed combat. That suggested that the discipline had grown out of resistance to the Khanars and the High Holders of Tilbor, since he suspected, as was generally the case across all of Lydar, the use of blades longer than the middle finger was most likely forbidden to all except those of high position or their armsmen.
The moves that Chardyn drilled into the students initially involved largely the upper body, but after two quints, the students picked up half-staffs that looked to be slightly less than two yards in length. Chardyn appeared particularly impressive, but Quaeryt had hardly expected anything else.
As the students finished and began to disperse, Quaeryt slipped away to check on the mare. When he entered the stable, he glanced around. Seeing no one, he released the concealment shield. The stable was large enough to hold a dozen mounts in regular stalls, and there were two larger stalls. Each of the larger stalls held a dray horse, but of the dozen other stalls, only six held mounts. By comparison, the stable at the Scholarium Solum held but two drays and two other mounts for occasional use by the senior scholars.
Then, too, he reflected, several mounts might belong to students with wealthy parents. Still …
He shrugged. There was no way of telling.
After walking through the stable, studying it, and finding nothing obviously untoward, except a pair of identical saddles with twin scabbards for blades like a sabre, Quaeryt left and walked back to the main building. The dining hall opened at sixth glass, and he made his way through the double doors at a quint past the glass. Before he could seat himself, a rotund older scholar stepped toward him, a man with a slightly angular face and smooth skin that might have belonged to a child, in contrast to the thatch of dull gray hair above the penetrating bright green eyes.
“Scholar Quaeryt?”
“Yes?” Quaeryt smiled politely.
“I’m Nalakyn, the preceptor of students. I had heard that you have come from Solis. I presume you studied at the Scholarium there?”
“I did.”
“I was hoping that I could persuade you to talk to the students about Solis and about the government of Lord Bhayar.”
“Talking about Solis would be easy, but I know very little more about the government of Lord Bhayar than any other scholar in Solis.”
“That is far more than do any of us, and it would be of great value to the students. If you would…?”
Quaeryt offered what he hoped was a helpless smile. “With that understanding, I will offer what I can. Later this morning?”
“Eighth glass would be most appreciated. In the student assembly hall on the west end of the building.”
“I will be there.”
“I thank you and look forward to hearing what you have to say.” Nalakyn nodded and smiled happily before stepping back.
As Quaeryt turned, he wondered,
From a table across the hall, Chardyn half-stood and beckoned. Quaeryt raised his hand in acknowledgment and walked toward the end of the table where Chardyn sat, accompanied by a younger scholar.
Chardyn smiled knowingly as he approached. “I might have been mistaken, Scholar Quaeryt, but I don’t believe I saw you when we went through our exercises and practice this morning.”
Quaeryt offered an embarrassed laugh. “Alas, for all my good intentions, I overslept. Perhaps tomorrow…”
“It will be just as early tomorrow.” Chardyn nodded in the direction of the dark-haired scholar. “This is Alkiabys. He is training to be my assistant.”
“I’m pleased to meet you. Are you also a scholar of Sansang?”
“Yes, sir. I am not half so proficient as Scholar Chardyn.”
“It takes time and practice to become good at anything,” rejoined Quaeryt as he slipped into the chair across the table from Chardyn.
“You must have expertise in many fields, sir,” offered Alkiabys.
“I’ve been fortunate enough to be able to indulge my love of history.”
“Yet few would look at you and see a historian,” suggested Chardyn. “You look more like an armsman or an officer.”
“I did flee the scholars for a time and served as a ship’s apprentice quartermaster. That convinced me that being a scholar was much to be preferred.”
“How did that convince you?” asked Chardyn, his voice soft.
“By showing me that knowledge is to be preferred over strength and adventure.”
Chardyn nodded. “Still … knowledge alone seldom suffices. Not when facing great force.”
“Nothing alone suffices,” replied Quaeryt, serving himself several of the flatcakes from a platter put on the table by a student server. He poured a thin berry syrup over the cakes and began to eat, wishing that the syrup happened to be sweeter.
After a time, Quaeryt paused from eating. “By the way, as I told Scholar Princeps Zarxes on Samedi, I need to obtain more garments to replace those lost in my travels. He had said you had a marvelous tailor…” Quaeryt let the words hang.
“Naxim is quite good. His shop is on the lower level on the east side. I imagine he will be there soon, if he is not already. Did Nalakyn manage to find you?”
“He did indeed.”
“Excellent. I would have hated for you to leave before talking to our students. Whenever they can hear from a scholar who has traveled far and wide it is most beneficial.”
“You would seem to be such a scholar yourself,” observed Quaeryt.
“My travels have been largely in the library, except, of course, for a brief time when I served the Khanar.”
“Might I ask which Khanar?”
“Rhecyrd. That was a most unfortunate time. He had great plans, but … there are always those who will turn to treachery when their personal ambitions and whims are thwarted.”
“From what Sarastyn has conveyed, that could imply that either Tyrena or Rhecyrd…?” Quaeryt raised his eyebrows.
“Sarastyn has always been a romantic at heart, but romance should not cloud one’s view of reality. Tyrena was too young to rule. She refused to see that, and then…” Chardyn shrugged.
“You think that she was the one who planned the assassination of Chayar’s envoy?”
“Who else? She was the one who drafted the invitation for the envoy to come to Tilbor, on the pretext that she might be available as young Lord Bhayar’s consort.”
Quaeryt nodded slowly. Chardyn had a plausible point, because Bhayar had been betrothed, but not married, to Aelina at the time, and there was no doubt that Chayar could well have set aside his son’s betrothal to unite Tilbor and Telaryn without a war. Except … there had been no such letter arriving in Solis. Of that, Quaeryt had been certain, because Bhayar had mentioned that the Khanar had rejected that possibility. Bhayar had never mentioned names to Quaeryt, only the terms “Khanar” and “his daughter.” So Chardyn’s words were likely an indirect probe. “Was she intelligent and attractive?”
“She doubtless still is, but the man who wed her had best be most cautious.”
“You had mentioned that she fled and married a Bovarian High Holder. They are known to keep their wives well in line.”
