Scholar

… also trust that you have had a chance to think over my previous thoughts, unschooled as they may be, in view of your own observations …

… Lord Bhayar has observed on previous occasions that pursuit of the practical is most necessary for a ruler to be successful, but, from my own most limited experience, I believe that what is practical for one man may not be so for another, and even what is practical for most men may not be so for a woman. Likewise, what is practical for most women may not be so for most men. Such questions might seem to some as similar to an attempt to split a hair with a broadsword, yet the very raising of such an inquiry about any law or practice of a ruler can lead the way to greater insight and, one would trust, a more effective ruler.

Many have questioned the value of scholars and others who seek knowledge that has no apparent immediate value. I am no scholar, yet it would seem to me that the ores from which metals are refined have no immediate value, nor does a newborn babe have any immediate value …

Quaeryt could not but help smiling as he continued reading and finished the letter. He was also having trouble in not yawning.

He would have to reply to Vaelora, but he wasn’t about to try to write a cogent response after a long night with no sleep whatsoever … and certainly not when he still had not been able to deduce her motivations for writing. He re-folded the missive, then took both her letters and placed them in the document case.

The bed looked very inviting, and it would only take a few moments to make it up.

34

When Quaeryt woke, it was past noon, and by the time he had walked down to the main level, found the bath chambers, washed and shaved, and climbed back up to his quarters and changed into clean scholars’ browns, it was closer to half past first glass. The west wing was apparently deserted, not surprisingly for early afternoon on a working day, and he set out to explore the grounds of the Telaryn Palace, beginning with the area west of where he’d been quartered. Just beyond the west entrance to the building was a stretch of gravel, and beyond that a flat and level area that looked like it might be used for turf bowls.

He walked along the edge of the bowling green to the anomen, located in the shadow of the northwest corner of the walls. It was a comparatively small edifice, dwarfed by the walls, looking from the outside as though it could hold no more than two hundred congregants.

Is it just for the officers? Or does the chorister hold many services? From what Quaeryt knew, there was close to a regiment of Telaryn soldiers and cavalry quartered within the grounds of the palace or nearby.

He studied the anomen closely. The dome had been repainted recently, but the color was more yellow than the traditional gold, and while the main doors had been oiled recently, the oak was still streaked with the white created by too many long winters.

East of the anomen was another stone-paved lane that led back toward the eastern-and only-gates. To the south were more gardens and a narrow orchard, and to the north, what looked more like three-story town houses, set side by side. Quaeryt estimated that they were only six or seven yards wide, but close to ten deep, with their rear wall abutting the defensive walls. He began to count as he walked along the lane. After forty of the narrow houses, there was a small park-like area, where a handful of small children played, watched by a white-haired woman. East of the first forty houses were another forty, and then a large three-story structure with narrow windows that resembled the west wing of the palace, except that the windows were even narrower and closer together.

Housing for the more valued servants? That was Quaeryt’s best guess, although he would have guessed that there were tinier rooms beneath the palace itself for others less fortunate.

East of the servants’ housing were the structures for the soldiers, more narrow-windowed gray stone buildings, but they were constructed so that the first level held stables, and the two levels above, presumably barracks. After making his way into the stables and asking several ostlers, he found his mare, and she had been groomed and fed, as Straesyr had said, and his saddle carefully cleaned and racked.

When he left the stables, the sound of marching drew Quaeryt back to the entry courtyard. There two companies were drilling, one with pikes, and another carrying sabres. The pike company took up most of the space. He watched for a time, then made his wandering way through the gardens and miniature orchards. During the entire survey of the planted area, which took almost two glasses, and during which he tried to note every different plant and tree, he saw no one except four gardeners.

The more he saw, the more he realized that the “Telaryn Palace” held the equivalent of a small city within the graystone walls.

At just before fifth glass, Quaeryt stepped into the mess in the west wing, to be greeted by a senior squad leader in crisp undress greens. “Scholar Quaeryt?”

“Yes?”

“All officers may sit at any table they please. The exception is at mess nights, when seating is by rank. The princeps has declared that, for purposes of mess night seating, your rank is that of the most junior captain.”

“What nights are mess nights?”

“Jeudi nights, unless otherwise announced.”

“Thank you.” For quarters, I’m field grade, but to the other officers, I’m a captain? Quaeryt stepped farther into the mess and quickly studied the tables. There were three long tables, each capable of seating twenty or so. There were but a handful of junior officers already present, and from what he could see of them, all wore the single silver bar of an undercaptain.

“I see you are pondering the anomalousness of being unnamed in a named hierarchy.…” The words were delivered from behind Quaeryt with sardonic lightness of tone.

He turned to see a gray-haired man wearing the green uniform of a Telaryn officer, if without rank insignia, but with a black-edged white triangle on each sleeve, recalling the black-edged long white scarf often worn by choristers of the Nameless. Like the other officers, his uniform was clean and pressed, but he did not wear a jacket, presumably because the weather remained too warm. “You must be the governor’s chorister.”

“More properly, the regimental chorister. Phargos, by name. You are obviously the new scholar.”

“Quaeryt.”

“A most appropriate appellation and one either greatly more or greatly less vulnerable to the egregiousness of Naming.”

“That is one way of describing it,” replied Quaeryt with a laugh.

“Would you care to join me?”

“I’d be pleased to.”

Phargos led the way to the table farthest from the door and sat in the last chair facing the door at what looked to be the foot of the table, assuming that the end of the chamber with the crossed banners represented the front.

Quaeryt took the seat across from him. “Phargos … From Montagne?”

“Cintella, actually, but that’s only ten milles from Montagne, farther from the ash and fumes of Mount Extel.” Phargos smiled. “This is where the juniors usually sit, except for the few more senior officers who occasionally deign to harass me … such as the one now approaching.”

Quaeryt half-turned as a deep baritone voice boomed out. “Phargos … I see you’re trying to convert another to nonspecific vagueness.”

“If you believe that, then you haven’t met too many scholars. He’s likely to have me scrambling to defend the entire tenet of the Nameless.”

“I’ve never seen you scramble-even when you were surrounded by those hill brigands.” The stocky major took the seat beside the chorister and across from Quaeryt.

“The backwoods barons of tall timber? What point was there in hurrying? The longer I took, the longer before they attacked, and the more time you had to reach us.”

“I told you they couldn’t be converted. They’re worse than the Duodeans…” The major broke off and grinned