Scholar

he opened the door and stepped inside.

“You’re back again, sir.”

“There’s a lot to learn.” Quaeryt smiled. “You’re here most of the time, I take it?”

“Yes, sir. Well … me and Khernan, but I’m here in the day, and he’s here in the early evening.”

“I just wondered if you could help me out. I met with the governor yesterday, and he was commending the library to me, and he mentioned a history volume that he had found especially enlightening…” Quaeryt offered a helpless shrug. “I was trying to remember so much.… Is there any way…?”

“I couldn’t say which book it was, sir.”

“Oh … I was hoping … I hate to have to admit to him that I didn’t remember…”

“But … sir … he did insist that I write down any volume he took out of the library. He always returned the books, every one, but I do have a list here … that’s of the ones he’s taken in the last month or so. If you look at it … maybe that will jog your memory…”

“That would be so helpful. Thank you.”

Quaeryt studied the list of six books. One was listed twice. Then he coughed several times, bending over with the list in hand. When he was bent almost double, he concentrated on looking hard at the list and imaging it. Just before he straightened he slipped the second list inside his jacket.

“I’m sorry. I must have caught something in my throat. Thank you. I think it must have been the one called Historical Elements of Strategy. I’ll see if it’s here. Thank you again.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

“So am I. I would have hated to have had to bother the governor.”

“I understand that, sir.” The squad leader smiled.

It only took Quaeryt a fraction of a glass to locate Historical Elements of Strategy and to repair to one of the comfortable leather chairs. He did not so much skim or read the thin book, but study it, trying to deduce what sections appeared to be more heavily perused.

In the end, he thought three places had been read more often, a guess, based on a short blond hair, a tiny scrap of paper, and what appeared to have been turned-down page corners.

Only a guess, he reminded himself.

… no commander should ever forget that his men are his only resource and that his officers must be an extension of his will and must always set an example and demonstrate through acts that they care for their men. Yet that care must be seen as equal, fair, and above all impartial, and it should also demand that every man do his best in support of his comrades and of the objective to be attained … Nor should officers ever arrogate themselves above their men by their mere position. They must be superior in act, ability, and demeanor to those they command …

The second passage reflected on power more indirectly.

… the key to ruling is to assure support from those with power, whether that power be control of food supplies, access to rivers, or the ability to turn trade and commerce to one’s own ends …

One phrase on the third turned-down page struck Quaeryt particularly.

The best strategy is one carried out in such openness that no enemy, or ally, understands that it is a strategy until the trap is sprung.

Such openness that no one understands?

Quaeryt nodded. Those passages made sense, and they were practical, commonsense approaches that fit in with what little he’d seen of the governor.

He closed the book, replaced it on the shelf, and returned to the dispatch room.

By close to noon, Quaeryt had struggled through two years of dispatches, most of them dealing with the quiet stubbornness and intransigence of the locals, including the High Holders. Only a few dispatches mentioned attacks on soldiers, and while most took place in or near the hills or timberlands, there were still reports of attacks elsewhere. Then he read a very different dispatch.

… grieves me to report the wounding of Governor Fhayt in an unprovoked attack on his way to meet with High Holder Fhaedyrk … brigands were repulsed by the squad accompanying the governor, although that squad was outnumbered three to one … governor took three crossbow bolts … more than twenty brigands killed …

… immediately dispatched the Sixth Cavalry Battalion … followed the surviving brigands for twenty milles … captured another fifteen … revealed that the group had been recruited by a former officer of the Khanar’s Guard … only known as “the captain” … possible ties to timber holders north of the Boran Hills …

… as princeps, acting as governor and awaiting your decision, on who should best represent you in Tilbor …

The dispatch was signed by Straesyr.

For the next two weeks, so was every other dispatch. Then for another two weeks, the dispatches were again signed by Fhayt-including his last, that announced Rescalyn had arrived as his replacement as regional governor. But all the dispatches signed by either Fhayt or Straesyr seemed to report roughly the same things. While Quaeryt couldn’t be absolutely sure, not without counting, and that would have been even more tedious and time-consuming, it appeared to him that the number of attacks on Telaryn troopers were either holding steady or increasing very slightly over the next few years.

At some time close to third glass, there was a knock on the door to the dispatch room. Almost with relief, Quaeryt stood, turned, and opened the door.

Undercaptain Caermyt stood there. “Sir, the governor would like to know if you would like to accompany a patrol tomorrow.”

“Yes, I would.”

“Then you should be ready to mount up at half past seventh glass. The patrol will be led by Undercaptain Jusaph. He will be expecting you.”

“Thank you, and convey my thanks to the governor.”

“Yes, sir.” Caermyt turned and headed back toward the main staircase.

Quaeryt slowly closed the door and sat back down at the table desk. He hadn’t asked where the patrol was going, or what it was doing. He’d assumed it was just a daily patrol … but was it?

He looked down at the dispatch he’d been reading and then away, looking blankly at the paneled wall at the end of the chamber.

What exactly do patrols do?

For better or worse, he was about to find out.

He looked back down at the dispatch, finished reading it, and went to the next one.

41

Quaeryt was still thinking over all the dispatches he’d read in two days-close to two-thirds of them, he estimated-when he entered the officers’ mess for supper. This time he was earlier and took a place at the far table … and found that Phargos and then Skarpa joined him. With the major was a captain who looked to be about Quaeryt’s age.

“Taenyd, this is Scholar Quaeryt. He’s attached to the princeps’s staff.”

Taenyd nodded politely. “I heard we had a scholar now. Are you doing a history of the regiment or something?”

“More like a comparative history of Tilbor,” replied Quaeryt with a smile, pouring some of the lager. “I’m trying to write an explanation of why some Tilborans are so stiff-necked, especially those in the hills and the forests.”

“Most of- If you lived there, you’d be stiff-necked, too. The trees are so tall and thick that it’s always gloomy, even in midsummer. In winter, the snow’s always drifting down, even when it hasn’t snowed for days. It’s too cold to bathe, and most of the hill scum stink more than rank sows.…”

“Enough … enough,” protested Skarpa with a laugh. “You tell him too much, and he won’t have the scholarly joy of discovering it all on his own.”

“Scholarly joy? Isn’t that a contradiction in terms?” countered the captain, immediately flushing and turning