poisoned by Rhecyrd’s imager. Commander Traesk refused to listen to her, and she had the imager killed and forced a Bovarian merchanter to take her away with her personal armsmen. Before she left someone put a knife in Traesk’s ribs, and he died, and the Guard retreated to the palace and closed it off. If she’d been in command … who knows?”
“Strategy isn’t everything,” Quaeryt pointed out.
“No. It’s not. Soldiers are important, too, and the men of Tilbor make the best soldiers. Why do you think the governor recruits so many of them.”
At that moment, a muscular man burst through the rear door and moved quickly toward Quaeryt, a stout club in hand. The scholar barely got up a forearm to deflect the arm with the club.
“Haarl! Stop! He’s not one of them!” snapped the woman.
Quaeryt had to block another attempt with the club before the attacker stopped.
“I told you to stop.” The woman’s voice was acid-tinged.
“They’re all the same … don’t care what Thayl or you say…” said the ginger-bearded bear of a man who glared at Quaeryt even as he lowered the club.
Quaeryt wanted to massage his forearm, but he just waited, if warily. “I take it that the local scholars are not exactly in your favor.”
“You’re not from here. You don’t talk like them.”
“I told you that, idiot,” snapped the woman.
“I wasn’t going to wait. Thayl told me one of them was prowling around. Said he was different, as if that mattered…”
“You go and tell your brother that he’s not one of them. Do you understand?”
Haarl looked at Quaeryt. “Sorry … didn’t mean to take you for one of them.” He turned and walked out. His tone was scarcely apologetic.
Quaeryt looked to the seamstress. “Might I ask what offenses the local scholars have committed?”
“You could. Why would it be to my advantage to tell you?”
“Because I might be able to do something about it.”
The woman studied Quaeryt once more. Then she smiled, if faintly. “You might. You’d try, anyway.”
He waited.
“The scholars have always been the tool of the timber holders. Eleonyd and the Khanars paid them to run the school, but it was as much tribute as anything. It was cheaper than fighting. In return, the timber holders built their road and allowed the Khanars to use it without tariffing them.”
“The governor doesn’t pay the scholars for the school. Is that why he is always fighting the timber holders?”
The seamstress shrugged. “I do not know what the governor or the scholars do these days.”
“Go ahead. You were going to say more about the scholars.”
“It has to do with Commander Traesk. He was one of the few officers from the hills. He joined the Khanar’s Guard as a young man. In time, he became an officer, and later, subcommander. All said that he was courageous and a good leader … until he betrayed the Khanara. Traesk’s son was-he still is, I guess-a scholar. He was also a Guard officer during the fighting. I don’t know as he was that good a Guard officer, but he was well-trained in using arms, and he was there to ward his father’s back.”
“So the scholars supported the Guard?”
She shook her head. “Traesk supported Rhecyrd. Most of the Guard officers supported the Khanara, but they would not break their loyalty to the Guard commander.”
“Then who killed Traesk?”
“No man could have killed him.”
“Was the Khanara that skilled in weapons?”
“She was the equal of any man.”
Quaeryt could see the general outline, but parts of what he thought he saw didn’t make sense. “What does this have to do with the scholars?”
“The Khanara had help from … some in the south. The … scholar has vowed to kill all those who helped her.”
Quaeryt looked at the seamstress, taking in the lean muscles he’d thought were merely the sign of lack of privilege. He risked jumping to a conclusion. “He’s after all the Sisters?”
Her face tightened.
“I’m not after you … or them. I’ve overheard people talking about the Sisters, but I didn’t know what they meant. When you explained, though…”
“You are a dangerous man.”
“I doubt I’m near as dangerous as you.” He paused but briefly. “I do have a question. Do you know the name of Traesk’s son? If I ever meet him, I’d like to know it.”
“Chardyn … Chardyn Traesksyn…”
Quaeryt refrained from nodding. That made all too much sense. “And the scholars are still working with the hill timber holders against the governor … because they think the people in the south sold out to Lord Chayar?”
“I cannot say. I would judge so.” The seamstress offered another smile, faint and knowing. “You are not a scholar … or not just a scholar.”
“I’ve been a seaman, but I am a scholar.”
“Your eyes say that you are more.”
“No more than you,” he replied.
She laughed. “You did not give your name.”
“Quaeryt Rytersyn.”
“Your name says it all.”
He frowned.
“The questioner of every man.”
“And yours?”
“Syen Yendradyr.”
“That says that your mother…”
“We do not take our father’s names.” She nodded. “You know enough for now.”
“I might be back.”
“Don’t come too soon. Talk to others.”
“I will.” He inclined his head, turned, and departed.
Once he was outside the shop, he shook his head. He’d never thought he’d risked being killed for being a local scholar. Had the patroller who’d recommended Thayl’s stable the first time he’d ridden through the harbor done so for reasons other than courtesy?
He massaged his sore forearm with his left hand. The injury, slight as it was, again reminded him that he did need to think more about how to create some sort of shields.
He glanced back at the silversmith’s, but the door was still shuttered. So he walked past the cafe and entered the chandlery.
A man within a few years of Quaeryt’s age turned, then frowned.
“Greetings,” Quaeryt said quickly. “I’ve recently arrived from Solis.”
An expression close to relief crossed the man’s face.
“I’m a scholar, and I’ve been sent to write about the history of Tilbor from the time of the last Khanars until now.”
“Were you raised in Solis?”
“I was an orphan left in Solis as a young child when my parents died in the Great Plague. I’d guess I’m as much from Solis as from anywhere.”
“Better there than some places.”
“I was hoping that you could tell me what you recall…” From there Quaeryt went on, asking a question here
