Princeps

“Yesterday … my da-my father-I got a letter from him. He agreed that since Syndar seemed so much better suited to being a scholar, I should come home, but only when the roads were clear and when I could join someone trustworthy. You did that, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly. Syndar wanted to stay. He’s been a great help to Scholar Princeps Yullyd. I wrote that to your father. Nothing more.”

“Thank you, sir. I liked what I learned at the scholarium, but I do so miss Ayerne, and I know I’m better suited to the land.”

“I’m sure you are.” Quaeryt paused. “Would you be willing to leave tomorrow?”

“Sir? Do you mean it?”

“First Regiment is heading that way, and they leave tomorrow. I think I can persuade Commander Myskyl to let you ride with them. They’ll likely overnight at Ayerne anyway. But you’ll have to gather your things and ride back with me when I leave the scholarium after I see Cyrethyn.”

“I can do that, sir. I can.”

Quaeryt nodded, his eyes on the road. So far the packed snow and ice, and presumably the ground beneath both in places where the roads were not stone-paved, seemed frozen solid. Of course, there would be mud farther south, but because the snow melted more in between storms, there wouldn’t be as much mud as in Tilbor and the area just south of the river when everything did melt.

After they had ridden a while longer, Lankyt again turned in the saddle. “You said First Regiment was riding south. Will there be a war, sir?”

“There’s always likely to be a war sometime. When and where the next one will be, I don’t know, but I fear it won’t be that long.”

“Will you have to go or will you stay in Tilbor?”

“I serve here at the pleasure of Lord Bhayar. That’s up to him.”

The youth nodded thoughtfully.

It was close to a glass later when Quaeryt dismounted outside the stable of the scholarium. He was almost breathing heavily when he dismounted, and wondered why, until he realized, belatedly, that he’d been carrying shields for the entire ride.

Can you lower them? He frowned. Surely, here … He decided against it. He’d promised Vaelora, and if anything at all happened … he certainly didn’t want to hear what she might say. Besides, the more he worked at it, the sooner before the effort required would diminish.

At that moment, he saw Gauswn hurrying toward him at almost a run.

“Sir!” panted the chorister.

“Where is Cyrethyn?” asked Quaeryt.

“He’s in his quarters in the anomen, sir. He does want to talk to you, but he’s so weak. I was afraid to leave him.”

“We came as quickly as we could.” Quaeryt turned to Lankyt. “You need to get your things ready. If any of the scholars need an explanation, I’ll talk to them after I see to Cyrethyn.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt handed the mare’s reins to the ranker nearest to him and looked to the squad leader. “I’ll probably be here about a glass, Heisyn. There should be room in the stable for the mounts, and the tack room is usually warm.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, Quaeryt nodded to Gauswn, and the two walked along the packed snow that covered the brick lane and then along the foot-packed path from the scholarium to the anomen.

Gauswn led the way to the main door of the building and stepped into the vestibule. “The private hallway is this way.” He opened a narrow ancient ironbound door that Quaeryt had only vaguely noticed in passing on the few occasions he had visited the scholarium’s anomen.

The long hallway, barely illumined by a single oil lamp, led to a narrow staircase whose stone steps bore the hollows worn by years of choristers’ footsteps. At the bottom of the staircase, there was another passage to the right, again dimly lit by a single oil lamp in a wall sconce. Quaeryt found the near darkness oppressive, but less than five yards from the bottom of the steps was a door, beside which stood two older students.

“He’s in his bed.” Gauswn pointed to the door. “He said he needed to talk to you alone. I’ll wait out here.”

“I’ll try not to tire him.”

Gauswn nodded, but then said, “Please … sir … do let him say what he must, whatever that may be.”

Quaeryt smiled sadly. “I will.” He opened the door, stepped into the chamber, and shut the door behind him. The sole light came from a pair of high and narrow windows, only one of which was unshuttered, and just on one side. The furnishings were few, just the bed, a night table beside it, an armoire, a writing desk, and a chair-which had been pulled up close to the bed.

The old chorister, whose still wavy brown hair, without a trace of white, was so in contrast to the drawn and lined features of his face, smiled faintly as Quaeryt walked over to the narrow bed and sat on the chair.

“I came as soon as I could.”

“I … thought … you would.”

Quaeryt waited.

“Thank you … for Gauswn. He will be … a good chorister.” Cyrethyn took a wheezing breath. “A better chorister than an officer…”

“He was a good officer,” said Quaeryt.

“He will be … he already is … a better chorister … and you … you have not disappointed him. He will always look up to you.”

That was something Quaeryt had worried about more than once. “I wish he did not.”

“No … you must understand that he does … Never forget it … you … there is more about you … and … you must … must never … disappoint those who believe … in you.…” Cyrethyn was gasping as he finished those words.

Quaeryt wanted to ask if there was any way he could make Cyrethyn more comfortable, but knowing there was not, he remained silent until Cyrethyn’s breathing eased somewhat. “Is there anything else … I should know?”

The slightest smile crossed the old man’s lips. “You would make … a fine chorister … but … the world would be … poorer for it.”

Quaeryt did not wish to dispute either, much as he doubted both of Cyrethyn’s assertions, so he just sat on the stool and smiled warmly. “Is there anything I can do?”

“You … have done all I hoped … so far … just … do … not … disappoint them.…”

Even those words exhausted the old man, and Quaeryt nodded, rather than speak. For perhaps a quint he sat there, long after the chorister’s eyelids closed and he drifted into sleep. Finally, Quaeryt rose and walked to the door, opening it quietly and stepping outside, trying to close it equally silently.

“Is he…?” asked Gauswn.

“He told me what he wanted me to know. He’s sleeping or dozing now.”

“Thank you for coming,” said Gauswn.

“I could do no less for him.” Quaeryt shook his head. “But there is also little else I can do.”

“You saved the scholarium and the anomen, sir, and he cared greatly for both.”

“He was devoted to both.” Unlike some.

After several moments of silence, Gauswn cleared his throat. “I’ll see you out, sir.”

“There’s no need. Cyrethyn needs you more than I do.”

“He’d be very disappointed, sir, if I didn’t at least see you to the door.”

Quaeryt smiled. He couldn’t argue with that. “Just to the anomen door.”

From the chorister’s chamber they walked side by side, just far enough apart that Quaeryt’s closely held shields were not triggered into full protection. Because the staircase was too narrow to be comfortable for two, Quaeryt led the way, with Gauswn close behind. Just before Quaeryt reached the top of the staircase, he frowned. Was there someone waiting by the door?

Something slammed into his shields, driving him back so hard that he staggered to one side and almost fell.