Princeps

Because of his shorter left leg, he barely managed to catch his balance after going down one step.

As he did, Gauswn sprinted past him, a long knife drawn from somewhere in his hand.

Quaeryt’s eyes followed the chorister, and after a moment, so did his feet as he ran after Gauswn. He was close enough to see Gauswn’s arm move in what looked to be an underhanded thrust to the chest of a man in black-whose face mirrored shock, even as the crossbow clattered to the stone floor.

“You … always…” The would-be assassin’s knees crumpled.

Gauswn thrust the dying man backward, and his body hit the stone with a muffled thud.

Quaeryt reached the chorister and looked down at the sharp-faced and dark-haired figure, attired totally in black, who tried to gasp, then shuddered and was still. “Alkiabys … I thought he’d died in the last battle, along with Zarxes.”

“He should have.” The chorister turned to Quaeryt. “Again … the Nameless has protected you.…”

“Alkiabys just missed.”

Gauswn looked straight at Quaeryt. “I saw you be thrown back by that quarrel. It was aimed straight at your heart. Yet it was as if it hit a wall and dropped to the stones.”

“I didn’t see that,” replied Quaeryt. That much was true. He hadn’t seen it; he’d only felt the impact.

Gauswn inclined his head. “You are blessed by the Nameless.”

What can you say to that? After a moment, Quaeryt said, “I don’t know that. I do know that I’m glad that quarrel didn’t reach its target … and that you took care of Alkiabys. All I can ask is that I’d very much appreciate it if exactly what happened remains between us. I’m not asking you to lie…” Quaeryt paused. “You can say that Alkiabys fired his crossbow at me. That is true. You can also say that, for some reason, the quarrel didn’t hit me. I will say, which is also true, that you leapt to my defense and killed him.”

“But … why…?”

“Gauswn … if … IF I’m somehow protected, and you tell anyone, how long before someone else tries … and if I survive, someone else after that? If, as you think, the Nameless is protecting me-and I have grave doubts about that-but if it is true, the Nameless might not wish to keep protecting me if the fact of that protection is flaunted … or even known to a single other person.”

The chorister nodded slowly. “Sir … it will be between us.”

“Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that.” And I can’t … at least not for a very, very long time. Because, while two people could occasionally keep a secret, especially if one happened to be as honorable as Gauswn, three people never could.

Gauswn looked down at the body, then at Quaeryt.

“Give him an honorable pyre, but no memorial.”

The young chorister nodded. “That would seem fitting.”

“You attend to Cyrethyn. I’ll have Yullyd or Nalakyn come and take care of the body.”

“Thank you, sir.”

When Quaeryt reached the rear of the scholarium, he saw Lankyt standing on the porch, with Nalakyn beside him. Several bundles were set at Lankyt’s feet.

“Princeps, sir,” began Nalakyn, “I understand that you have offered-”

“To have Lankyt escorted back to his father’s holding? That’s correct, but I’m going to have to task you with a less pleasant duty. You might recall Alkiabys?”

“Yes … sir.” The round-faced master scholar sounded puzzled.

“He was hiding in the anomen and tried to attack me when I left after seeing Cyrethyn. Gauswn leapt to my defense and killed him. Because he once was a scholar, he deserves a pyre, but not a memorial.” Quaeryt fumbled in his wallet until he came up with a pair of silvers. “I would not wish the expense to fall entirely on the scholarium. Use these to replace whatever wood is necessary. And because Gauswn must attend to Cyrethyn … could you have some of the scholars remove the body?”

“Yes, sir.” After a moment, Nalakyn said, “About young Lankyt…?”

“He’ll be riding back to the palace with me. He’ll be riding out with Commander Myskyl early tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt looked hard at the master scholar. “We’ll be leaving as soon as the horses are ready.”

“I’ll have the students on discipline duty and Scholar Weisyn remove the body.”

“Thank you.”

Nalakyn almost scuttled across the covered porch and inside the building.

“It really was Alkiabys?” asked Lankyt.

“Yes.”

“I never liked him,” blurted Lankyt. “He liked to hurt students in Sansang practice. He’d say that they needed to learn what would happen when they didn’t defend themselves right. But he liked it. Scholar Chardyn was hard, but he was fair.” There was a pause. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“Let’s just say that he and Phaeryn would make certain that on the day that the visiting scholars or others said they would depart … they departed early … and left their coin for the Ecoliae. I suspect that one of those visitors took exception … perhaps many did, but one was finally able to prevail.”

Lankyt nodded slowly. “That … I can see that.”

Quaeryt bent and picked up one of the bundles. “Is this all you’re bringing?”

“I left whatever Syndar could use, sir. I’ll have more than enough at home.”

That was certainly true, reflected Quaeryt as they walked toward the stable, but Lankyt’s leaving anything that his older brother could use was still thoughtful.

“Father did tell me to ride the gelding home,” Lankyt added. “He said that, as a scholar, Syndar would have less need for him.”

A quint later, when Quaeryt, Lankyt, and the squad were a half mille away from the scholarium, Lankyt turned in the saddle, looked across the space between mounts, and said, “Master Scholar Nalakyn says that we should always tell the truth. I don’t see everything, sir, but it seems to me there are times when the truth hurts more than not saying anything.”

Quaeryt laughed ruefully. “That’s true enough. The problem is that when you start thinking like that, it becomes easy, first to say nothing, and then to lie, and then lie more, and finally to justify all the lies you’ve told. Yet … there are times, when part of the truth, so long as that part is not a lie in and of itself, is better than the whole truth … For example, if a man loses his courage in a battle and turns and flees, but is cut down from behind, there is no harm, and a grace, in telling his family that he died in battle without saying that he tried to flee. If a man has done evil while doing some otherwise good deeds and is killed in trying to do evil, it is sometimes better to say that he had good qualities and qualities that were not so good. But … if you do not tell the entire truth, you must always remember that you did not tell the entire truth, and each time you are tempted not to, you should ask whether you do so to make your path easier, or to aid others … or whether you do so for your own interests. If you find you are too often ‘helping’ others in that fashion, then you are deceiving yourself.” He shook his head. “As in everything, nothing in life is as simple as the maxims we teach. It is so easy to slip from the honorable … and yet, I have seen what many would call honorable used as a reason for cruelty and despicable behavior.” After another pause, he concluded, “And I don’t know that I’ve answered your question.”

“I think you have, sir.”

Quaeryt wasn’t so certain. It’s so easy to self-justify, and so hard to be truly honest about why you do what you do. Rescalyn certainly believed that overthrowing Bhayar would result in better rule of Telaryn … and you believed that a slightly better ruler would not justify all the upheaval and bloodshed. Who was right?

For all that he believed he had acted wisely, who was truly to say?

On the remainder of the ride back to the Telaryn Palace, Quaeryt managed not to reveal much more than he’d asked Gauswn to say, despite Lankyt’s curiosity. Once they reached the palace, he found Myskyl, who was surprisingly amenable to letting Lankyt ride with the regiment, then made arrangements for Lankyt to take a room in the west wing, and to eat as a guest in the mess. Finally, Quaeryt hurried to the main section of the palace and up to his and Vaelora’s quarters, where he found her in the study that had become hers.

She looked up from the table desk where she was writing. “Dearest … why are you here … now?”