Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (32 page)

Quaeryt read through three handspans’ worth of paper before he came across the first sheet that interested him, a proclamation that declared officers of the “militia of the northern Boran Hills” bore their ranks equivalent to those of the Guard of the Khanar. The document was signed by Rhecyrd, Khanar of Tilbor. He set that aside and kept looking, not that he knew precisely what he sought.

Shortly thereafter, he found a letter addressed to Eleonyd, Khanar and Patriarch of Tilbor, written by one Fhaedyrk, High Holder of Dyrkholm. Most of it was flattery and obfuscation, but one paragraph stood out.

… the wealth of Tilbor lies in two sources, that of its High Holders and that combined which derives from its growers, factors, and crafters. Both create greater wealth from lesser sources, as opposed to the timber holders of the hills, who harvest what they have not grown in greater amounts than the forests will sustain in years to come, and the clans of the north who prey on all who are weaker … In all your efforts to improve Tilbor, and in regard to the revisions suggested in tariffs, you and your predecessors have kept these sources in mind, and continuing such may well be in the best interests of the khanarate …

He’d heard the name Fhaedyrk, but he couldn’t remember where. So he set that letter aside as well and kept reading through the assorted papers. At the end of another glass, he’d found a missive from Chayar’s ill-fated envoy announcing his arrival and suggesting that Eleonyd meet with him at his earliest convenience, with the barely veiled suggestion that matters of mutual interest should be considered sooner rather than later, but there was no mention of what those matters might be.

Then, after another few quints, he came across another letter under the crest of the Khanar, this one signed by Tyrena, as regent for Eleonyd, Khanar of Tilbor. He almost overlooked it, because it was in the back of a leather folder behind a flap, and he’d been about to replace the folder in the box when he realized there was a flap and lifted it. After he finished reading it, he nodded. Although the bulk of the text dealt with routine matters before the Khanar’s Council, there were several suggestive phrases.

… as for consideration of tariffs on the timber road, that is a matter that will be reviewed at the next session of the Khanar’s Council …

… at this time no funds can be spent on paying for enlarging the harbor at Noira … better funded by the High Holders and factors of the north as they are the only ones who might benefit …

… the matter of the potential marriage of the heiress of the Khanar will also be discussed at the next Council meeting …

… discussion of the dispatch from the Autarch of Antiago will resume …

While the text had been written by a scrivener, the signature was different and, from what Quaeryt could recall, similar to that on the note he’d discovered in the tactics book, although the signature seemed more mature. After studying the letter again, Quaeryt checked back through the other leather folders he had already looked at, but none contained anything else hidden behind flaps, and another glass of looking revealed nothing else dealing with Tyrena.

By midafternoon, his eyes were blurring from all of the searching through papers and documents, but he did manage to complete going through the four disorganized boxes of papers, bills of lading, proclamations, even scattered ledger sheets. The one thing that was very clear was that the last days of the khanarate, if the documents were any indication, had been hectic and disorganized. Still, he had perhaps twenty documents that might prove of interest. He slipped them into the folder that had concealed the letter signed by Tyrena, and placed that folder at the end of the third box.

That single letter from Tyrena raised several questions. First … if she had acted as regent for her father, why was there only one letter? Or had there been more, and the others removed? That was most likely, given that the single letter he’d found had been tucked behind a flap in a folder containing other papers. But, if there had been others, who had removed them? Rhecyrd? Or one of his assistants, on the Pretender’s orders? Would Quaeryt ever know?

He doubted it.

As blurry as his eyes felt by then, roughly at third glass, he left the archives and walked through the gardens and back to his quarters, where he sat down and began to compose a reply to the missive Vaelora had dispatched. He tried to think out each sentence carefully before he wrote it.

Dear Mistress Vaelora—

I arrived in Tilbora on the twenty-seventh of Agostas and received your latest missive then. My journey took longer than I had anticipated because I had to wait for a ship sailing from Nacliano to Tilbora. Unfortunately, the ship encountered a storm and went on the rocks well south of Tilbor. It took a good week for me to recover at the holding of a kindly couple, and then more than another week to ride north to Tilbor. I regret the delay in my replying to your inquiries.

Your last communication raised eloquently the difficulty of objectively determining what might be the most practical course of action for a ruler, given that the best possible judgments of those around the ruler might well differ, even if all had his best interests in mind. In addition, some might not have those interests in mind, and often those who are the least inclined to further a ruler’s best interests are also the most eloquent. How then should he judge whose counsel is of most value? All circumstances differ, but I would suggest that the ruler offer to those advising him a plausible course of action in dealing with the matter at hand, but one which he knows is flawed, and request their counsel. How they respond may tell him much.

You had also commented upon the value of scholars, and you might find it of interest to learn that the fashion in which people perceive scholars varies more widely across Telaryn than one might suppose. In Nacliano, the Scholars’ House was burned and the scholars dispersed, if not subjected to worse abuse, because a scholar taught the wife of a City Patrol chief reading and mathematics because she wished to aid her husband. Unhappily, what she read and calculated so horrified the poor woman that she fled, and the Patrol chief took steps to make sure that scholars troubled Nacliano no more.

With that much written, Quaeryt set aside his reply for the moment, since he did not want to dispatch it immediately, in any case, not until he had met with the governor.

The mess was more crowded that evening, but Quaeryt saw that Skarpa was surrounded by other officers. He sat with several undercaptains, mainly listening and offering innocuous pleasantries or simple factual replies on the few times he was asked questions.

After eating, he made his way to the anomen, largely because he wanted to see who would be there and hear what Phargos might offer in his homily.

The double doors of the gray stone anomen were of polished but well-weathered oak, and the brass hinges shone. Two lanterns, unlit, given that the sun had not yet set, also gleamed, despite the fact that the anomen lay in the shadow of the massive walls. Inside, which was larger than Quaeryt had originally judged, the wall lanterns were lit and cast a diffuse but warm glow across the officers and rankers gathered there between the oak-paneled walls. Quaeryt had never seen an anomen with paneled walls, not that he’d ever been in more than a handful of anomens, but the walls were without adornment of any sort, as was the fashion. What was strange was that there were far more officers than rankers.

Quaeryt took a position on the east side near the rear and waited. Several undercaptains followed him inside, but no one stood that close to him.

Shortly, Phargos moved to the center of the dais. He did not wear the vestments of a chorister, but his uniform, if with the long scarf that all choristers wore during services. The regimental chorister began with the greeting. “We gather together in the spirit of the Nameless and to affirm the quest for goodness and mercy in all that we do.”

Quaeryt’s mouth almost dropped open, because Phargos had offered the greeting in perfect Bovarian, not Tellan, and that might well explain the scarcity of rankers among the worshippers.

The opening hymn followed, and it was “Praise Not the Nameless,” also sung in Bovarian. Likewise, the confession was also in Bovarian, although Quaeryt could tell some of the more junior officers were stumbling occasionally, but they did seem to have the last words down. “… and deference to You who cannot be named or known, only respected and worshipped.”

Quaeryt murmured “In peace and harmony” with the others, and slipped only a copper into the offertory basket. His wallet was getting thin, and he didn’t want to try imaging within the stone walls.

Phargos ascended to the pulpit for the homily with the crispness of an officer. “Good evening,” he offered in Bovarian.

“Good evening,” came the murmured reply.

“Under the Nameless all evenings are good…”

Although he couldn’t help but wonder why the services were being conducted in Bovarian, Quaeryt had no trouble listening. Phargos’s voice was resonant and carried, and much of what he said made sense, especially one part.

“… why is the term ‘sir’ not only respectful, but especially appropriate for an officer of the regiment?” Phargos paused, then went on. “It is appropriate because it conveys respect without using a name, and Naming is not only a sin, but it also undermines the discipline of the regiment. When titles and names are too frequently used, they supersede, with few realizing it, the common purpose of the regiment. Men, even officers, puff themselves up if they hear their titles and name too often. An ancient sage once observed that the surest sign of a land’s decline is when the length of the title of its ruler exceeds the length of his name manyfold … or when both take longer to say than the sentence which follows…”

A low laugh came from several officers at that. Quaeryt smiled.

After the benediction, Quaeryt lingered, since he saw Meinyt and Skarpa heading in his direction.

“You came to services, scholar,” said Skarpa, his tone mock-accusatory.

“I did indeed.”

“But are not scholars dubious of the Nameless?”

“We are dubious about everything, but in that regard, we follow the precepts of Rholan, because he was dubious about names. We’re dubious about names … and a few more things as well.”

“Is there anything that you’re not dubious about?” asked Skarpa sardonically.

“Only that seasons follow seasons, that rulers will always tariff, and that death comes to all.”

“That leaves more doubt in life than most can accept.”

“True,” replied Quaeryt, “but what men and women will accept and what they believe to be does not make such certain. It only comforts them.”

“You sound more cynical than the Namer,” observed Meinyt dryly.

“No. The Namer uses names to convey certainty where there is none. False certainty is the hallmark of the Namer.”

“You should have been a chorister.”

Quaeryt laughed. “I think not.”
Not when you’re not even certain that there is a Nameless.

The three walked together back toward the west wing, where Quaeryt took his leave and climbed up to his chamber.

38

On Lundi morning, Quaeryt made certain he was in his assigned study a good half quint before seventh glass, then walked over to the princeps’s anteroom.

“Vhorym, is there any special format I should use for my reports?”

“The standard form is like this, sir.” The squad leader turned to the wooden box beside his table desk and lifted the hinged cover, removing a thin leather folder and laying it on the desk before extracting a single sheet. “You see? The top line is the addressee, the second is the writer, the third the subject, and the last line of the heading the date.” He slipped the sheet back into the folder, and then replaced it in the file box.

“You’re very organized.”

“The governor … and the princeps … wouldn’t have it any other way, sir.”

“Vhorym. One other thing … the princeps mentioned that when I do leave the palace grounds, I’m to log out. Where do I do that?”

“In the gatehouse just inside the south side of the main upper gates, sir. There’s a log for both missions and individuals.”

“Thank you. Later today, if the princeps asks, I’ll be down in the archives chamber. I should be there most of the day.” With that, Quaeryt returned to his study, where he remained, thinking, until two quints past the bells striking seventh glass. Then he left the study and made his way down to the lower level of the palace to continue his perusal of the seemingly innumerable boxes of papers in the more than capacious archives.

While he had hoped to move from box to box, reading each in place, he ended up carrying a box at a time to the table under the lamps, because none of the other wall lamps held oil, and a hand lantern would have shed so little light that reading the papers would have been even more difficult.

Thankfully, the documents in the other file boxes were in fact organized, not only by date, but by subject matter as well. By midmorning, Quaeryt had located and read through a set of files that contained records of all meetings of the Khanar’s Council for the three years prior to the last year of the khanarate, documented in a haphazard way by the scattered files in the first four boxes. He would have liked to have seen all of them, but what was missing was likely destroyed, especially anything bearing on the change in rulers.

The Council records were mostly routine. One entire meeting had been devoted to the question of wastes being dumped into rivers and in particular, the Albhor River. Another meeting had been on whether the Khanar should set up a mint in the palace or continue to have coin struck by the gold- and silversmiths in Tilbora, and yet another had dealt with the penalties for conviction for logging on the properties of another. From what he could tell, not a single file was missing from that period, and all were reported either one hand or another, only two scripts alternating over the three years.

Studying all those files took him until the second glass of the afternoon, when he left for a time to get some water—from one of the pitchers in the princeps’s anteroom—followed by a walk in the gardens, where he filched a late apple from one of the trees. The apple was crisp, but tart. Then he sat on a stone bench shaded by a well-trimmed juniper and thought about all that he had read so far that day.