Antiagon Fire

6

At two quints before ninth glass on Samedi morning, Quaeryt had just stamped and then brushed his muddy boots off on the stone floor of the south-facing covered porch of the scholarium some five milles north of the Chateau Regis.

Nearly two glasses to cover four milles on what wouldn’t have been called a path in Telaryn. Were all the side roads in Bovaria that bad, or was that because the scholars were in as much disfavor in Bovaria as in Telaryn? You may find out shortly.

He glanced back below the porch at the terraced gardens, their low walls composed of local stones stacked and barely fitted together. The ground between the walls was bare, and the stalks and stubble had been turned under the soil, crudely, for Quaeryt could see parts of stalks protruding.

He turned. Two rankers, hands on the hilts of their sabres, stood behind him as he crossed the porch to the door, still carrying full heavy imaging shields. Before Quaeryt reached the door, it opened.

“Who might you be?” offered the lean, almost emaciated, man with straggly blond hair, who wore scholars’ browns of a somewhat different cut than those worn by the scholars of Telaryn.

“Quaeryt Rytersyn, scholar and commander in the Southern Army of Telaryn. I’m here to see the maitre.”

The scholar glanced at the two armed rankers and the mounted squad drawn up at the foot of the stone steps, then back at Quaeryt. “I don’t suppose we can exactly stop you.”

“I have no ill intentions.”

“I suppose not, not if you are asking. If you would follow me, sir…”

Quaeryt ignored the grudging tone of the “sir” and followed the scholar into the two-story oblong brick structure. The rankers followed, the second closing the door.

The scholar walked through a square entry hall floored with boot-scarred slate and down a narrow corridor to a dark gold oak door, half ajar. “Maitre, there’s a Telaryn commander here to see you. Says he’s a scholar.”

“Then have him come in, Brialt.”

“Thank you.” Quaeryt image-projected absolute authority and stepped past the scholar, ignoring the audible gulp, and closed the door behind himself. “I’m Quaeryt Rytersyn, maitre, a scholar from Solis.” Among other things.

The white-haired and bent scholar did not rise from the narrow desk, but peered up at Quaeryt, his eyes wide as he took in the brownish green uniform and the commander’s insignia. Finally, he spoke in Bovarian. “You command a powerful presence, a strength of purpose I have never sensed before.”

“I am who I am.”

“You wear a uniform, yet you say you are a scholar.”

“I was raised a scholar in Solis, then was a scholar assistant to Lord Bhayar before serving in the Tilboran rebellion and becoming an officer.”

“You know we are not scholars like those in Solis.”

Quaeryt was only slightly surprised at the standard phrasing, and he replied in kind. “I did not expect that you would be exactly the same. Nor does the moon have sons she acknowledges openly, yet learning exists under moonlight or sunlight, for all that the hunter may be Artiema’s guardian.”

“I suppose I must welcome you, Quaeryt Rytersyn. I am Charpentier D’Scholarium, and Scholar Maitre of Variana. Might I ask what brings you here?”

“Part of my duties to Lord Bhayar is to talk to the scholars of Bovaria. You represent the scholars here.”

“Only here.” Charpentier offered a raspy laugh. “Only in this poor scholarium. Once this was the smallest of the three in and around Variana. Now … it is all that remains.”

Quaeryt eased himself into the rickety-looking single armless wooden chair across the desk from the maitre. “How did that come to be?”

“It is a long story … and a sad one.”

Quaeryt nodded.

“In the time of Rex Haarl, the father of Rex Kharst, the scholars were respected. Every scholarium received golds from the nearby anomens. Not many, but enough to supplement what we earned from the schools and to maintain the scholarium. Then … when Rex Kharst succeeded his sire and took the Chateau Regis, things changed.” The maitre sighed. “Had we but known, but yesterday is always so much clearer than tomorrow. You would think we go through life like a man riding backward in a coach, seeing everything after we pass it, if not later, facing where we have been, rather than where we are headed.”

“And what happened?” prompted Quaeryt.

“Rex Kharst … he ordered that the anomens not give golds to the scholaria. He said that worship belonged in the anomens, and scholars in the scholaria, and choristers should not use their golds to influence what scholars taught, and scholars should not teach what choristers wanted students to believe. The choristers were not unhappy, for they had never cared much for the old custom.”

“And the choristers and the anomens prospered?”

“You should see behind the walls of the modest dwelling of Chorister Amalyt … or Chorister Bruisn.” Charpentier gave a sniffling snort, then wiped his nose with his sleeve. “When Rex Kharst raised the tariffs on the local crafters and merchants, and the factors, fewer would send their boys to the school … and there were not even silvers to spare. We expanded the gardens and sold our beer, and it was a fine beer, but the brewers of Variana complained, and the armsmen of the rex came and smashed the brewery. That was three years ago.”

Quaeryt nodded slowly. “Kharst was not good for scholars or for Bovaria.”

“Who could say such?” The old scholar looked at Quaeryt, then said in a lower voice, “We prayed to the Nameless to grant us a scholar with the power to advise our ruler. Or even for another rex.” He laughed, his aged voice cracking. “From what I see of you, we received what we prayed for. Exactly what we prayed for.”

“Have you no students?”

“We have no students, and but a handful of scholars remaining, for that is all our modest lands will support. I hear that the scholarium in Laaryn has fared better. The others here in Variana are no more. About those elsewhere”-Charpentier shrugged-“I have not heard.”

Quaeryt stood. “Thank you for seeing me. I am sorry to hear of your troubles.”

“What will you do, Commander Scholar?”

“For now … I will report to Lord Bhayar. What he will do, I do not know, save I doubt that he will visit more tribulation upon the scholars or any scholarium that accepts his rule.”

“What else would we do but accept what we cannot change?”

Quaeryt nodded once more, then took his leave of the old and tired building. Once outside, in the muddy space below the front steps, he mounted the mare, then gestured for the squad to ride out. At the foot of the low rise where the lane from the scholarium joined the road that was barely more than a path, he glanced back, his eyes taking in the sagging roofline of the old building and the wooden shutters that doubtless covered windows whose glass the scholars had been unable to replace.

What has happened to the scholars all across Lydar? Or is it that the rulers changed? Quaeryt wasn’t certain that he knew. What was becoming increasingly clear was that he would receive little or no support or assistance from the scholars … and that he was likely better off without what they might offer. Except that the scholars in Tilbor had refused to accept being impoverished … and that had created a different and more difficult situation.

Both situations saddened him.

But that is why what you plan must come to be … must …