Scholar

83

Quaeryt was so tired that, when he woke up in the small shed with most of Meinyt’s company on Solayi, he had no idea at first where he was or how he’d gotten there. When he tried to move, he was reminded instantly. He just lay there on a pile of pine branches that was better than bare ground, but not much, thinking.

Solayi … the day of rest.… Rest from what? Killing?

He wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but he was almost afraid that, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. So he rolled over and struggled to his feet.

“That leg bothering you, again, sir?” asked a ranker.

“It does more in the morning. I’ll be all right in a bit.” He didn’t bother rolling up his gear, not when they’d be there one more night. He walked out of the shed into a grayish morning. While it was still early, the gray was because of the featureless clouds that had rolled in, not because it was before dawn. He made his way toward one of the cookfires, where he saw Skarpa talking with another major.

By the time he reached the cookfires, the two had walked away, deep in conversation, and Quaeryt didn’t follow them. After a breakfast of egg and mutton hash inside a rolled flatcake, accompanied by some very bad ale-likely the dregs from Saentaryn’s stores-that he had to pour into his own water bottle, Quaeryt still had a headache and was still sore and stiff. He went to check the mare, but she looked and acted better than he felt.

He’d no sooner returned to the area that held Sixth Battalion than a ranker hurried toward him. Quaeryt had the feeling he knew who was seeking him.

“The governor would like to see you, scholar.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s inside, in the main hall of the hold.”

Quaeryt nodded and walked toward the hold building, not dawdling, but not rushing, not with the way his leg felt. When he got there, two guards blocked the open double doors. “Not yet, sir.”

After more than a quint, one of the guards called, “Sir, the governor will see you now.”

Quaeryt stepped through the open double doors into a large foyer, although the ceiling was not raised above normal height or open to the upper level. The floor was wooden, and oiled, but showed the marks of years of wear, and the grain suggested it was oak. The walls were oak-paneled, and lighter oblongs suggested that paintings had hung there and been removed, either by Saentaryn’s retainers earlier or at Rescalyn’s direction later. Quaeryt wasn’t about to ask which.

“Sir … the governor’s that way.” A squad leader pointed to the square archway to the left. “He’s expecting you.”

The large hall-obviously a dining hall-had been roughly cleared, with the long tables and benches pushed against the walls. A shorter table stood before the natural stone hearth and chimney, but well out from the stonework. Rescalyn sat behind the table.

He motioned to Quaeryt.

Quaeryt approached and bowed slightly. “Sir.”

“Scholar, I understand you give a passable homily … and that Undercaptain Gauswn knows the service fairly well.”

“I’m no chorister, sir, but I can speak to some of the teachings of Rholan and the Nameless. From what I’ve observed, Undercaptain Gauswn is quite familiar with the order of the service.”

“Good. I will leave the arrangements for this evening’s service to the two of you. I do trust that the subject of the homily will be appropriate.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That is all, scholar.”

Quaeryt inclined his head, turned, and departed.

Once he was outside the hold, he moved to the south end and kept walking until he could step into a space between two junipers. There he raised a concealment shield and slowly and carefully made his way back to the hold entrance, where, after a time, he slipped past the ranker guards and into the foyer, and then into the hall.

It was empty, but the papers left on the table suggested that Rescalyn would return.

Quaeryt waited almost two quints, standing beside the massive stone hearth and chimney, before the governor returned, accompanied by Commander Myskyl.

For a time, the talk centered on logistics, including three wagons the engineers had found in the wagon shed and were inspecting to see how usable they might be. Eventually, the two began to discuss subjects of greater interest to Quaeryt.

“… should be able to get to the staging point on that flat ridge a good glass before sunset if we leave at dawn tomorrow.”

“If it doesn’t rain, that shouldn’t be a problem, sir.”

“The clouds are still high. If we do get rain, it won’t be more than a light drizzle for the next few days. After that, it won’t matter as much.”

“A few prayers to the Nameless wouldn’t hurt,” replied Myskyl ironically.

“Speaking of the Nameless, what you do think of the scholar?”

“I’ve asked around, as you requested. Quietly.” Myskyl paused. “He’s careful. He’s also courageous. The officers and the men respect him.”

“How does he handle that staff?”

“Like a seaman, mostly.”

Rescalyn shook his head. “He’s never what he says he isn’t … but that doesn’t mean he’s not more than he is.”

“You know he’s Lord Bhayar’s man.”

“It’s too bad, really. We’ll just have to see, though. We’ll put Sixth Battalion in the center when we face Demotyl’s retainers … and later at Zorlyn’s … if it comes to that.”

“Will it?”

“I’ll offer terms to Zorlyn to appear magnanimous, because he didn’t sign their declaration, but he won’t accept. Besides, it will take Zorlyn’s fall to convince those in the south. Do we have any word from the north?”

“I’m certain Commander Pulaskyr can flatten Vurlaent’s hold. After that, the others will likely capitulate.”

“I trust that will be so. That will give us the winter to rebuild. Without the threat of the hill holders, we’ll pick up more rankers. We might pick up a few deserters as well.”

“More than a few, I’d wager. Enough to add another full battalion.”

“It would be helpful if they were archers. We’ll need another two companies by then.”

Quaeryt stood in the space beside the massive hearth for more than a glass, but the rest of the conversation with Commander Myskyl and those with other officers all dealt with the conduct of the campaign. Finally, behind his concealment shield, he slipped away and out of the hold house that held little of value that could have been moved. He found a shaded space behind a large juniper at the south end of the dwelling, where he released the concealment, then headed back to find the officers of Sixth Battalion.

Again … what he’d heard wasn’t totally conclusive, but it was more than suggestive, especially the words about archers, because archers were supposedly only good in pitched battles. For what pitched battles was Rescalyn planning?

It took him almost half a glass to find Gauswn, whose company was located in an outlying sheep shed that no longer held sheep-only pungent odors that made it clear that the ovine presence had been most recent.

“Sir?” asked the undercaptain on seeing Quaeryt approach.

“The governor has requested that you and I conduct services this evening, much the way we did at Boralieu.”

“Yes, sir.”

“By the way, Cyrethyn speaks most highly of you. I’m not certain he doesn’t think you should be a chorister.”

“No, sir. I couldn’t think up things the way either of you do.”

“That just comes with practice and experience in life.”

“I think it takes more than that, sir.”

Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue on that point and said, “You know the openings, the invocation … the confession…”

“Yes, sir.”

“I think we should skip the offertory.”

Gauswn nodded.

In less than a quint, the two had completed the arrangements and organization for the evening services. After that, Quaeryt found a quiet spot in the rear and very rustic herb and vegetable gardens to think about a homily that was true to the precepts of the Nameless and also “appropriate,” as Rescalyn had put it. He didn’t like being put in the position of delivering homilies under the auspices of a deity of whose existence he was most uncertain, and especially doing so in the middle of what was turning into a very bloody campaign. Yet … refusing to do so helped no one, including the rankers who were the ones shedding most of the blood. It also wouldn’t help him or Lord Bhayar or his goals for scholars and eventually imagers-goals he thought were worthwhile.

But doesn’t everyone with a mission believe their goals are worthwhile? Doesn’t Rescalyn?

He knew the answers to those questions, and they didn’t offer much comfort.

All too soon the rest of the afternoon and supper passed, and Quaeryt and Gauswn stood on the flat space north of the hold house, facing several hundred men and officers. Gauswn handled the invocation and confession, and skipped the offertory, then turned to Quaeryt.

“Under the Nameless … all evenings are good,” Quaeryt began. “But we all know that some are better than others.” He’d hoped the dryness of the way he delivered those words would get at least a few smiles … and he saw some. “We’ve all been through some long days lately, and there might be a few questions about how it all came to this. Well … I can’t claim any insight into what the Nameless might think, but I have seen, now and again, as have most of you, what happens when people, even rulers, think that they don’t have to abide by the laws and rules of a land … when they think they’re above those rules. In an important way, acting as though you’re above the laws is no different from Naming. It’s just another way of claiming that you’re better than anyone else.…”

Quaeryt paused and gestured toward the hold house. “Holder Saentaryn didn’t want to pay his tariffs like other holders. He stole coal from other holders and killed hardworking miners … and what was his reward for his Naming? Who will remember his name or his evil … or even any good he may have done? I can’t say whether it’s exactly the will of the Nameless, but those who attempt to exalt their names through evil and greed and reaching beyond their true abilities … well … all too often, it doesn’t go well for them.

“Now … it’s easy to look at someone in power, especially one who has fallen from power or someone evil, and say they deserve what happens, but we can fall into that trap in our day-to-day life, to justify weighted bones in gaming with a comrade who’s not quite so sharp … or just tired, or to bet more than he can cover … or even … you all know the little tricks that those who don’t care enough about their comrades can come up with. But there’s a problem with this sort of little Naming, just as there is with big Naming. In fights and battles, we all need each other. If any of you have been shorting your comrades, one way or another, can you be certain they’ll make every effort to protect your back? Even if they’re honorable, and almost everyone is, will that worry hamper you when things get tight?…” Quaeryt went on to strengthen those points, trying to stress how the values of the Nameless strengthened the regiment and benefited each and every man and officer.

After the benediction, Rescalyn appeared and walked toward Quaeryt. “Most appropriate, scholar. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

As the rest of the men and officers slipped away, Gauswn turned to Quaeryt. “I still say you’d make an excellent chorister, sir.”

“Thank you … but I think both the Nameless and I would be happier if I weren’t, Undercaptain. I have too many doubts to be a good chorister, much as I believe in the values for which the Nameless stands.”

“We all have doubts, sir. What matters is what we do, given those doubts.”

Quaeryt couldn’t have agreed more, but he worried a great deal about whether his own actions met those standards … and whether they would in the days and weeks ahead.