Scholar

96

Quaeryt barely made the mess on Solayi morning and had no more than seated himself when a figure walked swiftly toward him-Phargos.

“I was hoping to catch you,” said the chorister, settling into the seat across from Quaeryt. “I’m not going to ask you to deliver a homily.” A wide smile followed. “From what I’ve heard, mine would be most unfavorably compared to yours.”

“I’m certain that wouldn’t be true,” replied Quaeryt. “The homilies of yours that I’ve heard have always been enlightening.”

“I’m afraid it would be. Undercaptain Gauswn is convinced you’re the second coming of Rholan. So are a few others.”

“I’m nothing of the sort. You, of all people, know that.” Quaeryt poured tea into his mug, carefully, still feeling awkward in only having one hand to use.

“I do. I’m just not sure exactly what you are. You’re almost all things to all people. You’re a good officer to Skarpa and those who saw you in combat. You’re a good chorister to those who have heard your homilies. You’re obviously a good scholar to those who value scholarship.” Phargos shook his head. “I don’t think anyone, even you yourself, knows truly what you are.” The smile returned. “That’s not why I wanted to talk to you. Did you know that Gauswn wants to leave the regiment when his time is up and become a chorister?”

“I didn’t know. I can’t say I’m surprised, though. When would that be?”

“His commitment ends on the thirty-fifth of Erntyn next year. Cyrethyn would like for him to study with both of us and succeed him as the chorister for the scholarium. We’ve gotten some good junior officers from there, and it would help to have a chorister who’s friendly to Telaryn and the regiment. Those are my thoughts on the matter. What are yours?”

Quaeryt grinned. “You don’t want my thoughts. You want to know if I’d approve of him. Yes, I would. He’s good at heart, and intelligent. He’d represent change, even though it wouldn’t be that great a change, and the scholarium could use that.” Quaeryt paused. “You don’t even need my approval. What’s the problem?”

“Cyrethyn is frail. He’s very frail. I worry he may not live another year.”

“Do you want me to talk to Straesyr to see if he’d release Gauswn early on the condition he starts immediately at the scholarium?”

“Cyrethyn is far more frail than he lets on.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Thank you.” Phargos rose. “Unlike with some, with you, those words mean what they say.”

Quaeryt served himself one of the thick cooling cheese omelets and scarcely warm bread, then took a sip of his tea. As he ate, he couldn’t help but think about Phargos’s comment, especially as it applied to Vaelora. Was he something he wasn’t to her? He’d certainly never tried to deceive her-perhaps to mislead anyone who intercepted and read his words, but not her. For those reasons, composing a response to her latest missive had been difficult, and he had yet to finish that reply, but he did have a few days before another courier would leave for Solis.

What did he feel about her?

He shook his head. Did what he felt really matter? At best, all he’d ever be would be a correspondent who provided a window of sorts to a world her brother would never let her enter. And that, he could and would do.

Except … you’d like to do more for her.

He pushed that thought away. Anything more was beyond his power-even as a hidden imager.

The remainder of the day he divided his time between working on his reply to Vaelora, considering how to improve the scholarium, what he would say to Straesyr on Lundi in regard to Gauswn, and even resting. He was least successful at resting, with his thoughts swirling in so many different directions that he finally rose from his bunk feeling more exhausted than when he had stretched out on it.

After the evening meal, he did make his way to the palace anomen and take in services, as much as to hear what Phargos had to say as anything, in hopes that the chorister’s words might offer some wisdom to settle his thoughts.

Phargos began his homily with the standard opening, the one that Quaeryt had always heard. “… under the Nameless all evenings are good.… Almost all of you have just returned from a campaign against the hill holders. I have already heard tales of endless attacks and total destruction, and pondered what had led to such. The easy answer is Naming and the Namer … but easy answers are not always good answers.

“Recently, I talked to a man. Some of you know him. Some don’t. I asked for his help in a matter some would call small and some would not. He said that he would do what he could. From this man, those words meant what they said. At the same time, I realized that so often we equate words with Naming. That is not so. Words followed by honest action are not Naming. Empty words or duplicitous words are the same as Naming. Promising help and not helping is a form of Naming. Saying good things in public about someone and undermining them in private are Naming, and so often empty words or deceptive words build on each other and lead to devastation and destruction…”

Quaeryt had to agree with those sentiments, although the indirect reference to him-he thought it was to him, but perhaps it was not-bothered him. Still … what Phargos said about words was right-even if Quaeryt still had no idea of whether there even happened to be a Nameless.