Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (35 page)

He just hoped the patrol wasn’t headed where he’d come under attack.

42

Quaeryt made sure he was in the stables early on Jeudi morning, because he was concerned about how long it would take him to saddle the mare. As he checked her before beginning, he could see that she’d been groomed recently … although he was supposed to, he recalled belatedly. While he doubted he was anywhere as proficient as the cavalry rankers and officers, he was out in the courtyard in front of the stables and mounted before half past seven. Under a hazy sky that promised another warm day, he glanced around at the column forming up. Two squads, he judged—and that meant that the patrol wasn’t going anywhere near the hills.

He was still looking around when an undercaptain close to his own age rode over and reined up. “Scholar Quaeryt?”

“I am. You’re Undercaptain Jusaph?”

“Yes, sir. I understand you’ll be riding with us this morning.”

“If that won’t inconvenience you.”

“No, sir. This is just a routine patrol along the main road to the river piers, then up the river and then around the inner hill road and back here. I thought you’d ride with me, and I could explain things.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

From behind them came a series of commands.

“First squad! Form up!”

“Second squad! Form up.”

Jusaph rode to the front of the column, then turned in the saddle. “Forward!”

Two outriders led the way through the east gates, down the paved lane and over the moat bridge, and out through the lower gates. Behind them rode the undercaptain and Quaeryt, and the two squads followed.

“Today … we’ll be taking the main road straight to the river piers,” offered Jusaph as his mount crossed the road paralleling the moat. “We’ll see teamsters early on, but most of them headed that way will already be near the piers.”

“I noticed a group of shops and cafés over that way when I rode in.…”

“Yes, sir. That’s the vale. That’s where the men can go when they’re off duty … if they want.”

“It’s frowned on for officers and squad leaders?”

“You might say that. But the men need some place … and there was a bad incident years ago. The former governor had to level several blocks more to the south in an older part of the west of Tilbora. Governor Rescalyn made it clear that he never wanted anything like that to happen again. Ever. On Vendrei and Samedi nights we run special patrols through the vale. Anyone who causes trouble gets drummed out of the regiment. Well … anyone who causes trouble that’s not their fault anywhere gets drummed out.”

Quaeryt merely listened as the undercaptain went on.

“One of the reasons for the local patrols is to remind everyone that we’re here, and that Tilbor is part of Telaryn. Also, the local patrollers can ask us for help if they need it.”

“Has that ever happened to you?”

“When I was a senior squad leader last summer, we chased down a bunch that had looted a silversmith’s on the north side of town. We caught every one of them.” Jusaph grinned. “We were just lucky to be riding through the square a few moments after it happened. The captain told me later it was the only time he knew we’d done that. But people around there still wave and smile when we ride through.” He paused. “The standing orders are that we’re to cover the same area each time, but always in a different order and timing.”

“That’s so no one knows exactly when you’ll be somewhere?”

“Yes, sir.”

Quaeryt kept listening for a time until Jusaph fell silent, then said, “Might I ask where you’re from?”

“Oh … I’m from northwest of Tilbora … just been promoted from senior squad leader … a number of the undercaptains and junior captains are from the south here.”

Quaeryt found it amusing that Jusaph referred to Tilbora as “south” when Nacliano and Solis were hundreds of milles farther south, but he only asked, “Isn’t Captain Taenyd…?”

“He was one of the first. He’s a good officer.”

“I have the feeling that the governor doesn’t hold much for officers who aren’t good, no matter where they come from.”

“No, sir. He’s made that very clear to all officers.”

“Where exactly northwest of Tilbora are you from?” asked Quaeryt conversationally.

“Not too far. Haesylt. It’s on the river.”

“Your family still lives there?”

“Every last one, except me. They’re all river people. They run barges from as far north as Amdermyt, all the way down to the river piers in Tilbora.”

“Barges … that sounds like a fairly large business.”

“Last time I was home, Haermyn showed me the newest one he’d built … it was the twenty-first in service…”

Quaeryt kept listening.

The column was riding through an area of shops—it might even have been the square where Quaeryt had watered the mare in the middle of the night—when a young man sweeping the steps in front of a cooperage looked up, smiled, and waved to Jusaph.

The undercaptain waved back. “Laernyk. He’s a cousin of sorts. That’s his wife’s father’s cooperage, but he’s only got daughters, and he treats Laernyk like his own son.”

“Is he from Haesylt?”

“His father is my father’s cousin, and he moved here before I was born, well back before the fall of the Pretender.”

When the patrol reached the river piers, Jusaph had both squads stand down and water the mounts from the public fountain while he rode over to the piers alone and inspected them. He also talked briefly to a ferryman who was awaiting travelers or wagons. After he watered the mare, Quaeryt noted that there were two donkey-powered ferries, although he’d seen only one when he’d crossed the river.

As he waited, he saw a young woman walking along the side of the square that held the fountain. With her was a young boy, scarcely more the a toddler. The two stopped, and the mother pointed at the nearest horse.

“See the horsey? That’s a horse. The soldiers ride them. Your uncle Casym is a soldier, and he rides a horse like that.”

“Horsey … go see.”

“Not now … dear. You can see Uncle Casym’s horse someday.”

The mother let her son watch for several moments before she gently urged him along and toward the shops to the north.

Jusaph had taken close to two quints dealing with the three ferrymen at the piers before he returned. Quaeryt walked his mare to the fountain to accompany Jusaph, but stood back while the undercaptain pumped fresh water into the horse trough.

“Is it part of your duties to talk to the ferrymen?”

“We’re supposed to be friendly and interested. I just ask them if there’s anything we should know about, ask how the river’s running … try to let them know we’re here if they need us.”

“It must help that you know the river.”

“Only a handful remember when I was a boy bow-poler,” replied Jusaph with a laugh. “I hope they don’t hold it against me. I wasn’t very good.”

“How did you end up in the regiment?”

“I always liked horses … and I’m the youngest. With five older brothers … well … it seemed to make sense to do something else, and the governor was offering a two-gold bonus for recruits who made it through training. I did and gave the golds to Diera for her dowry.”

“Diera’s a sister?”

“Practically raised me. Mother died when I was three. Anyway … it’s worked out.…” He smiled and turned. “Squad leaders! Time to mount up!”

After watering the mare, Quaeryt didn’t quite scramble into his saddle, but he certainly wasn’t as graceful as the undercaptain.

From the piers, the patrol continued along the river road, the same one that Quaeryt had ridden twice before—although once had been the first time he entered Tilbora, and the second had been in the dark, and he didn’t recall a number of structures along the river, but all of them looked more solid than he’d recalled. Was he just getting used to Tilbor, or had he failed to understand at first that everything was built more to withstand the impact of the long winters than for superficial attractiveness?

After riding a good glass, during which several of the rankers—and Jusaph—got waves and smiles, the patrol rode past the road Quaeryt had taken to the Ecoliae and continued along the river road, past even the ramshackle pier where Quaeryt had thrown Chardyn’s body into the river. No one came out to tell the undercaptain about a body, but it was likely the river had carried it farther downstream. After another half glass, the undercaptain turned the patrol due north.

“This is the inner hill road,” explained the undercaptain. “If we’d ridden another two milles along the river, we would have come to the outer hill road. They both join about a mille west of the palace.”

“Do they become the road that runs along the dry moat?”

“That’s the one. The next time we patrol, we’ll likely go out that way and take the outer hill road. We always have to do the river road.”

Again, Quaeryt listened for another quint before asking, “Is there a Scholars’ House somewhere around here?”

“Yes, sir.” Jusaph pointed eastward. “Do you see the hillside with the domed building? That’s the anomen for the scholars, and their place—it’s called the Ecoliae—is on the next hill toward us. They’ve got a school there. Most of the students are from trade or holder families. There used to be some from the hill holders, who lived there, but I don’t know if there are now.”

“I thought the hill holders were the ones who attack your patrols. Why…? I’m not sure I understand,” Quaeryt said.

“They’re not the same, sir. Well … most aren’t. The trouble comes from those who hold timberlands. Most of the hill holders do, but some don’t. I think the smaller holders are afraid to displease the larger ones.”

“I’d think that would make it difficult. For the governor, I mean. Scholars usually don’t ask about the parents of their students so long as the parents pay for their schooling.”

“Our orders are to leave the scholars alone. That’s unless they do something against the law, but they never have. Not that anyone’s been able to prove.”

“I’d thought about visiting them, but I think I’d best refrain until I understand how matters are.”

“I’m sure they’d be quite friendly.”

“That may be, but since I’m on the governor’s staff…”

“I see what you mean.”

“How old is the scholars’ place? Do you know?”

“It’s been around for a long time. That’s all I know. You’re the first scholar I’ve ever talked to.”

Quaeryt understood the question the undercaptain hadn’t asked. “I’m afraid I’m not like most scholars. I left the scholars before I finished schooling and went to sea. After six years I came back and pleaded for them to take me back.” He hadn’t pleaded; he’d bargained, but that wasn’t something he wanted to get into with Jusaph. “They took me back.”

“I wondered, sir.”

For the next half mille, the undercaptain was quiet, and Quaeryt let him have his space. Finally, he did ask, “Will you do a patrol tomorrow or Vendrei?”

“No, sir. The mounts get a rest tomorrow, but the men will spend the day on blade drills. On Vendrei, we’ll be at the east maneuver fields practicing full-company exercises.”

“They keep you occupied.”

“Commander Myskyl—he’s the regiment commander—says that there are only two kinds of soldiers: those who are always prepared to fight and those who are dead. Some of the majors think we’ll have to fight the Bovarians before long. You’ve just come from Solis. What do you think?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard stories that Lord Bhayar’s concerned about them, especially after the way Rex Kharst massacred so many of the Khellans.”

“That’s what Major Skarpa says. You can’t trust them. Anyone who does is foolish.”

Quaeryt nodded and shifted his weight in the saddle. It was well past the second glass of the afternoon, and most of those four glasses since he’d first mounted up had been in the saddle.

As they neared the Telaryn Palace, Quaeryt couldn’t help but think that, for all the concerned tone in the dispatches he had read, he certainly hadn’t seen any signs of hostility on the part of the people as the patrol had ridden past. People had looked up, then gone back about their business, some smiling, some frowning, some indifferent, but no one’s behavior had seemed to change at the appearance of the patrol.

While he didn’t think he’d learn anything new, once he stabled and groomed the mare, he would finish reading all the rest of the dispatches. With his luck, if he didn’t, the one dispatch he missed would be the one that would have told him something he needed to know.

He shifted his weight in the saddle again. With each passing quint, riding got more uncomfortable.

43

After returning from the patrol, Quaeryt stabled and groomed the mare, then made his way up to the second level of the palace, where he stopped to inform Vhorym that he had returned and that he would be heading to the dispatch room.

“You might check your desk before you go to the dispatch room, sir.”

“Thank you. I will.” Quaeryt managed a smile, then turned and made his way to his study.

There on the desk was an envelope with his name on it, and underneath his name was also written “Scholar Assistant to the Princeps.”

Now what?

He opened the letter, took out the single sheet, and read:

T
HE
H
ONORABLE
R
ESCALYN
C
ALYNSYN,

M
ARSHAL AND
G
OVERNOR OF
T
ILBOR,

REQUESTS THE HONOR OF YOUR PRESENCE

AT A RECEPTION IN THE PALACE,

AT THE SIXTH GLASS OF THE EVENING,

S
AMEDI,
35 A
GOSTAS

IN THE
G
REEN
S
ALON.

There was no line suggesting a response, but then, since Quaeryt was assigned to the princeps, who reported directly to the governor, the invitation was essentially a command to appear … if a very polite one.

He had no formal attire, or even the equivalent of a dress uniform. The new browns were the best he could manage, and he had not worn one of the new sets yet. They’d have to do.

He slipped the invitation—or summons—back inside the envelope and placed the envelope in the single flat drawer in the table desk. Then he left the study and headed over to the governor’s anteroom to obtain the key to the dispatch room. He had to wait almost half a quint before Caermyt returned, and he began to wonder if he should image a copy of the key.