“Yes, sir.”
Quaeryt handed the mare’s reins to the ranker nearest to him and looked to the squad leader. “I’ll probably be here about a glass, Heisyn. There should be room in the stable for the mounts, and the tack room is usually warm.”
“Yes, sir.”
With that, Quaeryt nodded to Gauswn, and the two walked along the packed snow that covered the brick lane and then along the foot-packed path from the scholarium to the anomen.
Gauswn led the way to the main door of the building and stepped into the vestibule. “The private hallway is this way.” He opened a narrow ancient ironbound door that Quaeryt had only vaguely noticed in passing on the few occasions he had visited the scholarium’s anomen.
The long hallway, barely illumined by a single oil lamp, led to a narrow staircase whose stone steps bore the hollows worn by years of choristers’ footsteps. At the bottom of the staircase, there was another passage to the right, again dimly lit by a single oil lamp in a wall sconce. Quaeryt found the near darkness oppressive, but less than five yards from the bottom of the steps was a door, beside which stood two older students.
“He’s in his bed.” Gauswn pointed to the door. “He said he needed to talk to you alone. I’ll wait out here.”
“I’ll try not to tire him.”
Gauswn nodded, but then said, “Please … sir … do let him say what he must, whatever that may be.”
Quaeryt smiled sadly. “I will.” He opened the door, stepped into the chamber, and shut the door behind him. The sole light came from a pair of high and narrow windows, only one of which was unshuttered, and just on one side. The furnishings were few, just the bed, a night table beside it, an armoire, a writing desk, and a chair-which had been pulled up close to the bed.
The old chorister, whose still wavy brown hair, without a trace of white, was so in contrast to the drawn and lined features of his face, smiled faintly as Quaeryt walked over to the narrow bed and sat on the chair.
“I came as soon as I could.”
“I … thought … you would.”
Quaeryt waited.
“Thank you … for Gauswn. He will be … a good chorister.” Cyrethyn took a wheezing breath. “A better chorister than an officer…”
“He was a good officer,” said Quaeryt.
“He will be … he already is … a better chorister … and you … you have not disappointed him. He will always look up to you.”
That was something Quaeryt had worried about more than once. “I wish he did not.”
“No … you must understand that he does … Never forget it … you … there is more about you … and … you must … must never … disappoint those who believe … in you.…” Cyrethyn was gasping as he finished those words.
Quaeryt wanted to ask if there was any way he could make Cyrethyn more comfortable, but knowing there was not, he remained silent until Cyrethyn’s breathing eased somewhat. “Is there anything else … I should know?”
The slightest smile crossed the old man’s lips. “You would make … a fine chorister … but … the world would be … poorer for it.”
Quaeryt did not wish to dispute either, much as he doubted both of Cyrethyn’s assertions, so he just sat on the stool and smiled warmly. “Is there anything I can do?”
“You … have done all I hoped … so far … just … do … not … disappoint them.…”
Even those words exhausted the old man, and Quaeryt nodded, rather than speak. For perhaps a quint he sat there, long after the chorister’s eyelids closed and he drifted into sleep. Finally, Quaeryt rose and walked to the door, opening it quietly and stepping outside, trying to close it equally silently.
“Is he…?” asked Gauswn.
“He told me what he wanted me to know. He’s sleeping or dozing now.”
“Thank you for coming,” said Gauswn.
“I could do no less for him.” Quaeryt shook his head. “But there is also little else I can do.”
“You saved the scholarium and the anomen, sir, and he cared greatly for both.”
“He was devoted to both.” Unlike some.
After several moments of silence, Gauswn cleared his throat. “I’ll see you out, sir.”
“There’s no need. Cyrethyn needs you more than I do.”
“He’d be very disappointed, sir, if I didn’t at least see you to the door.”
Quaeryt smiled. He couldn’t argue with that. “Just to the anomen door.”
From the chorister’s chamber they walked side by side, just far enough apart that Quaeryt’s closely held shields were not triggered into full protection. Because the staircase was too narrow to be comfortable for two, Quaeryt led the way, with Gauswn close behind. Just before Quaeryt reached the top of the staircase, he frowned. Was there someone waiting by the door?
Something slammed into his shields, driving him back so hard that he staggered to one side and almost fell. Because of his shorter left leg, he barely managed to catch his balance after going down one step.
As he did, Gauswn sprinted past him, a long knife drawn from somewhere in his hand.
Quaeryt’s eyes followed the chorister, and after a moment, so did his feet as he ran after Gauswn. He was close enough to see Gauswn’s arm move in what looked to be an underhanded thrust to the chest of a man in black-whose face mirrored shock, even as the crossbow clattered to the stone floor.
“You … always…” The would-be assassin’s knees crumpled.
Gauswn thrust the dying man backward, and his body hit the stone with a muffled thud.
Quaeryt reached the chorister and looked down at the sharp-faced and dark-haired figure, attired totally in black, who tried to gasp, then shuddered and was still. “Alkiabys … I thought he’d died in the last battle, along with Zarxes.”
“He should have.” The chorister turned to Quaeryt. “Again … the Nameless has protected you.…”
“Alkiabys just missed.”
Gauswn looked straight at Quaeryt. “I saw you be thrown back by that quarrel. It was aimed straight at your heart. Yet it was as if it hit a wall and dropped to the stones.”
“I didn’t see that,” replied Quaeryt. That much was true. He hadn’t seen it; he’d only felt the impact.
Gauswn inclined his head. “You are blessed by the Nameless.”
What can you say to that? After a moment, Quaeryt said, “I don’t know that. I do know that I’m glad that quarrel didn’t reach its target … and that you took care of Alkiabys. All I can ask is that I’d very much appreciate it if exactly what happened remains between us. I’m not asking you to lie…” Quaeryt paused. “You can say that Alkiabys fired his crossbow at me. That is true. You can also say that, for some reason, the quarrel didn’t hit me. I will say, which is also true, that you leapt to my defense and killed him.”
“But … why…?”
“Gauswn … if … IF I’m somehow protected, and you tell anyone, how long before someone else tries … and if I survive, someone else after that? If, as you think, the Nameless is protecting me-and I have grave doubts about that-but if it is true, the Nameless might not wish to keep protecting me if the fact of that protection is flaunted … or even known to a single other person.”
The chorister nodded slowly. “Sir … it will be between us.”
“Thank you. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate that.” And I can’t … at least not for a very, very long time. Because, while two people could occasionally keep a secret, especially if one happened to be as honorable as Gauswn, three people never could.
Gauswn looked down at the body, then at Quaeryt.
“Give him an honorable pyre, but no memorial.”
The young chorister nodded. “That would seem fitting.”
“You attend to Cyrethyn. I’ll have Yullyd or Nalakyn come and take care of the body.”
“Thank you, sir.”
When Quaeryt reached the rear of the scholarium, he saw Lankyt standing on the porch, with Nalakyn beside him. Several bundles were set at Lankyt’s feet.
“Princeps, sir,” began Nalakyn, “I understand that you have offered-”
“To have Lankyt escorted back to his father’s holding? That’s correct, but I’m going to have to task you with a less pleasant duty. You might recall Alkiabys?”