Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (65 page)

“Good thing you did out there, scholar,” said the major.

“I saw a chance. They weren’t expecting a rider with something as long as a staff.”

“You saved close to a squad doing that. They almost took you down. Don’t see how you managed to knock aside three pikes with that staff, but I’m glad you did.”

Quaeryt snorted. “I doubt I could do it again. I didn’t know what I was doing, except that I knew if I could make a gap in the pikes…”

“There’s some officers couldn’t figure that out so quick … not in a mess like this.”

“You’re kind, Major. We just do what we can.”

“Maybe … but I appreciate it. Some of the rankers won’t even know, but I do.” Skarpa nodded. “Have to report to the commander.”

Quaeryt returned to the task of removing cold mud from the mare and from himself and his gear. He glanced outside and shuddered.

And this is early fall. It’s still fairly hot in Solis right now.

He didn’t even have a winter jacket.

85

The cold rain abated for a time late on Lundi afternoon, only to be followed by a chilling north wind, which created thin ice on top of the mud, and then by a driving snow that was already ankle-deep by the time Quaeryt collapsed into his blanket that night, where, despite the comparative warmth provided by the combination of horses and men, he shivered through the night, even wearing his browns, his brown jacket, and another shirt. When he finally rose on Mardi, the snow was more than boot-deep, and it continued to fall intermittently throughout the long gray day.

The cooks did manage a hot meal on Mardi night, another hash-like offering, with mutton that had been dried before it was cooked, with potato strips, but it was warm, and for that Quaeryt was thankful. As he sat after eating, perched on a support beam in the barn beside Skarpa, he asked, “Why doesn’t the regiment have its archers here?” He’d heard what Straesyr had said, but he wanted to hear what the major said.

“We have a company or so. What would we use them for? They’re useful in pitched battles, but a man with a blade is more effective here in the hills for what we do. You’ve seen the attacks. An archer wouldn’t even know where to aim most of the time, and they’re not good at close-in fighting. I think I saw our company. They’re here. Commander’s likely saving them for where they’ll do the most good.”

Quaeryt considered. Given the hit and run tactics of the hill holders, he could see that. The hill rebels had only massed at Waerfyl’s and only for a few moments. Archers really wouldn’t have helped much so far. “How long will we be here, do you think?”

“The sky’s clearing now. Tomorrow will be warmer, enough to melt the snow, and we’ll be back on the road by Jeudi, Vendrei at the latest,” predicted the major.

“With the snow this deep?” Quaeryt had a hard time believing that. Was Skarpa jesting … or was the weather that changeable?

Skarpa looked at Quaeryt and laughed. “You’ll see.”

Quaeryt did indeed.

Meredi dawned clear, and by late afternoon the air was warm, and the snow was mostly gone, with that which remained having turned largely to slush … and mud, gloopy gray mud. The battalions spent the day cleaning gear and preparing to resume the campaign. That didn’t happen until Vendrei morning, because Rescalyn decided another day would provide more rest … and drier and more secure roads.

Again … before sunrise, the regiment leveled everything, putting all that could not be removed to the torch, and moved out, the wounded in commandeered wagons heading back to Boralieu, along with the valuables salvaged from the holding. The main body took the road that led in its winding way northwest toward Huisfyl’s holding.

The roads were mostly dry, but the horses threw up enough mud that Quaeryt’s trousers were spattered below the knees. Again, there were no attacks from the roadside, but that wasn’t unexpected, because while the snow had melted in the areas reached by the sun, such as the roads and lanes, much still remained in the depths of the woods.

The sky remained clear throughout Vendrei, but the warmth of Meredi and Jeudi slipped away, and a light but chill breeze blew consistently out of the north.

By late afternoon, Quaeryt was feeling chilled, and he turned in the saddle toward Meinyt, riding to his right. “What happened to the warm day we had yesterday?”

“That’s the way fall is in Tilbor,” replied Meinyt. “Rain, snow, warm, cold, frost, warm … it changes every day. Each time it warms up, it’s not as warm as the last time. By the end of Finitas, it just doesn’t ever warm up again. Not until mid-Maris. Then everything melts at once, and you get two-three weeks of mud.”

Quaeryt was glad he didn’t have to be around for winter and the mud that followed. The shiver he felt at that thought wasn’t just from the chill breeze that gusted around him.

86

Vendrei evening the regiment stopped at and took over one of the few hamlets in the Boran Hills, consisting of less than a score of dwellings, including what passed for a chandlery or store, a blacksmith’s shop, and an inn that had but five rooms to let, and a public room. Even using stables, barns, and sheds, and the porches of the inn, less than a third of the regiment was under roof that night, but at least the wind abated … or was less fierce in the sheltered location of the hamlet.

Since there had been no resistance, when the regiment pulled out on Samedi morning, the hamlet was much as it had been. Rescalyn had been most firm about not harming property or inhabitants of those who welcomed or did not resist Telaryn forces.

At close to eighth glass that morning, as the regiment neared Huisfyl’s hold … arrows arched down on the lead elements of the column from the top of a low bluff a hundred yards away. Since the arrows showed no sign of ceasing, Rescalyn sent two companies from Fourth Battalion through the woods, which still held some traces of snow, but they returned empty-handed, and with five men wounded, one of whom had taken a shaft in the chest and was unlikely to survive.

By ninth glass, the regiment drew up in the trees to the south of Huisfyl’s hold, more of a compound than a hold, since it was unlike any of the others Quaeryt had seen. A rough stone wall, no more than chest-high, formed an irregular oval around a series of buildings set almost at random on the rough but gently sloped ground that ran from a low point above a creek in the west to a higher level in the northwest. Paths, rather than lanes, ran from building to building. Some fifty yards above the northwest section of the wall, the forest resumed, like a bastion of massive pines and spruces. The largest dwelling within the wall, less than a quarter the size of the smallest of the holds of the three that had fallen so far, was located as the highest structure on the hill, but the structures below seemed to alternate between outbuildings, sheds, barns, and smaller dwellings, and all were constructed of large logs in the same general fashion as Waerfyl’s hold had been. The roofs were not of split slate, either, but of some form of shake or shingle that had weathered to a grayish shade similar to that of pale slate.

This time, the engineers began to set up the bombards a hundred yards back from the south side of the wall, approximately halfway up the slope, in the roughly cleared land holding low bushes and autumn-browned high grasses. The first target was the large dwelling at the top of the compound.

Barely had the first stone—used for ranging, rather than wasting a crock of bitumen—thudded into the ground below the dwelling than a bell clanged and a good hundred hill fighters in furs and leathers appeared from structures all over the compound and raced toward the bombards. Rescalyn waited until they cleared the wall before ordering the charge by Fourth Battalion.

Once the riders left the trees, half the hill fighters halted and immediately lifted bows, loosing shafts directly at the horsemen. While several riders went down, almost no horses did, and the hill fighters broke and retreated behind the wall.

Quaeryt, seated on the mare beside Meinyt, waited to see what the governor would order next. Rescalyn recalled Fourth Battalion, and as they rode back across the uneven ground, the engineers resumed calibrating the two bombards.

When the first crock of bitumen sprayed flame across the main hold house, the compound bell rang again, and even more figures in furs and leathers appeared and advanced toward the engineers, but the engineers managed to get two more shots away before withdrawing and leaving the field to the cavalry.

This time Fourth and Fifth Battalion charged the defenders. The locals did not retreat, but attempted to stand their ground. Almost a third were cut down in the initial charge, but another wave of defenders appeared and rushed over the walls. Many of the reinforcements carried pikes, long spears, or even just sharpened poles.

“Sixth Battalion. Stand ready!” ordered Skarpa.

“Standing ready!” came the reply from the company officers.

When the signal to attack came, Skarpa stood in the stirrups for an instant. “To the right! On me!”

As Quaeryt followed Meinyt in the company’s advance, he saw exactly what Skarpa had in mind: Sixth Battalion would angle uphill, almost to the stone wall, then turn and charge downhill, in an effort to catch the defenders on their flank. If they tried to set their pikes and spears against Sixth Battalion, then Fourth and Fifth Battalion would have a clearer path of attack. If the defenders held to a position to halt Fourth and Fifth Battalion, Sixth Battalion could cut them down from the side.

Quaeryt managed to stay close to Meinyt until the company was almost upon the defenders, some of whom swung their spears and makeshift pikes to face uphill. Not enough did, and most of the company’s riders avoided being spitted or brought down by the long pointed weapons.

Quaeryt found a pointed pole aimed at him, with the defender firmly anchoring the butt in the hillside. He jerked the reins to the left at almost the last moment, then immediately brought the mare back to the right so that her weight levered the defender off his feet before she knocked down another who hadn’t seen Quaeryt coming.

The scholar managed to beat down a third man with the staff, before again swinging behind Meinyt. In moments, the longer pikes were dropped amid the low bushes and high grasses rapidly being trampled flat. Then the defenders came up with long knives and did their best to slash at the legs of the company’s mounts.

Horses began to fall, but not so swiftly as did the defenders, and as the numbers of the defenders who fell increased, the Telaryn riders could move more freely to avoid the slashes of those who remained. Quaeryt was appalled to see, even while he continued to use his staff, that the defenders never retreated. They stood and fought until they fell.

The regiment advanced, almost ponderously, to the wall, while the engineers returned and resumed the bombardment of the largest dwelling. Other engineers moved forward to create gaps in the wall, through which the regiment advanced. Sixth Battalion moved uphill inside the wall, from point to point, building to building, often with long pauses in the action before the movement to the next structure. Above them all, the main dwelling flamed and then steadily burned down into a glowing mass of smoking embers.

Quaeryt’s arms were sore, his back and legs stiff when Meinyt brought the company back together on the narrow flat below the ashes and coals that were all that remained of the holder’s main dwelling. He glanced downhill, his eyes studying the slope and spaces between buildings. In the late-afternoon sun, everywhere he looked were scattered bodies, most of them in leathers and fur. Many were women and youths, almost as many, it appeared, as the full-bearded men, all of whom seemed to bear multiple wounds.

Quaeryt tried to count the company. When he finished, he was so surprised that he counted once more. While he doubtless was less than completely accurate, his enumeration revealed that Meinyt had lost only five men in a melee in which Quaeryt had been more than certain at least a squad’s worth of troopers had perished. He counted a third time, but the numbers remained unchanged.

87

Solayi dawned bright, clear, and chill, with gusty winds that were warm only by comparison to those of the night before. Quaeryt had spent the night in the hayloft of a barn, but he’d been surprised to see that, even so late as it was in the year, the first day of Finitas, the last month of the year, with just that month left before full winter descended on Tilbor, the loft was but half-filled with hay and wild grasses. Still, sleeping there had been far softer and warmer than where he had spent the previous nights. He almost felt guilty—almost—that he hadn’t had to do the night patrols assigned to Meinyt’s company or to join in the parties that carried bodies to the several pyres that had been built. That alone convinced Quaeryt that Rescalyn intended to have the regiment stay for at least several days, because in the past, the bodies had simply been disposed of in the buildings that were burned.

At close to the second glass of the afternoon, a ranker arrived to summon Quaeryt to meet with the governor. As he accompanied the ranker, Quaeryt suspected that he’d once more be asked to deliver a homily. He only wondered if, this time, Rescalyn would suggest a subject.

Rescalyn was waiting in the main room of the quarters attached to what might be called a coach or equipment house, seated at one end of a battered dining table, with two oil lamps on each side of the maps he studied. He gestured for Quaeryt to approach, but did not rise.

“Sir?” Quaeryt wasn’t about to ask why he’d been summoned.

“Tell me, scholar … why do you fight?” Rescalyn’s voice remained cheerfully hearty, as it seemed to be most of time, at least from what Quaeryt had heard every time he’d been around the governor.

“You assigned me to Sixth Battalion, sir. What else would you have me do when they’re fighting?”

“You were only required to observe.”

“It has appeared to me that an observer in a battle or skirmish faces all of the risks with none of the advantages of a combatant.”

“Do you not believe that to be true in life, as well, scholar?”

Quaeryt smiled carefully. “I suppose that would depend on whether one’s circumstances place them in a situation resembling a battle.”