“That’s more the way it should be. Officers shouldn’t try to be heroes. They should be officers. Otherwise, who’s left to lead the men?”
That was another thing Quaeryt hadn’t considered. But then, he wasn’t an officer, not really, and he certainly wasn’t in the chain of command. Still … were he in Meinyt’s position, where would he draw the line?
“Good. You’re thinking,” said the captain.
Quaeryt didn’t retort that he always tried to think. He merely nodded.
The sound of a horn blared from somewhere nearby.
“Officers’ meeting…” Meinyt turned and headed in the direction of the horn.
Quaeryt decided to trail along, although he planned to be as inconspicuous as possible, browns or not, at the back of the officers gathering. The air was dusty, not surprisingly, with all the horses around, and there was already a faint odor of decay.
The number of officers wasn’t quite so great as Quaeryt had expected, although there were certainly more than fifty, and he positioned himself behind two taller men and waited. Shortly, there was another horn call—this one calling the officers to attention. Quaeryt stiffened with the rest of the officers, then waited as Rescalyn vaulted up onto the back of the supply wagon, likely moved into the middle of the temporary encampment for just that purpose.
The governor stood there for a moment, before commanding, “At ease, officers.”
Those around Quaeryt relaxed, but only slightly.
“So far … things are going more our way than theirs. If you’ve looked down at the valley, you’ll notice that it looks a great deal wetter than any of you recall. That’s because the hill renegades breached some of the irrigation dams and diverted the streams. They didn’t think too far ahead … or they miscalculated your abilities. It could be both, but I’m proud of the way you all handled your men and the way they responded this morning. All Telaryn should be proud, not that most will ever know. The enemy casualties were considerable, and ours were comparatively light.
“Because of the flooding in the valley, we’re going to shift our plan of attack … slightly. The main body of hill renegades has retreated to the west, out of the valley, but they’ve left a garrison behind those palisade walls. We’re not going to storm their little fort. Instead, the engineers have a way to deal with that. They’ll only need the support of Eighth Battalion, but I’m asking Seventh to stand by just in case.
“The rest of you can use the remainder of the day to re-form and recover. We won’t be entering Boralieu … for obvious reasons…”
It took Quaeryt a moment to realize that, if the regiment entered the post, the rebels could easily return, and the governor’s forces would be the ones hemmed in and hampered by all the flooded ground.
“… If all goes as planned, we’ll be moving out at dawn. I’ll be giving specific orders to individual battalion commanders.” Rescalyn smiled. “That’s all. Dismissed to duties.”
Quaeryt slipped away, moving back toward the general area that held Sixth Battalion. He was still looking for Meinyt when he saw Skarpa approaching.
“Major.”
“Scholar, Meinyt told me that you managed to hold your own this morning … a bit more than that, even.”
“By the end, I was in the second or third line. I still don’t ride as well as most of them.”
“I’ll have to tell Phargos that you fight too well to be a good chorister.”
“I was just fortunate. One encounter doesn’t prove anything.”
At that, Skarpa nodded. “Just remember that, and you’ll make it through.” After a moment, he added, “I need to meet with the commander and the governor in a few moments. I’ll see you and the other officers after I meet with them.”
“Best of fortune with that.”
The major barked a short laugh, then turned.
Standing there and watching Skarpa depart, Quaeryt felt a sharp pin-like jab in his upper arm, but discovered that it was only a dried pine needle that had worked its way through his sleeve. He found several others, and almost wondered why he hadn’t noticed them before.
A good glass later, Skarpa had not returned, but a squad leader walked toward Quaeryt, who had found a shady spot under an oak, then stopped. “The governor would like to see you. If you’d come with me, sir.”
“Of course.” Quaeryt stood and followed the squad leader toward the middle of the temporary camp. Within a few moments, he saw their destination—and awning, or perhaps the top of a tent without walls, under which were three camp chairs and a folding table. Two of the chairs were vacant. Rescalyn sat in the third, apparently studying a map. The area around the tent was clear to a distance of some ten or fifteen yards on every side, with rankers posted at intervals to maintain the separation.
The squad leader did not cross that invisible perimeter, but motioned for Quaeryt to approach.
The scholar did, halting in the shade just under the canvas. “Sir, you requested my presence.”
“Have a seat, scholar.” Rescalyn pointed to the middle chair.
Quaeryt took it and waited.
“You’ve seen the flooding to the west, I take it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The last skirmish was hardly over, and a messenger from High Holder Dymaetyn arrived. He blames me—oh, it was far more politely worded than that—for the destruction of valuable lands. How do you think Lord Bhayar would expect me to reply?”
“Sir, I have no instructions to give you. Lord Bhayar asked me to observe you as an example of a good governor.”
Rescalyn laughed. “You are persistently consistent, scholar. Then, in your own capacity as a scholar, how would you suggest that I respond?”
“I would express concern for the damage, but note that the problems created by the hill holders long predate your tenure as governor and stretch back well into the reigns of the Khanars. You might also observe that, had the Khanars and the High Holders of the past been more willing to deal firmly with the hill holders, such recent events as the flooding might never have come about. Then you could note that, since harvest is over and it appears that his lands have indeed been harvested, additional moisture should only be beneficial for most of them, provided, of course, that the dams, streams, and levees are returned to their previous courses prior to the onset of winter. That will require some effort, but certainly not so much as that which you are making on behalf of both Lord Bhayar and Telaryn to permanently resolve a problem that should have been dealt with generations back.”
“Just on behalf of Telaryn, I’d think,” mused Rescalyn, before saying, “Go on.”
“If you wish to be conciliatory, you might offer the expertise of some of your engineers in helping develop the work plans for his efforts at restoration.”
“He won’t like that.” Rescalyn’s voice was heartily bland.
“He won’t like anything except having you and your men repair everything and then pay him compensation. If you do that—”
“Then every last one of them will want the same. I can see that. In fact, what you suggested follows closely what I already wrote. I do like the offer of a few engineers to assist him in planning. That way, he can’t say we did nothing at all … and all of them complain that we don’t do enough. There’s nothing new about that.” Rescalyn fingered his chin.
Quaeryt waited.
“How are you finding Sixth Battalion?”
“I’m working to observe and help and not interfere.”
Rescalyn rose. “Good. That’s all.”
Quaeryt stood immediately. “Yes, sir.” He nodded politely, then turned and left.
Was all that just to see how I looked after a battle … or skirmish? Most likely, but it was more than that. Quaeryt kept walking, heading back to the Sixth Battalion area.
The more Quaeryt met with Rescalyn, the less he trusted the man—or his motives. And the one comment Rescalyn had made about “on behalf of Telaryn” reminded Quaeryt, again, that he’d never heard the g
overnor speak of Bhayar … and that went along with the slight dig in his speech about no one in Telaryn knowing what the officers and men had done.
80
By early Jeudi afternoon, Quaeryt understood all too well what Rescalyn had in mind for the timber fort. The engineers set up portable bombards, just out of bow range, and used them to hurl crocks of burning bitumen at the palisade walls as well as within. In less than two glasses everything was aflame. A good many of the defenders escaped by running into and through the waters and swamps they had created. Almost as many ran into Seventh Battalion and did not survive.
Even those who reached the immediate safety of the watercourses and swamps might not live all that long, Quaeryt knew, since stagnant waters held their own dangers, from whitemouth snakes to the bloody flux. When full night fell, the site of the palisade still glowed in the darkness, and the smell of burning wood and other less pleasant odors filled the valley and even drifted as far eastward as the regimental camp. Quaeryt wondered if the hill holders understood what Rescalyn intended for them.
He doubted it, and, in a way, that bothered him as well, because they were plaques in the governor’s game and had no idea how they were being played. Yet, at the moment, it was too early for Quaeryt to act, especially since he still needed to survive the coming battles, or skirmishes, as Rescalyn called them. Besides, from what he’d experienced, he had little love for the hill holders, who seemed to think that they could do whatever they wanted with comparatively few repercussions.
For whatever reason, possibly simply sheer exhaustion, Quaeryt did sleep better on Jeudi night, and, true to his words, Rescalyn had the regiment on the road well before sunrise on Vendrei.
Once they reached the valley floor, they stayed on the main road for close to three milles before heading southward on a dirt lane that, in turn, led to another lane, that rejoined the road leading westward from Boralieu—the one that Quaeryt had ridden many times during his time at the post. While no one had actually said so, Quaeryt gained the impression that the regiment was headed directly toward Waerfyl’s hold.
Sixth Battalion formed the rear guard, following the supply wagons, which followed the engineering wagons. Rescalyn had given that position to the battalion, according to Skarpa, because Sixth Battalion had taken among the heaviest impacts of the fighting in the hills. Quaeryt had refrained from pointing out that the very first attack on the regiment had been on the rear guard.
Since he was concerned about his ability to carry heavy shields for any length of time, Quaeryt held the lightest of shields with trip points set to register any intrusion and strengthen his shields. Even so, he still worried, because every impact against the shields weakened him, and he’d seen enough to know that he needed shields to survive. He just wasn’t that good a warrior.
“I’ve been riding this road for years,” said Meinyt in a low voice. “Still looks different every time. It’s not just the light, either.”
“Trees grow and change,” suggested Quaeryt.
“More than that.”
Quaeryt had no answer. He just nodded.
Another glass or so passed, when the faintest patter alerted Quaeryt to the incoming volley, and he immediately flattened himself against the mare’s neck.
“From the right!” snapped Meinyt. “First and second squads!”
That didn’t include Quaeryt, but he didn’t see any point in staying on the road, not by himself. Because continuing alone would have made him an even more obvious target, he followed Meinyt across the yards of cleared ground flanking the road and toward the trees, keeping himself low on the mare, while trying to extract the half-staff from its leathers. He almost had it free when he entered the trees. In the predawn gloom, he thought he saw riders ahead, but he wasn’t certain.
He definitely heard another volley of arrows and quarrels, but none touched him or his shields. Just as he congratulated himself on that, a figure appeared ahead and to his left and hurled something at him—a large throwing ax. While his shields did stop the weapon, he could still feel the muted impact.
The astonishment of the hill raider froze him for a moment, long enough for Quaeryt to bring up the staff and catch the man at the juncture of arm and shoulder and fling him from the branch to the ground. Quaeryt kept moving, following Meinyt and keeping low until he heard the sound of the recall horn, when he eased in beside the captain, and the two trotted back to the road, without speaking.
As they cleared the trees, Meinyt turned. “You didn’t have to come with the squads.”
“It seemed like a better idea than staying on the road alone.”
“You might be right on that.”
Quaeryt didn’t think the captain sounded totally convinced.
Another glass passed before there was another horn signal, this one from the front of the column. All in all, after that, two more quick attacks occurred before late midafternoon, when a ranker rode back to inform the captains and undercaptains to ride forward to meet with Major Skarpa.
That meeting didn’t take long, because in little more than a quint Meinyt came riding back to rejoin his company. “We’ll be setting up camp in a meadow about two miles ahead.”
“Won’t they try a night attack?” asked Quaeryt.
“They might, but the meadow’s large enough that they’ll have to leave the trees even to get within bowshot range.”
So we’ll lose sentries.…
“It is war, scholar,” replied the older captain, as if he’d read Quaeryt’s thoughts. “They know the governor’s serious now. It’s not just skirmishes.”
But then, Quaeryt was so tired that he might have actually spoken the words. He did remind himself that he needed to keep his feelings hidden, in the fashion in which he’d had no difficulty in Solis or in the Telaryn Palace. Is there something about the possibility of death in battle that makes men less guarded … or is it just because you’re still not really used to this?
He suspected it was the latter, since few of the officers revealed anything on their faces.
The encampment on Vendrei night was unlike the others, with patrols encircling the large meadow that held the camp site, and a sense of worry among more than a few of the officers. From what Quaeryt could remember, the regiment had halted only slightly beyond a point two-thirds of the way from Boralieu to Waerfyl’s hold, seemingly not all that far from where Quaeryt had been wounded on that first “routine” patrol.
Supper was cold, again, biscuits, cheese, and mutton jerky. This time, Quaeryt forced himself to chew some of the jerky. It wasn’t quite as bad as he recalled, but that might have been because he was hungry … and so exhausted that he was asleep not all that long after full darkness.
Quaeryt was so tired that he wasn’t certain whether he heard first the horn call to arms or the shouts of “Repel attackers!” It took him a moment to pull on his boots and raise his shields, and he had to grope around for his staff.
By the time he was on his feet and fully alert, the attackers had retreated to the woods surrounding the camp site. He glanced skyward, catching sight of the crescent Artiema and the slightly less than half-full Erion It had to be his imagination, but the smaller moon seemed redder, bloodier, than usual.
Imagination, he told himself firmly.
“Pack up and mount up!” ordered Meinyt from somewhere to Quaeryt’s left.
“Now, sir?” asked a figure in the gloom.
“Now! The governor said that it’s not that long until dawn so that we might as well head out. None of you’d sleep anyway.”
Quaeryt had to agree with that. He wouldn’t. Not now.
He returned to where he’d abandoned his blanket and gear, arranged them, and then rolled everything up and put it in his kit bag. He stood carefully and looked around. Most of the others in the company were already heading toward their mounts.
As Quaeryt trailed the rankers toward where the mounts were tethered, his boot slipped. He looked down. Under the boot on his bad leg was a cross
bow quarrel. He reached down and retrieved it, bringing it close enough to his face that he could see it better. In the dim light, it appeared similar to the one that had wounded him. He quickly slipped it under the cords with which he’d tied his kit bag to the rear of his saddle. He’d study it later.
81
The sun was well up, although it was barely midmorning, when the hill holders attacked again, this time out of the trees on both sides of the road and into the middle of the column. The column slowed, but kept moving, and before long, Quaeryt saw leather-clad bodies lying alongside the road, more than two score, left where they had fallen, and untouched, except that their weapons had been removed. Since he hadn’t seen anyone loading weapons into the wagons ahead, he suspected that they’d just been strapped to spare or captured mounts. He also thought there were more than a few bodies in the trees flanking the road. Again, he was carrying light shields, because it was going to be a long day.
Just before noon, the column halted near a stream, where company by company, the horses were watered, and the men had a chance to stretch their legs.
“How soon before another attack, do you think?” Quaeryt asked Meinyt.
“Sometime in the next few glasses. Surprised that they weren’t laying for us here.” The captain paused. “Except they would have had to make good time through the woods. The road is faster. If they split their forces…”
“It would be even harder to regroup”
Meinyt nodded.
A glass later, there was another halt, but no signal of any sort of attack, but Quaeryt could see several engineers and one wagon pull onto the shoulder and head forward.
A bridge out? He didn’t recall any bridges on the road ahead.
More than two quints passed before the column began to move again, and Quaeryt rode almost a mille before he came to a section of the road where it appeared that the rebels had dug a trench across the road, almost a yard wide. There were also bodies beside the road there, one of them a Telaryn mount.
After yet another glass, ahead Quaeryt could see the column turning to the right and moving uphill, doubtless through the two pillars that served as “gates” to Waerfyl’s hold proper. Before long, the wagons before Sixth Battalion had lumbered through the natural stone posts, but they only continued for another fifty yards before coming to a halt.
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