Scholar ip-4

by L. E. Modesitt

  “Thank you, sir, but one homily does not make a chorister out of a scholar.”

  “I’ll take you at your word, scholar … with a few doubts. I’ve heard enough officers speak badly and at length to know that it’s unlikely that one who speaks well when asked to do so on short notice will speak badly upon other occasions.” Zirkyl smiled. “I might not like what you say all the time, but it’s likely you will say it well.” He looked to Skarpa. “Have you ever heard him speak poorly?”

  “No, sir, but he listens more than he talks.”

  “I would that some officers followed that practice.” Zirkyl laughed and turned back to Quaeryt. “I’m glad to see that you’re healing well.”

  “So am I, sir. Thank you.” Quaeryt understood that the commander had said what he wanted, and he inclined his head and stepped back, moving more toward the foot of the table.

  Skarpa came with him, then gestured. “We can sit here.”

  The two sat side by side, directly in front of two pitchers, one of ale and one of lager. Skarpa immediately filled his mug with ale. Quaeryt took lager. In less than half a quint, all the officers were seated, and platters were headed down the table.

  Meinyt had taken the seat across from Quaeryt. “Major Bruelt said the commander especially liked your words about officers and soldiers being remembered for their deeds and not their boasts.”

  “How did he know what I said?”

  “Oh … Undercaptain Gauswn wrote it down. He’s got a good memory.”

  Quaeryt managed not to wince.

  “He’s a good undercaptain,” Skarpa said. “He works hard, and he’s thorough. You rode with him. What do you think?”

  “From what I saw, I’d agree, but I’m not a mounted officer.”

  “With a little training, you’d do better than most,” Meinyt said. “Don’t know many who could take a quarrel, get it out, catch a loose mount, and then ride back to Boralieu, and be ready to ride again in a few weeks.”

  “Have any of the companies had any success in dealing with those poachers and hill holders?” asked Quaeryt, trying to change the subject without being totally obvious.

  Skarpa, his mouth full of the less than tender mutton, shook his head.

  From beside him, Meinyt said, “There haven’t been any attacks there since the one on us.”

  “There have been two near the northwest outpost, though,” Skarpa finally said, before taking another swallow of ale.

  “What will happen next?”

  “The commander is considering paying a visit to Waerfyl-with three companies,” said Skarpa quietly. “That’s what I hear.”

  “I think I’d like to accompany you.”

  “Why do you think I’d be involved?”

  “I think both you and Captain Meinyt would be involved. He’d want the best major and company behind him.”

  Meinyt grinned. “He’s got you, Major.”

  “If … if something like that happens, you can go.”

  “This time I’ll wear greens, at least a green shirt,” Quaeryt said dryly.

  “Good idea.”

  Is it a good idea? Hardly. You just don’t have any better ones. Quaeryt sipped more of the lager he was liking less and less.

  56

  On Lundi morning, Quaeryt rode out of Boralieu beside Major Skarpa, with three companies from Sixth Battalion behind them, the first one being Meinyt’s. Quaeryt had donned, over his browns, a somewhat worn and overlarge green undress uniform shirt he had obtained from the ranker serving as supply clerk, although he had his doubts that such a large force would be attacked. The wind was brisk, under a clear sky.

  Commander Zirkyl had decided, regretfully, according to Skarpa, that for the post commander to pay a call on Holder Waerfyl would grant the timber holder far too much importance, both in Waerfyl’s own mind and in the eyes of both High Holders and hill holders. Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder if Zirkyl had received a dispatch or other advice along those lines from Rescalyn.

  For the first glass, Skarpa’s outriders and scouts followed the same road that Meinyt’s company had taken on the patrol where Quaeryt had been wounded. During that part of the ride, Quaeryt kept working with and adjusting his shields, effectively enough that no one noticed. Then, after another few quints, when the scouts reached the point where the road forked, they turned to the right, heading close to due north.

  “How far before we reach Waerfyl’s holding?” Quaeryt asked the major.

  “Another three milles or so to the gate, and about a mille after that.”

  “Has anyone actually ridden up to his hold?”

  “Not often. That’s why the outriders will unfurl a friendship banner when we get closer to his holding. He’ll be there. Where else would he go?”

  Naive as Skarpa’s question sounded superficially, Quaeryt realized that the major had a point. Waerfyl wasn’t welcome to visit High Holders, and, from what Quaeryt did know, the hill holders weren’t exactly that friendly with each other, just united by a common opposition to any other authority.

  Some three quints passed before the scouts-and the column of riders-halted at the gates marking the entry to the estate or hold proper. Unlike the estate gates around Tilbora, or those in Solis, the “gate” to Waerfyl’s holding consisted of two pillars constructed of local stones of all sizes a man could lift, mortared together, and standing some four yards apart. Each square pillar was a yard on a side and rose roughly three yards from a flat stone and mortar base. There was no gatehouse or anything resembling such, and no sign of any guards. The road or lane beyond the two gate pillars consisted of gravel unevenly packed into the local clay or mud, but compacted enough by time, hoofs, and wagons that the latest wagon had left barely an indentation on the surface, despite the rain that had fallen on Samedi.

  “Horns to the front! With the banner bearers!” ordered Skarpa.

  With the hornists riding directly behind the scouts, if separated by several yards, and playing fanfares intermittently, the column rode slowly up the lane that climbed gently through a small area of woods, then crossed a level meadow beside a pond. Both red flies and mosquitoes swarmed toward the riders, and Quaeryt found that his adjustments to his shields did little or nothing to stop the voracious insects. Even fanning them away was of limited usefulness.

  The meadow stretched close to half a mille before the ground beyond rose gently to a low ridge, cleared of all trees and brush, on the top of which stood the buildings comprising the hold. That ridge was lower than the one immediately to the north, and only a gentle swale separated the two ridges. What appeared to be a low stone tower stood on the end of the higher ridge closest to the holding buildings.

  As Quaeryt rode closer, he could see that the main hold structure looked to be of two stories, although he had the feeling there was a third, lower level dug into the ridge. The walls were of large logs, stripped of their bark and notched or planed to fit together, rising from a foundation composed of stones and mortar that showed a yard above ground. As with all dwellings in Tilbor, the windows, especially on the lower level, were narrow and had thick shutters. The roof was of split slate, rather than tile or thatch-or the wooden shakes he had noticed on larger dwellings in Tilbora.

  Why slate here? The snow has to be deeper. Or is the danger from sparks or fire greater? Quaeryt had no way of knowing, but surmised that hill holders had the resources to build structures strong enough to handle snow and minimize dangers from fire.

  A handful of men, apparently unarmed and generally wearing leather jackets of various sorts, gathered on the stone-paved expanse that served as an unroofed porch or a terrace and that extended some ten yards on each side of the heavy double doors in the center of the building. The lane split, and one part continued up to where it ran beside the front of the terrace, while the other circled to the right toward the buildings to the east and slightly lower on the ridge.

  When the hornists and the banner bearers neared the end of the porch, Skarpa ordered, �
��Column! Halt!” After several moments, he added, “Welcome fanfare!”

  While Quaeryt thought the hornists did their best, the fanfare was ragged and slightly out of tune.

  The double doors opened, and a man of medium height stepped out. His bearing declared that he was of import, and he walked to the front of the porch and surveyed the assembled troops. He wore a fine white linen shirt, with a deep red sleeveless vest over it, and brownish black trousers. His brown hair was long, and tied back, but he sported neither mustache nor beard, unlike many of the men Quaeryt had seen around Tilbora or most of those already gathered on the terrace. He looked to be some ten years older than Quaeryt. He just stood on the wide stone platform for a time after the fanfare ended. Then he laughed. “I am honored! Deeply honored that Lord Bhayar’s minions would think I am so fearsome that a friendly visit requires so many armed men.”

  Waerfyl’s eyes fixed on Skarpa. “Your approach was rather contradictory, don’t you think, Major? A peace banner followed by hundreds of armed cavalrymen?”

  “Not at all,” replied Skarpa with a brief laugh of his own, riding closer and reining up. “As we have discovered, peaceful behavior here in the hills only seems to happen when one appears with overwhelming force.”

  “Might I ask, if it is not deemed too impertinent by a mere hill holder in dealing with the force and might of all Telaryn, what might be the purpose of this visit … this appearance?”

  “You might indeed,” replied Skarpa.

  Quaeryt could sense that the major was uneasy in speaking, but he had no doubts that Commander Zirkyl had tutored Skarpa carefully in what he wanted said.

  After a moment, the major cleared his throat. “I am here to convey the greetings and concerns of the governor. You are the holder over a large expanse of lands, largely timberlands. You are known to have great control over those who serve you. Yet, time after time, groups of men have proceeded from your lands to those of the High Holder whose lands adjoin yours and poached game and removed valuable timber. In addition, some of those men have attacked routine patrols merely riding the roads and, in several cases, killed soldiers. The governor is concerned that you have failed to exercise control over those men. Given the extent of your lands, it is highly unlikely that they could have done what they did without spending a great deal of time on your lands. This suggests a failure to control your own lands, and possibly those who serve you. Your lack of action to exert such control suggests that you either allow or actively support the actions of these men. Neither is acceptable.”

  Neither Waerfyl nor Skarpa spoke for several moments.

  The major continued to look pointedly at the holder.

  Finally, Waerfyl offered a cynical smile. “Your words, or should I say the governor’s, are most polite. I will say that I am sorry to be unable to respond as well. You accuse me of acts with no proof that these men are in any way connected to me. My lands are large. Not nearly so large as those of High Holder Dymaetyn. They are also hilly and rocky, and there are places that have not seen a man or mount in generations. As you should know, Major, and as the governor certainly knows, it has been strongly suggested by this governor and his predecessor that I avoid raising large numbers of armsmen. I do not have anywhere as many as do the High Holders. Yet they cannot stop such brigands? And I, with far fewer armsmen … how can I possibly be held accountable for those who slip through my lands?”

  “Holder Waerfyl, I am not here to debate. I am not here to judge. I am here to convey the governor’s concerns. You may recall that the fate of those landholders who have ignored those concerns has not been one many would wish to share.”

  “So … you are warning me that if brigands I do not and cannot control continue their actions, the governor will act against me and my family and retainers.”

  “The governor will do what the governor will do based upon what happens in the future. I am not in his confidences. I cannot say what he will do. I am here to convey his concerns.”

  “Such a loyal officer.” Waerfyl shook his head. “You and your men may take this holding. You may even put it to the torch. If you do, you will never control the hill lands, and any soldier who enters these forests will be at risk, for generations to come. Is that what the governor wants?”

  “The governor wishes that the lawbreaking, the attacks, and the thefts stop. Since they come from your lands, it seemed reasonable to convey those concerns to you. I have done so. You have received that conveyance. We will leave the determination of what happens in the future to you.” Skarpa inclined his head politely. “Now … having conveyed the governor’s concerns, we will depart … peacefully.”

  “You may convey to the governor that I can only do what I can do.”

  “I will do so. Good day, Holder Waerfyl.” Skarpa turned his mount. “Column! To the rear!”

  Quaeryt followed the major along the side of the lane and down the slope until he was at the rear of the formation, which became the lead as the companies rode back toward the gateposts.

  Once the companies were well away from Waerfyl’s holding, Quaeryt, again riding beside Skarpa, asked, “Why did he bring up that business about not being able to raise armsmen?”

  “There’s a decree limiting the numbers of armed men. So far as the hill holders are concerned, it’s meaningless. They say that their men are loggers or rangers or whatever, but they’re all armed.” Skarpa shook his head. “There’s no way with all the armed retainers that Waerfyl has that he’d allow outside brigands, but he pleads that he can’t patrol because of the decree. If the attacks stop, it’s an admission that he’s guilty one way or another.”

  “I can’t believe the governor would torch his holding, not with what could happen.”

  “I can’t say whether he will or won’t. Lord Chayar didn’t have a problem in razing the hold of a High Holder, and the hill holders are getting out of hand. This was a warning to Waerfyl that his raids on Dymaetyn have gotten out of hand and that he shouldn’t let his men shoot at soldiers.”

  “What will happen?”

  “Likely what’s happened before.” Skarpa took a deep breath. “The attacks here will stop … for a while. They’ll start somewhere else, with some other hill holder against some other High Holder. The hill holders don’t really want the governor to turn the regiment against them, and the governor doesn’t want to. Not with the threat of the Bovarians in the west. Even the hill holders wouldn’t want to change Lord Bhayar for Kharst, not after what Kharst did in Khel. So … it’s a deadly game, and some of my soldiers get killed or wounded, but the losses are far less than if we had to go in and clean out all of these miserable hill holders.” The major shook his head. “I can’t say that I like having to use three companies to deliver a warning, but it takes something like that to tell a hill holder you’re serious.”

  “How do the other timber holders get along with each other?”

  “They don’t. That’s another part of the problem. If they don’t defend their lands, then another holder will try to log it, or trap on it, so as to save his own lands.…”

  It’s almost as if Rescalyn is using the conflicts between the hill holders and between them and the High Holders as a way of … what? Justifying having raised what amounts to a large standing army? Quaeryt didn’t like that possibility … or any of the other possible answers to his question. Not any of them. Not at all.

  He continued riding, keeping a pleasant expression on his face.

  57

  Quaeryt decided not to press to accompany a company on Mardi or Meredi. While he was improving, and no longer needed to use the sling, the strain of carrying shields tired him more than the riding itself, and he wasn’t about to enter the forests without shields, not for long patrols, even if Skarpa had said the patrols would be quiet for a time. He did spend quite a few glasses in the stable working on ways to refine his shields. On Meredi, he accompanied another captain in Sixth Battalion-Duesyn-on a comparatively short patrol through the lower and less wood
ed hills to the south of the valley that held Boralieu. He still wore the slightly tattered and overlarge undress green shirt over his browns, but the patrol was without event, except that Quaeryt had another chance to work on his shields while in the saddle, but he still couldn’t keep insects away without triggering the shields too often.

  On Jeudi, he spent more time trying to refine the sensitivity of his shields, wanting to find a way to protect himself from attacks-and from mosquitoes and red flies-without reacting to every other nonthreatening approach. He had little success.

  On Jeudi night, Skarpa caught him just before the evening meal. “Tomorrow, Meinyt’s taking a patrol to the northeast. High Holder Eshalyn has complained that he’s suffering intrusions and attacks from the hill holder next to his lands. Commander Zirkyl thought you might find that useful in your reports to Lord Bhayar.”

  While Quaeryt hadn’t sent any reports to Bhayar, he had written out those reports, but he wanted to hand them to the courier himself. The fewer eyes that saw what he wrote the better.

  So … on Vendrei morning, Quaeryt pulled on the overlarge green shirt and mounted up, riding out of Boralieu, eastward across the valley, and then north.

  “What can you tell me about what you’re supposed to be looking for or to stop?” he asked Meinyt, riding to his left, as the patrol neared a thickly wooded slope.

  “This time, it’s Saentaryn. High Holder Eshalyn isn’t worried about poachers, but about raids on one of his mines.”

  “Mines?” Quaeryt didn’t even know there were mines in the area.

  “It’s a coal mine, and it’s not very big, but Eshalyn’s family has been mining it to heat their holding and to use in their smithies. They even give the extras to their croppers and tenants. That way they don’t have to cut as much timber for firewood. On Mardi, some brigands came in and took two wagons and the coal in them. They killed three miners. The tracks headed north. We’re supposed to follow the wagon tracks to see where they go. That’s if we can.”