Scholar

77

By the time the column was riding westward again, more than a glass had passed since the attack. Rescalyn and Myskyl had deployed additional scouts, and the column moved more slowly than it had previously, almost ponderously, as the riders and wagons passed through the fields, pastures, and orchards belonging to High Holder Dymaetyn. Quaeryt saw almost no one, and those few men he did catch sight of vanished almost immediately, very understandably. He saw no women at all, although crofter women often worked fields and orchards. That, too, was more than understandable.

Progress was so slow that when the lower edge of the sun touched the horizon, the vanguard was still a good five milles from the scattered woods at the base of the long and broad ridge-like hills that rose on the eastern side of the valley holding Boralieu, and shadows cloaked the spaces between the trees.

“It’s getting late to travel those hills,” said Rescalyn cheerfully.

“You think the hill holders are waiting there.”

“I’m certain they are. Part of the reason for the attack was to delay us enough that we either have to make camp short of the eastern hills or travel them at dusk or later. Either way offers an opportunity for them to attack again.”

“Which way are you choosing, might I ask, sir?”

“What do you think?”

“From what you said earlier, I’d guess-it’s only a guess-that you intend to stop and make camp, but have a battalion or two ready at all times.”

“Something like that.” Rescalyn smiled. “Oh … from here on, you’re attached to Sixth Battalion. They’re three battalions back. You might as well join Major Skarpa now.”

“Yes, sir. Do you have any other instructions for me?”

“I’ll be interested in your observations after the campaign is over, scholar. I trust you’ll be as observant about battles and skirmishes as documents.”

“I’ll do my best, but documents don’t move around the way that soldiers and raiders do.”

Rescalyn laughed. “That’s just one of the differences.” He urged his mount forward to rejoin Commander Myskyl, riding just ahead.

Quaeryt swung the mare wide and out beyond the shoulder. He didn’t push her, just let her walk with the low sun on his back, until he saw the ensign with the six on it, carried by a junior ranker.

Skarpa raised an arm in greeting. “I thought we might be seeing you before long, scholar.” The major grinned as Quaeryt rode toward him. “The commander said you were being sent to us because the governor wanted you to see all the action.”

I’m sure he did … and that he hopes I don’t return from all that action. Quaeryt was glad he’d thought to bring along the old large uniform shirt. That way, at least he wouldn’t stand out too much, but he hadn’t wanted to wear it yet … and not around the governor. “I think he feels scholars need to get out of books and documents and see what really happens.”

“For all that you’re a scholar, and maybe even a chorister of sorts, Master Quaeryt, I don’t see you as one buried in books.”

“I like the books, but the governor has indicated that books and documents aren’t enough for what I must report to Lord Bhayar. As for being a chorister, I’m not friendly enough with the Nameless for that.”

“You don’t sound fond of the governor or the Nameless.”

“I have no doubt that Governor Rescalyn is an excellent commander, and a most effective governor. He can’t help but resent that a young scholar has been sent from Solis and ordered to serve on his staff. It’s my fortune to have both Lord Bhayar and Governor Rescalyn wanting me somewhere else. Under those circumstances, I’d rather be where I am-with Sixth Battalion.” Quaeryt didn’t want to say more about the Nameless, not unless he was pressed.

“We’re glad to have you.”

The next glass passed quickly enough, and before that long, the regiment was setting up camp on a low knoll a good half mille from the nearest tendril of woods on the lower section of the hills. There were no cookfires once the force stopped. The evening meal, such as it was, consisted of hard yellow cheese and harder biscuits. There was also mutton jerky, but Quaeryt had lost his taste for dried mutton that was hard enough to break teeth years before.

As the twilight deepened, and a warm light breeze carried the scent of dry grasses out of the south, Skarpa turned to the scholar. “We’ll be the early guard on the trail from the south. Fifth Battalion will hold the trail on the north side of camp. The hill types won’t come from there or from the south trail. The commander and the governor both know it. Oh … they might send a patrol or a company that way to mislead us, but they’ll never attack us where we’re waiting, not at night. The governor will make sure the hill forces know where we’re posted.”

“They’ll come out of the trees when we’re least likely to be ready?”

“They know the usual watch schedules, and they’ll attack during the time guards and standby forces are being changed.” Skarpa smiled coldly.

“Somehow … I think you’ll be ready.”

“We’ll see. They may decide not to attack. I’m wagering they will.”

“Why?”

“Just a feeling I have.” The major paused, then asked, “Do you want to join Meinyt or one of the other captains or undercaptains?”

Quaeryt understood his only choice was which company he would join. “Meinyt … if he’s willing.”

“He’d hoped you would. He says you bring good luck.”

Quaeryt winced.

“Oh … I brought something for you. It’s a little old, but it was the best I could do. I figured since you spent time before the mast, it would work better for you than a sabre.” Skarpa grinned as he extended a half-staff. “Might be harder on horseback, but I couldn’t stand the thought of you going into battle without some sort of weapon.” The major laughed. “I know you’re just supposed to observe, but it’s hard just to observe when you’re in the middle of a fight.”

Quaeryt had already figured that out. He took the staff. Old as it might have been, it was polished and iron-tipped on both ends, with two iron bands around the wood equidistant from the ends and from each other. It was finely balanced, possibly the best half-staff he’d ever held. “This is a good staff. Where did you get it?”

“I sent one of the rankers to the armory when I got word from Commander Myskyl that you’d be accompanying Sixth Battalion.”

“Thank you.”

“There’s one other thing.” Skarpa tossed something like a ball to Quaeryt.

The scholar caught the ball, only to discover that it consisted of wound leather thongs.

“Those are used to hold an ensign. They should hold that staff. Fasten them to the saddle.”

Quaeryt nodded.

Skarpa nodded. “Best you find Meinyt.”

Quaeryt walked from where he left the mare tethered with the other mounts of the Sixth Battalion officers and made his way toward Meinyt, still carrying the half-staff. He waited until the captain finished talking to a squad leader, then stepped forward.

“You’ve decided to join us, I see,” offered the older captain. “Don’t know as that staff will help much.”

“It’s the only weapon I know how to use, and I don’t have much experience-except at getting wounded. I need to be around someone who does.”

“You’re better than some.”

Quaeryt didn’t know what to say to that. So he said nothing.

“We’ve got about a glass before we take the guard on the south trail. We’ll have duty for two glasses. Figure they’ll attack sometime after the first glass of duty. It will be full dark then. That’s when we’d usually change companies.”

“Is that duty mounted?”

Meinyt shook his head. “Scouts and outriders will be mounted. They can see better from the saddle. They’re also better targets, but there’s not much moonlight tonight, just a bit from bloody Erion. All the squads will be afoot by their mounts, ready to ride.”

Quaeryt nodded. “What did you think of that attack on the wagons?”

“That was about what I’d have expected. The last two wagons usually have stuff we can do without if we need to.”

“They don’t know that?”

“They’ve never had to fight far from home.”

While Quaeryt hadn’t thought about that, it certainly made sense. He stepped back as another squad leader approached. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere with Meinyt. Besides, he had to figure out how to attach the lance or ensign holder to the saddle.

Just as Meinyt had predicted, some two glasses later, as Quaeryt waited beside the captain, a warning echoed across the still-warmish evening.

“Attackers on the way!”

“Company mount! Form up! Double interval!”

Quaeryt wasn’t the very last one in the saddle, but he was far from the first. He even managed to get his staff in the leathers.

“Company! Forward! Fast walk!”

Quaeryt raised full shields and kept the mare close to the captain.

The faintest of rustling sounds seeped through the darkness, and a flight of arrows-but no quarrels from what Quaeryt could see-sleeted down into the company. Most missed. None struck his shields, but he heard one moan from a ranker somewhere to his left.

“Stand fast!” ordered Meinyt.

Even before his command was finished, Quaeryt heard hoofs galloping southward, diminishing into the night. From the sound, he doubted that the attackers had numbered more than a squad or two.

He glanced around, his eyes moving to the west, noting that Meinyt was already watching, although the captain kept looking back to the south.

Then, little more than a half mille away, from the slight bulge in the trees, black figures emerged, riding dark mounts through grasses close to waist-high, so that they looked very low to the ground-or grass. In the faint reddish light of Erion-less than a quarter full-they were more like moving shadows.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” asked Quaeryt in a low voice.

“Watch.”

As the wave of dark riders neared the camp perimeter, abruptly shadow after shadow halted, then fell, and the screams of injured and dying horses began to fill the night, followed by yells and the sounds of weapons and men using them. Quaeryt couldn’t see what was happening, other than mounts and men going down.

In a fraction of a quint, only a comparative handful of the shadows turned and sprinted back toward the cover of the trees. The rest soon vanished into the grass.

“The governor figured they’d do that,” murmured Meinyt. “He had Fourth Battalion there with pikes, hidden in the grass. The pikes were all blackened. The hill riders never saw them, not until their mounts started getting spitted. Seventh Battalion is set up the same way on the northwest side of camp.”

“He planned that all along.”

“Knowing him, most likely.”

“Will they attack again … tonight?”

“Who knows what the hill types will do? I wouldn’t think so, but you never know. In the meantime, you might try to get some sleep. Rest, anyway. Tomorrow will be worse when we have to cross the ridge.”

Quaeryt felt he’d be fortunate even to doze.