Scholar

89

Mardi morning was clear, but the skies to the northwest showed a haze that promised a change in the weather. The wind also blew from the northwest, hard enough to fan the fires set in all the structures in Demotyl’s holding into infernos within less than a quint after they had been set. By midmorning, the regimental column and its wagons, almost twice as many as had left Boralieu as a result of those recovered from the various holdings, had covered more than seven milles, and a third of the sky was covered with low, thick, gray clouds. The wind had turned intermittently biting.

The first attack on the vanguard started at ninth glass, when several hundred riders galloped across the matted brown grasses of an upland meadow to within two hundred yards of the road and the lead companies. There they reined up and began to loose volleys of arrows at the Telaryn forces.

Rescalyn called on Fifth Battalion to attack by circling from the right. The hill riders waited until the first company was within fifty yards before loosing three volleys at directly at the cavalry. Fifth Battalion ran down those too slow to escape and cut them down on the spot, perhaps fifty, according to the messenger who rode up and passed the work to Skarpa. Fifth Battalion suffered almost that many casualties, and more than twenty men were killed or wounded in the vanguard.

Rescalyn sent out more outriders and scouts.

All during the time between noon and the first glass of the afternoon, arrows and quarrels arched intermittently from the woods or from hills or bluffs down on the column, occasionally striking riders before one of the squads detailed to chase the archers away neared the attackers and they faded into the trees. The column scarcely slowed at all.

Shortly after that, a ranker rode back and summoned Quaeryt to ride forward to see the governor. When Quaeryt approached, Rescalyn motioned for him to ride next to him, but the governor did not speak immediately.

After they had ridden more than a hundred yards, Rescalyn asked, “Scholar … what did you think, honestly, of Zorlyn’s reply?”

“Foolish … and predictable.”

“Zorlyn is anything but a fool.”

“I am certain that is so, sir, but intelligent and perceptive men still make foolish statements and attempt unwise acts when they fail to realize they are captive to perceptions or beliefs that are in error. Zorlyn has never faced a determined foe whose desire is to obliterate what he stands for. Neither have any of his forebears. The Khanars always compromised, and the hill holders believe that all rulers will do so, rather than fight and lose more men than is seen to be worth their while. Zorlyn, like all hill holders, assumes that your interest and that of Lord Bhayar is merely to collect tariffs. He also assumes that you will not pay the price for your actions. Were his assumptions correct, then his defiance would be justified. But those assumptions are incorrect.”

“How does a man tell when he is captive to erroneous perceptions or beliefs?”

“Some men never do. Others discover the errors of their ways when they fail or are about to die from those errors. Seldom do they discover such errors except through some form of trial or pain. Even then, some do not.”

“You could unsettle any man, master scholar,” replied Rescalyn with a hearty laugh.

“I doubt it. Those who might be unsettled usually refuse to see.”

“You are a cynical man, even for a scholar.”

“When people disagree with what stands there for all to see, they often call those who observe events with accuracy cynical. One such might call you cynical for observing and acting on the fact that the hill holders will not capitulate to reason until you have effectively destroyed the majority of those with power.”

Rescalyn laughed again, if with a slightly bitter edge.

Before the governor could speak, Quaeryt pressed on. “I have to ask … once you’ve destroyed Zorlyn and his holding and men, how many more will you have to obliterate before the remaining hill holders surrender? All of them?”

Rescalyn frowned. “One or two more, at the most. We have already destroyed three of the four most powerful holdings in the Boran Hills. Zorlyn’s is the most powerful. On Samedi I received word that Commander Pulaskyr has done the same for the two strongest hill holders in the north. The remaining five hill holders in the south can likely muster together fewer men-and women and youths-than Zorlyn can alone. The remaining four in the north pose little problem. They’d just as soon be minor High Holders, but feared the others. We may have to destroy one more here in the south to prove that we will go after even the weaker hill holders. We could destroy them all, if need be.…”

“But you still must best Zorlyn.”

“That we must … but I have a few surprises for him-and you, perhaps-as well.”

“You have formidable talents, sir. You may well surprise me, but I will not underestimate you.”

“You always have an interesting way of putting things, master scholar.”

“I try to be accurate, sir. Or, as some might say, cynical.”

“So … cynicism is merely accuracy when no one wishes to accept that accuracy?” Rescalyn shook his head.

“Sir!” A scout rode toward the governor.

“You may return to Sixth Battalion, scholar.”

As Quaeryt eased his mount onto the shoulder and back toward Sixth Battalion, he reflected. There was no doubt that Rescalyn was brilliant and a good commander, and he inspired his men. Yet, beneath the genial facade, he was ruthless, far more so than Bhayar, and he certainly had continually deceived Bhayar, scarcely a laudable trait. Quaeryt smiled ruefully. There was also the simple fact that Bhayar, for all his impatience, had befriended Quaeryt and that he listened … and might well help Quaeryt achieve his goals of better positions in Telaryn for scholars and imagers. Rescalyn’s continual efforts to place Quaeryt in harm’s way suggested all too strongly that Quaeryt would never be able to trust the governor.

Once Quaeryt eased the mare back alongside Skarpa at the head of Sixth Battalion, the major looked at the scholar, but did not speak.

“The governor wanted to know what I thought of Zorlyn’s reply.…” Quaeryt went on to recount most of the rest of the conversation.

He had no more than finished summarizing what had been said when the ranker riding in front of them, the last rider in Fifth Battalion, stiffened, flailed, grabbing at his neck, and then slumped in the saddle, a crossbow quarrel through his throat.

Quaeryt felt the impact on his shields and glanced ahead and to the left. “They’re up behind those bushes!”

“First squad!” snapped Meinyt from behind Quaeryt and Skarpa.

“Where, sir?”

Quaeryt looked around. The archer had vanished, but he’d marked where at least one man had been. “This way!” he called, urging the mare onto the shoulder of the road and then at an angle uphill.

“Follow the scholar!”

Quaeryt guided the mare through the low bushes that stretched for a good thirty yards back from the road, keeping his head down and close to the mare’s neck. As he neared the top of the slope, the mare’s hoofs slipped once in the slushy snow that remained in patches between the bushes, but Quaeryt kept riding toward where he’d seen the archer, then was surprised when three other figures, wearing white cloth over their leathers, rose out of the bushes and let fly their shafts.

They missed.

More archers rose, and Quaeryt kept riding. Another shaft struck his shields, but it must have been at an angle because he barely sensed the impact. He could feel the squad had almost caught up with him.

The archers turned and began to run.

One stumbled, and another tripped. The squad leader swept past Quaeryt, then leaned forward and slashed down across the back of one man’s neck.

More arrows flew from the trees, and Quaeryt turned his mount directly toward the archers, but had covered no more than a few yards before the volleys stopped. He could hear the sounds of crackling underbrush and then of horses. He reined up, as did the rankers around him.

“First squad … return to the company!” called the squad leader, who then added, “Sir … we’re not to follow into the trees once they stop shooting.”

Quaeryt turned the mare, seeing two figures who had fallen amid the bushes and the remnants of slushy snow. Red stained their white overgarments.

One of the rankers bent down in the saddle, so easily that Quaeryt was amazed, and grabbed the crossbow from where it lay caught in the bushes beside one of the hill archers, while another retrieved a bow and quiver.

By the time the mare carried Quaeryt down the slope and forward to Sixth Company-which, with the rest of the column, had kept moving-Quaeryt wondered, exactly, why he’d done what he had.

Behind him, the squad leader reported to Meinyt, “We got two stragglers, sir, before the rest got to the woods and rode off.”

Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t make an officer.”

“I said I wouldn’t make a good one,” Quaeryt said dryly. “A good officer would have described where to go in a few words. I couldn’t find the words quickly enough. So the only thing I could do was lead.”

“That’s what officers do. They act when things go wrong. Anyone with any sense can handle matters when they go right.”

Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue, especially since, suddenly, large wet snowflakes were pelting the riders and mounts.

“Good thing they’re large,” observed Meinyt from behind Quaeryt and Skarpa. “The large flakes mean the storm won’t last long. The small really cold ones mean a storm can last for days.”

The heavy snow continued for almost a glass, until everything was covered, before it subsided into occasional flurries. For Quaeryt, that glass seemed all too long.