Scholar

by L. E. Modesitt

  “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 wooded 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.”

  “Let me guess,” replied Quaeryt. “Until Lord Chayar conquered Tilbor, the mine was on lands claimed by … Sentar—”

  “Saentaryn,” corrected Meinyt. “How did you know that?”

  “I didn’t. It just seems to be a recurring pattern. Either the hill holders have lost lands under Telaryn, or they’re using that as an excuse to grab lands they’ve always wanted or once had and lost. What do you think?”

  “I think they never had them. They just always thought that they should be theirs. Everyone has a glorious past, even if they didn’t.” Meinyt snorted.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if the governor tends to back the High Holders in uncertain claims, just because they keep things more stable.”

  “There’s no question about that. The hill holders aren’t trustworthy. They’ve been fighting each other and the High Holders for generations.”

  Quaeryt merely nodded, although from what he’d read, the Khanars had tried to cultivate the hill holders to some degree. Why didn’t Rescalyn? He certainly could have occasionally been conciliatory toward them. Was it because he believed they couldn’t be trusted to keep their word? Or for some other reason?

  Once the company entered the woods, Quaeryt stopped talking or asking questions, concentrating instead on the trees on each side of the dirt road. Unlike the roads to the west of Boralieu, the undergrowth and young trees had been cleared back only five yards or so from the packed and rutted dirt. Although that left the road shaded and the troopers out of the sun, the lack of a breeze and the dampness of the air had Quaeryt sweating more than when he had been riding in the open.

  Another glass passed before one of the scouts rode back, turning his mount to ride on the side of the captain away from the scholar. “We’ve got tracks ahead on that road coming from the southeast. They’re heavy enough for coal drays.”

  “That’s the side road that’s closest to the mine. Any more recent signs of riders?”

  “No, sir. Not so far.”

  “Follow the wagon tracks. We’ll be behind you. If you see any recent hoofprints or the wagon ruts turn off the main road, report back.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The side road joined the main road several hundred yards farther north. Quaeryt glanced back as he rode past the junction, noting that the southeast road had a gentler grade than the section of the main road the company had just traveled. Even he could see that the ruts made by the wagons coming from the side road were considerably deeper than the older and half-obliterated ruts made by wagons passing earlier. That suggested to him that the teamsters were indeed familiar with the roads. That and the fact that no one would seize coal unless it didn’t have to be carted too far and unless they had a
use for it also suggested that High Holder Eshalyn’s suspicions were certainly justified.

  More than a half glass passed before one of the scouts rode back to report to Meinyt.

  “They had problems with one of the wheels up ahead, sir. They were there for a time, possibly a day or so.”

  “When did they leave?”

  “I’d guess sometime early today. It could have been late last night…”

  “That’s not likely. Tell the others to watch closely for anything at all.”

  “Yes, sir.” The scout turned and rode forward.

  Meinyt swung his mount to the side. “Squad leaders! Ready arms!”

  “Ready arms!” echoed back along the road.

  “Forward.”

  Quaeryt checked his shields, then urged the mare forward to stay beside the captain. After several hundred yards, they reached an area where part of the shoulder was torn up and where a large number of sizable rocks had recently been tossed just beyond the edge of the road.

  “They used the rocks to support an axle, it looks like,” observed the captain. “Coal’s heavy, and those wagons weren’t meant to be used here in the hills.”

  After studying the marks in the road briefly, Meinyt signaled for the company to continue.

  Quaeryt kept glancing ahead, but saw nothing but the trees and the road … and the low bushes and grass between the two.

  The company had covered about another half mille before Meinyt spoke again. “All the tracks on the dirt of the road’s shoulder are gone. They’ve been rubbed out with branches or the like, but the grass is trampled in places.”

  As the captain turned in the saddle, Quaeryt heard the faintest crackling just ahead and to his right. Then three riders charged directly toward the captain, with three behind them, all carrying blades ready to strike. There might have been more riders farther back, but Quaeryt couldn’t tell.

  He instantly strengthened and widened his shields, then turned the mare into the charge. He had to grab the pommel of the saddle with his good hand to keep his seat as the two leading attackers and their mounts rebounded from the shields. One mount went down, pinning the rider, and the other two rode into the woods on the west side of the dirt track. The next three turned and rode back down the narrow track whose entry had been disguised with a shield of brush and branches. Quaeryt managed to rein in the mare and circle back to rejoin Meinyt.

  The captain didn’t look at the scholar. “Column! Halt!”

  Two rankers dismounted quickly, and managed to help the fallen horse off the downed rider, who moaned, but did not move. One leg was bent at an angle that suggested it was broken.

  “Rough splint that leg and get him back on his mount,” commanded the captain. “He might be able to tell us something. Second squad! Hold here, and guard the lane entrance—and the prisoner. Pass it back. We’ll check a bit farther along the road.”

  Less than a mille farther, just over a low rise and halfway around a gentle curve were the beds of two wagons—empty and without wheels, traces, or draft horses.

  “Namer-frigged-sows,” muttered Meinyt as he reined up, studying the damp shoulder of the road again.

  “They brought small carts here and emptied the wagons and stripped them,” said one of the scouts. “You can see the tracks heading through the woods there. It’s not even a lane.”

  “Let them go. By now, they’ve scattered everywhere, and that lane is another ambush waiting to happen.”

  “How far is it to Saentaryn’s holding?” asked Quaeryt.

  “A mille, maybe two, up the long hill ahead, and then there’s a lane to the east. I haven’t been up the lane, but the major says that’s where it is. We’re not about to go there with only a company and no orders. Let’s hope our captive will say more once he’s back at Boralieu.” Meinyt stood in the saddle. “To the rear … ride!”

  Quaeryt had to urge the mare to keep up with the captain as his mount quick-trotted back down the road. The scholar kept looking in all directions, but nothing else jumped out of the woods. Until the company was well away from the stripped wagons and back into the lower hills just north of Boralieu, neither man said much.

  Then, abruptly Meinyt turned in the saddle. “What did you do? I haven’t seen that brush trick before, and I haven’t been in these particular hills for a while; so I didn’t remember that little lane.”

  “I was lucky. I just turned my mount in to them at the last moment. It upset them just enough.”

  “They were armed. You weren’t. How did you manage to avoid that?”

  “Like you said … I ducked, and let the mare shield me.”

  “She doesn’t even have a cut.”

  Quaeryt shrugged. “What can I say? I was lucky. After the last time, maybe the Nameless looked on me a bit more favorably today.”

  “A lot more favorably, I’d say. Fortunate or not, scholar, I appreciate it.”

  “They targeted you, didn’t they?”

  “I’d have to think so. They made one pass and rode off. If they’d disorganized the company, they might have stayed around and tried to pick off rankers.”

  “Is that usual?”

  “They don’t like pitched fights or anything that lasts. Strike and run. Crossbow quarrels and vanish. They’re good at that, but not so good at standing and fighting. So they don’t. I have to give them that. They don’t do what they’re not good at.” Meinyt laughed, with a touch of bitterness behind the sound. “That’s probably a good rule to follow, but it’s not always practical when you’ve got a mission to carry out.”

  “That’s why you didn’t pursue them.”

  “The major will understand. So will the commander, and the governor will see that the only report that gets to Lord Bhayar is that we were attacked, and captured one brigand and had no casualties. That’s not as good as it could be, but better than some patrol reports. That’s the way it goes in dealing with the hill holders. Thank the Nameless that the governor understands how they work.”

  “He understands a great deal,” said Quaeryt mildly. “Do you think the princeps does as well?”

  “They both do. That’s what the major says. The princeps is quieter. Everyone thinks he only knows supplies and figures, but some of the older rankers remember when he was a battalion commander. He wasn’t flash, just solid.” The captain shrugged. “That’s what they say, anyway.” He blotted his forehead, brushing away red flies. “Hate patrolling this time of year. Every bug and mosquito known to a soldier is out trying to get the last meals possible before winter hits.”

  Quaeryt didn’t know about the winter, but he definitely agreed about the insects.

  58

  What Skarpa had predicted after the “visit” to convey the governor’s concerns to Waerfyl did in fact come to pass, if after the coal thefts from High Holder Eshalyn. Day after day went by, with Quaeryt accompanying patrol after patrol—and there was no sign of attacks, of poaching, of timber thefts. Nor did any of the High Holders send messages to Boralieu reporting such. What the commander or the major learned from the captive was apparently little, because Skarpa only said that the man had told everything he knew, and that was almost nothing except he’d been ordered to join the raid on the coal mine by a subchief of Saentaryn, and he’d never seen the holder himself.

  Quaeryt discovered he had become a much better rider, and his shields worked largely as he had hoped, although he had not been able to make them sensitive enough to keep away predatory insects and still not have them set themselves at the slightest intrusion, but he could live with that. He still wore the undress green shirt on patrols.

  He thought he’d be heading back to the Telaryn Palace with Sixth Battalion, but he’d heard no word. By Jeudi the thirty-third of Erntyn, he decided that, even if he didn’t get such word, he intended to go—unless someone sent orders forbidding his return. He’d learned all he was likely to learn, for his purposes, in the time he’d spent at Boralieu.

  That night at the mess, he sat acros
s the table from Skarpa.

  “It’s been quiet for a while, and it will be for a few more weeks, maybe even to near the end of Feuillyt or Finitas or into winter,” noted the major.

  “Did you ever find out more about why Saentaryn ordered the raid?”

  “We can’t prove he did, and there’s been no more trouble. The commander did send the one captive back with a message that suggested there shouldn’t be. If there is, we’ll probably have to do something.” Skarpa shook his head. “There won’t be. Not now. Saentaryn doesn’t want to risk us torching his hold this close to winter. Besides, he got the coal.”

  “That doesn’t seem … right.”

  “It’s not a question of right. It’s a question of when you decide you want to lose troopers and what you get for it.”

  Quaeryt had understood that before he asked the question, but wanted to hear Skarpa’s reply. “When will Sixth Battalion get rotated back here?”

  “The whole battalion? Not until Avril, most likely. Meinyt’s company might have to go to the northwest outpost in Fevier. I haven’t heard yet. He might not, since they’re here so late in the year. I suggested that to make the company spend three winters in a row on outpost duty wasn’t fair to either Meinyt or the men.”

  “Do you think—”

  “The commander’s a fair man. He’ll make a recommendation to the governor, and unless there’s a special reason, the governor will accept it. I’m hopeful Meinyt will be able to enjoy winter in the comparative warmth of Tilbora. Nothing in Tilbor’s really that comfortable in winter, but you never really get warm at Boralieu and the outposts. Maybe that’s why so many of the hill holders are such Namer-chosen serpents. Nothing ever warms their blood or their hearts.”

  Quaeryt finished the tough cutlet with the last morsel of tasty sauce, then took a swallow of lager. Tired as he was getting of the lager, the thought of drinking ale was even worse. “What makes a fireplace or a stove far warmer than a fire are the bounds placed on the fire by the containment of the hearth or the stove. Men who recognize no boundaries save those of their own flames of ambition lose the warmth of their hearts without even knowing it.”