Scholar

by L. E. Modesitt

  “The size of the regiment, the extra companies in each battalion, the rotation so that every company saw action against the hill holders, the building of outposts that also held more troops, the recruiting and training of Tilborans … things like that.”

  “Why do you think I did all that?”

  Quaeryt knew full well, but he offered half the answer. “A standard regiment wouldn’t suffice against the hill holders. You and the princeps and some of the officers have all indicated, as did the documents I studied, that good as the Khanar’s Guard was, it wasn’t sufficient to take on the hill holders. Until they’re broken, Tilbor won’t ever be a secure province.”

  “You deduced this in less than two months with no experience in Tilbor before?”

  “I think I knew after about a month—certainly after getting wounded.”

  “What did Bhayar really send you for?”

  Quaeryt laughed, if ruefully. “To get me out of his hair, sir. He said I asked too many questions, and that I needed to spend time seeing what good governors do. He did say that, if I could find a way to effectively reduce the number of troops in Tilbor to free them for other uses, such a solution would be welcome. From what I can see, the only way to do that is to defeat and destroy the hill holders—or at least all the leaders and their holds.”

  “We do agree on that.”

  “Have I misunderstood anything?” asked Quaeryt.

  The governor shook his head. “Once we near battle, you will accompany one of Major Skarpa’s captains so that you can see matters close at hand and testify as to the results of what good governors do. You do not have to fight, nor to act against the hill rebels, but you must be close enough to see what happens and be able to report to Lord Bhayar.”

  Close enough to be killed without being ordered to fight. “I had thought that might be the case, sir.”

  “Tell me. Why does Lord Bhayar’s sister write you?”

  “That, I cannot honestly say. I met her once, and we talked for less than a half a quint. I never saw her again. Given my position, of course, I cannot afford not to reply with as much length and wit as I can muster.”

  “I can see that.” Rescalyn laughed again. “We have a long ride ahead and time. Tell me. What do you think you have accomplished with the scholars?”

  “I’ve put a true scholar in charge, and a no-nonsense scholar who was also the bursar in place as the scholar princeps. I put forth a set of principles, and I’ve talked to factors who are now interested in having their children be schooled there. I found that a few of your junior officers were taught there, and, if the scholarium continues, more may be as well. The education will be improved, with more Bovarian being taught and more history. For some reason,” Quaeryt said sardonically, “not much history was being taught. Those steps are being taken already. I’ve also thought about teaching more mathematics and practical science…”

  “That would be good. Officers need to know that. What else?”

  “I abolished the teaching of Sansang. I didn’t have a chance to replace that with something less … subversive.”

  “Just teach them half-staff work. It’s useful, and the training develops coordination.…”

  Quaeryt listened, knowing that he had a long, long ride ahead of him, and one on which he would need to watch every word as he tried to convince Rescalyn that he was bright … but not too bright.

  76

  A day and a half later, Quaeryt was still riding with Rescalyn, after a fashion. Although the governor spent more time with Commander Myskyl than with Quaeryt, he returned intermittently to ride with the scholar and even talked to him occasionally, but almost never with any warning, even if his voice was nearly always hearty and cheerful. That heartiness was beginning to irritate Quaeryt. Then that might have been because the governor was never less than always perfectly in command and cheerful, even when no one was looking.

  The afternoon wasn’t as hot as midsummer, but it was still sultry. Quaeryt’s undershirt stuck to his back, and his legs were sore because he’d hardly been riding for the past week, and little enough since he’d returned to Tilbora. The column was headed straight west, possibly less than ten milles from the last line of hills that formed the eastern edge of the valley that held Boralieu.

  Abruptly, Rescalyn asked, “Did you actually read all the papers from the Khanar’s document room?”

  “Yes. Well … some of them I just skimmed over after I read the first part.”

  “Why?”

  “Because documents can tell you what it might take years to discover through experience. I was trying to determine if the Khanars had the same sort of difficulties with the hill holders as you have had.”

  “Did they?”

  “It seemed much the same, except there was a kind of bribery on both sides, and less fighting. But then, the hill holders couldn’t claim, not in the eyes of most Tilborans, that the Khanar was an outsider.”

  “Do you really trust what was written?”

  “Even when someone isn’t writing everything, or they’re glossing over things, or misrepresenting them, if you read enough, you can tell things by the way they’re written or by what’s not there.”

  “Are you Bhayar’s spymaster or one of his top assistant spymasters?”

  After a moment, when he was truly surprised, Quaeryt laughed. “No. If he has a spymaster, I have no idea who it is.”

  “Then why are you here? Why would he send you here?”

  “Why not? He likes me, or doesn’t dislike me. He’s known me since we were students, and he was getting tired of my questions. He’s worried about the amount of troops required here, and he doesn’t want to leave Solis right now because he’s also worried about what Kharst might do. If I can’t tell him, then there’s no harm done, and he has several months without me around.”

  “You almost convince me, scholar.” Rescalyn’s voice remained cheerful.

  “Of what?”

  “That you are what you say.”

  “Everything I’ve said is true.”

  “I’m certain it is, but that doesn’t mean you’ve told me everything.”

  Quaeryt shook his head ruefully. “There’s no end to that. To tell you everything about me, or for you to tell me everything about you, would take more time than either of us has.”

  Abruptly, the sound of a horn echoed from the rear. Quaeryt didn’t understand the signal, but Rescalyn did, for he wheeled his mount.

  “They’re being attacked!” The governor stood in the stirrups. “Column halt! Commander! Take charge here! Scholar! Follow me!”

  Quaeryt did indeed follow Rescalyn back along the shoulder of the road, although the distance between them widened with every moment that passed. As the commands passed down the column, companies were turning, and weapons were out and at the ready.

  Quaeryt caught up with the governor at the head of the wagons, near the two engineering wagons, and the supply wagons behind them. Rescalyn had reined up and was talking intently to a graying major, who seemed to shrink into his saddle with each word from the governor.

  After halting the mare well away from what was clearly some sort of dressing-down, Quaeryt waited and looked to the east. The two last supply wagons were burning fiercely, with black and gray smoke rising into the gauzy sky, seemingly eventually mixing with the high haze. While two companies rode back toward the column from the northeast, Quaeryt saw no sign of any attackers. Suddenly, he realized that he was carrying full shields—and he hadn’t even noticed. He almost shook his head, but lowered them to the lighter shields, with the triggers for contact … and waited.

  After a time, Rescalyn nodded to the major, then turned his gelding and rode back toward Quaeryt. Since the governor didn’t stop, Quaeryt turned the mare and swung up alongside Rescalyn, keeping pace with him, but saying nothing.

  After several moments, Rescalyn spoke, gesturing back and to the right. “They rode out of a swale back there. They caught the rear guard by surprise.” He shook
his head. “You’d think that by now…”

  “They only think that surprises happen in the hills,” Quaeryt pointed out.

  “You’re right.” Rescalyn laughed ruefully. “Expecting only what happened before cost a score or more of the rear guard their lives. It could have been worse, if the hill forces had been looking for a fight. I pointed that out to the major.”

  “They were just trying to destroy supplies?” asked Quaeryt. “With fire arrows?”

  “Quarrels filled with flaming pitch … or something like that. They’re trying to make the point that they can destroy our supplies and attack anywhere.”

  “The rear guard didn’t go that far after them. They were riding back by the time I got to the supply wagons.”

  “No. There’s no point in that. The major did understand that. Before long, we’d be spread over hundreds of milles and be bleeding from scores of cuts.”

  Quaeryt waited.

  “You aren’t saying anything, scholar.”

  “You have a different plan. I was waiting to hear it.”

  “It’s simple enough. Once they return to the woods and hills, they split up. There’s no point in trying to track down individuals, but we don’t have to. The winters here are long and cold, and without supplies, even the angriest hill holders can’t do much. First, we break the siege at Boralieu. By besieging it, they’ve done us a favor. That concentrates their forces, and we can do more damage to them. Then we move on each hill hold and level it. We take the supplies we can use and destroy the rest. The hill holders have been a plague on Tilbor for too long.”

  “Won’t they just attack the column once you leave Boralieu?”

  “That’s what scouts are for. It’s hard on them, but it cuts overall losses.”

  While Quaeryt admired the brutal simplicity of the plan, including the fact that it was timed just after most harvests were gathered in, he had to wonder, as he knew he did too often, whether Rescalyn’s abilities matched his confidence.

  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?”