Scholar ip-4

by L. E. Modesitt

  “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 tha
t, 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 across 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.”

  “You sound like Rholan might.”

  “Hardly.” Quaeryt shook his head.

  “I’d have to doubt that, my scholar friend.” Skarpa glanced down the long table, grinned, and lowered his voice. “I didn’t see you at services on Solayi. Gauswn was disappointed.…”

  “He seems to think I’m something I’m not. I’m just a scholar who knows a bit about Rholan and the background of those who follow the Nameless.”

  “You’re more than that, even if you’re trying to sound like you don’t believe in the Nameless.”

  “I don’t disbelieve. I don’t know, but I believe in the precepts that Rholan and others set forth.”

  “For a doubter, you’re a powerful chorister.”

  “That’s one of the problems with words. Those who master them think that they’ve mastered more than the words themselves. Most haven’t.”

  “That sounds even more like Rholan to me, except better.”

  Quaeryt sighed loudly and dramatically. “I’m not a chorister. I’m not even a scholar of the Nameless.”

  “You could fool me and most of the officers.”

  Quaeryt couldn’t think what else to say that wouldn’t end up with him in the position of protesting so much that he’d end up convincing Skarpa and those around that he was what he wasn’t.

  “Scholar?” asked a voice from behind Quaeryt’s shoulder.

  Quaeryt turned, and seeing Commander Zirkyl, immediately stood. “Sir. You surprised me.”

  “That can be good or bad.” Zirkyl’s light voice was dry. “By the way, I couldn’t help but overhear your comments about the mastery of words convincing people they have greater abilities when they don’t. You’re right about that. That wasn’t what I came over to see you about, though. I’m going to prevail upon you to speak as chorister at services this coming Solayi. Everyone has said you gave an excellent homily two weeks ago, and I think they’re more than tired of me. Since you’ll be returning to Tilbora with Sixth Battalion next Meredi, that will be the last chance many of them will have to avoid hearing me.”

  While the literal meaning of the commander’s words was correct, since most of those attending would be leaving when Quaeryt did, the scholar wasn’t certain that was exactly what Zirkyl meant. In any case, all he could do was nod and say, “If that is your wish, sir, I’ll do my best.”

  “I’m certain it will be very good. Thank you, scholar.”

  As the commander walked away, Quaeryt looked across the mess table at Skarpa. The major was smiling.

  “Did you hear that?”

  “Every word. I told you the commander was good at using the resources at his disposal effectively.”

  “He’s very good,” agreed Quaeryt. Too good, in this case. He shouldn’t have protested so eloquently or for so long, but then he hadn’t seen the commander slip up behind him.

  “Gauswn will be pleased. So will many of the others.”

  Quaeryt winced.

  “Gauswn’s a good undercaptain.”

  “I know he is. He just sees more in me than there is. Besides, the commander is a good speaker and chorister, I’m
certain.”

  “He is. You’re better.”

  “I think this is a case where familiarity breeds a desire for difference, and I’m just different.” Before Skarpa could contradict him, Quaeryt asked, “How early will Sixth Battalion set out on Meredi for the return to Tilbora?”

  “I’ll let you change the subject this time, scholar, because you still have to give that homily.” Skarpa grinned, then added, “By sixth glass.”

  59

  On Samedi morning, Quaeryt rode another uneventful patrol, this one to the southeast, far longer, so that he did not return until just before the evening meal, at which he ended up next to Duesyn, who, he discovered, was actually from Nacliano and had been promoted to captain the past Juyn. The good captain knew nothing about the sad state of affairs concerning scholars in his home city, and said that it must have happened after he had been posted to the regiment from duty near Ruile.

  Quaeryt was so tired that he almost slept through breakfast on Solayi and then went back to his quarters and took a nap. By late afternoon, though, he woke feeling famished and made his way to the officers’ mess, where he wheedled a lager from the attendants and waited for the evening meal.

  He’d barely seated himself when Gauswn stepped into the mess, looked around, spotted him, and then walked over. “Good afternoon, sir.”

  “Good afternoon.”

  “You will be speaking tonight, won’t you? At services?”

  “I will.” As if I had any choice.

  “Thank you. I’m looking forward to hearing what you have to say.” After a very polite nod, the undercaptain turned and left the mess.

  Quaeryt took a long swallow from his mug.

  Before long, Skarpa and Meinyt joined him.

  “I haven’t seen you around today,” offered the major as he sat down across from the scholar.

  “Yesterday’s patrol wore me out. I thought I was almost recovered, but…”

  “Oh … you went with Duesyn on the southern sweep,” said Skarpa. “That’s long and boring, but we do that one because High Holder Dymaetyn and High Holder Fhaelyn kept asking for it to keep poachers away. They never had any.” He shook his head.