Scholar

79

By less than a glass after midday, Major Skarpa had all the companies of Sixth Battalion in position on the west side of the hillside clearing overlooking the valley that held Boralieu. Quaeryt’s vision had largely returned, although his head still throbbed, and even the idea of raising shields was painful. He’d also rolled up the green shirt, which he thought of as his patrol and combat shirt, and wore just his browns.

As he stood just beyond the shoulder of the road, looking westward, he could see that the valley was very different from what he recalled. Most of the ground for a good half mille east of Boralieu, perhaps even a full mille, was dotted with ponds, lakes, and flooded fields. Although it was hard to tell, the flooding appeared to encircle the entire knoll on which the post had been built. A timber palisade had also been erected on a smaller knoll to the east of the walls, overlooking the raised road leading across the flooded land. For several moments, he stood there, considering the change, before Meinyt walked up beside him.

“What are you looking at, scholar?”

“The ground … the fields just east of Boralieu. Look closely.”

“What the Namer…” muttered Meinyt. “Never seen that before.”

“They must have diverted a stream or something,” said Quaeryt.

“Why would they…? Oh … the road’s the only easy way to the post.”

“Or from it, and that would restrict the ability of the companies at Boralieu to attack that temporary fort unless they wanted to take a lot of casualties.”

Meinyt gave a sound that was half grunt, half assent before he turned to face Quaeryt full on. “According to the men, scholar, you did a lot of damage with your little staff today. One man even claims you saved his life by unhorsing someone he didn’t see.”

“I yelled, but he didn’t hear me. I had to do something.”

Meinyt snorted. “Too many dead heroes felt that way.”

“The man who was attacking him didn’t see me.”

“That’s more the way it should be. Officers shouldn’t try to be heroes. They should be officers. Otherwise, who’s left to lead the men?”

That was another thing Quaeryt hadn’t considered. But then, he wasn’t an officer, not really, and he certainly wasn’t in the chain of command. Still … were he in Meinyt’s position, where would he draw the line?

“Good. You’re thinking,” said the captain.

Quaeryt didn’t retort that he always tried to think. He merely nodded.

The sound of a horn blared from somewhere nearby.

“Officers’ meeting…” Meinyt turned and headed in the direction of the horn.

Quaeryt decided to trail along, although he planned to be as inconspicuous as possible, browns or not, at the back of the officers gathering. The air was dusty, not surprisingly, with all the horses around, and there was already a faint odor of decay.

The number of officers wasn’t quite so great as Quaeryt had expected, although there were certainly more than fifty, and he positioned himself behind two taller men and waited. Shortly, there was another horn call-this one calling the officers to attention. Quaeryt stiffened with the rest of the officers, then waited as Rescalyn vaulted up onto the back of the supply wagon, likely moved into the middle of the temporary encampment for just that purpose.

The governor stood there for a moment, before commanding, “At ease, officers.”

Those around Quaeryt relaxed, but only slightly.

“So far … things are going more our way than theirs. If you’ve looked down at the valley, you’ll notice that it looks a great deal wetter than any of you recall. That’s because the hill renegades breached some of the irrigation dams and diverted the streams. They didn’t think too far ahead … or they miscalculated your abilities. It could be both, but I’m proud of the way you all handled your men and the way they responded this morning. All Telaryn should be proud, not that most will ever know. The enemy casualties were considerable, and ours were comparatively light.

“Because of the flooding in the valley, we’re going to shift our plan of attack … slightly. The main body of hill renegades has retreated to the west, out of the valley, but they’ve left a garrison behind those palisade walls. We’re not going to storm their little fort. Instead, the engineers have a way to deal with that. They’ll only need the support of Eighth Battalion, but I’m asking Seventh to stand by just in case.

“The rest of you can use the remainder of the day to re-form and recover. We won’t be entering Boralieu … for obvious reasons…”

It took Quaeryt a moment to realize that, if the regiment entered the post, the rebels could easily return, and the governor’s forces would be the ones hemmed in and hampered by all the flooded ground.

“… If all goes as planned, we’ll be moving out at dawn. I’ll be giving specific orders to individual battalion commanders.” Rescalyn smiled. “That’s all. Dismissed to duties.”

Quaeryt slipped away, moving back toward the general area that held Sixth Battalion. He was still looking for Meinyt when he saw Skarpa approaching.

“Major.”

“Scholar, Meinyt told me that you managed to hold your own this morning … a bit more than that, even.”

“By the end, I was in the second or third line. I still don’t ride as well as most of them.”

“I’ll have to tell Phargos that you fight too well to be a good chorister.”

“I was just fortunate. One encounter doesn’t prove anything.”

At that, Skarpa nodded. “Just remember that, and you’ll make it through.” After a moment, he added, “I need to meet with the commander and the governor in a few moments. I’ll see you and the other officers after I meet with them.”

“Best of fortune with that.”

The major barked a short laugh, then turned.

Standing there and watching Skarpa depart, Quaeryt felt a sharp pin-like jab in his upper arm, but discovered that it was only a dried pine needle that had worked its way through his sleeve. He found several others, and almost wondered why he hadn’t noticed them before.

A good glass later, Skarpa had not returned, but a squad leader walked toward Quaeryt, who had found a shady spot under an oak, then stopped. “The governor would like to see you. If you’d come with me, sir.”

“Of course.” Quaeryt stood and followed the squad leader toward the middle of the temporary camp. Within a few moments, he saw their destination-and awning, or perhaps the top of a tent without walls, under which were three camp chairs and a folding table. Two of the chairs were vacant. Rescalyn sat in the third, apparently studying a map. The area around the tent was clear to a distance of some ten or fifteen yards on every side, with rankers posted at intervals to maintain the separation.

The squad leader did not cross that invisible perimeter, but motioned for Quaeryt to approach.

The scholar did, halting in the shade just under the canvas. “Sir, you requested my presence.”

“Have a seat, scholar.” Rescalyn pointed to the middle chair.

Quaeryt took it and waited.

“You’ve seen the flooding to the west, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The last skirmish was hardly over, and a messenger from High Holder Dymaetyn arrived. He blames me-oh, it was far more politely worded than that-for the destruction of valuable lands. How do you think Lord Bhayar would expect me to reply?”

“Sir, I have no instructions to give you. Lord Bhayar asked me to observe you as an example of a good governor.”

Rescalyn laughed. “You are persistently consistent, scholar. Then, in your own capacity as a scholar, how would you suggest that I respond?”

“I would express concern for the damage, but note that the problems created by the hill holders long predate your tenure as governor and stretch back well into the reigns of the Khanars. You might also observe that, had the Khanars and the High Holders of the past been more willing to deal firmly with the hill holders, such recent events as the flooding might never have come about. Then you could note that, since harvest is over and it appears that his lands have indeed been harvested, additional moisture should only be beneficial for most of them, provided, of course, that the dams, streams, and levees are returned to their previous courses prior to the onset of winter. That will require some effort, but certainly not so much as that which you are making on behalf of both Lord Bhayar and Telaryn to permanently resolve a problem that should have been dealt with generations back.”

“Just on behalf of Telaryn, I’d think,” mused Rescalyn, before saying, “Go on.”

“If you wish to be conciliatory, you might offer the expertise of some of your engineers in helping develop the work plans for his efforts at restoration.”

“He won’t like that.” Rescalyn’s voice was heartily bland.

“He won’t like anything except having you and your men repair everything and then pay him compensation. If you do that-”

“Then every last one of them will want the same. I can see that. In fact, what you suggested follows closely what I already wrote. I do like the offer of a few engineers to assist him in planning. That way, he can’t say we did nothing at all … and all of them complain that we don’t do enough. There’s nothing new about that.” Rescalyn fingered his chin.

Quaeryt waited.

“How are you finding Sixth Battalion?”

“I’m working to observe and help and not interfere.”

Rescalyn rose. “Good. That’s all.”

Quaeryt stood immediately. “Yes, sir.” He nodded politely, then turned and left.

Was all that just to see how I looked after a battle … or skirmish? Most likely, but it was more than that. Quaeryt kept walking, heading back to the Sixth Battalion area.

The more Quaeryt met with Rescalyn, the less he trusted the man-or his motives. And the one comment Rescalyn had made about “on behalf of Telaryn” reminded Quaeryt, again, that he’d never heard the governor speak of Bhayar … and that went along with the slight dig in his speech about no one in Telaryn knowing what the officers and men had done.