Scholar

85

The cold rain abated for a time late on Lundi afternoon, only to be followed by a chilling north wind, which created thin ice on top of the mud, and then by a driving snow that was already ankle-deep by the time Quaeryt collapsed into his blanket that night, where, despite the comparative warmth provided by the combination of horses and men, he shivered through the night, even wearing his browns, his brown jacket, and another shirt. When he finally rose on Mardi, the snow was more than boot-deep, and it continued to fall intermittently throughout the long gray day.

The cooks did manage a hot meal on Mardi night, another hash-like offering, with mutton that had been dried before it was cooked, with potato strips, but it was warm, and for that Quaeryt was thankful. As he sat after eating, perched on a support beam in the barn beside Skarpa, he asked, “Why doesn’t the regiment have its archers here?” He’d heard what Straesyr had said, but he wanted to hear what the major said.

“We have a company or so. What would we use them for? They’re useful in pitched battles, but a man with a blade is more effective here in the hills for what we do. You’ve seen the attacks. An archer wouldn’t even know where to aim most of the time, and they’re not good at close-in fighting. I think I saw our company. They’re here. Commander’s likely saving them for where they’ll do the most good.”

Quaeryt considered. Given the hit and run tactics of the hill holders, he could see that. The hill rebels had only massed at Waerfyl’s and only for a few moments. Archers really wouldn’t have helped much so far. “How long will we be here, do you think?”

“The sky’s clearing now. Tomorrow will be warmer, enough to melt the snow, and we’ll be back on the road by Jeudi, Vendrei at the latest,” predicted the major.

“With the snow this deep?” Quaeryt had a hard time believing that. Was Skarpa jesting … or was the weather that changeable?

Skarpa looked at Quaeryt and laughed. “You’ll see.”

Quaeryt did indeed.

Meredi dawned clear, and by late afternoon the air was warm, and the snow was mostly gone, with that which remained having turned largely to slush … and mud, gloopy gray mud. The battalions spent the day cleaning gear and preparing to resume the campaign. That didn’t happen until Vendrei morning, because Rescalyn decided another day would provide more rest … and drier and more secure roads.

Again … before sunrise, the regiment leveled everything, putting all that could not be removed to the torch, and moved out, the wounded in commandeered wagons heading back to Boralieu, along with the valuables salvaged from the holding. The main body took the road that led in its winding way northwest toward Huisfyl’s holding.

The roads were mostly dry, but the horses threw up enough mud that Quaeryt’s trousers were spattered below the knees. Again, there were no attacks from the roadside, but that wasn’t unexpected, because while the snow had melted in the areas reached by the sun, such as the roads and lanes, much still remained in the depths of the woods.

The sky remained clear throughout Vendrei, but the warmth of Meredi and Jeudi slipped away, and a light but chill breeze blew consistently out of the north.

By late afternoon, Quaeryt was feeling chilled, and he turned in the saddle toward Meinyt, riding to his right. “What happened to the warm day we had yesterday?”

“That’s the way fall is in Tilbor,” replied Meinyt. “Rain, snow, warm, cold, frost, warm … it changes every day. Each time it warms up, it’s not as warm as the last time. By the end of Finitas, it just doesn’t ever warm up again. Not until mid-Maris. Then everything melts at once, and you get two-three weeks of mud.”

Quaeryt was glad he didn’t have to be around for winter and the mud that followed. The shiver he felt at that thought wasn’t just from the chill breeze that gusted around him.