Scholar: A Novel in the Imager Portfolio (67 page)

“But you still must best Zorlyn.”

“That we must … but I have a few surprises for him—and you, perhaps—as well.”

“You have formidable talents, sir. You may well surprise me, but I will not underestimate you.”

“You always have an interesting way of putting things, master scholar.”

“I try to be accurate, sir. Or, as some might say, cynical.”

“So … cynicism is merely accuracy when no one wishes to accept that accuracy?” Rescalyn shook his head.

“Sir!” A scout rode toward the governor.

“You may return to Sixth Battalion, scholar.”

As Quaeryt eased his mount onto the shoulder and back toward Sixth Battalion, he reflected. There was no doubt that Rescalyn was brilliant and a good commander, and he inspired his men. Yet, beneath the genial facade, he was ruthless, far more so than Bhayar, and he certainly had continually deceived Bhayar, scarcely a laudable trait. Quaeryt smiled ruefully. There was also the simple fact that Bhayar, for all his impatience, had befriended Quaeryt and that he listened … and might well help Quaeryt achieve his goals of better positions in Telaryn for scholars and imagers. Rescalyn’s continual efforts to place Quaeryt in harm’s way suggested all too strongly that Quaeryt would never be able to trust the governor.

Once Quaeryt eased the mare back alongside Skarpa at the head of Sixth Battalion, the major looked at the scholar, but did not speak.

“The governor wanted to know what I thought of Zorlyn’s reply.…” Quaeryt went on to recount most of the rest of the conversation.

He had no more than finished summarizing what had been said when the ranker riding in front of them, the last rider in Fifth Battalion, stiffened, flailed, grabbing at his neck, and then slumped in the saddle, a crossbow quarrel through his throat.

Quaeryt felt the impact on his shields and glanced ahead and to the left. “They’re up behind those bushes!”

“First squad!” snapped Meinyt from behind Quaeryt and Skarpa.

“Where, sir?”

Quaeryt looked around. The archer had vanished, but he’d marked where at least one man had been. “This way!” he called, urging the mare onto the shoulder of the road and then at an angle uphill.

“Follow the scholar!”

Quaeryt guided the mare through the low bushes that stretched for a good thirty yards back from the road, keeping his head down and close to the mare’s neck. As he neared the top of the slope, the mare’s hoofs slipped once in the slushy snow that remained in patches between the bushes, but Quaeryt kept riding toward where he’d seen the archer, then was surprised when three other figures, wearing white cloth over their leathers, rose out of the bushes and let fly their shafts.

They missed.

More archers rose, and Quaeryt kept riding. Another shaft struck his shields, but it must have been at an angle because he barely sensed the impact. He could feel the squad had almost caught up with him.

The archers turned and began to run.

One stumbled, and another tripped. The squad leader swept past Quaeryt, then leaned forward and slashed down across the back of one man’s neck.

More arrows flew from the trees, and Quaeryt turned his mount directly toward the archers, but had covered no more than a few yards before the volleys stopped. He could hear the sounds of crackling underbrush and then of horses. He reined up, as did the rankers around him.

“First squad … return to the company!” called the squad leader, who then added, “Sir … we’re not to follow into the trees once they stop shooting.”

Quaeryt turned the mare, seeing two figures who had fallen amid the bushes and the remnants of slushy snow. Red stained their white overgarments.

One of the rankers bent down in the saddle, so easily that Quaeryt was amazed, and grabbed the crossbow from where it lay caught in the bushes beside one of the hill archers, while another retrieved a bow and quiver.

By the time the mare carried Quaeryt down the slope and forward to Sixth Company—which, with the rest of the column, had kept moving—Quaeryt wondered, exactly, why he’d done what he had.

Behind him, the squad leader reported to Meinyt, “We got two stragglers, sir, before the rest got to the woods and rode off.”

Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t make an officer.”

“I said I wouldn’t make a good one,” Quaeryt said dryly. “A good officer would have described where to go in a few words. I couldn’t find the words quickly enough. So the only thing I could do was lead.”

“That’s what officers do. They act when things go wrong. Anyone with any sense can handle matters when they go right.”

Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue, especially since, suddenly, large wet snowflakes were pelting the riders and mounts.

“Good thing they’re large,” observed Meinyt from behind Quaeryt and Skarpa. “The large flakes mean the storm won’t last long. The small really cold ones mean a storm can last for days.”

The heavy snow continued for almost a glass, until everything was covered, before it subsided into occasional flurries. For Quaeryt, that glass seemed all too long.

90

More scattered attacks occurred on Mardi afternoon and evening, as did more snow flurries, but the regiment again took over a hamlet that evening, one supposedly situated less than two milles from the gates of Zorlyn’s holding. There were no attacks on Mardi night, but that might have been because Rescalyn had posted sentries and supporting patrols all the way around the hamlet, which was named, unsurprisingly to Quaeryt, Zaemla. It also might have been because cold and snow flurries continued through the night.

Early on Meredi morning, with Rescalyn having assigned Sixth Battalion as the vanguard, the regiment moved out under high clouds, down from which drifted occasional small flakes of snow. Even wearing his browns and another shirt, Quaeryt was chilled after riding less than a quint.

His first glimpse of Zorlyn’s holding affirmed his suspicions, because he saw it from a good mille away, situated on a low hill or ridge, facing to the south. The stone-walled and slate-roofed structure was close to as large as the central palace building of the Telaryn Palace, but without its wings and all the other structures held within the walls that had sheltered the Khanars. Although there were some ornamental trees near the hold, and there looked to be, from the tops of trees protruding, a walled garden adjoining the hold on the southwest side, effectively there was no way to approach the hold without being exposed. Halfway up the hill and close to a half mille downhill from the lowest of the outbuildings was a stone wall of close to two yards in height that encircled the entire hill. Quaeryt could see but a single gate, which served the road on which the regiment approached, but there might have been another on the north side. Not only were the iron-grilled double gates closed, but large stones had been stacked in front of them to the height of the wall on each side.

Rows of archers stood on the sloping ground about fifty yards back of the wall and gate. But Quaeryt did not see any other men-at-arms, not that he doubted that there were a good thousand or more somewhere nearby.

The regiment halted some three hundred yards from the gate and wall. Horn signals followed until the horse battalions were in formation side by side. What Quaeryt didn’t understand, though, was why they remained in files of two, rather than with the five-man front used for attack. For another half quint, the regiment waited.

Then two strange-looking wagons appeared. The long wagon beds were filled with bags of some sort, and at the rear of each wagon was a wooden shield that rose a good two yards. Behind the shield were six horses, with far wider spacing than in a normal hitch, and a single teamster rode astride one of the rear horses. The wagons moved forward along the road no faster than a man could walk, creaking and groaning. As they approached the wall, the archers let fly, but the arrows either missed or stuck in the timber shield or the bags in the wagon bed. One wagon turned gradually and slightly to the right and one to the left until they were lined up to reach the wall on each side of the blocked gates.

More arrows flew, but the wagons continued to move forward slowly until they reached the wall. Then they stopped. For a time, it appeared to Quaeryt that nothing happened, even as arrows sleeted down, but were blocked by the wooden shields that were beginning to resemble hedgehogs. He realized that there were two teamsters and that they were doing something with the hitches and turning the big dray horses. Then the horses began to pull again—except that the wagons did not move, but began to tilt until the front end lifted and kept rising until it was as high as the wall. At the same time, the wagon bed stretched.

Quaeryt’s mouth opened. Indeed, Rescalyn had some surprises prepared. Then another set of planks emerged, winched from somewhere, that began to extend over the wall. The scholar watched as both wagons became ramps.

“Fifth Battalion! Forward! By twos!”

The companies of Fifth Battalion galloped to the wall, then slowed, as each rider guided his mount up the ramp and then down the other side.

The archers targeted the riders, and several were hit. One mount and rider went down on the ramp, then slid to the bottom, but Fifth Battalion kept coming.

“Sixth Battalion! Forward! By twos!”

As he rode forward, Quaeryt could see a flood of men hurrying downhill from one of the structures near the top of the knoll, but they had close to a half mille to cover. At the same time, more than a few riders and mounts from Fifth Battalion had fallen, but the others were riding toward the archers, and the closer they got, the less time the bowmen had to nock and release the next volley.

He glanced to his right, where he saw two engineers’ wagons being driven toward the gate, with a ranker holding a wide shield in front of the teamster. There had to be more engineers in the wagons, and Quaeryt could only hope that they were going to try to sap the gates or create more ways for the regiment to get through or over the walls.

Except that will be too late for you.

Quaeryt forced his concentration back to the road and Meinyt in front of him, trying to ignore the fact that arrows had to be falling around him. Then, before he expected it, the wagon ramp was ahead of him.

“One mount at a time! Pass it back!” ordered Meinyt.

Quaeryt could feel the ramp shake and shiver as the mare climbed up it, and at the top an arrow—more likely a quarrel from the force—smashed into his shields so hard that he rocked back in the saddle, barely keeping his seat as the mare carried him down. He managed to yell back, “One mount at a time! Pass it back!” before he was down and off the ramp, heading toward the archers who were retreating in stages, while still loosing shafts.

He was scarcely ten yards from the ramp when he heard an ominous crack, and then a yell, and an agonized scream from a mount. He forced himself to concentrate on the hillside ahead, a slope gentle enough that it rose perhaps one yard in every ten—steep for a wagon, but not that steep for a man or mount.

“On your squad leaders!” ordered Meinyt.

Half-staff out and now in hand, Quaeryt just followed the older captain uphill and toward the left side of the archers still loosing shafts. The slight vibration of his shields suggested that another arrow had grazed them.

The armsmen who had been hurrying down the slope halted fifty yards or so above the archers, some of whom were already beginning to fall to the blows from the leading riders in the remnants of Fifth Battalion, others of whom were retreating uphill. The newly arrived defenders immediately formed a solid line some four or five men deep that stretched across a front some two hundred yards wide. They all carried small round shields—larger than bucklers and seemingly strapped to the forearm—with blades longer than sabres but shorter than hand-and-a-half blades, a combination Quaeryt had never seen, but then there were many aspects of arms about which he knew nothing.

At the sound of a tattoo on a bass drum, the remaining archers fled, running up the gentle slope to try to escape the several hundred riders remaining from Fifth Battalion, who in turn immediately did their best to pursue and cut down the fleeing bowmen.

“Sixth Battalion! At the defenders!” ordered Skarpa, from somewhere to Quaeryt’s right.

Quaeryt understood. Once the defenders let the archers slip through their ranks, the bowmen could move uphill, turn, and again target the attacking Telaryn forces. He took a quick glance over his shoulder back downslope. As he had feared, one of the ramps had collapsed, and all other riders were using the remaining ramp while the engineers worked frantically to clear the stones and open the gate.

He urged the mare forward, but found most of Meinyt’s squad moving uphill faster than he was. So he angled the mare to the left more, in order to stay out of the way of better riders, and readied the staff. The defenders worked in pairs—one attacking the rider, and the other trying to disable his mount. Seeing that, as he rode toward the defenders, whose breath was creating a fog of sorts along the hillside, he extended his shields, feeling the effort. Yet what else could he do? He certainly wasn’t agile enough to lean forward in the saddle and strike anyone trying to slash the mare’s legs.

Before he realized that he’d closed on the defenders, two jumped toward him, one high and one low. He let the shields take the impact, then contracted them enough that he could hammer the one aiming at the mare, then brought the staff up in an ungainly thrust, so awkward that the defender didn’t see it coming as his blade came down on Quaeryt’s shielded arm. Even as the defender collapsed, Quaeryt almost dropped his staff, because the sword had slammed into his shields so forcefully that his entire body shook for a moment.

Another shock shivered him, as yet another defender attacked while he tried to clear his head.

Not supposed to be like this.…

He tried to turn the mare, but found himself in a press of bodies, those of mounts and men, with blades being used more like crowbars than cutting weapons, and his shields being hammered more often than not while he tried to use the staff. Before that long the hammering on his shields ceased, as more and more defenders dropped or, wounded, did their best to scramble or crawl out of the way. More than a few fell victim to hoofs as the companies of Sixth Battalion pressed up the slope.