L. Modesitt - Scholar

“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?”

“That was about what I’d have expected. The last two wagons usually have stuff we can do without if we need to.”

“They don’t know that?”

“They’ve never had to fight far from home.”

While Quaeryt hadn’t thought about that, it certainly made sense. He stepped back as another squad leader approached. The last thing he wanted to do was interfere with Meinyt. Besides, he had to figure out how to attach the lance or ensign holder to the saddle.

Just as Meinyt had predicted, some two glasses later, as Quaeryt waited beside the captain, a warning echoed across the still-warmish evening.

“Attackers on the way!”

“Company mount! Form up! Double interval!”

Quaeryt wasn’t the very last one in the saddle, but he was far from the first. He even managed to get his staff in the leathers.

“Company! Forward! Fast walk!”

Quaeryt raised full shields and kept the mare close to the captain.

The faintest of rustling sounds seeped through the darkness, and a flight of arrows-but no quarrels from what Quaeryt could see-sleeted down into the company. Most missed. None struck his shields, but he heard one moan from a ranker somewhere to his left.

“Stand fast!” ordered Meinyt.

Even before his command was finished, Quaeryt heard hoofs galloping southward, diminishing into the night. From the sound, he doubted that the attackers had numbered more than a squad or two.

He glanced around, his eyes moving to the west, noting that Meinyt was already watching, although the captain kept looking back to the south.

Then, little more than a half mille away, from the slight bulge in the trees, black figures emerged, riding dark mounts through grasses close to waist-high, so that they looked very low to the ground-or grass. In the faint reddish light of Erion-less than a quarter full-they were more like moving shadows.

“Shouldn’t we do something?” asked Quaeryt in a low voice.

“Watch.”

As the wave of dark riders neared the camp perimeter, abruptly shadow after shadow halted, then fell, and the screams of injured and dying horses began to fill the night, followed by yells and the sounds of weapons and men using them. Quaeryt couldn’t see what was happening, other than mounts and men going down.

In a fraction of a quint, only a comparative handful of the shadows turned and sprinted back toward the cover of the trees. The rest soon vanished into the grass.

“The governor figured they’d do that,” murmured Meinyt. “He had Fourth Battalion there with pikes, hidden in the grass. The pikes were all blackened. The hill riders never saw them, not until their mounts started getting spitted. Seventh Battalion is set up the same way on the northwest side of camp.”

“He planned that all along.”

“Knowing him, most likely.”

“Will they attack again … tonight?”

“Who knows what the hill types will do? I wouldn’t think so, but you never know. In the meantime, you might try to get some sleep. Rest, anyway. Tomorrow will be worse when we have to cross the ridge.”

Quaeryt felt he’d be fortunate even to doze.

Surprisingly, Quaeryt did sleep for several glasses on Meredi night, despite worries about another attack … and having only a thin blanket between him and the ground. If an attack happened, he didn’t hear it. No one said anything about one when he rose in the pale gray light before sunrise, stiff and sore, enough so that he was limping more than usual when he went to check on the mare before eating more biscuits and cheese.

“You did sleep, I see,” offered Meinyt.

“Enough that I’m sore all over.” Quaeryt took another bite of the hard biscuit, followed by a modest swallow from his water bottle, because otherwise he wouldn’t be able to eat the biscuit.

“Better sore than tired.”

“What happens next?”

“We either go north or south or follow the road until we get attacked.”

Quaeryt knew that much already. He ate another biscuit.

“North would take us through a swamp,” Meinyt finally said. “South would take another day. Then, when we got back to the main road again, we’d still have to worry about being attacked from both sides. I’d get your gear rolled up. Whatever the governor has in mind, it won’t be long. I’m about to find out.” With a wry smile, he hurried off.

Quaeryt barely had taken out the overlarge green uniform shirt and then finished fastening his gear behind his saddle, and readjusting the leathers to hold the staff, when Meinyt returned from wherever he’d been.

“The rebels hold the heights on the last ridge on the east side of the valley. We’re to circle to the south, just far enough to get out of sight, and then ride back up through the trees. It’s a gradual rise. The trees aren’t that close together.”

“We? All of Sixth Battalion?”

“And Fourth. The rest of the regiment will follow the road. The governor’s keeping it simple. We’re to keep them from retreating south.”

“And they’ll end up backed up against the swamp if they go north?”

Meinyt nodded.

“They can still go west.” Quaeryt pulled the uniform shirt on over his browns, glad that the morning was comparatively cool.

“They could … and there’s enough ground between the eastern hills and Boralieu that they might escape … but that would also give Commander Zirkyl a chance to strike them on one side while we press the other. Or something like that. The governor’s the one who makes those decisions, not me. We need to mount up.” Meinyt paused. “Good idea with the shirt.”

“I’d prefer not to stand out too much.”

The captain just nodded and headed for his mount.

Quaeryt mounted and then followed Meinyt as the company formed up by squads. Then they rode south and slightly west. Quaeryt let the mare trail the captain slightly, so as not to interfere with the officer’s line of sight.

After about two milles, Meinyt raised his arm, and ordered, “Five-man front!”