L. Modesitt - Scholar

Quaeryt saw an opening and guided the mare between a pair of holders concentrating on another rider, then turned her, and slammed the staff into the pikeman’s head. He realized that, for a moment, he had an advantage in being partly behind the pikes. He kept moving sideways and trying to strike or otherwise upset each man with the long spear or pike, and he managed to upset or incapacitate five or so before he saw three pikemen ahead bracing their weapons against him.

He couldn’t stop the mare fast enough, and he momentarily extended his shields, hoping he could hold them. For an instant, he felt as though he’d been impaled in two places, but the pain passed, if leaving him light-headed in doing so, and he eased the mare around, trying to rejoin the company.

Another youth lunged at the mare, and Quaeryt knocked him aside. The mare struck him in passing, and he went down under another horse. Quaeryt kept moving, knowing that standing still was an invitation for the mare to be gutted and him to be trapped under her or dragged off and having his throat cut. He tried to keep the staff in play as well, so that anyone near him couldn’t determine where he might strike. He couldn’t get too close to the main building; it was now engulfed in flames.

Already, men and mounts were slipping in the mud, and the battle had deteriorated into what amounted to hand-to-hand fighting, where the mounted soldiers had an advantage because four hoofs had better footing than two boots in the slop that seemed to be everywhere. But as soon as battalions had wiped out one group of defenders, more appeared from somewhere.

Quaeryt couldn’t help but wonder if some of the defenders had come from those who had fled Waerfyl’s hold, but it didn’t matter where they came from, only that they were cut down or rendered out of combat.

How long the fighting lasted, Quaeryt had no idea, because the icy rain and clouds blocked the sun and turned everything into mud covering mud, but … after a long time, Quaeryt discovered the only figures around him were other Telaryn riders. After another interval, the horn sounded, out of tune, signaling a recall to re-form by squad and company.

Again … while there were more than a few bodies, there weren’t so many as Quaeryt felt there had been all around him. Did a battle-a skirmish-do that to judgment-make it seem like there were more enemies than there were?

As he pondered that, Quaeryt kept looking for Sixth Battalion, finding the companies in one of the livestock wintering barns. While it wasn’t all that warm, Quaeryt was more than glad to be out of the cold rain and mud and in a dry covered space. His fingers were so numb that it took an effort to let go of the staff and dismount.

“We’re just fortunate that we’re not in Eighth Battalion,” said Meinyt, looking back out through the wide doors of the barn into the mixture of rain and snow that fell even more heavily. “They were held in reserve. They got ordered to round up all the horses they loosed earlier. They’ll take casualties from the holders in the woods, and they’ll freeze their asses to their saddles before the afternoon’s over.”

“… might end up with the bloody flux,” muttered someone from farther back in the shed.

“Not likely,” said the captain sharply. “Not if you take care of yourselves.”

“Yes, sir.”

Meinyt walked his mount past each of the remaining rankers. Although Quaeryt couldn’t tell for certain, he had the feeling that the captain had lost more than a squad in the fight to take the hold, although “taking” it wasn’t exactly what had happened because, despite the snow and rain, the main building had turned into a conflagration that was still burning, if not nearly so fiercely as earlier.

Skarpa returned from wherever he’d been in the large wintering barn and stopped by Quaeryt, who was doing his best to remove the cold and near-frozen mud from the mare.

“Good thing you did out there, scholar,” said the major.

“I saw a chance. They weren’t expecting a rider with something as long as a staff.”

“You saved close to a squad doing that. They almost took you down. Don’t see how you managed to knock aside three pikes with that staff, but I’m glad you did.”

Quaeryt snorted. “I doubt I could do it again. I didn’t know what I was doing, except that I knew if I could make a gap in the pikes…”

“There’s some officers couldn’t figure that out so quick … not in a mess like this.”

“You’re kind, Major. We just do what we can.”

“Maybe … but I appreciate it. Some of the rankers won’t even know, but I do.” Skarpa nodded. “Have to report to the commander.”

Quaeryt returned to the task of removing cold mud from the mare and from himself and his gear. He glanced outside and shuddered.

And this is early fall. It’s still fairly hot in Solis right now.

He didn’t even have a winter jacket.

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.