L. Modesitt - Scholar

Just before supper on Lundi evening, Skarpa appeared in the barn holding Sixth Battalion. “The governor’s called an officers’ meeting.” His eyes went to Quaeryt. “That includes you, scholar.”

Quaeryt inclined his head.

“I don’t think it’s good,” added the major.

“I wouldn’t expect so. The hill holders have regarded themselves as beyond anyone’s law but their own for far too many years.”

“Why did he even send a message, then?”

“So that, after we’ve destroyed Zorlyn and a few more holders totally, he can make an offer again for those few remaining.”

“They could just abandon their holds and wait him out,” pointed out Skarpa.

“Do you really think so? You’ve told me how hard the winters are. Second, no one’s ever succeeded in carrying this kind of war to them before. They don’t really believe it can be done. They’ve been too isolated, and they’ve never dealt with someone who has the skill, determination, and the number of trained troops that the governor has. Even so, he’s just starting the destruction. He’s counting on the winter to largely finish it.”

Skarpa nodded slowly. “I need to tell the other officers. We’re to meet immediately.”

“I’ll come with you, then.”

The two walked toward Gauswn, some twenty yards away, standing back from the east doorway.

Quaeryt said nothing more as Skarpa gathered his officers, and they all walked to the meeting-in the same chamber where Rescalyn had received Quaeryt the day before. Once all the officers had appeared, the governor entered the room. He wasted little time on greetings of formalities.

“As I reported to all of you yesterday,” he began, his voice shorn of the heartiness it so often possessed, “I sent a courier with escorts to Holder Zorlyn. My message offered an amnesty for those hill holders who had not taken up arms against Telaryn, provided they swore allegiance to Telaryn and its lord and provided that they paid tariffs equal to the rates of other High Holders, with an addition of two parts in ten for the next several years.” Rescalyn paused, then went on. “We received a reply less than a glass ago. The courier and his escorts were returned … and released three milles from here. When they reached our camp, two escorts were dead, strapped to their mounts; two were alive but wounded; and the courier was alive-but with a letter pinned to his chest with a knife.…”

Quaeryt felt like wincing. The idiots … the absolute, boar-headed insufferable egotistical sow-slutted … They’re playing the plaques exactly as he had planned they would. And yet, there was no real proof, only his suspicions. Was he justified in planning what he did with only what he knew and sensed? And yet, waiting too long would create another problem.

“I will read you the letter,” said Rescalyn, coldly. He cleared his throat.

“To the one called governor-

“The message you sent is an insult to Tilbor. It is also an insult to any self-respecting Tilboran, let alone to a holder whose lands have remained self-governing in his family for generation upon generation. Not even the most absolute of the Khanars ever insisted upon such outrageous tariffing. Nor did they bring in foreign scholars to change the way those who received their education at the Ecoliae were taught. Nor did they elevate mere crafters and merchants to the levels of those who have stewarded their lands wisely for all these many generations. After such acts, then for you to attempt to destroy all those who stand up for their time-honored rights and traditions is an even greater outrage, and one for which you and every man in your regiment will perish.

“There can be but one reply to such ignorant arrogance and such self-serving egotism … and that is the reply you receive. I spare those whom I have returned solely so that you may know that I indeed am the one who sends this message…”

Rescalyn paused. “The courier and the two surviving ranker escorts told me that Zorlyn himself personally read them these words in the great hall of his hold, before two of them were cut down, and the others were maimed.”

Rescalyn let the silence speak for him. Only after it became oppressive did he speak again. “I have offered amnesty and mercy twice. It has been spurned in the cruelest way. We will begin destroying this hold at dawn tomorrow. We will ride out by sunrise.” He paused but momentarily before saying, “That is all. Pass the word to your men.” This time, he stood silently as the officers, and Quaeryt, filed out.

As he walked back to the barn, Quaeryt couldn’t help but admire Rescalyn’s planning and understanding of the hill holders.

Mardi morning was clear, but the skies to the northwest showed a haze that promised a change in the weather. The wind also blew from the northwest, hard enough to fan the fires set in all the structures in Demotyl’s holding into infernos within less than a quint after they had been set. By midmorning, the regimental column and its wagons, almost twice as many as had left Boralieu as a result of those recovered from the various holdings, had covered more than seven milles, and a third of the sky was covered with low, thick, gray clouds. The wind had turned intermittently biting.

The first attack on the vanguard started at ninth glass, when several hundred riders galloped across the matted brown grasses of an upland meadow to within two hundred yards of the road and the lead companies. There they reined up and began to loose volleys of arrows at the Telaryn forces.

Rescalyn called on Fifth Battalion to attack by circling from the right. The hill riders waited until the first company was within fifty yards before loosing three volleys at directly at the cavalry. Fifth Battalion ran down those too slow to escape and cut them down on the spot, perhaps fifty, according to the messenger who rode up and passed the work to Skarpa. Fifth Battalion suffered almost that many casualties, and more than twenty men were killed or wounded in the vanguard.

Rescalyn sent out more outriders and scouts.

All during the time between noon and the first glass of the afternoon, arrows and quarrels arched intermittently from the woods or from hills or bluffs down on the column, occasionally striking riders before one of the squads detailed to chase the archers away neared the attackers and they faded into the trees. The column scarcely slowed at all.

Shortly after that, a ranker rode back and summoned Quaeryt to ride forward to see the governor. When Quaeryt approached, Rescalyn motioned for him to ride next to him, but the governor did not speak immediately.

After they had ridden more than a hundred yards, Rescalyn asked, “Scholar … what did you think, honestly, of Zorlyn’s reply?”

“Foolish … and predictable.”

“Zorlyn is anything but a fool.”

“I am certain that is so, sir, but intelligent and perceptive men still make foolish statements and attempt unwise acts when they fail to realize they are captive to perceptions or beliefs that are in error. Zorlyn has never faced a determined foe whose desire is to obliterate what he stands for. Neither have any of his forebears. The Khanars always compromised, and the hill holders believe that all rulers will do so, rather than fight and lose more men than is seen to be worth their while. Zorlyn, like all hill holders, assumes that your interest and that of Lord Bhayar is merely to collect tariffs. He also assumes that you will not pay the price for your actions. Were his assumptions correct, then his defiance would be justified. But those assumptions are incorrect.”

“How does a man tell when he is captive to erroneous perceptions or beliefs?”

“Some men never do. Others discover the errors of their ways when they fail or are about to die from those errors. Seldom do they discover such errors except through some form of trial or pain. Even then, some do not.”