Once more, Meinyt left for a quick meeting with Skarpa and then returned to give orders to the squad leaders.
“We’ll be forming up once we leave the trees. That’s another three or four hundred yards up. Five-man front. We need to take enough ground to get the engineers within a few hundred yards of the hold, and we’ll have to hold that ground…”
When the horn signaled again, the column rode slowly up the lane that climbed gently through a small area of woods, then crossed a level meadow beside a pond. The red flies and mosquitoes seemed less numerous than on Quaeryt’s last visit, but that might have been because they had far more men and mounts on which to feast and were just spread out over more victims, but for whatever reason, he was glad that only a few pestered him, few enough that he could fan most of them away.
Once past the pond, the regiment re-formed on the meadow, with perhaps a third of a mille between the front ranks and the beginning of the gentle upslope to the top of the low ridge on which were located the holding buildings. Archers crowded the top of the modest stone tower at the end of the higher adjoining ridge, and shafts arched toward the regiment under the high gray clouds, but all fell short. All the shutters on the narrow windows of the hold buildings were fastened shut, and not a person was to be seen.
Quaeryt glanced back. While he could not see what was happening, he had no doubts that the engineers were assembling their bombards. He looked forward, but outside of the archers he saw none of Waerfyl’s retainers. Nor did he while the engineers continued to work.
Less than half a glass later, after several ranging stones, the first crock flew over the regiment and hit the stone terrace, short of the heavy log walls, but the chunks of flaming bitumen skidded across the stone, some coming to rest against the logs. More crocks flew. One never burned. Several burned out without igniting the walls, but the engineers kept up the bombardment. Before long, a corner of the large hold building showed signs of beginning to catch fire.
At that point, hundreds of men in leathers, perhaps as many as five hundred, less than a third of them mounted, poured out from behind the hold and over the ridge and down toward the regimental formation.
“Hold until they’re on the flat!” ordered Meinyt.
Quaeryt could hear other captains giving the same order.
A horn signal followed, and the regiment charged as one. Quaeryt let the captain take the lead, keeping himself in the second line. This time he had the staff ready long before the horsemen of the battalion crashed into the hill forces.
Almost immediately, the lines mixed, and there were footmen in leathers, horsemen in uniform, and those in leathers, all thrown together. Unlike the skirmishes in the trees, Quaeryt found, here there was only a little room to move, but he saw a footman with an ax, and he thrust with the staff, catching the man in the chest-and a Telaryn mounted ranker slashed down with a sabre.
Even as he thrust away a leather-clad rider, he had to wonder why he’d joined the charge, but he had little time for wonderment as another rider pressed between two rankers toward him. He used the staff to knock aside the oversized blade carried by the hill attacker, then managed to swing the staff over the mare to catch another rider on the back of the head before he slashed a ranker on his unprotected side.
For the next quint or so, he used the staff and his shields as much to beat back the men on foot who were trying as much to cripple or kill the mare and other mounts as they were interested in attacking the horses’ riders, although a few more times, he thrust at hill riders … and might even have injured one or two.
Before long, on the top of the ridge, the holding house was burning so fiercely that Quaeryt could feel the heat on his face, as he struggled just to keep men from the mare. Then, in a space of what seemed moments, the opposition faded away, and seemingly abruptly, the soldiers of the regiment were left alone. The main hold building was burning fiercely, but only the closest outbuilding was also afire.
Quaeryt found that he was panting and that his arms burned. He lowered the staff. Blood was smeared across the end, some of it already dried. He didn’t recall hitting anyone in a way that would have drawn blood. He looked to Meinyt, but the captain had eased his mount over to a ranker.
“You’re the squad leader now, Noyan. You know what to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Give me a report as soon as you can.”
Quaeryt eased the mare back and tried to inspect her from the saddle. He saw no injuries, and she wasn’t limping. He did not look eastward at the bodies strewn across the matted grass at the base of the ridge, or those lying across the slope, not for more than a few moments.
“See you’re still with us, scholar,” called Meinyt as he turned his mount.
“So far.”
“Sixth Battalion officers!” Skarpa’s voice rang over the hubbub.
Meinyt rode toward the major, and Quaeryt followed to where Skarpa had gathered the battalion officers, staying back and listening.
“I’ll need reports in the next quint. We’ll camp here and head out early tomorrow. Odds are that there will be more attacks. They’ll be more vicious…”
Quaeryt could understand that. What he didn’t understand was why the hill holders had thought that the governor would ignore them forever. Or had that been because the Khanars had let them do as they pleased, at least among themselves, so long as they paid token allegiance to the Khanar?
In a way, Rescalyn acted as the Khanars had until he had the force to do otherwise.
Yet Rescalyn had been able to do it with less tariff revenue, effectively, than had the Khanars. Because the princeps was more efficient at getting and using tariff golds? For all the answers Quaeryt thought he had, there were still many questions for which he had none.
“… Commander announced that sow’s ass Waerfyl was one of those killed. He was with the first attackers. His people didn’t even seem to miss him. Likely some of the other holders will be better commanders. Each holding attack is going to be harder than the last, but there won’t be any peace in Tilbor until we’ve gotten rid of the worst of these arrogant leeches.”
Quaeryt’s lips quirked. Clearly, Skarpa hadn’t forgotten his last meeting with the late holder Waerfyl.
82
As Quaeryt rode past where the natural stone gateposts had been, well before sunrise on Samedi morning, all he saw was a pile of rubble and stone. Behind them, he knew, they had left the smoldering ruins of Waerfyl’s hold, with every building burned and leveled, and all stores either taken or destroyed, but with several wagons commandeered and filled with food, grain, and other fodder. When he saw the gateposts destroyed as well, he shivered. Rescalyn was making it very plain what the cost was for attacking Telaryn.
But how much of that is to make the point not to cross him personally?
The road that the regiment took angled to the northeast and was one that Quaeryt had never seen before. Sixth Battalion now rode as the first full battalion back from the vanguard and directly behind Rescalyn and the command group, with Meinyt’s company leading the battalion. For that reason, Quaeryt rode with both Skarpa and Meinyt, since Skarpa usually rode at the head of his battalion. Quaeryt also had refrained from wearing the overlarge green shirt, since he could occasionally see the governor, and that meant Rescalyn could see him.
A good glass after riding out, and just as the sun was beginning to rise, Quaeryt said, “I haven’t been on this road before. Where are we headed?”
“This is the direct back road to Saentaryn’s,” replied Meinyt. “In a few glasses, we’ll join the road where we dealt with the coal wagons.”
“And where from there? After Saentaryn?”
Meinyt shrugged. “No one’s told me, but the next closest hill hold belongs to Demotyl.…”