“Are all the holders who signed that message neighbors of Waerfyl?”
“What message?” demanded Skarpa.
“Oh … I thought you knew. Waerfyl and some other hill holders sent a missive saying they’d had enough of Telaryn interference. It was signed by Waerfyl, Demotyl, Huisfyl, and Saentaryn.”
“Demotyl and Saentaryn adjoin Waerfyl’s lands. Huisfyl’s are farther into the hills, and then you get to one of the biggest holdings. That’s Zorlyn’s.” Skarpa frowned. “How did you know about the message?”
”The governor told me before he sent me to Sixth Battalion,” admitted Quaeryt.
“That’s good to know. The governor hasn’t told me, or any of the battalion commanders. Not in our meetings, anyway.”
“We’re likely to reach Saentaryn’s hold by right after midday, aren’t we?” asked Quaeryt.
“That’s likely.”
“Will we attack this afternoon?”
“That’s up to the governor. I would. Men and mounts will be a bit tired, but Saentaryn won’t expect it that soon.” Skarpa shrugged. “Then I’d give the regiment a day to recover before moving on. More if the men need it.”
“Demotyl’s holding is more than twenty milles north,” added Meinyt. “No way anyone could get there and then get back to attack in less than a day and a half, maybe more. Any other hill holding’s more than twice that far.”
Slightly past midmorning, the horn signal for an attack was sounded from the rear, but the column never even slowed, and several quints later, word reached Skarpa that only a small group of attackers had appeared, and that they’d been driven off with minimal casualties.
“Most of the survivors from Waerfyl’s hold likely retreated deeper into the hills,” observed the major. “Saentaryn’s likely on his own.”
“Wasn’t Waerfyl?” asked Quaeryt.
“He was, but he’s always had more lands and men,” said Meinyt. “That was one reason, I’d guess, Saentaryn raided the coal mine. They couldn’t cut enough timber for the winter.”
“Or they hadn’t, and realized it too late,” added Skarpa dryly.
Less than a glass later, a volley of arrows arched from the trees toward the command group, but two squads from the vanguard charged out even as the shafts were falling, and no more were fired. But the squads didn’t find anyone, either.
“Less than a mille to the gates,” said Meinyt.
“They won’t let us much past there,” predicted Skarpa.
The major was right.
Before the regiment was even out of the trees beyond the gates, attackers swarmed toward the column from all sides, again, both those mounted and those on foot. The initial numbers seemed so great to Quaeryt that he couldn’t help wondering who’d thought that Saentaryn had fewer fighters.
Two riders surged through a gap between squads and charged Quaeryt. He braced the staff against the saddle pommel, so that it extended on each side, then ducked, urged the mare forward, and angled the staff until the forward tip slammed into the gut of the man on the right. The momentum of the impact twisted the staff so that the left side crashed into the back of the shoulder of the other attacker, whose blade had glanced off Quaeryt’s shields at an angle.
He’d barely straightened in the saddle when a slender figure on foot appeared from nowhere with a sharp and bloody blade, bringing it up as if to gut the mare.
Quaeryt struck down with all the force he could muster, the iron-tipped end of the staff cracking into the temple of the attacker. Even with the din and shouts around him, he could hear and feel the crunch of breaking bone. As he pulled the staff back, trying to recover his balance, an edge ripped of the attacker’s leather cap-like helm, and a cascade of dark hair revealed that the attacker he’d killed was a young woman.
He had little time to think about that, not when another rider charged him, swinging one of the overlarge blades that the hill riders seemed to prefer. He tried to slide the blade with the staff, but its weight and the momentum of the rider almost ripped the staff out of his hands, and the blade came down on his shielded shoulder-and shattered.
That scarcely helped Quaeryt, because the impact rattled him inside the shields like a dried pea in a cup, so that he could barely stay on the mare and hang on to the staff. Another ranker to his left took on the disarmed rebel, and Quaeryt tried to keep moving and gather himself together.
After that, he jabbed, thrust, swung, and tried to avoid getting hit too many times, but by the time the field, such as it was, cleared, his head was throbbing, and he was having trouble seeing, although he did catch sight of men in leathers riding out, trying to shield others on foot from pursuing squads. But, following Rescalyn’s orders, the troopers did not follow far into the woods, only enough to assure that those they had pursued were truly fleeing.
Quaeryt was exhausted, bruised in more places than he wanted to count, and grateful to be alive-and that was using imaging shields. Without them, he’d have been long since dead. He was definitely no warrior, and his respect for the rankers and officers continued to increase.
This time, Rescalyn had not ordered the engineers to bombard the dwellings, not that he’d had the time or the ground to allow that before the initial attacks. Once the area around the building was secured, two squads from Seventh Battalion went through the structures, one at a time. They emerged without wounds, and without captives.
Quaeryt waited, still mounted, with Meinyt’s company, surveying the edge of the trees and the open ground beyond, well short of the holding buildings, where much of the fighting had taken place. His eyes dropped to his sleeves, and he realized that he’d never put on the green shirt, and that the browns barely showed the blood splatters. He looked up again, forcing his eyes to look at individual bodies. During the attack, he’d felt as though there were thousands, yet there were probably less than two hundred bodies, and many, he suspected, were youths and women, some of whom had fought with little more than knives. He swallowed, trying to keep the bile down.
Yet … what else can any ruler do with holders who continually flount authority?
Finally, Skarpa relayed the order to dismount and deal with what needed to be done immediately … tending to the wounded, checking mounts, cleaning weapons.
After meeting briefly with the governor and the other battalion commanders, Skarpa returned and summoned his officers. Quaeryt joined them and listened.
“We’ll be able to use the buildings and some of the supplies. That’ll be good, especially if there’s rain tonight. Some provisions are gone. Not that many, but the best. There’s plenty of fodder and grain for the horses. They didn’t have time or the wagons to move much. We’ll be able to give the men decent cooked meals. It’ll take time, but we have that. We won’t be moving out until Lundi. But it’ll be early Lundi. Now … see to your men.”
Quaeryt had to admit that Rescalyn had been correct in his decision as to when to attack. But then, Quaeryt had considerable regard for the governor’s tactical and strategic abilities, just as he had significant suspicions about Rescalyn’s ambitions.
83
Quaeryt was so tired that, when he woke up in the small shed with most of Meinyt’s company on Solayi, he had no idea at first where he was or how he’d gotten there. When he tried to move, he was reminded instantly. He just lay there on a pile of pine branches that was better than bare ground, but not much, thinking.
Solayi … the day of rest.… Rest from what? Killing?
He wanted to laugh at the irony of it all, but he was almost afraid that, if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. So he rolled over and struggled to his feet.
“That leg bothering you, again, sir?” asked a ranker.
“It does more in the morning. I’ll be all right in a bit.” He didn’t bother rolling up his gear, not when they’d be there one more night. He walked out of the shed into a grayish morning. While it was still early, the gray was because of the featureless clouds that had rolled in, not because it was before dawn. He made his way toward one of the cookfires, where he saw Skarpa talking with another major.