“But you still must best Zorlyn.”
“That we must … but I have a few surprises for him-and you, perhaps-as well.”
“You have formidable talents, sir. You may well surprise me, but I will not underestimate you.”
“You always have an interesting way of putting things, master scholar.”
“I try to be accurate, sir. Or, as some might say, cynical.”
“So … cynicism is merely accuracy when no one wishes to accept that accuracy?” Rescalyn shook his head.
“Sir!” A scout rode toward the governor.
“You may return to Sixth Battalion, scholar.”
As Quaeryt eased his mount onto the shoulder and back toward Sixth Battalion, he reflected. There was no doubt that Rescalyn was brilliant and a good commander, and he inspired his men. Yet, beneath the genial facade, he was ruthless, far more so than Bhayar, and he certainly had continually deceived Bhayar, scarcely a laudable trait. Quaeryt smiled ruefully. There was also the simple fact that Bhayar, for all his impatience, had befriended Quaeryt and that he listened … and might well help Quaeryt achieve his goals of better positions in Telaryn for scholars and imagers. Rescalyn’s continual efforts to place Quaeryt in harm’s way suggested all too strongly that Quaeryt would never be able to trust the governor.
Once Quaeryt eased the mare back alongside Skarpa at the head of Sixth Battalion, the major looked at the scholar, but did not speak.
“The governor wanted to know what I thought of Zorlyn’s reply.…” Quaeryt went on to recount most of the rest of the conversation.
He had no more than finished summarizing what had been said when the ranker riding in front of them, the last rider in Fifth Battalion, stiffened, flailed, grabbing at his neck, and then slumped in the saddle, a crossbow quarrel through his throat.
Quaeryt felt the impact on his shields and glanced ahead and to the left. “They’re up behind those bushes!”
“First squad!” snapped Meinyt from behind Quaeryt and Skarpa.
“Where, sir?”
Quaeryt looked around. The archer had vanished, but he’d marked where at least one man had been. “This way!” he called, urging the mare onto the shoulder of the road and then at an angle uphill.
“Follow the scholar!”
Quaeryt guided the mare through the low bushes that stretched for a good thirty yards back from the road, keeping his head down and close to the mare’s neck. As he neared the top of the slope, the mare’s hoofs slipped once in the slushy snow that remained in patches between the bushes, but Quaeryt kept riding toward where he’d seen the archer, then was surprised when three other figures, wearing white cloth over their leathers, rose out of the bushes and let fly their shafts.
They missed.
More archers rose, and Quaeryt kept riding. Another shaft struck his shields, but it must have been at an angle because he barely sensed the impact. He could feel the squad had almost caught up with him.
The archers turned and began to run.
One stumbled, and another tripped. The squad leader swept past Quaeryt, then leaned forward and slashed down across the back of one man’s neck.
More arrows flew from the trees, and Quaeryt turned his mount directly toward the archers, but had covered no more than a few yards before the volleys stopped. He could hear the sounds of crackling underbrush and then of horses. He reined up, as did the rankers around him.
“First squad … return to the company!” called the squad leader, who then added, “Sir … we’re not to follow into the trees once they stop shooting.”
Quaeryt turned the mare, seeing two figures who had fallen amid the bushes and the remnants of slushy snow. Red stained their white overgarments.
One of the rankers bent down in the saddle, so easily that Quaeryt was amazed, and grabbed the crossbow from where it lay caught in the bushes beside one of the hill archers, while another retrieved a bow and quiver.
By the time the mare carried Quaeryt down the slope and forward to Sixth Company-which, with the rest of the column, had kept moving-Quaeryt wondered, exactly, why he’d done what he had.
Behind him, the squad leader reported to Meinyt, “We got two stragglers, sir, before the rest got to the woods and rode off.”
Skarpa looked at Quaeryt. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t make an officer.”
“I said I wouldn’t make a good one,” Quaeryt said dryly. “A good officer would have described where to go in a few words. I couldn’t find the words quickly enough. So the only thing I could do was lead.”
“That’s what officers do. They act when things go wrong. Anyone with any sense can handle matters when they go right.”
Quaeryt wasn’t about to argue, especially since, suddenly, large wet snowflakes were pelting the riders and mounts.
“Good thing they’re large,” observed Meinyt from behind Quaeryt and Skarpa. “The large flakes mean the storm won’t last long. The small really cold ones mean a storm can last for days.”
The heavy snow continued for almost a glass, until everything was covered, before it subsided into occasional flurries. For Quaeryt, that glass seemed all too long.
90
More scattered attacks occurred on Mardi afternoon and evening, as did more snow flurries, but the regiment again took over a hamlet that evening, one supposedly situated less than two milles from the gates of Zorlyn’s holding. There were no attacks on Mardi night, but that might have been because Rescalyn had posted sentries and supporting patrols all the way around the hamlet, which was named, unsurprisingly to Quaeryt, Zaemla. It also might have been because cold and snow flurries continued through the night.
Early on Meredi morning, with Rescalyn having assigned Sixth Battalion as the vanguard, the regiment moved out under high clouds, down from which drifted occasional small flakes of snow. Even wearing his browns and another shirt, Quaeryt was chilled after riding less than a quint.
His first glimpse of Zorlyn’s holding affirmed his suspicions, because he saw it from a good mille away, situated on a low hill or ridge, facing to the south. The stone-walled and slate-roofed structure was close to as large as the central palace building of the Telaryn Palace, but without its wings and all the other structures held within the walls that had sheltered the Khanars. Although there were some ornamental trees near the hold, and there looked to be, from the tops of trees protruding, a walled garden adjoining the hold on the southwest side, effectively there was no way to approach the hold without being exposed. Halfway up the hill and close to a half mille downhill from the lowest of the outbuildings was a stone wall of close to two yards in height that encircled the entire hill. Quaeryt could see but a single gate, which served the road on which the regiment approached, but there might have been another on the north side. Not only were the iron-grilled double gates closed, but large stones had been stacked in front of them to the height of the wall on each side.
Rows of archers stood on the sloping ground about fifty yards back of the wall and gate. But Quaeryt did not see any other men-at-arms, not that he doubted that there were a good thousand or more somewhere nearby.
The regiment halted some three hundred yards from the gate and wall. Horn signals followed until the horse battalions were in formation side by side. What Quaeryt didn’t understand, though, was why they remained in files of two, rather than with the five-man front used for attack. For another half quint, the regiment waited.
Then two strange-looking wagons appeared. The long wagon beds were filled with bags of some sort, and at the rear of each wagon was a wooden shield that rose a good two yards. Behind the shield were six horses, with far wider spacing than in a normal hitch, and a single teamster rode astride one of the rear horses. The wagons moved forward along the road no faster than a man could walk, creaking and groaning. As they approached the wall, the archers let fly, but the arrows either missed or stuck in the timber shield or the bags in the wagon bed. One wagon turned gradually and slightly to the right and one to the left until they were lined up to reach the wall on each side of the blocked gates.