On Mardi morning, a column of the riding wounded, those, like Quaeryt, who were on the way to recovery, left Zorlyn’s holding and made their way back to Boralieu. Quaeryt rode an almost-broken-down gelding, since no one seemed to know where the mare was-or if she had even survived the battle. She’d carried him through so much … and to have her vanish … He tried not to think about that … as well as other matters-at least not until he felt better.
They arrived at Boralieu well after sunset on Meredi, but before total darkness. Quaeryt had not heard whether the remaining hill holders had agreed to terms when they left, and no one of the small contingent that remained at Boralieu had any word on what had occurred when they arrived.
Over the next two days, Quaeryt forced himself to write up a report for Bhayar, one that summarized exactly what had happened during that part of the campaign in which he had participated, but which said nothing at all about his personal efforts. Between the physical effort of writing it one-handed, which took more care than he had anticipated, and the mental effort of seeking exactly the right words and phrases, the report took far longer than he had thought it would.
Because the mess was more suited to writing, because he felt the walls of his small quarters were pressing in on him, because the bunk was uncomfortable for sitting and the chairs in the mess were far more comfortable than the single rickety one in his quarters, he spent most of his time in the officers’ mess. Late on Vendrei afternoon, Quaeryt was again sitting at the long table there when he heard riders outside in the courtyard. He debated getting up to see who they were, and if they had news, but decided he’d find out before long. Besides, walking any distance was still painful, especially as the day wore on.
He saw several captains and undercaptains he did not know coming and going, and that suggested that a fair-sized contingent had returned. In turn, that indicated a high likelihood that the remaining hill holders had capitulated … but that was only an indication.
Almost a glass later, a ranker peered into the mess from the door. “Scholar Quaeryt, sir?”
“Yes?”
“Commander Zirkyl would like to see you, sir. He’s in his study.”
“I’ll be right there.” Quaeryt rose carefully, then followed the ranker down the adjoining corridor to the open study door.
“Come in, scholar.”
Quaeryt did close the door behind him, then settled into one of the chairs in front of Zirkyl’s table desk. “I did not know you were among those who returned, sir.”
“I brought back those who had accompanied me from here to deal with the hill holders at Zorlyn’s holding. We arrived back here less than a glass ago. On Jeudi, Commander Myskyl received word from the last of the hill holders, accepting the terms he offered. Once that happened, he dispatched us.” Zirkyl looked directly at Quaeryt. “You’ve been sending reports to Lord Bhayar, I understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Commander Myskyl’s couriers will be leaving here tomorrow morning, one for Tilbora to inform the acting governor, and one to Solis to report on the result of the campaign against the hill holders. Commander Myskyl asked me to tell you that you are welcome to have the courier carry your report to Solis as well. If you wish to do so, you should have it ready by seventh glass.”
“It is largely written, sir, except I did not know that the remaining holders had accepted terms.”
“I doubt that they were overjoyed … but defying the commander now would have been turning bare backs to the Namer.”
“Where should I bring the report? To the courtyard by the gates?”
“By the guardhouse. I’ll let the courier know that you will have a dispatch for him.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t thank me. According to the commander, Lord Bhayar’s the one who should be thanking you.” Zirkyl offered a sad smile. “That is all I wanted to tell you. I do have a few other matters…”
“Yes, sir.” Quaeryt stood, as gracefully as he could, then turned and limped from the commander’s study and headed back toward the mess.
While he would have liked to send a letter to Vaelora, he decided that asking a special courier to carry it would not be a good idea, besides which, he frankly wasn’t certain what he would-or should-write, given the way matters stood in Tilbor. Or if he could find the right words in the time he had.
94
What with one thing and another, almost a week passed before Quaeryt joined Sixth Battalion on its return to Tilbora the following Jeudi. Once more, he rode with Skarpa, still awkwardly because the splinted arm, even in a sling, tended to unbalance him, although he had been reunited with the mare.
“How did you find her?” he had asked when one of Skarpa’s rankers had led her out to him before they left Boralieu.
“I didn’t,” Skarpa had replied. “Gauswn did. While we were waiting for the hill holders to decide, he had his men search for her. It took a couple of days to find her. Seventh Battalion had her. He said it wasn’t right that she wasn’t with you.”
“I do appreciate it.” He’d reminded himself to thank the undercaptain with more than words, for both saving his life and finding the mare, although he had ridden across the courtyard to Gauswn and offered those words of gratitude almost immediately.
Gauswn had insisted that he’d only done what was right and went on to say, “You’ll change things, sir. You will. Like Rholan.”
That comparison had appalled Quaeryt, but he couldn’t say that, not when he likely owed the undercaptain his life … and the mare. All he’d been able to do was reiterate his thanks and gratitude. But Gauswn’s words and worshipful attitude had preyed on him throughout the journey.
Finally, on Vendrei afternoon, as Sixth Battalion turned off the river road and headed directly along the back road toward the Telaryn Palace, Quaeryt again turned to Skarpa.
“I’ve been thinking about Gauswn. I worry that he thinks I’m something that I’m not. I’m just a scholar trying to do the best I can.”
Skarpa laughed. “I’ll grant that you’re a scholar. I’ll not grant that you’re just a scholar. No officer and man in Sixth Battalion would say you’re
“He wouldn’t cross me? I’m a near-penniless scholar.” Quaeryt laughed.
“You were sent by Lord Bhayar. You get letters from his family…”
Quaeryt managed not to wince. Did the entire regiment know that?
“… and you’ve survived battles and wounds. I recall you also got through storms and a shipwreck. Myskyl knows that. He wouldn’t cross you for all the new-minted silvers he found in Zorlyn’s strong room.”
“Didn’t he have a silver mine?” asked Quaeryt, deciding to change the subject as quickly as he could, especially since he’d wondered about the Ecoliae’s receipt of new-minted silvers. “Someone said…”
“He does. Or he did.”
“And he was minting his own silvers?”
Skarpa looked quizzically at Quaeryt. “One of the majors said they found coin dies. Why does it matter? Silver’s silver.”
“It would help explain how Zorlyn could afford to pay so many armsmen, for one thing.”
Skarpa nodded. “It would. Some of us wondered about that, even with all his lands.”
Quaeryt’s thinking about Zorlyn brought to mind Zarxes. “Do you know if they found two scholars among the captives there?”
“The two that ran off from the scholarium? Can’t say that I do.”
Quaeryt wondered if he’d ever find out, or if Alkiabys and Zarxes had been part of the heavy cavalry that
