He did manage to saddle the mare, if awkwardly. He wouldn’t have been able to do so, he realized, if he’d injured his right shoulder. When he led the mare out into the courtyard and mounted, using both hands, but replacing his arm in the sling after settling into the saddle, he saw that clouds were moving in from the north-not thunderclouds, but high thin clouds that might presage nothing or a later rain. The clouds would make the day more pleasant, but not if rain followed.
From the south end of the courtyard, Gauswn turned his horse and rode toward Quaeryt.
The scholar had to admire the ease with which the undercaptain seemed to meld with his mount.
“Greetings, scholar.” Gauswn smiled. “Welcome to our very routine patrol.”
“That’s fine with me. My last patrol had enough excitement.”
“Your arm?”
“I can use it if I have to, but I’m supposed to keep it in the sling most of the time for a bit longer.”
Gauswn’s nod contained a hint of doubt, but he said nothing more as Quaeryt rode beside him toward the head of the column, which looked to consist of two squads, and not a full company.
Once the patrol headed downhill from the sandstone walls of Boralieu, Quaeryt raised his lighter shields, set close to a yard and a half from him. He had already realized that the way his shielding worked, he’d have trouble if he rode too close to anyone. Still … if he kept working with them, maybe, just maybe, he could become strong enough to hold the heavier shields all the time. Or he could find a way to make them more selective.
The wind from the north was not stiff, but stronger than a mere breeze, with a hint of chill behind it.
“This won’t be much of a patrol,” offered Gauswn.
“Major Skarpa said that it was also a training exercise of sorts.”
“It is. We put a newer ranker out front with each experienced outrider, and they point out what a scout or an outrider needs to look for. Also, we’ll run road drills when we’re not near any of the local crofters.” Gauswn offered a wry smile. “A quick charge beside a plow horse or a cart horse might spook them, and the commander wouldn’t want to hear about that.…”
Less than a quint later, as the patrol neared the eastern edge of the valley, Quaeryt saw ahead four large drays. Four draft horses, escorted by a squad of troopers, pulled each as they groaned along the dirt road toward Boralieu.
Gauswn ordered the squads immediately onto the shoulder of the road to wait as the wagons passed.
“Supply wagons,” explained Gauswn. “Once a week except in the winter.”
“How often then?”
“Whenever they can, but over the next few weeks, they’ll bring in extra supplies-the kind that keep-so that the post could last all winter without resupply. The fare isn’t what anyone likes, but they’re always fed.”
“That’s the mark of a good commander.”
“It is.” Gauswn paused, then asked, “Did you ever study to be chorister? You seem to know so much about Rholan and the Nameless.”
“Scholars study many things.”
“But … you knew about Rholan, the way you talked about him. What else do you know?”
Quaeryt hesitated, if but for a moment. If he didn’t offer a bit more, he’d seem like a shallow scholar, yet … “He’s the only follower of the Nameless who is mentioned in any of the hymns or as a subject for homilies in the guidance for choristers.”
“Where did you discover that?”
Quaeryt laughed. “I asked several choristers. I have this bad habit of asking questions. So did Rholan, I think.” As soon as he uttered the last sentence, he wished he hadn’t.
“Rholan asked questions?”
“That’s what some of the texts say.”
“Such as?”
“Oh … some are so familiar everyone’s forgotten who first asked them. He was the one who asked, ‘What truly is a name?’ At least, he was the first to ask that as a serious question. Things like that.”
“What else?”
“I’d have to go back to my library in Solis to rediscover the others.”
Gauswn looked appraisingly at Quaeryt, but didn’t press further.
Skarpa did warn you that he was very devout in his worship of the Nameless.
Once the wagons had passed, the patrol rode no more than another half mille before turning south on a path little more than a dirt track stamped out by patrol after patrol. On the slope to the east were bushes, copses of trees, largely evergreens and birches, and rocky pasture. Quaeryt saw one flock of sheep, tended by a youth or a young girl, farther to the south and higher on the rise.
“This side’s easy, but I have the outriders make the new ones name all the tracks they see from the saddle. Too many times, you don’t have time to dismount and check, especially not in the woods.”
Based on his one experience along those lines, Quaeryt tended to agree.
Close to two glasses later, the patrol reached the southern end of the valley and turned westward. Less than a mille farther, the slopes had become covered with older pines, with but scattered handfuls of birches and only an occasional oak. On the north side of the track were flat fields, most bearing golden wheat corn close to being harvested.
Quaeryt had the feeling that those fertile fields might once have been a shallow lake, generations back.
“It’s mostly wheat down here. Farther along, where there’s a stream, they grow some maize.”
“Do you get any supplies from the locals?”
“Some … but they don’t grow enough for themselves and all of Boralieu. The governor insists that we pay fair prices for anything we buy and that we make sure to leave enough that they can get through the worst of winters without difficulty.”
“He tries very hard to be fair.”
“Fairer than the Khanars, some of the old folks say.”
As the patrol neared the southwestern corner of the valley, the wind picked up, and Quaeryt could see where the winters could indeed be bitter. Ahead, at the end of a hayfield, one of the last, it appeared to the scholar, a cart was drawn up next to a low stone wall, and a boy was stacking the bundles in the cart while either his father or an older brother was cutting the stalks in the field with a scythe.
As the column approached the cart, a severe gust of wind blasted out of the north, ripping part of the bundle of hay out of the boy’s hands and swirling it toward the patrol. Abruptly, Quaeryt’s shields triggered, and the hay and dust swirled around him. He dropped the shields quickly, but Gauswn turned with a frown.
“That … what was that? The hay and dust, they blew around you…”
“They did?” asked Quaeryt. “I didn’t notice.” What else can you say?
“I’m sure they did.”
Quaeryt laughed. “Sometimes, the wind does strange things.”
Again, the undercaptain looked hard at Quaeryt, who merely offered an amused smile, even as he was thinking, Why did it have to be Gauswn who saw the effect of the shields?
“Tell me about what you have the men look for when you patrol along the western edge,” said Quaeryt. “Do you get any brigands taking shots at you from the higher slopes?”
The undercaptain looked startled, but, after a moment, replied, “Not since I’ve been here, but we do see tracks, as if someone is scouting. Not too often, but you can never tell…”
Quaeryt remained ready to ask more questions as he listened, but, obviously, he needed to work more, a great deal more, on perfecting the shields if they were to be effective.
55
When he returned from the local patrol, it was a quint or so past second glass, and Quaeryt was so exhausted that he went to his tiny room and took a nap. He woke just before the evening meal sore all over. He limped to dinner, because his bad leg was bothering him more than usual, and managed to sit beside Skarpa in order to avoid Gauswn without really seeming to do so. He listened carefully during and after the meal, while Skarpa, Meinyt, and the other officers talked, but he didn’t overhear any references to the wind or hay flying around him.