Stalking Darkness

grabbed for the shaft, using the man’s own forward momentum to pull him off balance. As he staggered forward she struck him over the head with her sword. He fell back and disappeared under the crush of fighters surging around them.
    Looking up, she saw Second Turma’s standard tilt drunkenly in the distance, then disappear.
    Cursing, Beka called out new orders and spurred forward to aide Corporal Nikides, who was about to be skewered from behind.
    The battle raged on into early afternoon as the two forces battered each other in repeated charge and melee. There was no quarter given to the dead or dying; those who weren’t carried from the field were trampled into the cold, reeking mud. Combatants on both sides were so filthy that it was difficult to tell friend from foe.
    Though outnumbered, the Skalans refused to break and finally the Plenimarans gave way, disappearing back into the hills as quickly and mysteriously as they’d come.
    Beka gritted her teeth and tried to concentrate on other things while the troop surgeon tugged the last stitches tight, closing the gash in her leg.
    The hospital tent was crowded, the air rank with the stench of the wounded. Moans and cries came from all sides as the more seriously hurt begged for help, water, or death. A few feet away, a man screamed as an arrow was pulled from his chest. Dark blood bubbled out ominously from the wound. When he cried out again, more weakly this time, air from his punctured lung whistled through the hole.
    The gash on Beka’s thigh was a deep one and it hurt like hell now, though she’d hardly noticed it during the battle. No one had been more surprised than she when she’d fainted across her horse’s neck when the fighting was over.
    “There now, that should heal nicely if it doesn’t fester,” Tholes assured her, laying his needle aside and pouring a bit of sour wine over the wound. “Vinia will bind it up so you can ride.”
    There was a stir at the door of the hospital tent as Commander Klia entered, flanked by her three remaining captains, Myrhini, Perris, and Ustes. All four officers were covered with the filth of battle and Beka noted that Myrhini was limping on a bandaged foot. Captain Ustes, a tall, black-bearded noble, wore his sword arm in a sling and Perris had a stained bandage around his brow. Klia alone appeared to have come off without a scratch, although word was she’d been in the thick of it the whole time.
    Magic
, Beka wondered,
or just charmed skill?
Klia was askillful tactician, to be sure, but it was her preference for leading from the front that made her so popular with her squadron. After exchanging a word with one of the surgeons, she moved off among the wounded, praising and encouraging them, and asking for details of the battle as the fighters had seen it.
    Myrhini spotted Beka and hobbled over. “First Turma distinguished itself again today. I saw you break through the line. How’s the leg?”
    Beka grimaced as Tholes’ assistant finished bandaging her thigh. Hauling her torn breeches up, she flexed her leg. “Not so bad, Captain. I can ride.”
    “Good. Klia wants reconnaissance patrols out before dawn tomorrow. What state is your turma in?”
    “Last I knew for certain, four dead including Sergeant Portus, and thirteen still unaccounted for. As soon as I get out of here I’ll round up the rest and let you know.” The truth was, she dreaded the final count. Lying here, she’d been unable to block the memory of young Rethus’ broken body trampled in the mud. He’d been the first to stand with her during their first fight with the bandits.
    Myrhini shook her head grimly. “Well, you may be better off than some. Captain Ormonus was killed in the first charge, along with most of his second turma. All told, we’ve lost nearly a third of the squadron.”
    Klia came over and squatted down beside Myrhini. Beka made her commander an awkward salute from where she lay, Klia looked older than her twenty-five years today. Tired lines had sunk in around her eyes and mouth and creased the smooth brow below her dark widow’s peak.
    “A force that large—” Klia growled under her breath, tugging absently at the end of her long brown braid. “A full regiment of Plenimaran cavalry and foot soldiers boiling down out of hills we’ve been patrolling for a week!”
    She pinned Beka with an appraising look. “How do you suppose they managed that, Lieutenant?”
    Beka looked out the tent flap to the distant hills