Stalking Darkness

visible beyond. “There are hundreds of little valleys up there. Anyone who knew the area could sneak small groups into them, keep quiet, no fires. When the time came, they’d send out runners with orders to mass at some central point.”
    Klia nodded. “That seems to be the general opinion. Myrhinitells me you’re a good tracker. If you learned any of it from your father and Seregil, then I know you’re better than most. I want your turma to go up into those hills tomorrow, see what you can find.”
    “Yes, Commander!” Beka sat up and saluted again.
    “Good. I can give you a few more riders if you think you’ll need them.”
    Beka considered the offer, then shook her head. “No, we can move faster and quieter if there aren’t too many of us.”
    Klia clapped her on the shoulder. “All right, then. This is like finding adders in the haymow, I know. Find what you can and send back word. Don’t engage unless you’re cornered. Myrhini, who else are you sending?”
    “Lieutenant Koris is taking a decuria north into the steeper country. The rest of his turma will go up the central pass with me.”
    “I’ve sent word to Phoria that we need reinforcements here,” Klia told them, rising to go. “With any luck the rest of the regiment will come up from the coast in a day or so. Good luck to you both.”
    “Take care of yourself, Commander.” Myrhini grinned, thumping the toe of Klia’s boot with her fist. “Don’t go getting yourself gallantly killed while I’m gone.”
    “I’ll wait until you get back,” Klia shot back wryly. “I wouldn’t want you to miss it.”
    “Sakor touched!” Myrhini muttered, watching her friend stride away. “Good luck to you, Beka, and take care.”
    “Thanks. I will,” Beka said.
    When Myrhini was gone, she got up and looked around for familiar faces among the wounded. She soon found some—too many, in fact. Ariani, a rider in Braknil’s decuria, beckoned to her from a back corner of the tent.
    She was wounded but looked able to ride. Some of those with her hadn’t been so lucky. Mikal had taken a spear in the belly, and Thela had a shattered leg. Next to her, Steb sat slumped against his friend Mirn, one hand pressed to a bloody dressing over his left eye. That wasn’t the worst of it, though.
    The little group was gathered around the body of another comrade. It was Aulos, Kallas’ twin. A Plenimaran foot soldier had unhorsed him just before the retreat, then hacked his lower belly open. His brother had carried him off the field and now sat cradling Aulos’ head on his lap.
    Beka felt her stomach go into a slow lurch. The surgeon had cut the remains of Aulos’ uniform and chain mail away, only to find that there was not enough of his abdomen left to stitch back together. White and panting, the young man lay staring mutely up at his brother, their faces mirrors of agony. They’d always been inseparable, Beka recalled sadly, equally quick to sing or fight.
    “They gave him a draught, but he still feels it,” Kallas said softly as she knelt down beside him. Tears were coursing down his cheeks, but he remained motionless, patient as stone. “Tholes says there’s nothing to do but to let him go. But he won’t! He hangs on.” Kallas paused, closing his eyes. “As his kinsman, Lieutenant, I ask permission—to spur him on.”
    Beka looked down into the wounded man’s face, wondering if he understood what was going on. Aulos locked eyes with her and nodded slightly, mouthing
Please
.
    “Find someone, Mirn. Quickly!” Beka ordered.
    Mini hurried off, returning a moment later with an orderly who quickly opened an artery in Aulos’ leg. The wounded man’s labored breathing slowed almost at once. With a last long sigh, he turned his face to his brother’s chest and died.
    “Astellus carry you soft, and Sakor light your way home,” Beka said, speaking the soldier’s brief prayer for the dead. The others echoed it in a ragged chorus.
    “Those of you who can ride, help Kallas bury him, then find the rest of the turma. The rest of you stay here and wait for transport to the coast. You fought bravely, all of you. Captain Myrhini’s proud of you. So am I.”
    Accepting the murmured thanks of the others, she limped outside as quickly as her leg allowed, only to be met by the sight of scores of bodies lined up on the ground like bundles of harvested grain. Syrtas was there, and Arna, Lineus, and Sergeant Portus. They lay looking up at the blue sky with