Stalking Darkness

through the hills toward the sea.
    Their plan was to strike the coast and follow it north again in the hope of meeting a friendly force.
    What Beka wasn’t certain of was just how far south their raiding had driven them, or where the Skalan line currently was. Whatever the case, they’d have to fight like true
urgazhi
to get back.
    “It’s only me, Lieutenant!”
    Beka opened her eyes to find Rhylin’s long, homely face just inches above hers.
    “It’s almost sundown. You said to wake you,” he said, hunkering down beside her.
    Beka sat up and rubbed a hand over her face. “Thanks. I wasn’t sleeping so welt anyway.”
    Rhylin handed her his drinking skin, then ran a hand over the brown scruff of beard covering his jaw. “The fever hasn’t come back on you, has it?”
    “No, the leg’s fine.” Beka took a drink and handed it back.
    They’d made camp in a beech grove. Buds were just breaking out on the branches overhead and through them she could see the first golden streaks of sunset.
    “But you’ve still got the dreams, eh?” he asked, then shrugged when Beka glanced up sharply. “You’ve been thrashing and muttering some in your sleep.”
    “Well, I wish you’d tell me what I’m saying,” Beka replied, hoping it was dark enough not to betray the color that rose in her cheeks. “I don’t remember a damn thing when I wake up. Any word from Mirn or Gilly yet?”
    “That’s what I came to report. Kallas and Ariani just got back from tracking them. It looks like they’ve been captured.”
    “Damn.” From what they’d seen so far, the Plenimarans weren’t keeping prisoners alive, and her
urgazhi
had suffered losses enough already.
    Getting to her feet, she glanced around the clearing. In Braknil’s decuria only Kallas, Ariani, Arbelus, and one-eyed Steb were left. Rhylin had Nikides, Syra, Tealah, Jareel, Tare, Marten, Kaylah, and Zir. Of those, Tealah had suffered a sword cut during the third raid and couldn’t use her left arm. Zir and Jareel had festeringwounds, and Steb, still recovering from the loss of an eye, had a bad case of the scours.
    Now Mirn and Gilly were gone.
    “Who’s out now?” she asked.
    “Syra has the watch. Arbelus and Steb went scouting about an hour ago.”
    “Go wake the others and tell them to eat quickly. We ride as soon as it’s full dark.”
    Rhylin gave a quick salute and started around the camp. Beka let out a slow, exasperated breath. She’d hoped the others hadn’t noticed her nightly struggles. At least it had been Rhylin who’d brought it to her attention. Despite his ungainly appearance, he’d proven a good choice for sergeant. He had a calm steadiness about him that only seemed to increase under adversity.
    Still, the last thing any of them needed right now was an officer who had bad dreams behind lines; yelling in your sleep was a good way to bring the enemy down on your neck. Rubbing her eyes again, she tried to remember what the dream had been, but nothing would come except a vague feeling of anxiety.
    Giving up, she turned her thoughts to more practical matters. Reaching for her tucker sack, she dipped out a cupful of soaked meal and hastily downed it. Coarse and full of grit, the barley meal they’d captured in the last raid was hard on both teeth and stomach. Most of the time they couldn’t chance a fire to boil it into porridge. Instead, they threw it into a leather bag with some water and fragments of dried fish for a few hours until it swelled into a gluey mass Nikides had dubbed “broken tooth pudding.”
    They were just saddling up for the night’s ride when Steb came riding back.
    “We found Mirn and Gilly, Lieutenant!” he informed Beka.
    “Praise Sakor! Where?” Beka demanded as the others crowded around in uneasy silence.
    “There’s a Plenimaran column ahead about two miles. They’ve just stopped to make camp for the night. It’s big, Lieutenant, fifty soldiers at least. And maybe twice that in prisoners marching afoot in chains.”
    “Prisoners?” Rhylin raised an eyebrow. “That’s the first we’ve heard of that. And you’re sure you saw Gilly and Mirn?”
    Steb nodded, his good eye blazing with grief and anger. “The whoreson bastards planked them.”
    Braknil cursed, then spat angrily over his left shoulder.
    “What do you mean, planked?” Beka demanded.
    “It’s an old Plenimaran soldier’s trick, Lieutenant,” the sergeant scowled. “You take a man, tie a plank across his shoulders, and then