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 a skillful 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 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. Myrhini tells 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.
Mirn 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.