Darkness Descending

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Tealdo slogged west across what seemed an endless sea of grass. Every so often, he or his Algarvian comrades would flush a bird from cover. They’d raise their sticks to their shoulders and blaze at it as it fled. They were ready to blaze at anything.

Sometimes they would flush an Unkerlanter from cover. Unlike the birds, the Unkerlanters had a nasty habit of blazing back. The Unkerlanters also had an even nastier habit of staying in cover till a good-sized party of Algarvian soldiers had gone by, and then blazing at them from behind. The ones Tealdo and his comrades caught after stunts like that did not go east into captives’ camps, even if they tried to surrender.

“Stubborn whoreson,” Sergeant Panfilo said, dragging one such soldier in rock-gray out of his hole once he’d been stalked and slain. His coppery side whiskers and waxed mustachios were sadly draggled. “Don’t know what he thought he was doing, but he isn’t going to do it anymore.”

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