Through the Darkness

“Don’t let ‘em worry you, lads,” Hawart said as one of those eggs burst and threw mud and stinking water all over the landscape. “They’re tossing blind. Sit tight a bit, and then we’ll get out of here.”

Unlike the Algarvians, Hawart’s men knew the swamp well. They’d found paths that led west, as well as some that offered escape in other directions. “Pity we haven’t got any eggs we could bury here to give the redheads a little surprise when they make it this far,” Leudast said.

“Pity we can’t bury the cursed Algarvians here,” Hawart answered. “But, as long as they don’t bury us, we’ll get another chance at them later.”

The sentries came back up the paths to the main patch of higher ground. One of them had an arm in a sling. “It’ll be a while before the Algarvians get here,” he said; he still had fight in him.

“Let’s get moving,” Hawart said, and then, casually, “Leudast, you’ll head up the rear guard.”

Leudast had been in the army since the days when the only fighting was the spasmodic war between Unkerlant and Gyongyos in the mountains of the far, far west. If anyone here could lead the rear guard, he was the man. If that meant he was all too likely to get killed . .. well, he’d been all too likely to get killed quite a few times now. If he stood and fought, his comrades would have a better chance of getting away. He shrugged and nodded. “Aye, sir.”

Hawart gave him a dozen men, a couple of more than he’d expected. He positioned them so that they covered the places where the paths from the east opened up onto the high ground. They waited while their countrymen slipped away to the west. By the trilling Algarvian shouts that came from the other direction, they wouldn’t have to wait very long.

Sure enough, here came a filthy, angry-looking redhead. He didn’t seem to realize the path opened out onto a wider stretch of nearly dry ground. He didn’t get much of a chance to ponder it, either; Leudast blazed him. He crumpled, his stick falling from his hands to the muddy ground.

A moment later, another Algarvian appeared at the end of a different track. Two beams cut him down, but not cleanly; he thrashed and writhed and shrieked, warning Mezentio’s men behind him that the Unkerlanters hadn’t all disappeared.

“We’ll get the next few, then back over to the paths the rest of the boys are using,” Leudast called. Here he was, leading a squad again rather than a company. With the problem smaller, the solution seemed obvious.

Several Algarvians burst out onto the firm ground at once, blazing as they came. The Unkerlanters knocked down a couple of them, but the others dove behind bushes and made Leudast’s men keep their heads down. That meant more Algarvians could come off the paths without getting blazed.

Leudast grimaced. King Mezentio’s men weren’t making his life easy--but then, they never had. “Back!” he shouted to the little detachment under his command. They’d all seen a good deal of action, and knew better than to make a headlong rush for what would not be safety. Instead, some retreated while other blazed at the Algarvians. Then the men who’d run stopped and blazed so their friends could fall back past them.

Darkness was gaining fast now, but not fast enough to suit Leudast. He felt horribly exposed to Mezentio’s men as he scrambled and dodged and twisted back toward the mouth of one of the paths the rest of Hawart’s shrunken command had taken. He counted the soldiers who came with him: eight, one of them wounded. They’d made the redheads pay, but they’d paid, too.

“Let’s go!” he said, and hurried till the path bent. He barely recalled the bend was there, and came close to rushing straight ahead into the ooze and muck of the swamp. Peering back through the thickening twilight, he made out the redheads coming after his little force. He blazed at them, blazed and shouted the vilest curses he knew.

After he’d blazed, after he’d cursed, he slid on down the path as quietly as he could. The Algarvians charged straight toward where he had been, as he’d hoped they would. They charged toward where he had been, and then past where he had been--and right into the mud. He didn’t understand a word of what they were saying, but it sounded hot.

He was tempted to start blazing again; he was sure he could have picked off a couple of them. Instead, he drew away from them, disappearing down another bend in the path. He’d been this way before, by day and by night-- Captain Hawart wanted everybody ready for whatever might happen. But the Algarvians would have a cursed hard time following the path. Leudast chuckled. They would have had a hard time following it in daylight, as he knew full well.

“Swemmel!” somebody called softly from up ahead.

“Cottbus,” Leudast answered: the king and the capital were hardly the most imaginative sign and countersign in the world, but they’d do. He added, “Bugger every Algarvian in Unkerlant with the biggest pine cone you can find.”

Whoever was up ahead of him laughed. “You’re one of ours, all right.”