Into The Darkness

"I've heard ideas I liked less," Tealdo, said as he got to his feet. "Lots of them, as a matter of fact." He filed toward the door, then jumped down from the coach, which floated a couple of feet above the ground, and took his place in the ranks.

Captain Larbino's company was not the first in the regiment, but was the second, which let Tealdo see ahead well enough. In front of the first company stood the color guard. He envied them their gaudy ceremonial uniforms, from gilded helms to gleaming boots. The man in the middle of the color guard, who had surely been chosen for his great height, bore the banner of Algarve, diagonal slashes of red, green, and white. The soldier to his left carried the regiment pennon, a blue lightning bolt on gold. just ahead of the color guard stood a squat brick building also flying the Algarvian national banner: the customs house on the border - what had been the border - between Algarve and Bari. Its turnstile was raised, inviting the Algarvian soldiers forward. An almost identical brick building stood a few feet farther south, on the other side of the border. Bari's banner, a white bear on orange, floated on a staff beside it. Its wooden turnstile still made as if to bar the road into the Duchy.

Out of that second building came a plump man in uniform. His tunic and kilt were of different color and cut from those of the Algarvians: not tan, but a brown with green mixed in. Duke Alardo, powers below curse his ghost, had liked running his own realm; he'd been the perfect cat's paw for the victors of the Six Years' War.

But he was dead now, dead without an heir. As for what his people thought… The plump man in the mud-and-moss uniform bowed to the Algarvian banner as the color-bearer brought it up to the border. Then he turned and bowed to the Barian banner before running it down from the pole where it had floated for a generation and more. And then he let it fall to the ground and spurned it with his boots. He raised the turnstile, crying, "Welcome home, brothers!"

Tealdo shouted himself hoarse but could hardly hear himself, for every man in the regiment was shouting himself hoarse. Colonel Ombruno, who commanded the unit, ran forward, embraced the Barian - the former Barian - customs officer, and kissed him on both cheeks. Turning back to his own men, he said, "Now, sons of my fighting spirit, enter the land that is ours once more."

The captains began singing the Algarvian national hymn. The men joined them in a swelling chorus of joy and pride. They marched past the two customs houses now suddenly made useless. Tealdo poked Trasone in the ribs and murmured, "Now that we're ~ entering the land, let's see if we can enter the women too, eh, like you said." Trasone grinned and nodded. Sergeant Parifilo looked daggers at both of them, but the singing was so loud, he couldn't prove they hadn't taken part. Tealdo did start singing again: lustily, in every sense of the word.

Parenzo, the Barian town nearest this stretch of the border with Algarve - no, nearest this stretch of the border with the rest of Algarve - lay a couple of miles south of the customs houses. Long before the regiment reached the town, people began streaming out of it toward them.

Perhaps the fat Barian customs officer had used his crystal to let the baron in charge of the town know the reunion was now official. Or perhaps such news spread by magic less formal but no less effective than that by which crystals operated.

Whatever the reason, the road was lined with cheering, screaming men and women and children before the regiment got halfway to Parenzo.

Some of the locals waved homemade Algarvian banners: homemade because Alardo had forbidden display or even possession of the Algarvian national colors in his realm while he lived. In the handful of days since the Duke's death, quite a few Barians; had dyed white tunics and kilts with stripes of green and red.

The crowds didn't just line the road, either. In spite of Colonel Ombruno's indignant shouts, men dashed out to clasp the hands of the Algarvian soldiers and to kiss them on the cheeks, as he had done with the customs officers. Women ran out, too. They pressed flowers into the hands of the marching Algarvians, and national banners, too. And the kisses they gave were no mere pecks on the cheeks.

Tealdo did not want to let go of a sandy-haired beauty whose tunic and kilt, though of perfectly respectable cut, were woven of stuff so filmy, she might as well have been wearing nothing at all. "March!" Panfilo screamed at him. "You are a soldier of the Kingdom of Algarve. What will people think of you?"

"They will think I am a man, Sergeant, as well as a soldier," he replied with dignity. He gave the girl a last pat, then took a few steps double time to resume his place in the ranks. He twirled his mustache as he went, in case the kisses had melted the wax out of it.