Into The Darkness

He added a couple of other choice oaths in Talsu's language, then fen back on Algarvian. Talsu didn't know any Algarvian, but he didn't think the captive was paying him compliments. All he did was gesture with the stick again. Cursing still, the old man got moving.

Back at the camp, a bored-looking lieutenant who spoke Algarvian started questioning Talsu's captive. The old man kept right on cursing, or so Talsu thought. The lieutenant stopped looking bored and started looking harassed. Talsu hid a smile. He didn't mind seeing an officer sweat, even if it was because of an Algarvian.

He was about to head off toward the front line again when a trooper from a different company brought in another cursing captive. Talsu stopped and stared. Everyone who heard those curses stopped and stared.

The other soldier's captive (you lucky bastard, Talsu thought) was a good looking - a very good-looking - woman of about twenty-five. Coppery hair flowed halfway down her back. Her knees were not knobby, nor her calves hairy. Talsu examined them carefully to make sure of those facts.

Her curses even drew from his tent Colonel Dzirnavu, who had been in there alone except, perhaps, for a bottle of what his servant called restorative. By the lurch in his stride, he was quite thoroughly restored.

His eyes needed a moment before they lit on the captive. "Well, well," he said when they finally did. "What have we here?"

"That's what they call a woman," a soldier near Talsu muttered.

"Haven't you ever seen one before?" Talsu coughed to keep from laugh ing out loud.

Dzirnavu advanced on her at a ponderous waddle. He looked her up and down, plainly imagining everything the tunic and kilt concealed. She looked him up and down, too. Her face also showed what she was thinking. Talsu would not have wanted anyone, let alone a good-looking woman, thinking such things about him.

"Where did you find her?" Dzirnavu asked the soldier who had brought her back to camp. "Spying on us, unless I miss my guess."

"Lord, she was going into a little cottage up ahead." The tro6per pointed. "My thought is, she was trying to take away a few last things,, before she fled for good."

The Algarvian woman pointed at Dzirnavu. Where did you find him?" she asked the soldier who had captured her. Her Jelgavan was accented but fluent. "I would say under a flat rock, but where would you find a flat rock big enough to hide him?"

Like most Jelgavans, Dzirnavu was quite fair. That let Talsu watch the flush mount from his beefy neck to his hairline. "She is a spy," he snapped. "She must be a spy. Take her to my tent." A murky light kindled in his bloodshot gray eyes. "I shall attend to her interrogation personally."

Talsu could think of only one thing that might mean. He knew a moment's pity for the Algarvian woman, even if he wouldn't have minded having her himself Dzirnavu's "Interrogation," though, was liable to crush her to death - and he wouldn't learn anything while he was doing it.

After a while, the soldier who'd captured the woman came out of the tent. His face bore a curious mixture of excitement and disgust. "He had me cover her while he tied her to the bed," he reported, and then, "He made her lie on her belly."

Along with his comrades, Talsu sadly shook his head. "Waste of a woman, especially one so pretty," he said. "If that's what he's got in mind, he could do it with a boy instead."

"Officers have all the fun," the other soldier said, "and they get to pick what kind of fun they have."

Since Talsu couldn't argue with that, he started back toward the front line. He hadn't gone far before the Algarvian woman screamed. It sounded more like outrage than anguish. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. He kept walking.

When he returned to the encampment at suppertime, no one had been into or out of the regimental commander's tent since he'd left. "You should have heard what he called me when I asked him if he needed anything an hour ago," Vartu said.

"Is the redhead still screaming in there?" Talsu asked. Dzirnavu's servant shook his head. Talsu sighed. Maybe she'd seen screaming did her no good. Maybe, too, she was in no shape to scream any more. From what he knew of Dzirnavu, he found that more likely. He stood in line for supper. If Dzirnavu was skipping a meal for the sake of his pleasure, it wouldn't hurt him a bit. No sound at all came from the tent. Eventually,

Talsu rolled himself in his blanket and went to sleep.

Dzirnavu's tent was still quiet when Talsu woke up the next morning.

When Vartu cautiously asked whether the count wanted breakfast, no one answered. Even more cautiously, the servant stuck his head in through the flap. He recoiled, clapping a hand to his mouth. He choked out one word: "Blood!"

Talsu dashed toward the tent. So did everyone else who'd heard Vartu