Without her, Winter would be dead several times over—at the fight against the ice-wielding Penitent in the forest, and again when the blizzard had caught them in the mountains. After all that, she had to trust Alex, but she still didn’t feel like she understood her. The girl didn’t seem to be able to take anything seriously, but there was something beneath the surface that her laughter never touched.
“Anyway,” Alex said, emerging from under the bed with a leather sack, “you know as well as I do that if the Beast isn’t stopped, that’s the end for all of us. Hiding here in the Mountain is just buying time. So if I have a choice between helping you and maybe dying, or putting my head under the covers until a tide of red-eyes starts climbing the walls, you can count me in.” She shoved some wadded-up clothes into the sack, then looked up with a bright smile. “Does that make sense?”
“What about Maxwell?” Winter said.
“What about him?” There was a hint of real pain under Alex’s facade, quickly erased. “He’s dead, and I’m sorry about it. But it’s not going to stop me from doing what needs to be done.”
Winter shook her head. It was pointless to argue—the fact was, she needed Alex’s help, and in any case, the girl was impossible to talk out of something once she’d put her mind to it. I just wish, for once, that helping me could lead someone to a happy ending.
Alex was still packing. There were a surprising number of hiding places in such a small room. Every little table and chair seemed to have something stuck to its bottom, and every pillow had a secret pocket. So far Alex had produced quite a few coins, several small tools whose purposes Winter didn’t know, and an assortment of knives.
“Are you afraid the Eldest is going to come by and search the place?” Winter said, as Alex extracted a roll of silver Vordanai bits from a hollow candlestick.
“What? Oh.” She looked down at the coins. “No. It’s just habit. I don’t like to leave too much stuff lying around.” She shook her head and put the coins in her pocket. “So, where are we going?”
“Vordan, eventually,” Winter said. “But we’re going to have to take a roundabout route.”
“And we think Janus has been taken by the Beast?”
“It’s our best guess,” Winter said. That was starting to sink in, like a shard of glass wedged in her chest slowly wiggling itself deeper every time she spoke the words aloud.
“Hell,” Alex said, pulling the drawstring on her bag tight. “I was hoping to get the chance to thank him.”
“I think,” said a man’s voice from behind Winter, “that the best way to thank him is to finish what he started.”
Winter turned to find Abraham standing in the corridor, hands clasped at the small of his back. He wore the same loose robe that the Eldest and his priests did. Winter didn’t know him as well as she knew Alex, but his healing demon had saved her hand from rot and spared the lives of several of her wounded soldiers. He had soft brown eyes and an easy smile that never seemed quite free of a deep sadness.
“What do you mean?” Alex said.
“From what Winter has told me, Janus wanted to free the world from the Priests of the Black. He might not have known it, but that meant dealing with the Beast one way or another. So it might be argued that this is the continuation of his mission.”
Alex snorted. “There’s a priest’s argument if I’ve ever heard one. I was going to come and see you before we left—don’t worry. I’m not sneaking out this time, remember?”
“No need,” Abraham said. “If Winter will have me, I’m coming with you.”
“You are?” Winter said. “Why?”
“For the same reasons as Alex, I suspect. This is the time to do what I can, if there ever was one. I owe my life to the Eldest and the people of the Mountain, and the best way I can defend them is by stopping the Beast.” He looked down. “And there are some things in the outside world I left... unfinished. While the Priests of the Black hunted me, I didn’t dare hope I might find some resolution, but if we are successful in defeating the Beast...”
“You realize the odds are high that we’re going to die trying,” Winter said.
“Of course.” Abraham looked her in the eye. “I am fully prepared for that possibility.”
“I’m not,” Alex said. She crossed the room in a few strides and wrapped her arms around Abraham. “I can’t tell you not to come. But you’re not allowed to die, you understand?”
Abraham ruffled her hair playfully. “The same goes for you.”
*
In a surprisingly short time—the Mountain people were nothing if not efficient—their little expedition was provisioned and ready. They had six horses, shaggy, short-legged mountain breeds that would be sure-footed on bare rock. The Eldest had insisted on loading them with as much food as they could carry, despite Winter’s protests that they could resupply once they reached civilization.
“We have sufficient,” he told Winter. “And I could not bear it if the world was consumed by the Beast because I was stingy with a loaf of bread.”
Only the Eldest and the Ghost had accompanied them to the exit from the valley, a narrow crack in a sheer vertical cliff that was practically invisible from any distance. From here, Winter could see the whole thing laid out in front of her, neatly terraced fields and wide stretches of pasture dotted with grazing sheep. Such a calm place, so close to Elysium. She still couldn’t believe it, sometimes.
“I will convey your warning to Queen Raesinia,” the Ghost said. “I pray that we will meet again in Vordan, Winter Ihernglass. The hopes of the world go with you.”
Winter had thought about adding a message for Cyte, as well, and decided against it. She probably thinks I’m dead by now. Either I’ll get to see her when I make it to Vordan, or I won’t, and at least she won’t have to live with false hope. She extended her hand, and the Ghost shook it carefully. At the back of her mind, Infernivore raised its hackles at the close contact with another demon, ready to spring forth at Winter’s command.
“Good luck to you, too,” she said, stepping back.
The Ghost nodded and raised his arms. Wind swirled around him, carrying the hot, dry taste of the desert, incongruous in this mountain hideaway. Sand rose into a whirlwind, obscuring him from view, and then streamed off into the air, leaving behind nothing but a bare patch of earth.
“That would be very convenient,” Alex said, looking down at her hands. “If my demon could do that, it would have saved me a lot of trouble.”
Winter turned to the Eldest. “My soldiers,” she said. “They can stay?”
The old man nodded. “Of course. The Beast has no reason to hunt them. And if you succeed, they can even return to Vordan. We don’t need to hide if the Black Priests have been destroyed.”
And if we fail, it won’t matter. Winter suppressed a grimace. “Thank you.”
“You are doing God’s work, Winter Ihernglass,” the Eldest said. “I pray that He will protect you.”
“I thought it was God who sent us the Beast of Judgment?” Winter said.
“He did,” Abraham said. “But He also sent us the means to keep ourselves safe.”
“God can be sort of a jerk that way,” Alex said.
4
Raesinia
Mistress Lagovil sniffed haughtily and drew herself up. With her hair piled on top of her head in elegant disarray, she was intimidatingly tall, a head and a half higher than her queen. Raesinia had to fight not to hunch her shoulders like a child being scolded.
“I see no reason why war, if there even is to be a war, should interrupt the social calendar,” she said. “Your father, may God rest his soul, held the view that Ohnlei was a precious jewel, to be preserved from the storms and furors of the outside world. He would have insisted that the Autumn Fete proceed as scheduled.”
“I’m sure,” Raesinia said, biting back the rest of her response. In the privacy of her own head, she added, Perhaps if he’d spent less time attending to the social cale
ndar and more time paying attention to his wars, he might have won a few of them. Raesinia had loved her father, who’d been as kind and loving a parent as she could have hoped for given the demands of kingship, but she had to acknowledge that military matters had not been among his talents. She cleared her throat and said, “But it’s a matter of resources and popular opinion. A great deal of work still needs to be done here, and expenditures must be kept to a reasonable level while war is still a threat. The people will not tolerate a court that pampers itself while soldiers starve.”
“In your father’s day,” Mistress Lagovil said, “we were more concerned with what people of quality thought.”
“Times have changed,” Raesinia said grimly. We had a little bother with a revolution, you might have noticed. They nearly burned your precious palace down. Maybe it would have been better if they had. Then I could start from scratch and not put up with this—
Mistress Lagovil had the look of someone willing to continue the argument indefinitely, but thankfully at that point there was a rap on the door.
“Eric Vandalle to see you, Your Highness,” said Barely from outside.
“Finally,” Raesinia said, cutting off Mistress Lagovil before she had a chance to protest. “Excuse me. I’ve been expecting him.”
“Very well.” The frosty look on the head of staff’s impeccably made-up face said that the discussion wasn’t over, but she stood and walked stiffly to the door, making the palace livery look as martial as a soldier’s uniform. Raesinia waited until she was gone and Eric had stepped in to take her place before she relaxed.
“I should ask Marcus if the Girls’ Own needs any officers,” she said, to no one in particular. “I can just see Mistress Lagovil screaming her troops into line to repel a cavalry charge.”
Eric started to snigger, remembered himself, and turned it into a cough, then struggled to regain his impassivity. Raesinia gave him a few moments, then said, “I don’t suppose you actually have anything important to report?”
“I do, in fact,” Eric said, trying for dignity. “A message from Deputy—that is, from Minister d’Andorre. He has, as of this morning, been confirmed in the post of Minister of War, and would greatly like to meet with you in his offices.”
“That’s why he’s been putting me off,” Raesinia muttered. She’d been trying to meet with d’Andorre for a week. Once again, she found herself deeply missing Sothe. Alek Giforte was competent, but she was certain Sothe could have done better. And Sothe would have had d’Andorre kneeling on the palace carpet instead of inviting her over to his ministry like some kind of supplicant.
Careful, careful. She couldn’t afford an open rift with the Deputies now, however obstreperous they might be. At least they’ve finally picked someone, and he’s a known quantity.
More news had trickled into the capital in the weeks since Janus’ announcement, and none of it was good. Janus had ridden south, to where part of the Grand Army had been left to guard the frontier. The divisions there had all declared for him immediately, without more than token resistance on the part of loyal officers. Reports had also confirmed that an unknown number of Murnskai troops marched with Janus, apparently under his command. All in all, it meant that the would-be emperor had collected an army at the northern frontier that was at least equal to the loyal Grand Army in size, if not larger.
Marcus had not been idle, of course. Garrisons, frontier posts, and training camps had been stripped to bring the divisions camped north of Vordan City up to strength, though the process was far from complete and many of the new recruits were raw. Other units were on their way, summoned from as far afield as the eastern border, but they would take weeks to arrive. The city was restive, with pro-Janus demonstrations almost every day, and the Armsmen had been worn ragged preventing riots. This can’t go on. There would have to be a clash, sooner rather than later. And God help us if we don’t come out on top.
The Ministry of War was one of the big stone buildings that stood along the grand drive leading up to the front gates of the palace. Standing in front of it, Raesinia could look over her shoulder and see the ruined shell of the Cobweb, former headquarters of Duke Orlanko’s Ministry of Information. Hopefully, the sight will remind d’Andorre what can happen to ministers who get too big for their boots.
Smartly uniformed guards escorted Raesinia, her two attending soldiers, and Eric into the building and up to the top floor. The minister’s vast office faced a huge picture window, looking out across the palace grounds. D’Andorre had already settled himself behind the leather-topped desk, but he had the decency to rise at his queen’s approach. Raesinia waved for him to sit, though she herself remained standing; if she’d sunk into one of the heavy armchairs, her head would barely have shown over the edge of the desk, and she didn’t want him literally looking down on her.
“Minister d’Andorre,” she said. “That is correct, yes? I only just received the news of your appointment.”
“It is,” d’Andorre said. “My colleagues in the Deputies voted yesterday evening.”
“Do you know if they’ve come to a decision on my request to appoint a supreme commander?”
“They have.” D’Andorre steepled his fingers. “I’m afraid they have rejected it, Your Highness.”
“They must see that we have to do something.”
“That is clear to everyone,” d’Andorre said. “The Deputies-General is only concerned that, in our haste, we will repeat the mistakes of the past. The creation of the post of First Consul was, after all, one of the primary reasons for our current difficulties.”
Raesinia gritted her teeth, but she couldn’t really deny that. “Then who will command?”
“The Deputies have appointed a military committee, chaired by myself, to oversee the army.”
“So instead of repeating the mistakes of the Consulate, you want to repeat the mistakes of the Directory?”
“There’s no danger of that, Your Highness. Strict safeguards have been put in place, I assure you.” He spread his hands. “I am merely a representative of my colleagues, not a power unto myself.”
“In that case, you, or the committee, or the entire Deputies, need to get moving. Janus is accumulating supporters by the day, and every hour we sit here doing nothing makes us look weak. We have to act.”
“I understand that, Your Highness.”
“Then give Marcus the order to march!”
“Ah.” D’Andorre gave a tired smile. “I wondered when we’d come to that.”
*
“They’re making a mistake,” Marcus said.
Raesinia sat in his tent, in the uncomfortable camp-chair, staring across the big table at him. Between them was a large-scale map of Vordan, with stacks of paperwork pushed to the side.
“Look,” he said. “Janus is coming south. He needs to take Vordan City, obviously. He could push southeast, here”—he stabbed a finger at the map as though it had offended him—“through the passes at the head of the Vor. That’s the most direct route, but it’s rough country, with a lot of fortified towns and little rivers to hide behind. It’d be very hard to bring an unwilling opponent to battle.
“Instead, he’s pushing southwest, down the valley of the Pale.” This time he tapped the map more thoughtfully. “Open country, fewer rivers. Good terrain for a field battle, where Janus excels. He wants us to go after him. He needs a quick decision.”
“We need a quick decision,” Raesinia said. “If we let him do as he likes, anyone on the fence is going to want to join the winning side. We need to confront him.”
“Not if it means playing directly into his hands.”
“Janus isn’t divine, Marcus,” Raesinia said gently. “Not everything we do is part of his plans.”
“I don’t know if I’d bet on God Almighty against Janus bet Vhalnich,” Marcus said grimly. “I’m telling you that if I take the army to the Pale, I can’t guarantee—”
“They don’t want you in command,” Raesin
ia said. “That’s what I came here to tell you.”
There was a long pause. Marcus looked down at the map for a moment, then over at the papers, as though seeking inspiration.
“I’m sorry,” Raesinia said. “I tried to get d’Andorre to reconsider. But as far as the Deputies is concerned, handing the army that’s going to fight Janus over to his closest subordinate is too dangerous, no matter how loyal you claim to be. Even with the queen vouching for you, apparently.”
“So who are they putting in charge?” Marcus said. “One of the other division commanders?”
Raesinia shook her head. “They’ve summoned General Thomas Kurot from the southern coast. Apparently, he served well against some holdouts during the revolution and basically sat out the war against the Directory. He’s supposed to be some kind of prodigy, and he’s never even met Janus.”
“That’s...” Marcus suddenly looked very tired. “That’s going to be a disaster. Sending some back-ranker who’s hardly tasted gunsmoke up against Janus bet Vhalnich? We might as well pack it in.”
“That’s why I need you to go with him,” Raesinia said.
“I thought you said the Deputies didn’t want me along.”
“They don’t want you in command. I was able to persuade d’Andorre that it would be foolish not to use you in some capacity, though even that wasn’t easy.” Raesinia grinned. “I may have implied that the troops might mutiny if they tried to march without you.”
Marcus snorted. “I think you overestimate my popularity.” The brief moment of humor faded and died as he considered the situation for a moment longer. “So where do they want me?”
The Infernal Battalion Page 7
