The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  Alex nodded. It was a slim hope to cling to, but better than nothing at all.

  No caves were immediately in evidence, not that Winter was confident she’d be able to see one in the dark. They picked their way down the slope, then alongside a streambed, staying out from under the trees to make the best use of the light. Can the Beast see in the dark? Or is it leaving a trail of broken bodies behind it?

  “There’s something up there!” Alex’s finger stabbed out, pointing at the ridge ahead of them. “I saw someone moving.”

  “Then we’re dead,” Winter said. “It’s got us surrounded.”

  “No red,” Alex said. “Could it be someone else?”

  Winter was about to ask who else would be out in the woods in the middle of the night, but at that moment a pair of shapes burst from the underbrush, eyes blazing with crimson light. Clever bastard, Winter had time to think. She’d counted on more of a lead, but the Beast had obviously let its fittest bodies range ahead of the pack. These two were both big brutes—stocky, heavily built men with the look of laborers. One of them came directly at Winter, and the other went for Alex.

  Winter clawed for her saber, while Alex raised her hands. A spear of darkness stabbed out, but exhaustion had slowed Alex’s reflexes, and the red-​eye lurched sideways, taking the bolt in the shoulder instead of the head. An instant later it was on top of her, slamming into her with a body blow that carried her off her feet. They hit the ground together with a clatter of stones.

  The second red-​eye got within arm’s length of Winter before she got her sword free, and she backed away, slashing wildly. The weapon hacked a gash in the thing’s arm, which he completely ignored. Winter sidestepped and lunged, sliding the saber in under the red-​eye’s armpit. It slipped between his ribs, burying itself almost to the hilt, and as he collapsed it was torn from her grasp.

  Hell. She didn’t bother to try to retrieve it from the thrashing body, just turned and ran for Alex. The girl was on her back, with the big man kneeling on her, both hands pressed against the back of her head. As Winter closed, Abraham slammed his stick against the red-​eye’s skull with all his strength, but the thing didn’t do more than sway. All right, then. How about this?

  Winter grabbed the creature by the back of the neck and unleashed Infernivore. The demon flowed eagerly through the contact, trying to grab hold of the thread of otherworldly energy that animated the red-​eye. As it had before, though, the Beast withdrew from its vessel. The big man slumped forward, suddenly limp, and Infernivore wrapped itself back around Winter irritably, deprived of its prey. Winter felt a sudden gut ​punch of fatigue, as though she’d just finished a sprint. She shook it off, grabbing the corpse by the shoulders and rolling it off Alex.

  “Abraham!” Winter went to one knee beside the girl. There was blood on her scalp where she’d hit the ground, but more worrying was her ankle, which had bent entirely the wrong way under the red-​eye’s weight. She was breathing, but she didn’t seem conscious. “She’s hurt!”

  Abraham scrambled in beside her and laid his hands on Alex’s back. He closed his eyes, concentrating hard.

  “Her skull’s not fractured. Nothing more than bruises, except the ankle.” He looked up at Winter. “I can put it back together, but...”

  “We don’t have time.” Winter turned. No glowing red eyes were visible behind them, but she saw moving shadows in the underbrush. More of the Beast’s bodies, closing in. “Can you carry her?”

  “Not for long.” Abraham’s lips were pale. “I’m not strong enough. I’m sorry.”

  “Wouldn’t work anyway. Too slow.” Winter walked over to the now-​still red-​eye and yanked her saber free, wiping the blood on the dead man’s shirt. “Heal her. As fast as you can.”

  “You should go on,” he said abruptly. “Leave us. I’ll help her and then... find somewhere to hide, like you said.”

  I knew he would try that. She hadn’t known Abraham long, but he seemed the self-​sacrificial type. Why else would he even be here? “No.”

  “Winter, please.” His face was a mask of anguish. “If you don’t get there—”

  “I know, damn it.” She slashed the saber through the air. “What are my chances of making it by myself? This isn’t sentiment; it’s tactics. If you get Alex up, she might be able to kill enough of them with her power that we’ll have a chance.”

  “I don’t think it’ll be quick enough—”

  “Try!” Winter snarled.

  If we’re all going to die, the hell if the last thing I do will be to abandon my friends. She turned to face the woods.

  A gaunt woman in peasant’s skirts stepped out of the shadow. Then a boy, another priest, several farmers, a pair of girls who looked like sisters. A dozen, more. Eyes glowing from within with the lights of hell.

  “What did I tell you?” the woman in the lead said. “There’s only one way this can end. Though I enjoy a good chase.”

  Winter wanted to say something, some cutting last words, but nothing came to mind. What does it matter? No one’s going to remember. She raised her saber for a moment, then let the tip fall. The Beast doesn’t care how many of these poor bastards I kill. Her throat was tight. What’s the point of anything—

  Something long and heavy flashed out of the darkness and hit the red-​eye in the chest. It was a spear, thrown hard enough that the tip emerged from the small of the woman’s back. She tried to speak, but when she opened her mouth, only blood emerged. She toppled a moment later, and the rest of the red-​eyes charged.

  They were met by more spears, a ragged volley, arching over Winter’s head to plunge down among the minions of the Beast with devastating effect. Most of the red-​eyes went down at once. Those that kept coming ran into a tide of black-​and-​white figures, more spears in their hands. A farmer fell, clutching at the ruin of his throat. One of the girls ran right at Winter, but someone intercepted her with a kick, hurling her to the ground. Before she could rise, another figure stabbed down with a spearpoint, once, twice, three times. The girl went still.

  Who...? Winter felt her fuzzy, sleep-​deprived mind struggling to keep up. Someone helped us?

  She backed up, until she was standing beside Alex and Abraham. Abraham had his head down and his eyes closed, deep in his healing trance. Alex had yet to move.

  The newcomers fanned out. There were a lot of them, at least a score. It was hard to see much in the starlight, but they seemed to be short and bulky, though they moved with a lithe grace. Winter saw pale skin and dark hair, and flashes of white fur. Every hand held a spear, and most of them had several more strapped to their backs.

  Those spears were leveled at her. The points didn’t gleam as metal would have, but she had ample evidence they were sharp enough.

  O-kay. Now what? Whoever these people were, they hadn’t hesitated to cut down the red-​eyes. Since they haven’t spitted us yet, they must be waiting for something. Winter cleared her throat, then hesitated. I doubt they speak Vordanai or Hamveltai. She’d worked on her Murnskai during the campaign, but it was weak compared to Alex’s or Abraham’s. Still better than nothing.

  “Kaja... sevet...” Winter concentrated on the tricky consonants of the northern language. “Kdja svet Murnskedj?” Do you speak Murnskai? “Vordanedj?” she added hopefully.

  One of the figures took a step closer. “Sveta Murnskedj.” It was a young woman’s voice, with a different accent than Winter had heard from the Murnskai she’d met on the road north. “Dost’av ohk va? Tul fuhr’nos?”

  Damn. The first part was “Who are you?”; simple enough, but the second, Tul is... sun? Sun look? Sunray? She glanced at the bodies littering the edge of the forest, and realization dawned. Sun eyes. Red-​eyes.

  “Hja, hja, hja. Tyv tul fuhr’nos.” We kill the red-​eyes. Winter drew a line across her throat, hoping they might understand if she’d gotten the word wrong. “Tyv!”

  The points of the spears lowered a fraction.

  *

&
nbsp; Abraham opened his eyes and sagged.

  “Hey!” Winter said. “Is she all right?”

  “She’ll be fine,” Abraham said, sitting down heavily. “The break was more complicated than I anticipated. I had to guide several splinters of bone back into place.” He looked down at Alex with a faint smile. “I don’t know how many times that makes it that I’ve put her back together.”

  He let out a breath and looked up, smile fading.

  “Who...?”

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Winter said. “But they haven’t killed us yet.”

  The newcomers were in the process of setting up a camp, several hundred yards away from where they’d slaughtered the red-​eyes. Winter had done her best to explain that Alex couldn’t be moved yet, and wasn’t sure if she’d gotten the point across or not. Regardless, five of the spear-​wielding warriors had stayed to watch them, weapons not pointed but not stowed, either.

  “I tried to tell them that you’d be able to speak to them once you were finished,” Winter said, after she’d explained. “I’m pretty sure I messed that up, though. But they were willing to wait once they saw Alex was hurt.”

  “Are they all women?” Abraham said, looking at the guards.

  “Possibly,” Winter said. She’d been having a difficult time making much out in the darkness, but some of the faces definitely had a feminine cast. “Is it safe to carry Alex a little way?”

  Abraham nodded. “She may not wake up for a while, but she’s not in danger.”

  “Can you ask them if we can move over to their camp, then? I think they’re getting a fire going.”

  Abraham got to his feet and waved at the guards, who approached warily. He spoke, a rapid-​fire stream of Murnskai, which they answered excitedly. One of them broke away and hurried off toward the camp.

  “She says it’s all right,” Abraham said, “but that we’re not to try to run away.”

  “I don’t think I’m up to running anywhere,” Winter said. “Help me with Alex.”

  Between them, they managed to get Alex upright and her arms slung around Winter’s neck. Winter hefted the girl—​surprisingly heavy, despite her slim frame—​and trudged toward the camp, with Abraham hovering behind her and the four guards maintaining a watchful distance.

  The women—​they were all women, as far as Winter could see—​setting up the camp went about it with the efficiency of long routine. By the time Winter arrived and set Alex down, they had a fire burning merrily, and small, steep-​sided skin tents were going up in concentric rings around it. The ground was higher and flatter than where the fight had taken place, and some distance from the edge of the forest, so a sentry would have plenty of warning in case of attack.

  In the light of the flames, she got a clearer view of their—​captors? Rescuers? Maybe both. The appearance of bulk came from the thick furs they wrapped themselves in, including long cloaks that could be wound about their middles to stay out of the way in combat. Sewn into the dark leather of these garments were many smaller, paler objects. Bones, Winter realized, after watching for a few moments. They were arranged in neat patterns, expanding spirals or flower-​like blossoms, the way a fine lady of Vordan might have her dresses sewn with pearls. The women wore their hair long, but tied up tight, with more bones worked into the weave.

  The language they spoke among themselves wasn’t Murnskai, though it was similar enough that Winter could hear the occasional familiar word. Abraham’s eyebrows went up at the sound of it, and he leaned close to Winter and spoke under his breath.

  “I’m not certain, but I think these are Trans-​Batariai.”

  Winter frowned. Tribesmen from beyond the river Bataria had dogged the army’s steps after the unnatural snows had begun—​the Vordanai had called them the “white riders” for the color of their furs. She explained this to Abraham. “I only saw a few up close, but they didn’t look like these people. And we never saw any women.”

  “A different group, perhaps?” Abraham shrugged. “Their language is supposed to be closer to what the original inhabitants of this land spoke before the Children of the Sun invaded. Murnskai comes from mixing it with Mithradacii.”

  “So what are they doing here? We’re still well south of the river.”

  “No idea. I suggest we ask them.”

  Once Alex was arranged on a blanket by the fire—​she mumbled something and curled up tighter in her sleep, which was encouraging—​Winter and Abraham sat next to her, soaking up the welcome warmth. Spearwomen watched them with unabashed curiosity, but no one spoke until another woman emerged from one of the little tents on her hands and knees.

  She looked young, in her late teens—​all the Trans-​Batariai did, now that Winter thought about it—​but she obviously carried some authority. She had a small, round face, with the dark hair that seemed universal among these people. A ragged scar, healed into a shiny ribbon, went from her eyebrow up to her hairline. She looked Winter up and down, then strode over, putting on a fierce scowl.

  “Hja tifet Murnskyr,” she said. “Hja tifet tul fuhr’nos.” You are not Murnskai. You are not red-​eyes.

  Winter nodded eagerly and looked at Abraham. “Tell her we’re... travelers.”

  Abraham spoke, and the woman replied. Winter realized her Murnskai wasn’t as bad as she’d thought—​Abraham was mostly comprehensible. It was clearly a second language for the spearwomen, or possibly a different dialect.

  “She asks if it’s only the three of us,” Abraham said. “Or if there were more who were lost to the red-​eyes.”

  “Just the three of us,” Winter said. “Please thank her for saving us. We would certainly have died without her help.”

  Abraham translated. “She says that killing demons is the shared duty of all humans,” he said when she’d finished. “She would help her worst enemy against the red-​eyes.”

  “Ask her what she’s doing here,” Winter said. “If this land is where her people normally live.”

  The spearwoman shook her head before Abraham had finished speaking. She talked at length, and Winter felt like she got the gist, though she waited for Abraham to translate before replying.

  “She says they came south because the Blessed Ones told them there was a threat to the Holy City. A vast army gathered, like she’d never seen before, and fought with heathen invaders.” Abraham coughed. “From the context, I think that’s the Vordanai.”

  “There must have been more fighting after I left,” Winter said. “I wish we knew what the hell happened.”

  “According to her, the enemy were driven back in fear. But the weather was terribly cold—​maybe demonically cold is a better translation—​and the Trans-​Batariai suffered badly. They split into smaller bands to return home, but then the cold weather vanished and all the rivers flooded. While they were trying to find their way, the red-​eyes appeared and started attacking.”

  Winter winced. She could imagine it all too well—​the army of bodies the Beast had gathered at Elysium fanning out across Murnsk in search of more raw material, spreading like flame across a dry field.

  “Are there more of them?” Winter said. There were thirty or forty spearwomen in the camp, she guessed. “A larger group nearby?”

  “No,” the spearwoman said, which Winter understood without translation. “We were separated. The others were killed or taken.” She looked anxious, staring at Abraham, and after a moment she blurted out something that Winter couldn’t quite follow.

  “Oh dear,” Abraham said.

  “What?”

  “The others told her I was helping Alex. She’s asking if I’m a healer. One of their people is badly hurt.”

  “Do you think you could help her?”

  “I’d have to examine her, but...” Abraham looked down at his hands, and his voice softened. “I won’t leave someone to die if I can help it. But if they consider my gift to be demonic, there’s no telling what they might do. We know they serve Elysium.”

 
; “On the other hand, they seem to serve the Priests of the Black,” Winter said. “Which might mean they know all about the Penitent Damned.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t order you, but—”

  “I’ll do it,” Abraham said. “I’d do it regardless. I just wanted to warn you.”

  He said this to the spearwoman, who nodded and gestured toward the tent. Winter went along with them, after one last check on Alex, and no one seemed to object. The flap at the front of the tent was low enough that she had to enter on her knees, and it was a tight fit for the three of them plus the patient, who was buried under a heavy pile of furs.

  “I’ll need to look at her,” Abraham said.

  The spearwoman nodded and gestured for him to get on with it. Abraham pushed the furs aside, revealing a girl a year or two younger than the leader. She was naked, and Winter felt herself flush slightly, but Abraham looked her over with a clinical detachment. A bandage, crusty with blood, was wound around her stomach, and seeing the placement of the wound made Winter’s heart sink. When Abraham untied the bandage and raised it gently from the skin, the sudden stench was all the confirmation she needed.

  Gut wound. And a bad one, by the look of it. Any cutter from the Second Division gathering wounded would have left this girl where she lay in favor of those who might have a chance to survive. A wound to the muscle might heal clean, and if a limb was injured it could be amputated, but a puncture to the viscera meant festering and a long, nasty death as sure as sunrise.

  Winter suddenly was back in another tent, on another continent. Bobby had taken a similar wound, after making Winter swear never to take her to a cutter. At the time, Winter had been foolish enough to imagine she might be able to do something about it on her own. Graff, a veteran sergeant, had disabused her of that notion, and only Feor’s sorcerous intervention had saved Bobby’s life. For a while.

  She shook her head and wiped at the tears pricking her eyelids. The question is, is this woman as naive as I was? Or has she guessed that Abraham has something more than ordinary healing to offer?