“Camp followers?” Alex guessed.
“More likely refugees,” Abraham said. “Between the weather and the Beast, people are scared. Some of them probably fled to the nearest army post.”
Winter guessed their number at a few hundred, along with perhaps a hundred soldiers. A rickety wooden stair led down from the wall walk and into the camp, and she threaded her way among the tight-packed shelters. The presence of the refugees was helpful—it meant, if they were careful, no one would automatically assume they were intruders. Now if we can only find what we’re looking for.
She wasn’t sure, exactly, what they were looking for. Something about the way the sergeant had reacted to Kollowrath, as well as her own experience with aristocratic senior officers, told her that the bulk of the garrison probably wasn’t particularly dedicated to the captain. If I can convince them that the Beast is coming and that we all need to flee together...
“There’s the ships,” Alex said. “Plenty of guards, though.”
The stone pier on which the two sailing vessels were docked was indeed heavily guarded, with a couple of bright lanterns and at least eight men on watch. They’re worried about the refugees trying to steal the ships. Unless they decided to simply attack the garrison, there would be no sneaking out that way.
“We need information,” Winter muttered. “Follow my lead, and try to look pathetic.”
Alex looked down at her battered clothes, then over at Abraham. “That shouldn’t be hard.”
Winter picked a fire with only one person beside it, an old man in creased leathers, with a long rifle leaning against his shoulder. He wore a fur hat and had long, greasy gray hair. She saw him tense as they approached, then relax slightly, his hand falling away from the rifle.
“Hello, friends,” he said in Murnskai. Winter silently gave thanks that she’d been practicing with the Haeta. “I don’t know you.”
“We just arrived,” Winter said. “May we share your fire for a few minutes?”
He gestured laconically. Winter sat, the heat feeling good on her aching legs, and Alex and Abraham settled down beside her. The old man looked at them curiously.
“You’re a long way from home,” he said.
“That’s the truth,” Winter said, nodding. “I’ve been traveling a long time.”
“Going somewhere?”
“Just... away.”
“I know that feeling,” the old man said. He grinned, showing a total of perhaps five remaining teeth. “I’m Fyotyr.”
“Winter,” Winter said. “I wanted to ask you a few questions, if I could. About what’s going on here. I didn’t expect there to be so many people.”
“No one did. Everyone thought they were the only one with the idea of running to the army when the summer froze or when the demons came stalking.” Fyotyr spat into the fire with a sizzle. “I’ve been to the garrison many times. It’s on my route east, when I go that way. But I’ve never seen it like this.”
“What are the soldiers going to do with everyone?”
“They don’t know, God help them.” Fyotyr shook his head. “That bastard Kollowrath would put everyone out of the gate and let the demons take them, but Lieutenant Dobraev and Sergeant Gorchov have more sense. If it were up to Dobraev, we’d have been gone from here days ago, but Kollowrath insists on waiting for orders from high command. Orders!” He snorted. “The world has gone to hell—anyone should be able to see that. Blizzards and demons and now Vhalnich says he’s the new emperor. What’s the sense of holding down a little fort in the middle of nowhere?”
Dobraev. As she’d expected, that was the man she needed to talk to. It sounds like he already wants to evacuate. We just need to convince him to take us along.
“Why is there such a heavy guard on the boats?” Alex said. “Are they afraid someone is going to steal them?”
“Some of the refugees already tried,” Fyotyr said. “Kollowrath was furious. He ordered the sails and oars stripped and stored in the keep so it wouldn’t happen again. I think he’s terrified but can’t bring himself to admit it.”
“What about this morning?” Winter said. “Somebody told me there was an incident.”
“Some savages wanted to take shelter.” Fyotyr shrugged. “I heard it was a trick. Two soldiers were killed. Now we have them to worry about, on top of the demons.”
“You don’t seem very concerned,” Abraham said mildly.
“Eh,” the old man said, “I’ve seen worse days. This is Murnsk. If we got excited over every little catastrophe, we’d never be stopping.” He leaned forward. “Now, what brought you all the way out here?”
Winter spun him a tale about sick parents, a trek for medicine, and a journey that went awry in foul weather, with Alex adding a few creative details where necessary. It seemed to satisfy Fyotyr, who nodded solemnly.
“You’re a good child,” he said. “If only my own sons had such respect for their father.”
“I don’t even know if Mother is still alive,” Winter said. “If I can get back to Dimiotsk, then I can find my way home.”
“Well. You’re safer in here than out there, but I wouldn’t count on leaving anytime soon. The worse things get, the more that stubborn bastard Kollowrath will dig in his heels.” He waved a hand. “If you’ve got tents, spread them anywhere there’s room.”
“We will.” Winter hesitated, then decided to push her luck. “Can you tell me where Lieutenant Dobraev is? I wanted to ask him for news of the army. I have a brother, you see.”
Fyotyr frowned and pointed. “That’s his shack over there. But don’t wake him; he’s worse than a bear. Try to catch him after breakfast.”
“Thank you.” Winter yawned. “We’d better find a little space for ourselves.”
“Check the west wall. It’s close to the privies, so the smell isn’t great, but there should be room.”
Fyotyr grinned, and Winter smiled back. She and the others slipped into the darkness, passing between tents and lean-tos until they were well out of sight of the old man.
“We’re not actually going to sleep next to the toilets, are we?” Alex said.
“I think we may not be getting a lot of sleep tonight.” Winter looked up at the keep, its solid stone bulk looming over the rest of the encampment. That’s where Kollowrath will be. “First we need to have a chat with this Lieutenant Dobraev.”
*
Dobraev had one of the nicer shacks, as befit an officer. It was built against the east wall, leaning on the palisade for support, tucked in neatly underneath the wall walk. Unlike most of the others, it had been there for some time, and someone had tried to make it proof against the elements. It was built out of awkwardly split logs, with the gaps stuffed with rags and a doorway covered by half a rug nailed to the top of the frame. It was big enough that Winter guessed it might even have two rooms.
A corporal stood by the door, hands cupped around a twist of something he was smoking. He wore Murnskai white, with a nonregulation fur cap on his head and a musket slung over his back. Winter didn’t think he was much of a threat, but they couldn’t afford for him to raise the alarm.
“How long will someone stay out when you do that sleep trick?” Winter said.
“As long as I want,” Abraham whispered. “Up to maybe six hours.”
“And how long does it take?”
“Once I’m touching them, just a couple of seconds.”
“Good. Give our friend here a nap while I distract him.”
Abraham nodded, face twisted as though he’d eaten something sour. He doesn’t like doing this. Winter could understand that, but she was glad he was willing to work through his moral scruples when it counted. She took a deep breath and walked up to the guard, giving him an openly appraising look.
“Hello, Corporal.”
The man—boy, really—frowned and pinched his smoke between two fingers. “Do I know you?”
“My masters and I came in last night,” Winter improvised, “and we�
�ve got wares to sell. I see you’re...” She waggled her eyebrows at the twisted paper, not really knowing if it was stuffed with tobacco or something more exotic.
The corporal grinned. “Oh, you’re a saint. This is my last pinch.” Then his eyes narrowed. “How much will it cost?”
“Not much,” Winter said, as Abraham came up behind the boy and put one hand on his shoulder. The corporal started, then sagged, his eyes rolling up in his head. Before he hit the ground Winter caught him and dragged him into the shadows beside the shack.
“You two should do this sort of work more often,” Alex said, strolling up behind them. “I could have used you back in my thieving days.”
Winter rolled her eyes. She pushed the rug aside a fraction and found that a faint light emerged from within. There was a quiet clatter and the slosh of water.
“Someone’s awake,” she said. “Stay here until I call.”
“What if he gives the alarm?” Alex said.
“Then we’re in big trouble.” Winter pushed the rug up and slipped underneath, as quietly as she could.
The interior of the shack was only dimly lit. As Winter blinked, she made out a very small iron stove with a tiny flame flickering in its box and a pot of water on top of it. A big man with a full, bushy beard crouched in front of it, dressed only in a nightshirt. He puffed gently into the firebox, encouraging the flame to catch.
Winter drew her pistol, aimed, and said quietly, “I’d really prefer not to kill you, but I will if I have to. Please stay quiet.”
The man froze, hands on either side of the firebox. He turned his head, far enough to see the weapon in her hand.
“Stand up and raise your hands slowly,” Winter said. “I promise you I just want to talk. If you don’t do anything stupid, you won’t get hurt.”
He hesitated for a moment, and she could see that he was calculating the odds. Grab the firebox, fling it at her, dive out of the way—what would happen? Nothing good, she thought. You have to know that.
The man stood up. To Winter’s surprise, she recognized him—he’d been the sergeant accompanying Kollowrath that morning. The one who at least tried to stop this mess.
“Where’s Lieutenant Dobraev?” Winter said.
The sergeant stiffened. “If you want him, you’ll have to go through me. Shoot and you’ll have the whole camp down on you.”
Now that her eyes had adjusted, Winter could see she’d been right about there being two rooms in the shack. The one they were in had the little stove, a larger fire pit beside it, and a few boxes and supply crates arranged to form a table. Another curtained doorway led to the other room, up against the palisade wall.
“You’re the woman from this morning,” the sergeant said. “The one who was with the savages.”
“And you were with Kollowrath,” Winter said. “Before the shooting started.”
He frowned. “You killed two of my men.”
“And your men killed three of my friends.” Winter swallowed. “It was a mistake. Your captain is to blame, if anyone is.”
“How did you get inside?”
“We’ll get to that. You’re Sergeant Gorchov?”
He nodded slowly.
“I’m Winter Ihernglass. Please believe me when I say I don’t want to hurt anybody here.”
“That’s a little difficult to stomach when you have a pistol in my face.”
“Would you have spoken to me if I didn’t, or just called for the guard?”
“Fair, I suppose.” His face darkened. “What did you do to Vlissy? If you’ve hurt him—”
“He’ll be fine. He’s just asleep, for now. My friends are keeping watch outside.”
“More savages?”
“No.” Winter fought down a twinge of guilt. “These are... other friends. Now, I really need to speak to Lieutenant Dobraev. Is he here?”
“Kila?” Another man’s voice came from behind the curtain. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Byr,” Gorchov said. “Just making a cup of tea.”
There were a couple of footsteps, and then the curtain was pulled aside. A younger man, blond, pale, and completely naked, blinked in the light and froze when he saw Winter.
“Tell him to stay quiet,” Winter hissed.
“Don’t scream, Byr,” Gorchov said. “Not yet, anyway.”
“Who exactly are you?” The young man, presumably the lieutenant, mustered as much dignity as he could given his state. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m trying to save everyone in this garrison,” Winter said, letting a little bit of her frustration into her voice. “If I put the pistol down, do you think we could have a talk about that without anyone doing anything stupid?”
The two soldiers looked at each other, and Gorchov shrugged. “Your call, Byr.”
“I think I would like that tea,” Dobraev said. “And some pants, if the young lady wouldn’t mind.”
*
Winter felt obligated to watch Dobraev dress, in case he took the opportunity to try to send for help. The second room was just a messy sleeping area, with a single huge bearskin apparently standing in for a bedroll. Dobraev pulled on his trousers and a white uniform shirt, then came back into the other room amiably enough. Gorchov was at work on the firebox again, and Alex and Abraham sat at the makeshift table.
“Winter Ihernglass,” Dobraev said. “Kila told me what you said this morning, about someone coming to attack the fortress.”
“It’s true,” Winter said. “And you’re not going to be able to stop them when they get here.”
“No bandits have ever been bold enough to raid a garrison,” Dobraev said.
“These aren’t bandits. They’re kind of... fanatics.” Winter struggled for something the two men would believe. “After the weather and the war, lots of people have been displaced. Some of them have fallen in with a cult. They’ve been grabbing everyone they can and killing everyone who won’t convert.”
The two soldiers exchanged glances, and Gorchov nodded slowly.
“I’ve heard of things like that,” he said. “In Novhora, when they had that terrible winter, they found whole villages turned to worshipping idols. Doing sacrifices in front of them.”
“Why?” Dobraev said. By his accent, Winter guessed he was city-born. His speech was different from Gorchov’s and the other locals’.
“People do stupid things when they get desperate.” Gorchov turned back to Winter. “You really think they could take the fortress?”
“They’re crazy, and there are a hell of a lot of them,” Winter said. “We’ve been running for weeks, and they’re not far behind us.”
“Who are ‘we’?” Dobraev said. “This morning I heard you had a bunch of Trans-Batariai. Now you have these two.”
“The people who were with us this morning are called the Haeta,” Winter said. “My friends and I have been traveling with them until now.”
“Abandoned you, have they?” Gorchov said. “The savages can’t really be counted on.”
“They want to kill you all,” Winter said bluntly. “As revenge for what you did this morning. One of the girls who died was their leader, and her sister is in charge now.”
“We didn’t intend to hurt anyone,” Gorchov said. “And we lost men, too.”
“I know,” Winter said. She gritted her teeth hard enough that it brought tears to her eyes. “I’m just trying to get everyone through this, and killing one another isn’t going to help.” She gestured at Alex and Abraham. “That’s why we’re here. We came over the wall to see if we could work things out before the shooting starts.”
“You came over the wall?” Dobraev said. “Just like that?”
“Alex is a thief,” Winter said.
“The greatest thief in the world, actually,” Alex said, cracking her knuckles. “This wasn’t exactly a challenge.”
“And you?” Gorchov said to Abraham. “I suppose you’re the world’s greatest lover?”
“I’m a healer,
” Abraham said. “And... a priest, of a sort.”
“A thief, a priest, and... whatever you are,” Gorchov said, looking back to Winter. “You come out of the wilderness with a mad warning, and you want us to—what?”
“Get everyone on the ships,” Winter said. “Invite my Haeta friends inside as well. Get us all downriver and away from the crazy bastards behind us.”
“Madness,” Gorchov said. “We’d have to load the ships to the rails, and there’d be no room for supplies. We’d have to leave our guns, ammunition, everything.”
“You’d be alive,” Winter said. “Which is more than I can say for you if you stay here.”
“You have to understand,” Dobraev said contemplatively, “that this is no small thing you’re asking.”
“I understand,” Winter said. “But you must know no orders are coming. Murnsk is in chaos. I doubt anyone remembers you’re still here.”
“It’s a moot point in any case,” Gorchov said. He turned to the firebox, where the pot had finally begun to boil, and began scooping the hot water into tin cups. “Kollowrath will never listen. Even if he believed there was an army of madmen coming, he’d say it was our duty to defend our posts.”
“You don’t agree, though,” Winter said. “What purpose would it serve for you to die here?”
“It has been suggested,” Dobraev said carefully, “among the common soldiers, that we would be better off moving to Dimiotsk. But the captain has made it clear that he views any such suggestion as mutinous.”
“What if you were in command?” Winter said. “What would you do?”
Time seemed to stretch thin. Gorchov froze, a cup in each hand. Winter watched Dobraev’s face. The young man gave very little away, but she could see the struggle.
“That seems unlikely,” he said eventually.
“If something happened to Kollowrath—” Alex said.
Dobraev turned to her. “I’m not stupid, young lady. Nor am I entirely without honor. I will not sit and listen to you speak of murdering my superior officer, no matter how... misguided he may be.”
The Infernal Battalion Page 31
