The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  “I needed another perspective—”

  “And I need to find Winter,” Cyte said. There was a quiet desperation under her controlled voice. “Please, Marcus.”

  Was this what I had in mind all along? Marcus sighed. “Have Abby give you an escort. However many you think you’ll need. I’ll write you orders authorizing you to requisition any form of transport you need, for however much that’s worth, and as much gold as I’ve got on hand.”

  “Thank you,” Cyte said. She straightened up, blinking away tears. “I’ll find him, I swear.”

  “I have a feeling,” Marcus said, “that is going to be the easy part.”

  *

  Cyte had been insistent on leaving before nightfall, taking a half dozen Girls’ Own troopers on horses reluctantly donated by the cavalry. Marcus told Fitz and the others that she was on important business, but no more than that. Better to keep them focused on our own situation.

  That situation was, at best, tenuous. The locals were getting increasingly angry about the army’s requisitions of food, horses, and fodder. There hadn’t been any outright violence yet, but the farmers were more likely to hide their reserves than offer them up freely. Marcus ordered the foragers to range farther afield, where they hadn’t covered the ground so thoroughly, but that would be a temporary measure. Sooner or later, the army would have to move, or starve.

  When it did move, he faced a similar choice to the one he’d outlined for Cyte. They could march to Enzport, and hope that enough supplies could be brought in by ship to feed the army indefinitely. That would be the safest course, but it meant abandoning any hope of putting pressure on Janus, which would put them out of the war for all practical purposes. Or they could march south and east, taking the long way to Vordan City, meaning months on the road and no guarantee there would be a capital left by the time they got there.

  Or we could attack. Marcus found himself drawn, more and more, to that option. He almost laughed aloud when he realized why. It seems like something Janus would do. But it would mean, of course, the risk—​even the probability—​of disaster. And our last chance to help Raesinia.

  That night he slept poorly, dreaming of the dead. Adrecht and Jen Alhundt, Andy and Hayver, Parker Erdine and the girl he’d killed at Satinvol. Gaunt and desiccated, they all staggered toward him, their eyes alight from within with a horrible crimson glow.

  That’s wrong, Marcus told them.

  Why? said Jen, her rasp of a voice a parody of the one that had whispered in his ear at night.

  I’ve seen the dead walk, Marcus said. Their eyes were green.

  They all started to laugh.

  He awoke to a scratch at his tent flap, with the light of dawn just barely brightening the canvas. Marcus groaned and sat up, his shoulders stiff and aching.

  “What?” he shouted.

  “It’s me, sir.” Cyte’s voice.

  “Colonel?” Marcus shook his head, trying to clear it of sleep. “What are you doing here?”

  “Didn’t get very far before we ran into someone looking to talk to you, sir.”

  Marcus blinked and sighed. “Maybe this will make sense after I’ve had some coffee.”

  “I’ve got some ready,” Cyte said. “I think you need to come with me right away, sir.”

  True to her word, Cyte handed him a steaming tin cup as he emerged from his tent. Marcus drank, ignoring the heat, and let the bitter stuff settle into his stomach. Cyte waited patiently. The six women who’d been escorting her were nowhere to be seen.

  “All right.” Marcus breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the coffee. “You want to explain this?”

  “Just follow me, sir. We left everyone out past the sentry line.”

  Bemused, Marcus walked after Cyte through the slipshod camp. There were details digging new latrines already, he noticed. Hannah doesn’t waste any time.

  The sentries saluted as they passed. Cyte led the way down the river front, up a small rise with a copse of trees at the top. A number of horses were tethered there, and Marcus saw women in blue uniforms, as well as a knot of men in familiar muddy red. Borelgai. No sooner had he recognized the white-​furred shakos of the Life Guards than a short, hawk-​nosed figure was striding across the damp grass, hand extended.

  “General d’Ivoire! No one I’d rather see in these circumstances, believe me.”

  “Duke Dorsay?” Marcus said. He looked down at his coffee cup, then took another long drink. “I’m not still asleep, am I? Don’t answer that. What are you doing here?”

  “Like I told the colonel, I’ve come looking for you,” the duke said. “We’ve had a hell of a time getting any accurate information.”

  “That means my cavalry are doing their job,” Marcus said, still feeling bewildered. “Why are you looking for me?”

  “It’s a long and complicated story,” Dorsay said. “But the short version is that your queen asked me to. When news of the battle at Alves reached us in Viadre—”

  “Raesinia’s in Viadre? Why—” Marcus stopped. “I think you’re going to have to give me the long version.”

  “Later. Right now, the important thing is that I’ve come to help.”

  “I’ll take any help I can get,” Marcus said. “How many troops have you brought?”

  “We’re a little light on troops at the moment, I’m afraid,” Dorsay said.

  “But he’s got something better,” Cyte said, her eyes shining.

  “Well. Yes.” Dorsay cleared his throat. “The First Squadron of His Majesty’s Royal Navy is anchored about ten miles downriver. Six frigates, a flotilla of heavy transports, and a few support craft. We’d originally planned to ascend the Pale, which our charts say should be clear all the way to Alves, but when we heard you were on the Rhyf, we thought we’d get as close as we could. The river’s not deep enough to come farther.” He shrugged. “We have six men-of-war as well, but we had to leave them at Enzport. Not really designed for river work, I’m afraid.”

  It took Marcus’ mind a few moments to catch up to this. He drained the rest of the coffee.

  “How many men will fit in your transports?” he said.

  “Twenty thousand, with a fair bit of baggage,” Dorsay said mildly. “More if we heave everything over the side.”

  That’s the whole damned army. “And what were you planning on doing once you found us?”

  “Extracting you from your current predicament,” Dorsay said. “We’ll sail north, around the Jaw, and make for Nordart. From there we can supply easily from Borel by sea. When I left, your queen was working out the terms of the alliance with Georg, but when they’ve finished dickering, I imagine we’ll bring over some of our troops to even up the numbers. From there we can liberate Alves, cut Janus off from the north, and find a way to corner him.”

  “Nordart,” Marcus said. That was a thousand miles in the wrong direction. He shook his head. “No. We have to get back to Vordan City before Janus does.”

  Cyte, at Marcus’ side, nodded emphatically. The duke scratched his hawk-​like nose.

  “I’m not sure that would be wise,” he said, speaking carefully. “As I said, I haven’t brought any fresh manpower. Even if we make it to Vordan City before Janus, do you think you can hold it? My impression was that you were rather roughly handled at Alves.”

  Marcus winced. “That might be an understatement. We’re down to two divisions, more or less.”

  “And Janus has, according to our intelligence, received a fresh infusion of men from Murnsk, including a large contingent of cavalry. So the odds against us would be something like three to one.”

  “Not that bad, surely,” Cyte said. “They won’t have been idle in Vordan City. I’m sure there’ll be fresh troops waiting for us. And we can call out a citizens’ militia. That’s what carried the day in the revolution.”

  Marcus, who’d been at that battle, remembered it a little differently, but he didn’t want to undermine Cyte’s argument. Instead he added, “There were troops on t
he way to Vordan City from the south and east that didn’t arrive in time to join the army, too.”

  “Still not enough to match Janus’ numbers, though,” Dorsay said.

  “No,” Marcus admitted. “But we’ll have the advantage of the defensive.”

  “If we arrive in time.”

  Marcus exchanged a look with Cyte. I can’t exactly tell him we need to be there to help Winter stop some mystical Beast that can take over people’s minds. Marcus gritted his teeth in frustration. There has to be something. Having the help they needed materialize so miraculously only to take them the wrong way was intolerable. Dorsay, clever, cautious Duke Dorsay. Of course he wants to wait, plan, reinforce.

  “I think,” Marcus said, “if we don’t get to Vordan City before Janus does, it’s not going to matter how many men we have.”

  “If the city falls, it can be retaken,” Dorsay said with a dismissive wave.

  “With respect, Your Grace, you’re not Vordanai. When was the last time Borel was invaded?”

  “Mmm. Seven hundred years ago? Seven hundred fifty? I’ve forgotten my histories.”

  “Vordan City isn’t just another city,” Cyte said, joining in eagerly. “It represents the legitimate government of Vordan to our people, and that’s exactly what Janus is claiming to be. If he takes it and starts issuing orders from Ohnlei Palace, most of the country is going to go along with him.”

  “I’m not sure I could even vouch for my own men, in that case,” Marcus said. “Raesinia would be just another exile, and with only the Borelgai backing her it would be easy for Janus to turn sentiment against us. Foreign puppets are never popular.”

  “You see how well it worked for Orlanko,” Cyte added.

  Dorsay looked from one of them to the other, clearly distressed. At last he said, “You really believe this? That this is the only way?”

  “I do,” Marcus said. Somewhat to his surprise, he meant it. “Right now our greatest enemy is the idea that Janus is invincible. If we let him take the capital, by the time we get around to fighting him, nobody is going to believe he can be beaten.”

  Dorsay snorted. “Are you entirely certain he isn’t invincible? He certainly gives a good impression of it.”

  “I would know better than anyone, Your Grace.”

  The duke let out a long sigh. “Well. My orders are to assist you, and I suppose we can interpret the specifics as... suggestions. If you want to defend Vordan City, I don’t think I can stop you. But if you lose, you may waste all Raesinia’s hard work in securing a Borelgai army. Georg won’t commit soldiers to a lost cause.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Marcus grinned. “We’ve got no time to waste. I’ll get my men on the march today.”

  “Splendid. I’ll return to the fleet and prepare the transports.” Dorsay returned the smile. “It is good to be working with you, General. Glad to have the chance to repay the favor you did for me.”

  Dorsay bowed slightly and went off toward his guards. Marcus turned to Cyte.

  “Well done,” she said. “I didn’t think we were going to convince him.”

  “Me either. But I think he genuinely wants to help. He’s tangled with Janus before.”

  “Do you think it’s true that some of ours would switch sides if Janus took Vordan City?”

  “Maybe. I suspect we’d see a lot of quiet desertion, at the very least.”

  “What’s this favor you did him?”

  Marcus shrugged. “I saved his life from Orlanko’s assassins, back in Murnsk.”

  Cyte’s eyes widened. “And you didn’t think cashing in that chip would help?”

  “Not with Dorsay,” Marcus said. “Not if he thought it was the wrong thing to do.”

  Cyte looked after the duke, who was being helped onto his horse by his guards, then back to Marcus. “If you say so. What now?”

  “Now,” Marcus said, “we need to break it to everyone that they’re going to be getting on board a bunch of Borelgai transports.”

  *

  As Marcus had expected, this did not go over well.

  “You can’t trust the Borels,” Colonel Blackstream said, bristling. “Once we’re on the transports, we’ll be completely dependent on them. They could ship us to Khandar for all we could do about it.”

  Blackstream was old enough to have served in the War of the Princes, Marcus reflected, which made his distrust natural enough. He and the other colonels of the Second Division had gathered in the command tent, along with Cyte, Fitz, and Give-Em-Hell.

  “Not completely dependent,” Fitz said mildly. “I imagine we’ll still have access to our weapons, and we’d considerably outnumber the crews. We could take the ships, if necessary.”

  “And if we did,” Blackstream shot back, “what about the men-of-war? They could blow us out of the water, no trouble.”

  “Why would they bother?” said de Koste. “If the Borels wanted us out of the way, they could just leave us here in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’m more worried about what will be waiting for us at the other end,” said Sevran. “Forgive me, sir, but are you certain it’s wise to go straight to Vordan City? Perhaps we could send messages ahead and ask any forces there to meet us at Vayenne while we wait for Borelgai reinforcements.”

  “Bah,” Give-Em-Hell said. “What’s the use in waiting? They’ll come for Vordan City, and we’ll be ready. You boys hold the line against the first charge, and then we’ll ride out and give ’em hell!”

  “Against three-to-one odds?” Sevran said.

  “We’ve faced worse,” Give-Em-Hell shot back.

  Cyte leaned close to Marcus’ ear as the argument went on. “Aren’t you going to remind them who’s in command here?” she murmured.

  “Let them have it out first,” Marcus said quietly. It was something he’d learned in Khandar, when his status had been more like first among equals as senior captain. People were far more likely to give in to authority after they’d worn themselves out in argument than when they were full of fight. “Besides, I can’t say they don’t have a point. We can’t tell them about Winter.”

  “Enough.” To Marcus’ surprise, it was Abby’s voice that cut through the rising chatter. To this point, she’d been quiet, but now she stood with her hands flat on the table. “Of course we’re going back to Vordan City. Your queen heard that you were in difficulty, and she managed to pry a fleet out of the Borels, for God’s sake, and sent it to come get you. Now she needs you to get back into the fight.” She looked around the circle. “Are you going to say no?”

  “You trust the Borels?” Blackstream said.

  “I trust Raesinia,” Abby said. “And I trust the general. That’s enough.”

  “Damned right!” Give-Em-Hell said. “As long as we get to Vordan City in time to find a few remounts, the cavalry will be ready for anything.”

  Sevran looked at Blackstream, then at Marcus, and shrugged. “If those are your orders, General.”

  “They are,” Marcus said. “As Colonel Giforte said, the queen has asked us for help, and I don’t intend to let her down.” Not again. “We march in the morning. Duke Dorsay said it’s ten miles to the ships, and I want our men embarking by tomorrow evening.”

  There was a chorus of “Yes, sir!” and a round of salutes. The colonels stood and filed out, but Fitz lingered for a moment.

  “You know that Sevran is right, of course,” he said. “The numbers are against us. And Vordan City is not defensible. Not that I’m questioning your decision.”

  “I’m aware of the numbers. They were against us in Khandar, if you recall.”

  “In Khandar, Janus was on our side.” Fitz smiled thinly. “I’ll start working on a plan, shall I?”

  “I’m hoping we’ll have more to work with,” Marcus said. “But we won’t know until we get there. So yes, it can’t hurt to start thinking about it.”

  “Understood, sir.” Fitz saluted, and slipped out through the flap, leaving only Cyte at the big table.
Marcus sat down next to her with a sigh.

  “Do you have any idea how to organize an army to board transports, Captain?” he said.

  “No, sir. I imagine you’d have to think about provisions, fresh water—”

  “And a hundred other things, I’d wager. Hopefully, Dorsay’s people have a little more experience.”

  “We’ll get there, sir. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried. Not about that, anyway. Too many other things to worry about.”

  “Understood, sir,” Cyte said with a smile. “Was there anything else? I should draw up marching orders for tomorrow.”

  “Go ahead,” Marcus told her. “And thank you, Colonel. For all your help.”

  “Of course, sir.” She smiled, a surprisingly cheerful expression on her serious face. “I’m glad I don’t have to leave the army behind.”

  “So am I, believe me. I’d never get all the paperwork done myself.”

  Cyte laughed, saluted, and left. Marcus sat for a while, staring at the maps and stray papers on the table. His thoughts went north, to Borel, and Raesinia.

  She went to Borel. To meet with the king and ask for his help. If he knew Raesinia, she’d asked quite forcefully, and it apparently had worked. Typical. I’m scraping to keep the army alive, and she casually produces a fleet out of nowhere to rescue us. For a moment the need to see her, to hold her as he had after she’d come to his rescue in Murnsk, was nearly overpowering.

  I should ask Dorsay when she’s coming back. It would be safer for her to stay in Viadre if Vordan City was going to become a battlefield, but for a moment Marcus allowed himself to think selfishly. Maybe she’ll lead the reinforcements herself, like one of the warrior queens of old. The image of Raesinia in medieval plate armor with a winged helmet was simultaneously so incongruous and so fitting that he laughed out loud.

  *

  The next morning it was raining again, a light mist that was just enough to add a layer of slime to the surface of the roads and make everyone clammy and miserable. Cavalry patrols trooped across the Gond bridge at regular intervals, pulling back across the river, and the artillerists retrieved their fuses and powder barrels from the bridge to the relief of all concerned. The infantry packed up their tents and began the long trudge to the west, following the curve of the river.