The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  Jo made a sign, and Barely laughed. “I don’t know. How many different ways can you answer the question, ‘You’re girls, so you can’t really be soldiers, can you?’”

  “Reminds me of Cesha Dzurk.” Raesinia rolled her eyes. She’d been around the pair from the Girls’ Own for so long that she sometimes forgot women in uniform were an unspeakable oddity in a place like Borel. “You know, if you ever get tired of explaining yourself, just tell me. You can go back to the Girls’ Own and Abby can send someone else to take a turn.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness, but I’d only fret about you.” Barely laughed at something Jo signed to her. “Besides, the food here’s a lot better.”

  Eric was waiting in her suite’s outer room, absorbed in his ever-​present notebook. He jumped to his feet when Raesinia entered, but she could tell by the set of his features—​not to mention the dark circles under his eyes—​that he didn’t have good news to share.

  “All right,” she said, waving away the maid who scuttled up to offer her tea. “Let’s hear it. You visited them all?”

  “All the members of the Honest Fellows who are currently in the Keep,” Eric said, looking down at his notebook. “Which is all of them except for Count Summerfeld, who is yachting for the next month, and Count Issenstrad, who is dead. Um.” He licked his finger nervously and flipped back a page. “I thought there was some confusion on that point, but I was assured by everyone I spoke to that the count remains a member in good standing of the Honest Fellows despite his... indisposition.”

  “So what did the living ones tell you?”

  “Mostly they told me to talk to Goodman. A few expressed sympathy but said they couldn’t act without him. The others didn’t seem very friendly to Vordan.” He sighed. “Apparently Master Goodman’s hold over the Honest Fellows is as complete as Duke Dorsay led us to believe.”

  “And Goodman? Did you see him?”

  “I did.” Eric flipped forward a page. “He... doesn’t seem to like me. As he put it, ‘Why should I bother talking to a clerk?’”

  Raesinia gritted her teeth. Fredrick Goodman had some very definite ideas about who he should be meeting with. She was starting to wish she’d brought Count Strav, just so she’d have an elderly, bearded figurehead to make Goodman comfortable. He’d see Raesinia, but clearly he didn’t take her authority seriously, and he’d flatly refused to talk to Cora. Which, being fair, is a little more reasonable. I wouldn’t believe Cora was running the treasury of a major nation if I hadn’t put her there myself.

  “Did he get over himself long enough to talk about our proposal?”

  “He said it was ‘absolutely unacceptable.’” Eric traced a finger over his notebook. “He said that there was going to be no negotiation except on the basis of Vordan acknowledging the validity of prerevolution contracts, and terms could be worked out with the debt holders. Anything less would amount to ‘accepting outright theft.’”

  “Balls of the Beast,” Raesinia swore, flopping into an armchair. She hadn’t really expected more, but she’d hoped Goodman would at least provide some avenues for negotiation. Cora had worked overtime coming up with a debt settlement she thought Vordan could afford—​and the Deputies-​General might approve—​which had revolved around treating the overall amount owed from before the revolution as a block but ignoring the terms of individual loans.

  That was the version Raesinia could follow, anyway. She hadn’t been looking forward to a laborious back-​and-​forth between Cora and Goodman, but now she apparently wasn’t even going to get that.

  “The Duke of Brookspring sent a message,” Eric said, after a moment’s silence. “He asked to see you when you have a free moment.”

  “That’s something,” Raesinia said. “Maybe he has good news.”

  *

  Duke Dorsay did not, in fact, have good news.

  His quarters looked much like hers, gloomy and elegant, with nothing of his personality in them. He only lived at the Keep in times of crisis, he explained.

  “Until this business came up, I hadn’t left Brookspring in years,” he said. “It’s on the western coast, across the mountains. You must come visit someday. In spring, preferably. We get snowed in through the winter, but spring is beautiful. It’s only a small manor, but it hums along neatly.”

  “Honestly, I feel like we might as well go there now,” Raesinia said. “We’d make just as much progress.”

  “I wouldn’t bother, unless you like sitting inside watching the rain.” Dorsay sat at his table, breaking nuts with an iron-​handled nutcracker and picking the meat from the debris. The cracks made Raesinia think of musket-​fire. “Chin up. I know you’re frustrated, but some things take time.”

  “I would like it if you didn’t treat me like a child,” Raesinia snapped. “I’m not throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get a pat on the head. People are going to die, Dorsay.”

  “I appreciate that.” Another shell broke with a crunch. “But I’m trying to get you to understand that not everyone else does.”

  “How can they not understand what Janus’ return means?”

  “Borelgai, I’m sorry to say, have traditionally taken a somewhat distant view of matters on the continent. There’s a school of thought that says you people are always killing each other, so why should we trouble ourselves? Not that I agree with it,” he added hastily. “But it’s the psychology of the matter. It lacks urgency for someone like Goodman.”

  “What about the king?” Raesinia said. She started to pace back and forth in front of the table. “He sent you to Murnsk. You said yourself he doesn’t want war.”

  “He doesn’t want to return to the old wars of religion,” Dorsay interjected. “Georg isn’t foolish enough to think that we’ll have peace forever. World affairs simply don’t work that way, I’m sorry to say.”

  “But he at least knows the danger Janus poses. Why won’t he speak with me?”

  “That I don’t know.” Dorsay leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his stomach. “Georg hasn’t been confiding in me of late, I have to admit.”

  “If I could just talk to him alone, we might get somewhere.” Raesinia shook her head. “God knows I understand how hard it is to have a reasonable conversation with half the court looking on.”

  “In Borel, private audiences with the king are considered a high honor,” Dorsay said. “Giving one to you would amount to a tacit endorsement of Vordan. Georg may not be ready to go that far.”

  “Tell him I don’t care if he makes it public or not. I’ll sneak through the back garden if he wants me to.” Or jump off the top of a tower, some part of her mind prompted, with a hysterical giggle. “But as it stands we’re getting nowhere. Goodman isn’t going to budge unless we give him some reason to think we won’t eventually be forced to meet his terms.”

  “Unfortunately, events seem to be playing into his hands,” Dorsay said.

  “You’ve had news?” Raesinia said eagerly.

  “A courier ship came in,” the duke admitted. “Though some of the reports are vague. It appears the Army of the Republic has crossed the Illifen passes at last and begun debouching into the valley of the Pale.”

  “About time,” Raesinia muttered. By the standards of Janus’ campaigns, Kurot’s march was cautious at best. “What about Janus?”

  “The so-called Imperial Army has reached the outskirts of Alves. To date, they have avoided any fortified places too large to storm, but they seem to be pushing hard for the city. It was not yet under siege when our messengers left, but may well be by now. Our man there reported the defenders are determined to hold out.” He shrugged. “Of course, from this far away, we have only a narrow view. And out of date, even via courier ship.”

  “Saints and fucking martyrs,” Raesinia growled. It could be over by now. If Kurot moved quickly, he might have already fought a battle against Janus. The threat could be past. Or, conversely, disaster might have overtaken the Army of the Republic. Marcus could be dead
. Her throat tightened.

  Marcus knows what he’s doing. But he wasn’t in command. She’d sent him out, begged him to go, under the authority of a man she knew almost nothing about. Damn, damn, damn.

  I should be there. She was tempted to drop everything, forget about Borel, and just go. Surely there was a ship in the harbor that would take her across the Borel Sea, and from there she could make her own way. Then at least I’d know what was happening. Marcus and I could be together. All that stopped her was the knowledge that it wouldn’t help; on a battlefield, she’d only be an encumbrance he’d feel obliged to protect. Here, at least, there was some chance of doing good.

  “I will petition Georg again on your behalf,” Dorsay said. She wasn’t sure how much of her conflict he’d read on her face, but his tone had softened. “Perhaps he’s simply busy with affairs of estate.”

  “Thank you,” Raesinia said. “And thank you for the news.” Without Sothe, she felt blind.

  “It’s nothing.” Dorsay shook his head. “You know, some generals like to say they’d relish a confrontation with a brilliant opponent, the opportunity to match their mind against one of the best.”

  “You want a chance to fight Janus?”

  “Good God, no. Those men are idiots. Give me stolid morons for enemies, every time. The only certain thing when two ‘great’ generals do battle is that a lot of poor soldiers are going to end up dead.” He sighed. “If Janus takes power, sooner or later Georg will send me over to fight him, unless I spoil things by dying first. Maybe that’ll be my plan, if it comes to it. War is a young man’s game anyway.”

  “If you did have to fight him, how would you do it?”

  “Ideally by having a hell of a lot more men than he does.” He grinned wolfishly. “Which is why I’m working so hard on your behalf, you see. Much better to have half the Vordanai on my side than all of them fighting against me.”

  *

  Raesinia wasn’t certain if Dorsay’s pleas had an effect, or if the news that matters in Vordan were reaching a head had knocked something loose, but the message she’d been waiting for arrived the next day, delivered by an impeccably uniformed footman.

  “His Majesty cannot grant you an audience, of course,” the young man said, with an air of insufferable authority that made Raesinia want to punch him. “But if you were to take a walk in the rose garden this afternoon, you might get a chance to share a few words with him. Coincidentally, you understand.”

  “I understand,” Raesinia said.

  The footman sniffed, bowed shallowly, and departed. Raesinia spent the rest of the morning with her maids, sorting through the clothes she’d brought from Vordan. Another place she missed Sothe—​she’d always been able to ignore the issue of how to dress, because Sothe had instructed her on what was best for any given occasion. I really did rely on her too much, Raesinia thought. Not that she didn’t deserve my trust, but having the same person responsible for assassinations and my wardrobe is putting too many eggs in one basket.

  In the end, given the fashions in Borel, she decided on something sober and understated, practically mourning wear by Vordanai standards. Dressed and equipped with the appropriate jewelry, she had the Keep servants direct her to the rose garden. This turned out to be at the top of a building that had once been a gatehouse, so getting there meant climbing a narrow spiral stair up several flights. Jo and Barely tromped along behind her, their heavy boots slapping on the ancient stone.

  A pair of the ever-​present Life Guards waited in the upper chamber, in front of a sealed door. They bowed to Raesinia.

  “You may view the gardens,” one of them said, in heavily accented Vordanai, “but your companions must remain.”

  Barely started to object, but Raesinia cut her off with a shake of the head. “I understand. Wait here, please.”

  The other guard opened the door, and a blast of warm air hit Raesinia in the face. She stepped through into a glass-​windowed greenhouse that perched atop one of the old walls and was barely wide enough for two people to walk abreast. It was considerably warmer than the rest of the Keep, and much more humid. Condensation dripped down the glass panels overhead, sliding drops of water leaving clear trails in the fog. Planters lined both sides, with vines climbing wooden trellises. Some of the flowers were in bloom, despite the late season, and colors from blood red to blue-​white were everywhere. Enormous blossoms drooped on their stalks, and the air was heavy with their sick-​sweet scent.

  About halfway along the walk stood the King of Borel, alone. He wore a dark suit, as before, and the ruby pin that seemed to be a badge of office. He was examining the flowers, one by one, lifting them up gently and running his fingers over the petals. From time to time he would write something in a small notebook, licking his fingertips to turn the pages.

  “Your Majesty,” Raesinia said.

  “Your Highness,” the king said. His notebook snapped closed. “Shall we dispense with the honors while in private? Georg will suffice.”

  “Raesinia, then,” she said. “Thank you for seeing me.”

  “I’m sorry it took so long,” Georg said. “I assume Dorsay explained the difficulties.”

  “He did, and I appreciate the problems. Believe me when I say I wouldn’t have pressed if the situation weren’t urgent.”

  “I understand.” Georg waved a hand. “But indulge my pride for a moment. What do you think of my roses?”

  “They’re beautiful,” Raesinia said. Truthfully, she wasn’t terribly fond of flowers, and these seemed a little overpowering. “They’re so... large.”

  “A gardener once told my grandfather that roses would never grow in Borel. Grandfather didn’t know anything about plants, but he didn’t like to be told no. Stubbornness runs in the family, you see.” Georg’s mouth quirked, not quite a smile. “Grandfather gathered the cleverest men in Borel and offered a prize to anyone who could help him grow roses. This greenhouse is the result, and seventy years later we have the biggest roses in the world.”

  “I can believe it,” Raesinia said.

  “An ordinary greenhouse wouldn’t do, apparently. We don’t get enough sun here. The air is warmed by water pumped up from a boiler, which also keeps it from drying out. And we’ve bred, over the years, for varieties that will tolerate our gloomy days.” He shrugged. “It’s the Borelgai way. We make do, muddle through, carry on. Eventually we get where we’re going.” He ran his fingers through his side-​whiskers. “I imagine it seems slow-​paced to a hot-​blooded continental.”

  “Your Majesty—” Raesinia hesitated. “Georg. Troops are in the field as we speak. I don’t think my desire for haste is unreasonable.”

  “Of course it isn’t,” Georg said. “I was merely trying to provide a bit of... context.”

  There was a long pause. Raesinia took a deep breath, wet air dragging at her throat. Before she could speak, the king cut her off.

  “You’re aware that the relationship between our nations has always been difficult.”

  “The War of the Princes,” Raesinia said.

  “And the War of the Twilight Strand before that. And the Three Year War, and on and on. Sometimes it seems we are destined to be in conflict.”

  “I don’t believe in destiny,” Raesinia said. “What matters is what we do, here and now. When Dorsay brought his army against Janus, it would have been easy to think they were destined to fight it out. But Dorsay told me he didn’t want war, and he told me you didn’t want it, either.”

  “There’s war, and then there’s war,” Georg agreed. “Our genteel little scuffles are nothing next to the sanguinary contests of yesteryear. Your First Consul seemed determined to bring back the bad old days.”

  “I agreed with Dorsay then. It wasn’t easy. Janus had been a friend to me, and his popularity in the army and among the people is immense. But I wanted peace, too, and so I took a chance.” Raesinia hesitated. “Now I need you to take a chance. Help us finish what we started.”

  “You’re so
certain our help is required?”

  “If Janus truly has Murnsk on his side, yes. Even if not, his record in the field is enough to ensure that I won’t underestimate him.”

  “Some might say you already have.”

  “How so?”

  “You could have executed him when you had the chance.” Georg raised an eyebrow. “Harsh, but such are the exigencies of the sovereign.”

  “I can’t say it didn’t occur to me,” Raesinia said. “But his support among the people was too strong. He agreed to return to his estate, and we sent guards to make sure he stayed there. We thought that would be enough.” She shrugged. “Obviously we were wrong.”

  “So it appears.” Georg looked down at one of his flowers, a huge specimen the color of red wine. “You understand, then, the danger of going against the will of your people.”

  “That’s why we have the Deputies-​General,” Raesinia said. “To express the will of the people.”

  “Here in Borel, things are a little different. I have the Honest Fellows.”

  “Forgive me,” Raesinia said, “but I didn’t think they represented anyone but themselves.”

  “It’s... complicated. Sometimes it seems like everything in Borel is complicated.” Georg looked back up at her. “The Honest Fellows represent the opinions of people like themselves. If they did not, if they were out of step, they would not retain their positions.”

  “So they represent lords, bankers, and traders.”

  Georg nodded. “In other words, everyone who matters.”

  “In Vordan, the Deputies give a voice to all the people.”

  “Do they?” Georg smiled faintly. “I should like to see that. But in Vordan, when the people are upset, they take to the streets and storm the prisons. Here in Borel we have not had such... disruptions. But if the lords, bankers, and traders are upset with me, they have ways of making their displeasure known that are just as efficacious, if considerably quieter. I cross them at my peril, for all that armies march at my command. After all, armies need to be fed, and the money for gunpowder must come from somewhere.”