The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  “You can overrule the Honest Fellows, though. You’ve done it before.”

  “When I thought the reward merited the risk. Or if I was convinced they would come around to my point of view in the end.”

  “So what’s the reward?” Raesinia felt like the garden was tightening around her, the heavy air almost numbing. She shook her head to clear it. “I don’t think you brought me here just to say you couldn’t contradict Goodman. What are you looking for?”

  “You’ve met my son Matthew, I understand.”

  Raesinia blinked. “I have. We had dinner last night.”

  “You got along, I hope?”

  “He was... polite.” Raesinia’s eyes widened. He can’t be taking this where I think he’s taking it.

  But he was. The king looked down at her gravely and clasped his hands behind his back.

  “He has expressed great admiration for you,” he said. “And he remains, somewhat to my distress, unmarried. As do you, I believe.”

  Raesinia stared at him, searching for words.

  “You will need a consort, of course, if the house of Orboan is to continue,” Georg went on. “And aside from my personal considerations, a union between you and Matthew would guarantee ongoing peace between Borel and Vordan.”

  “Your Majesty...” Raesinia said, then shook her head. “I’m not sure what to say.”

  “Surely you must be aware that a continuation of the family line is an expectation of those in our position?”

  “Of course,” Raesinia said. “But given the crises since my father’s death, I haven’t given the matter much thought.”

  “Perhaps it’s age that gives one perspective,” Georg said, with another small smile.

  I’m getting really sick of people telling me how being older helps them understand. Raesinia’s trained reflexes kept her features neutral, but she felt her teeth clenching. “I take it Matthew knows about this offer?”

  “He does. And he approves.”

  No wonder he’s been so persistent. “I hope you’re not expecting an answer right away. I will need to consult my advisers.”

  “Oh, without a doubt. But now you have my offer. If you want me to go against the best recommendations of the Honest Fellows, then I need to know that what I’m getting will be worth the price. A guarantee of peace is the only thing that will serve.” He inclined his head. “Have a pleasant evening, Your Highness. I hope to hear from you soon.”

  *

  Bastard, Raesinia thought as she paced the floor of her foyer. Conniving bastard.

  Eric had taken one look at her expression and scuttled back to his own room, and her maids were similarly employing themselves elsewhere. Even Barely and Jo were standing guard in the corridor, out of sight. When did everyone become so worried about my temper, anyway? She kicked a small footstool and gave a smile of satisfaction as it caromed off the wall, leaving a gouge in the paneling.

  The king must have told Goodman about his “offer.” If not the specifics, then at least enough for the merchant to know that he could take a hard line and not risk having his monarch overrule him. In fact, better for Georg if Goodman pushes hard. If we can’t afford to meet the Honest Fellows’ conditions, then I have no choice but to take Georg’s deal or go home empty-​handed.

  The door to the suite opened, and Cora blew in. She was wearing new clothes, a dark blue dress with clever little accents in lighter-​colored silk, and silver jewelry. With her hair tied up neatly, it was a reminder that Cora was really quite pretty, or would be once she lost the gawky angularity of adolescence.

  “Raes!” she said. “You won’t believe what’s happening in the market.”

  “I don’t know,” Raesinia said. “Right now I can believe almost anything.”

  Unlike the others, Cora was sufficiently oblivious not to notice the tension in Raesinia’s tone. “Vordanai debt contracts are everywhere. It’s madness. Apparently someone worked out a legal form that allows for the creation of negotiable paper based on the resolution of an existing debt, even if the debt itself is nontransferable. They got it approved by whoever manages that here, and a week later every merchant in the market is buying and selling the things.”

  “In Vordanai, please,” Raesinia said, closing her eyes. “Simple Vordanai.”

  “They’re betting on our debt,” Cora said. “Making a contract that says one person owes another a hundred eagles when such ​and ​such a debt is paid. Which means the value of the contract is somewhere between a hundred eagles and nothing, depending on whether you think the debt is likely to be paid and when. I think information is getting out of the Keep to the market, and someone found out that you and Goodman were talking about what will happen to all that old debt, so they figured out a way to speculate on it.”

  “Really?” Raesinia sighed. “Bad enough that I have to argue with that idiot, but now people are betting on how well I’ll do, like I’m some kind of racehorse?”

  “More or less,” Cora said.

  “So what are the odds?”

  “Six and a half,” Cora said promptly. “Varying a bit for the specifics, of course.” At Raesinia’s look of incomprehension, she explained. “That means a contract with a face value of a hundred eagles is selling for six and a half eagles. If you want racetrack odds”—​she screwed up her face for a minute—“it’s about fifteen to one that we’ll get to an agreement.”

  “And have you been putting any money down?”

  “Not yet,” Cora said. “But I was thinking. I still have credit at the markets here, from back when we broke the Second Pennysworth Bank in the revolution. I could—”

  Raesinia held up a hand, her patience reaching an end. “Is this something that’s going to help us with Goodman?”

  “Probably not.” Cora deflated slightly. “I take it he didn’t like my proposal?”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” Raesinia said. As briefly as she could, she summarized the meeting she’d had with the king. Cora’s eyes went wide.

  “The way I see it, they’re playing us between them,” Raesinia said. “Goodman pushes hard, which makes it more likely that the king gets what he wants. Or else we give in, and bankrupt the country trying to pay them back.”

  “Or we agree and then renege, and the rest of our creditors pull out,” Cora said. “Half of Vordan would collapse, and that’s if the Borels don’t declare war.”

  “The hell of it is, I see Georg’s point.” Raesinia’s anger was fading now that she’d put things out in the open. It left her cold and numb, like her blood was draining away. “This is the best way to assure Borel’s interests in Vordan, once Janus is beaten.”

  “It’s ridiculous,” Cora said, toying nervously with her new silver bracelets. “He can’t actually expect you to marry a man you’ve barely met, right? It’s like something out of ancient history.”

  Raesinia frowned. It was hard to explain that she’d always expected some kind of arranged marriage. It may be ancient history for ordinary people, but queens don’t usually get the luxury of choice. On the other hand, over the past few months she’d allowed herself to believe it could be otherwise.

  “I don’t know.” Raesinia stopped her pacing and flopped into an armchair. “Maybe he’s right.”

  “Who? The king?” Cora shook her head. “You can’t be serious!”

  “He’s offering us an out.” Raesinia tipped her head back and looked at the ceiling. “You’ve said yourself we’ll never be able to come to terms with Goodman.”

  “He seems unlikely to budge,” Cora admitted. “But aren’t you forgetting something?”

  “What?”

  “Marcus!”

  Marcus. With his rough beard and kind eyes, a tough skin wrapped around a soft vulnerability that made him deliciously easy to tease. Marching into battle, where I sent him.

  “You love him, don’t you?” Cora said.

  “I think I do,” Raesinia said. “I don’t have a lot of points of comparison.”

&n
bsp; “Then you have to marry him,” Cora said, as though that concluded the argument. “Not some prince who can’t even hold a decent conversation.”

  Raesinia had an image of last night’s dinner repeated for eternity. It was like a vision of a particularly vicious hell.

  “I always knew we’d have problems with the court and the Deputies,” Raesinia said. “The people may love Marcus, but he’s still a commoner. Commoners don’t marry queens.”

  “I think queens marry whomever they want,” Cora said. “Otherwise what’s the point of being queen?”

  Raesinia closed her eyes and let her head sink against the overstuffed cushion. “Sometimes,” she said, “I really wonder.”

  12

  Marcus

  Crossing the Illifen passes was considerably easier than Marcus had expected. These were old, tired mountains, worn gentle by the passage of years, a far cry from the craggy peaks of Murnsk. They used the High Gap, steepest of the three available routes, but even this was a gentle enough slope that the teams pulling the wagons and guns didn’t struggle. A good road ran from the banks of the river Marak, which dwindled into something more like a stream, and wound its way through the foothills of the mountains before passing through the gap.

  Marcus was glad to see that Kurot had ordered Give-Em-Hell’s light cavalry ahead of the rest of the army. Janus was still supposed to be a hundred miles off, but even a small advance force at the far end of the gap could have caused serious difficulties. Fortunately, the riders reported no contact with the enemy, and the great blue stream of the Army of the Republic flowed over the saddle between the rounded heights and into the valley of the Pale.

  Abby had reported no serious difficulties while he’d been away. According to Cyte, she’d never been filled in on the supernatural side of General Ihernglass’ activities, so he didn’t share his suspicions or what he’d learned at Mieranhal. He badly wanted to talk it over with Fitz, but he hadn’t been let in on the secret, either, and Marcus was wary of involving anyone who hadn’t seen proof firsthand. If someone had come to me with this story, I’d have probably thought they were crazy.

  The second night out of the pass, an unseasonable thunderstorm blew in, drenching the ground and frightening the animals. It had died to a steady drizzle when a scratch came at Marcus’ tent flap, which turned out to be a lieutenant on Kurot’s staff, bearing an invitation. The Column-​General wanted a council of war.

  “General d’Ivoire.” Kurot’s voice was warm as he came around the map table. Marcus saluted, but Kurot waved it away and shook his hand. “I hope your errand went satisfactorily.”

  “Perfectly, sir. Personal business. Sorry to be away from the column.”

  “Nothing to worry about.” Kurot smiled genially. “I knew you’d be here when it mattered.”

  He gestured for Marcus to take a seat. Fitz and Val were already there, and shortly after de Manzet ducked in, shaking the rain from his jacket and murmuring apologies.

  Kurot waved him off. “Welcome, General de Manzet. I believe this completes our little ensemble, since General Stokes is still in the field.”

  He stood across the table from them, looking down at the map. His little wooden soldiers were deployed across it, a tight bunch in blue with a handful of horsemen and cannon. Across from them were figures dyed a deep burgundy. On one corner of the table stood the general’s ever-​present chessboard, where a game was in progress.

  “The latest reports from our scouts are in,” Kurot said, sliding cavalry figures of both colors across the table. “Our patrols have crossed swords with Vhalnich’s outer cordon, and we still don’t have his precise dispositions. But his general intentions are obvious.” He began laying out red infantry on the map, behind its protective screen of cavalry. “His main body seems to be concentrated in the angle between the Daater and the Pale, with the intention of laying siege to Alves.”

  Marcus looked at the map. The winding river Daater flowed roughly east to west, up to the point where the Pale slashed down diagonally from northeast to southwest. Between them they made an angle like a wedge of cheese. Alves, the largest city in the Pale valley, was pressed into the point of that wedge, where the two rivers met.

  “Alves has strong, modern fortifications,” Kurot went on. “It will not fall quickly. On the surface, this appears to present a golden opportunity for us to advance and attack Vhalnich’s forces while they are pinned against the city.”

  Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but Fitz got there first. “Where Janus is involved, sir, nothing is as it appears on the surface.”

  Kurot smiled. “As you say, General Warus. All things considered, I believe this is a trap.” He paced, as though to survey the situation from every angle, then went to the chessboard. Pursing his lips, he pushed a pawn forward one space.

  Theatrics, Marcus decided. Is he hoping we’re going to be impressed?

  “The Daater is passable at several points,” Kurot said. “The Pale is deeper, but Vhalnich has control of several bridges upstream. Once we commit to attacking his army, which will no doubt be dug in, I would expect flanking forces to fall on us from both directions in a classic double envelopment.”

  De Manzet scratched his nose. “The timing on that would be tricky. It’s a risky plan.”

  “Exactly the sort of bold maneuver Vhalnich is known for.” Kurot adjusted his spectacles, smiling slightly. “It’s always worth knowing the character of your enemy. Having anticipated his moves, you can remain one step ahead.”

  “We’re not going to attack, then?” Val said.

  “Not directly. Amateurs think of war in terms of battles, General Solwen. Professionals think about lines of supply.” He picked up another figure, a stylized wooden wagon, and placed it astride the Pale upstream of Alves. “Janus is drawing his supplies from depots in the north, captured when the divisions at the frontier went over to him. His lines of communication run down the west bank of the Pale for the most part, protecting them from interference as long as the bridges are blocked. But at some point”—​he tapped the wagon—“they needs must switch to the east bank to support his siege.

  “This is his point of vulnerability, gentlemen. He hopes that we will charge ahead, taking the bait, and attack him head-on. Instead we will strike here. Part of our force will proceed to Alves, appearing to fall into the trap. When he springs it, our main force will fall on one of his flanking columns and destroy it, while our detached force makes a fighting retreat. We will seize this bridge and block his line of supply, and then he will be forced to engage us on our terms or starve.”

  It looked very neat, the blue soldiers slipping in behind the oblivious reds. Marcus was reminded of diagrams from his textbooks at the War College, which was undoubtedly what Kurot had in mind. He glanced surreptitiously at his fellow officers. Fitz’ face was guarded, as always, but Val looked skeptical, and de Manzet was deep in thought.

  “Comments?” Kurot set his wooden soldiers down and smiled, though the expression seemed a little forced. “I do not expect you to obey like slaves. You are all”—​he glanced at Marcus—“experienced officers.”

  Marcus cleared his throat. “It seems a little... complicated.”

  Kurot’s smile became even more strained. “Military operations often are.”

  “You assume that Janus will react as you expect,” Fitz said. “And this force serving to spring the trap”—​he indicated the most forward of the blue soldiers—“​could be in serious danger if Janus ignores the threat to his line of communication and presses his attack.”

  “He won’t,” Kurot said. “The cardinal sin of any general is underestimating his adversary, and I do not intend to commit it. Vhalnich is too good a commander to simply allow his flank to be turned. If he committed to attacking the bait force, he might destroy it, but we would be in a position to capture his entire army. No. He’ll come north to fight once it becomes clear he’s in danger.”

  “What about Alves?” Val said. “There must
be a bridge there, and supplies.”

  “Messengers have gotten out of the city in small boats,” Kurot said. “Colonel Vinkers is in command there, and he is certain of his ability to hold out for at least another four weeks. In the very worst case, I have ordered him to demolish the bridges and fire the magazines before surrendering. Vhalnich will not escape that way, have no fear.”

  That seemed to be the last of the objections. After a moment of silence, Kurot straightened.

  “Very good. Detailed orders will be on the way before nightfall, gentlemen. The diversionary force will be yours, General Solwen, including much of the cavalry reserve. General d’Ivoire, you’ll have the lead for the attack against Vhalnich’s flanking force, when it shows itself. The rest of the army will follow and be ready to deal with Vhalnich’s primary attack. We complete our approach march tomorrow, and barring any unexpected developments, the plan goes into effect at first light the day after.”

  All four generals rose and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

  “God be with you all,” Kurot said. “Vordan is relying on your valor.”

  *

  “It’s hard to know what to think,” Val said, hunkering a little deep into his coat. He and Marcus rode together back up the road from where Kurot and his staff had camped. The rain was only a drizzle now. “If something goes wrong, I’m the one who’s going to be up the creek.”

  “If it works, you’re the one who’s going to get all the credit,” Marcus pointed out. “Tip of the spear and all that.”

  “Kurot will get the credit, you mean.” Val shook his head, a dribble of water running out of his cap. “Let him, honestly. As long as my men come back alive.”

  “He seems to be taking Janus seriously, at least.”

  “I suppose.” Val hunched his shoulders. “I can’t help but wish you were in command, Marcus. What would you do if you were in Kurot’s place?”

  “I’m trying not to think about it,” Marcus said. “Panic, most likely.”

  Val laughed. “I don’t think you’ve ever panicked in your life.”