“Besides,” Gorchov said, “people here are on edge as it is. If the captain were found dead, this place would go mad.”
Winter closed her eyes and thought hard. She’d read the Vordanai army regulations cover to cover, back when she’d thought they would be important for impersonating a soldier. Since then she’d learned that it was a rare ranker who even glanced at that dusty tome, but some of it had stuck with her.
“There must be circumstances under which Kollowrath would have to hand over command,” she said. “If he were to be incapacitated with illness, say, authority would automatically descend to you as next ranking officer.”
Gorchov finished with the tea and handed Winter a tin cup, almost too hot to touch. She rested it on one knee, still watching the lieutenant.
“If... that were to happen,” Dobraev said, as though the words cost him a great deal, “then I would obviously have to evaluate the strategic situation. Including any intelligence about approaching enemy forces.”
“And, speaking purely hypothetically, would you be willing to grant your protection to a group of Trans-Batariai?”
“In light of the... tragic incident this morning,” Dobraev said, “I would feel honor bound to offer my assistance.”
“Interesting,” Winter said.
“Hypothetically,” Dobraev said wretchedly. He glanced at Gorchov, who gave a shrug and handed him a tin cup.
Winter took a sip. The tea was really quite good.
*
“I’m sorry,” Winter told Abraham, outside the shack. “I know you don’t like doing this.”
He sighed. “My goal is to save lives. Sometimes, in pursuit of that, I am required to do... a little harm.” He flexed his fingers.
“You’re sure you can do it?”
“Oh, yes. The only delicate thing is making sure the illness isn’t a fatal one. Kollowrath seemed relatively young and fit?”
“From the little I saw of him.”
“I, for one, wouldn’t mind if you messed up,” Alex said. “If the fight this morning really was his fault.”
Winter had to admit she’d had that same thought. Maybe we shouldn’t have told Dobraev anything, and just made it look like Kollowrath died naturally. But there would have been no guarantee then that anyone would listen to them. And now we’ve tipped our hand. Dobraev is bright and honest. A dangerous combination, if he’s not on board.
“I’ll wait here,” Winter said. “Get it done as fast as you can. We’re running out of darkness.”
Alex nodded and loped off into the shadows, Abraham following at a more dignified pace. Winter settled her back against the palisade, staring up at the stone keep and fighting off exhaustion. She hadn’t slept since the previous evening, not counting a few hours of exhausted unconsciousness. Every part of her ached, and her eyelids kept slipping downward.
She caught a glimpse of a dark shape clinging to the outside of the keep, but only for a moment. Winter tried to calm her racing heart. Greatest thief in the world, remember? This is a walk in the park for her.
At some point she must have dozed, because the next thing she knew her eyes snapped open at the sounds of footsteps. Alex was returning, grinning like a cat, with Abraham in tow.
“No problem,” she said. “The shutters weren’t even locked. I swear, people put a guard at the door and think they’re safe; it’s ridiculous.”
“You did it?” Winter said.
Abraham nodded. “He’ll be unconscious for at least a few days, and feverish for a while after that. But he’ll live, if someone takes care of him.”
“I’m sure Lieutenant Dobraev will make sure that happens.”
“Now what?” Alex said.
Winter shook her head grimly. “Now for the hard part.”
*
Alex once again lifted them over the wall, this time without Abraham having to incapacitate a guard. They crossed the cleared ground around the fortress as dawn was breaking and regained the cover of the trees. Alex led the way to where the Haeta were waiting, gathered at the edge of the woods to gauge the Murnskai defenses.
“I don’t know what Vess has told them,” Winter said. “So be careful—”
Wham. A spear sprouted, as if by magic, from the trunk of a tree just beside Winter’s head, the shaft vibrating from the force of the throw. Two Haeta girls rose out of the underbrush, weapons ready. Alex raised her hands, but Winter threw up an arm to stop her.
“That was a warning,” one of the girls said. “In deference to what you did for us. Vess has said you are no longer welcome.”
“I need to speak with her,” Winter said. “Please.”
“She will not talk to you,” the girl said.
“Please,” Winter said. “You’re... Ceft, aren’t you? And Huld, I remember the story you told the night after the wolves. The sad one, about the girl and the wolf-boy.”
Ceft lowered her spear a fraction. “She has made herself clear.”
“She’s not thinking straight, and she’s going to get you all killed,” Winter said. “You see that. There’s a hundred soldiers in that fortress, and hundreds more civilians. You can’t fight them all.”
“We can try,” Huld said.
“Just take me to Vess. That’s all I ask. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, that’s her decision.”
The pair looked at each other. Ceft nodded slowly.
“These two will remain,” she said. “Huld, watch them.”
“Winter?” Alex said. “I don’t like it. If Vess decides she wants to hold you responsible for Leti—”
“I know.”
“You have more than your own life to worry about,” Abraham said quietly. “Don’t forget that.”
“I know.” Rationally, this was a poor decision. We should have killed the guards, stolen a boat, and been away from here already. But Leti and the Haeta had helped her, and Leti had paid the price that people who helped her always seemed to pay. I’m not going to let her sister and her friends die, too. “I’ll be back soon.”
Ceft stowed her spear and led Winter on through the forest. More Haeta were waiting, resting against rocks and trees, eating what was left of their dried food, and maintaining their weapons. They all looked at Winter as she approached, though she couldn’t say what emotion she saw in their features. A few called to Ceft in their own language, but she waved them away.
“I told you she wasn’t welcome here.”
Vess was crouched in the dirt with two of the older warriors, sketching crude maps with a stick. She stood when she saw Winter, face frozen hard.
“I told her I wanted a chance to talk to you,” Winter said, before Vess could take out her anger on Ceft.
“Then you’ve wasted your time,” Vess said. “Leti listened to you and ended up dead. We’re done taking your advice.”
“So you’re going to get yourself killed instead?” Winter spoke loudly enough that the whole group could hear. “You know that attacking the fortress is suicide. You’re that eager to take a few Murnskai soldiers with you?”
“What choice do we have?” Vess snarled. “The red-eyes are close behind us, and ahead is only the river. I would prefer to fight my sister’s killers and drag a few of them to hell than be devoured by demons.”
“The man who killed your sister is dead, Vess. Yath put a spear through his throat.” In truth, Winter didn’t know that for sure—in the confusion of the fight, she had no idea whose shot had cut Leti down. “Yesterday morning was... awful. But it doesn’t mean every Murnskai soldier deserves to die, any more than you do for killing some of them.”
Vess snorted. “Words. We see where that got Leti.”
“I can get you on the ships,” Winter said, again loudly enough for everyone to hear. “All of you. You don’t have to die here.”
“Winter carried me from the field.” Yath dropped down from a tree branch. One leg of her trousers was still ripped and stained with blood. “She ran here to fetch Abraham, and only by his power a
m I alive.”
Vess turned on her. “And so you would follow her? Was being shot so exciting you’re eager to repeat the experience?”
“The enemy commander,” Yath said to Winter, ignoring Vess. “Kollowrath. The one who said we would have to sell our bodies for safety. He was at the root of the killing.”
“I know,” Winter said. “Last night Abraham paid him a visit. He’s no longer in command.”
A murmur ran through the Haeta. Vess looked back and forth, furious.
“I’ve spoken to the new commander, Lieutenant Dobraev,” Winter went on. “He’s promised shelter and passage across the river for all of you.”
“Lies,” Vess said weakly.
Winter leaned close to her and spoke quietly. “Why would I lie, Vess? What would I have to gain? If we wanted to leave you behind, we could have done that already. I want to help you, damn it.”
Vess’ fists were clenched, but her eyes were bright with tears. “You should have helped my sister.”
“I should have done a better job,” Winter said. “But it’s for her sake I’m here. She wouldn’t want the rest of you to die.”
“You don’t get to talk about what she would have wanted.”
“Then tell me I’m wrong.”
Tears started to leak from the corners of Vess’ eyes. She crouched, clutching her knees, head bowed, as sobs racked her small body. Winter looked to Yath, who sat down next to the girl and put an arm around her.
“Go and tell the white-coats we are coming,” Yath said, to murmurs of assent from the others. “We don’t want any more surprises.”
*
Once again the two sides faced off in the tall grass outside the gates of the fortress.
This time all the Haeta were there. Twenty-nine young women, spears in their hands, standing in a single tight knot except for Vess and Yath, who came forward to speak to the Murnskai. Across from them stood Lieutenant Dobraev, unarmed. Winter knew that Sergeant Gorchov was waiting back at the gate with another detachment. She’d left Alex and Abraham there, too. Hopefully, they can keep anyone from doing anything rash.
“You command here?” Vess said. In the few hours since their last meeting, she’d regained her composure, though her eyes were still red. She avoided Winter’s gaze, staring instead at Dobraev.
“I do,” the lieutenant said. “Captain Kollowrath has been... taken ill.”
“We wish only your help to pass to the other side of the river in safety.”
“I believe I’m prepared to grant that,” Dobraev said with a slight smile. He glanced briefly at Winter. “You’re welcome to take shelter inside the walls until we’ve got the ships ready.”
“We will not be attacked?” Vess said. “Not pressed into... service?”
“I give you my word as an officer,” Dobraev said.
Vess nodded and took a long breath.
“I am sorry,” she said, after a moment. “For your men who died yesterday.”
“And I am sorry for your friends,” the lieutenant said.
“Winter!” Alex shouted.
Oh, hell. Now what? Winter looked back to the gate and saw the girl sprinting toward her. She was gesturing wildly toward the forest. With a frown, Winter turned.
Points of light appeared among the trees, two by two, the malevolent crimson of a banked flame. First a dozen, then a hundred, on and on, spreading out along the tree line.
Oh, saints and goddamned martyrs. It knows we’re getting away, and it’s not going to wait.
“What the hell is that?” Dobraev said, following her gaze. The Haeta were already shouting to one another.
“Everyone inside!” Winter shouted. “Now!”
Part 3
Interlude
Janus
Through one set of eyes, Janus watched long lines of blue-coated infantry marching wearily down the road. Through another, he saw colonels and generals debating at a map table, and he offered a few choice suggestions. Another, and he could ascertain personally how much progress a flanking column had made, and then back to the map table to update the estimate of their arrival.
It was the dream of every general since the beginning of time. To be everywhere, to see everything, to be able to speak across the miles without delay or fear of interception. To learn things as they happened, not hours later and filtered through the eyes and understanding of others.
He felt like a god.
This is all I would need. All the other powers the Beast possessed—its ability to take control of new bodies, the depth of knowledge it had gained from its thousand-year existence, everything—were unnecessary. Communication, information, is everything. This is all I would need to conquer the world.
He felt a moment’s pity for poor Marcus d’Ivoire. The man was perfectly competent, and under ordinary circumstances Janus would have enjoyed the chance to match wits against him, though of course the outcome would be a forgone conclusion. But with the near omniscience of the Beast behind him, there was simply no contest. It was like fighting a blindfolded opponent.
The only thing that could catch him off guard was the Beast itself. He knew it was watching him, making sure he conducted the campaign in its interest. But he hadn’t expected its sudden rage, pushing all the red-eyes in Satinvol in a desperate attempt to get to Marcus. Nor had he thought the Beast could capture new bodies at such long range, though he suspected the effort had cost it a great deal of energy. It is not to be underestimated.
Now its primary focus had withdrawn again, back to the north, where the pursuit of Winter Ihernglass was coming to a head. There was nothing Janus could do there beyond what he’d done already, not with the Beast paying such close attention; he could only put his trust in others, and hope. Winter hasn’t let me down so far.
Instead, he took the opportunity to work on his letter. It was tricky work, since the Beast always watched him most carefully when he made use of his original body. A few words here and a few words there were all he could manage, written in haste when the demon’s focus was otherwise engaged. He hoped the result would be legible.
“What are you doing?”
It was Jane’s voice, inasmuch as there were such things in the strange mindscape of the Beast. Janus saw her hovering nearby, another miniature whirlwind like himself, held together by sheer force of will. And, perhaps, madness. What Jane had managed was even more impressive than his own survival—she’d apparently extricated herself from the Beast’s core. I suppose it no longer cares about her.
“The Beast has found me useful,” Janus said. “It cannot split its attention, so it has delegated some relatively unimportant tasks to me. I am prosecuting the campaign against the Vordanai army.”
“You’re killing them. Your old companions.”
“It is my area of expertise,” Janus said. “If I am not useful, I will be torn to pieces, as you well know.”
“You’ll be torn apart in the end anyway,” Jane said tauntingly. “We all will. Our only peace will be inside the Beast.”
“Perhaps. I choose to delay my fate a little longer, if I can.”
“Why?”
“Why does anyone live another day when they’ll have to die eventually?” If he’d had a body, Janus would have shrugged. “What are you doing, Jane Verity? I thought you had achieved your peace already.”
“Winter will be here soon. The Beast will take her.”
It will try. “I understand that’s what’s consuming its attention.” He paused. “Is that it? You don’t want to watch?”
“It will be... hard for her. At first.”
Janus laughed. “As I thought. You truly are a coward, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“You told me this was for her sake. That you and Winter could be together here, and happy. But you know, if you’re honest with yourself, that it isn’t true. Winter would never submit to the Beast, as you and I have. She will fight until there is nothing left of her but scraps.”
“I will find the scraps,” Jane said. “I will find her. I have until the end of time.”
“Of course. Better that than risk her rejecting you again.”
“She only rejected me because of you,” Jane said. “Because you twisted her mind.”
“Deceive yourself if you like,” Janus said. “I know Winter better than that. Better, it seems, than you do, if you think she’ll ever be happy here, as part of a monster.”
“I will have her,” Jane said. “Forever. And that’s the end of it.”
“Whether she wants you or not?”
“She wants me!” The last word rose to a screech, and Jane vanished, her whirlwind self zipping across the non-space. Janus watched her for a moment, then returned to his task.
In the real world, Janus bet Vhalnich picked up a pen and, without looking, quickly scrawled a few words on a sheet of paper, as though he were afraid someone was watching.
17
Raesinia
Raesinia had been present for quite a few of Cora’s excited rambles, but this one was definitely worse than usual. This one had diagrams. They had started on one sheet of foolscap and spread off it in all directions, necessitating a raid on the writing desk in the other room for more paper and ink. Raesinia wasn’t actually sure what the network of boxes and lines depicted—it could have been corporate structure, the interdependence of contracts, or the web of a drunken spider. She did her best to nod at appropriate junctures and chime in with enough questions to get the gist.
“—and once you’ve come to terms, you dictate them to one of the market scribes, and that’s the end of it. Millions of eagles can move around that way in a few minutes. The Exchange in Vordan looks like a medieval fair by comparison.” She shook her head. “Everything’s public, too, by law. You can look at the record books, which can be very valuable if you know how to read them. For example, I’m certain Goodman and his cronies are leaking to the market; you can see the prices move every time we have a meeting. Which is probably illegal, but I’m sure we’d never pin it on him—”
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