The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  At the ship’s rails, a handful of muskets fired, bringing down a few red-​eyes out of the horde. Winter didn’t stop to look. She pounded down the pier and flung herself into the water. It was shockingly cold, momentarily driving the breath from her lungs, but she felt her boot touch the sandy bottom and push off again. A few floating steps, and she got hold of a net and pulled herself up with arms that suddenly felt as strong as wet paper. Someone grabbed her. She looked up to find Sergeant Gorchov grinning broadly, his beard crusted with blood.

  On the deck, someone took an ax to the lines, and the ships sprang into the current. They ran out the oars, sweeping hard to keep themselves steady in the swift-​flowing river. Behind them, the red-​eyes hit the shore and started to swim, and for a horrible moment Winter thought it had all been useless. But even the Beast couldn’t drive flesh and blood beyond its ultimate limits, and the Bataria was in full flood. Most of the red-​eyes that went in the water were swept under and away, and the few that closed with the ships were summarily dispatched with musket shots.

  We made it. Winter stared at the crowd of monsters remaining on the shore. Saints and fucking martyrs. We actually made it. She looked across the rope net and found Vess, soaked and huddled against the hull. Some of us.

  *

  They put in at a rocky beach on the north bank, fifty miles downstream from the fortress. Many of the soldiers made it only as far as the shallows before collapsing from exhaustion, unable to do more than lie in the water and struggle for breath. It fell to the refugees who’d stayed out of the fighting to drag them ashore and get fires built. The north bank of the Bataria seemed to have no trace of civilization, and thick woods came down almost to the river, so firewood, at least, was plentiful.

  “We’re going to be pretty hungry by the time we get to Dimiotsk,” Alex said.

  She and Abraham had helped Winter, whose arms had been cramping so badly she hadn’t been able to get herself loose from the net. Now, seated beside the blaze of the fire with a cup of warm soup cradled in her hands, she was starting to feel alive again.

  “Most of the refugees brought something in their packs or their pockets, but we made them leave all the heavy baggage behind,” Alex went on. “It’ll be two or three days to the city, at least.”

  “We’ll survive,” Abraham said firmly. “And some of the sailors said they might be able to fish.”

  Winter nodded slowly. Alex, crouching beside her, peered at her a little closer.

  “Are you sure you’re all right?” she said. “Abraham, do you want to take a look at her?”

  “She’s exhausted,” Abraham said. “Leave her alone, Alex.”

  “I’m fine,” Winter said. She unfolded her fingers from the tin cup of soup with some effort and took a sip. It was thin, but wonderfully warm. “Just... cold.”

  Alex nodded. Abraham clapped her on the shoulder, and they moved off, talking quietly. Winter stared into the depths of the fire, watching the logs slowly crumble, until she heard a soft grunt and looked up to find Lieutenant Dobraev sitting nearby.

  “Your friend is quite the healer,” he said. “He tended several men I had despaired of, and they all seem much improved.”

  Winter nodded. “He’s... very experienced.”

  “Such wisdom in a man so young.” Dobraev shook his head. “I do not pretend to understand you, Winter Ihernglass, or what happened here. I am not sure I ever will. Are you truly a general?”

  She nodded.

  “In what army?”

  Winter didn’t think she could lie to him at this point. “Vordanai.”

  “I guessed as much. The famous Girls’ Only division.”

  Correcting him seemed pedantic, so Winter only nodded again.

  Dobraev shifted, holding his hands up to the fire. “No need to tell anyone else, I think. I am not even sure if we are still at war with you. I have heard rumors... of many things. When we reach Dimiotsk, I will report to the colonel there for orders. I imagine you’ll have time to slip away before then.”

  “Thank you,” Winter said.

  “It would be poor form to turn you in after you saved my life, and the lives of my entire command.”

  “Some of your command,” Winter said.

  “True. But without your warning, we all would have been slaughtered by those... fanatics.”

  Maybe. Winter couldn’t be sure. If I’d never come here, would the Beast have destroyed the fortress? Or would it simply never have bothered? Am I helping people, or just mitigating the catastrophe I drag in my wake? She took a long breath, thick with the scent of woodsmoke.

  “For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’m glad I could help.”

  “What will your Trans-​Batariai friends do?”

  “Continue north, I imagine.” I should talk to Vess. Somehow the thought of standing up, right at the moment, was unbearable.

  “Tell them they are welcome to continue down the river with us, if they would like to put more distance between themselves and the enemy.” Dobraev looked over his shoulder toward the river. “Will they build boats, do you think?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so. But when we get to Dimiotsk, I would advise your superiors to be ready. They’ll be coming sooner or later.” They’ll be coming for everyone, sooner or later.

  “Oh, believe me, I plan to. Mohkba needs to be told.”

  “Will Kollowrath cause trouble, when he recovers?”

  “I doubt it.” Dobraev looked pained. “Apparently the men I sent to retrieve him from his sickroom in the keep disobeyed orders and fled directly to the ships.”

  Oh. Winter swallowed. For all that the captain had nearly gotten her killed, she wasn’t sure he deserved to be left for the Beast. No one deserves that.

  “We will spend the night here, I think,” Dobraev said. “The ships are too heavy to risk the river in the dark.”

  “Keep a watch,” Winter said. “Just in case.”

  “Believe me,” Dobraev said, looking over his shoulder again, “I plan to.”

  *

  There were no tents, besides those the Haeta carried, and few blankets. Winter ended up stretched out on the hard ground beside Alex and Abraham, pressed tight together against the chill with a couple of ragged cloaks thrown across them. The watch fed the fires all night, keeping off the worst of the cold, and Winter woke feeling stiff and achy but otherwise much improved.

  The trappers among the refugees had erected a few snares, and they had rabbits for breakfast, though not nearly enough to assuage Winter’s hunger. She chewed the last of the jerky from her own pack and told herself it was only two days to the city. We’ll manage.

  As soon as it was light enough to see clearly, Dobraev busied himself getting the party back aboard the boats. Somehow this was much more difficult without the threat of the red-​eyes pushing everyone forward, and arguments broke out about who would get what space. Sergeant Gorchov had his hands full breaking up shoving matches. A few of the trappers and other folk used to the wilds quietly melted away, preferring to chance it in the forest rather than stay with the noisy crowd.

  Winter watched, waiting for her turn. There had been no sign of the Beast attempting to cross the river, but most of the Murnskai soldiers were still standing guard, muskets at the ready. In the midst of the dead fires from last night’s camp, the small group of Haeta were checking their packs and preparing to depart. Glancing at them, Winter saw Vess looking back at her, and she suppressed a sigh. I can’t put it off forever.

  As Winter came over, Vess stood apart from the others, her pack already on her back, a spear in hand. Including her, there were seventeen Haeta girls left, half of the group that had rescued Winter from the Beast’s pursuit. Yath was dead. Clever Yuil, Nish with her quick hands, soft-​spoken, wide-​eyed Boli—

  Enough. Listing them won’t bring anyone back. Winter forced a smile.

  “You’re going north?” she said.

  Vess nodded. “I know this territory. It is not ours
, but it is not far to Haeta land. And the tribes close to here will not be unfriendly.”

  “Good.” Winter hesitated. “Dobraev offered to take you to the city. It might be safer. I don’t know if the red-​eyes will come over the river.”

  “If they do, we will kill them,” Vess said matter-of-factly. “I will warn my tribe when we return.”

  Winter nodded. There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” she said, after a moment.

  “For what?”

  “For putting myself in charge. I... tried. But...”

  “Winter.” Vess shook her head, struggling with herself. “Leti... would have wanted this. For everyone to escape together, however much it cost us. I told you that you had to live up to her expectations. I think you have done so.”

  “Thank you.”

  Vess turned to look over her warriors. “We should go. The farther I am from this place by nightfall, the more comfortable I will feel. Good luck to you.”

  “And to you.”

  “I hope your blessed friends find what they’re looking for.”

  So do I, thought Winter. She gave a slight bow, which Vess returned awkwardly. At command in their own language, the Haeta formed up. A few of the girls waved to Winter as they headed north at an easy trot. Winter waved back, then turned to the river.

  Alex and Abraham were waiting for her, some distance away from where the crowd around the ships was finally thinning.

  “The Haeta are gone,” Winter said.

  “I’d almost rather walk with them to the city,” Alex said. “At least then we’d have something to eat.”

  “I don’t think you could convince them to go to the city,” Abraham said.

  “I know.” Alex sighed, and gestured at the overcrowded ships. “I’m just not looking forward to that.”

  “They’re safer this way,” Winter said. “I’m the one the Beast is following. The farther they are from me, the better.”

  “It’s not your fault the thing hates you,” Alex said.

  “It’s just a fact,” Winter said.

  “You did the best you could,” Abraham said.

  I always do, Winter thought. And then people die. Abraham caught her eye with a knowing look, and she half smiled. “I know. The paths not taken.”

  “One step at a time,” Abraham said.

  “What?” Alex looked at them. “Nobody’s going to fill me in?”

  “It’s just... something we talked about,” Winter said. “Come on. Let’s get aboard.”

  20

  Raesinia

  The room at Grindel’s was considerably cheerier than the dour chambers of the Keep. Raesinia had wondered if Borelgai were just allergic to color, but apparently the merchant elite allowed itself more license than the royal family, at least in private. Grindel’s was a private club on the top floor of a building near the Great Market, with enormous windows that looked out over the bustling activity on the surrounding streets. The market building itself was something like an enormous cobbled square, covered by multiple peaked roofs but open on all sides. A steady stream of carriages pulled into a circular drive at one end, while people milled in crowds on every side, struggling to make their way under the roof and out of the rain. Out of sight were the pits, where speculators lined the rails calling or gesturing to catch the attention of the dealers working at the bottom.

  Raesinia was curious to see it all, actually, but according to Cora, visiting the market itself was considered something of a faux pas for a serious merchant; it implied that one didn’t have people one could trust to take care of one’s interests. It was for hirelings to scuttle and shout in the pits. Real business was transacted high above, in the private chambers of the clubs like Grindel’s, which topped the buildings that ringed the Great Market.

  From the outside, there was nothing to distinguish the club from the offices below it, save for the wide windows. Visitors arrived by the elevator, a device Raesinia had never encountered before—​a wood-​paneled box that rose smoothly through ten stories, powered, Matthew told her, by a team of oxen in the basement. If one’s name were on the list, the dark, severe doors of the club were opened by a footman, revealing a considerably more lively interior. It wasn’t Ohnlei—​where it often felt like someone had gone berserk with gold leaf and mirrored glass—​but there were oddities everywhere. Tall wooden figures, elaborately carved, alternated with statues of animal-​headed gods from Khandar. Shelves held brilliantly colored glass and jewelry from Hamvelt, silk banners from the Old Coast, and strange bronze weapons that Raesinia guessed had come all the way from the Southern Kingdoms. Paintings in every possible style adorned the walls, in a variety of gaudy frames.

  It was a monument, in other words, to the power of commerce. The wealth and beauty of the world, brought to Borel and mounted for display, like lions and tigers in a menagerie. Vordan was poorly represented, all things considered, and Raesinia felt vaguely offended.

  “Vordanai art is out of favor at the moment, I’m afraid,” Prince Matthew said when she asked him about it. “Fashion has dictated that the Hamveltai schools are in this year, though that may be growing stale.” He chuckled. “If you really want to see the influence of your country, visit the kitchen and the cellar. Vordanai cheese and wine never go out of style.”

  They’d come from the Keep in a covered carriage, and Raesinia had worn a hood and veil, which Matthew had assured her was common for noble ladies who didn’t wish to be recognized. The king had agreed to permit her to leave the palace provided she was in the company of the second prince, though she didn’t doubt there were discreet watchers following in case she decided to make a dash for the harbor.

  Not that Raesinia was inclined to do so. It wouldn’t be enough to get away from Georg. She needed his cooperation, especially with Duke Dorsay and a Borelgai naval squadron already on the way to rendezvous with Marcus’ beleaguered forces. We need our leverage. Cora and Eric were at work elsewhere, helping to acquire it. But this was a task that Raesinia could only attend to herself.

  The room to which the footman led them was one of several lined up at the edge of the club, where the windows looked into the Great Market. It was small but comfortably furnished, with a polished rectangular table, a sofa, a liquor cabinet, and a glassed-in shelf displaying a set of jeweled human skulls no doubt obtained by some Borelgai trader in a far-​off land. At Matthew’s direction, Raesinia took the seat closest to the corner, leaving her hood up and her veil down.

  “Just like last time,” he said quietly, sitting next to her. “Let me do the talking unless they ask you a question.”

  Raesinia suppressed a sigh. Once again, she was on display. At least this time it’s by choice. “Are you and the duke close?”

  “We’ve had our differences, but we used to be inseparable,” Matthew said. “He’s gone respectable, I’m afraid.”

  “And he’s rich?”

  “Oh, yes. Half the nobles in Borel are in debt up to their eyeballs, but the Farings own a successful shipping company and several banks in addition to their ancestral estates. If he signs on, I think we’ll be most of the way there.”

  Raesinia nodded and went quiet as there was a polite cough outside the door. A moment later the latch clicked, and a man in a dark suit came in. She’d seen so many Borelgai aristocrats over the past few weeks that there was a certain interchangeability about them, the same well-​cut grays and blacks, the same sober ties, the same vaguely ridiculous hats. This one was younger than average and clean-​shaven, with blue eyes and a mouth that already seemed on the verge of an ironic smile.

  “Finny,” Matthew said, getting up and extending a hand.

  “Matty,” the man said. They shook enthusiastically, and the visitor swept off his hat. “It’s been too long.”

  “Not my fault,” Matthew said. “I keep sending you invitations.”

  “Yes, well, the wife doesn’t approve of your invitations anymore,” the visitor said. “She says you’re decadent.”
<
br />   “I have always striven to be,” Matthew said. “It’s good to know that my efforts have borne fruit.”

  The visitor barked a laugh, then turned to Raesinia. “And who is the young lady?”

  “We’ll, ah, get to that,” Matthew said. “Have a seat, would you?”

  “A mystery, eh? How exciting.” He bowed in Raesinia’s direction. “I am Phineas Faring, Duke of Highwatch. At your service, my lady.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Raesinia said. “I apologize for being unable to introduce myself.”

  “Believe me, I’m familiar with Matty’s taste for theatrics.” Phineas slid into a chair. “So, what’s all this about? Your letter was most insistent that you had an opportunity that was not to be missed.”

  “If anything, I understated the case,” Matthew said. “But first I need your word that, yes or no, nothing I’m about to say will leave this room. You know how sensitive these things can be.”

  “Perfectly. My word as a gentleman.” Phineas leaned forward slightly. “So?”

  “Vordanai debt,” Matthew said, pronouncing the words as though they ought to be a revelation.

  Phineas sighed and sat back. “Oh, Matty. You too?”

  “I’m not the first to approach you?”

  “My boy, you’re not even the tenth. Everyone and their uncle seems to be betting on whether our friends to the south will pay their bills. I’ve had a half dozen asking me to buy bonds, and a half dozen more insisting I should be selling them short.”

  “But you haven’t taken a position.”

  “No.” Phineas shook his head. “The whole thing is a touch volatile for my tastes. Armies in the field, and all that. Who knows which way it will go? I might hazard ten marks just to be sporting, but—”

  “What if I told you that I know which way it will go?”

  “Matty.” Phineas looked like someone had given him a lemon to suck. “Please. If you need money, just be honest and ask me as an old friend. I know you and your father haven’t been on good terms.”