The Infernal Battalion

by Django Wexler

  This time Goodman took it. He dragged one of the chairs away from the table, sank into it, and downed half the liquor in a single swallow. He coughed, then slammed the glass down, amber slopping over the rim. A muscle jumped in his cheek.

  “You stupid little girls,” he snarled. “Playing with things you can’t possibly understand.”

  “I would say we understand them considerably better than you.”

  “You’ll face justice for this. Queen or not. The people will demand it.” His lips tightened. “You’ll never see Vordan again.”

  “It’s possible,” Raesinia admitted. “That will mean war, of course. Which, as I understand it, is the one thing Georg is desperate to avoid. Are you ready to explain to him what’s happened?”

  “On the other hand,” Cora said, as though she were just thinking of it, “Georg might welcome the prospect of a general collapse. He could repudiate the Crown’s debt fairly easily under the circumstances, couldn’t he? Bad news for anyone who’d lent him money, of course.”

  Goodman had gone very pale, and he flinched visibly at this last shot. When he reached for the sticky tumbler again, Raesinia knew they’d won.

  “What do you want?” he whispered.

  “Tell the king that my marriage to the second prince is off. In addition to the squadron already dispatched, he’s to follow through on his promise to send an army to help defeat Janus, which we agree is in everyone’s best interest.”

  “I think,” Goodman said, “that I might—”

  “I’m not finished,” Raesinia snapped. “You’ll also agree to Cora’s plan for repayment of Vordan’s debts, which she assures me is the most generous we can afford.”

  “Ah.” Goodman swallowed. “Anything else?”

  “Ihannes Pulwer-​Monsangton is to be replaced as ambassador to Vordan by Second Prince Matthew. He gets to name his own escort from among the Life Guards.”

  Goodman looked briefly puzzled, then shook his head. “And what do I get in exchange for all of this?”

  “Once we’re back in Vordan, Cora will wind down VRT. Slowly, so as not to cause a panic. I suggest you take steps to suppress the market in Vordanai debt speculation, so when the details are announced it doesn’t rock the boat too much.”

  “Of course,” Cora added, “if you change your mind, then we can simply go public with VRT and flip the table.”

  “His Majesty won’t like it,” Goodman said.

  “My understanding is that you have considerable influence with the king,” Raesinia said. “I suggest you use it.”

  Goodman glared at her for a moment, then gulped the rest of the liquor from the tumbler and bowed his head.

  *

  “Another messenger,” Barely called.

  “Tell him we’re not interested,” Raesinia said. She was watching as Matthew’s servants packed up her things, which had gotten a bit disorganized when they’d been hurriedly moved from her old quarters. I don’t remember bringing so many dresses. I suppose I wasn’t paying much attention when we packed.

  “He’s got fancy gold braid all over him,” Barely said. “Says he’s the chief herald, or something like that.”

  “Chief herald?” Raesinia said. “What does he want?”

  “Says you’ve got to come and see the king.”

  “Tell him I don’t think I do.”

  Raesinia’s heart beat a little faster as the voices outside the door grew louder. She was aware she was playing a dangerous game here—​push Georg too far and he might lash out, consequences be damned. But she wanted him to be clear on how much their positions had changed, and she couldn’t help but take a little personal satisfaction. I don’t like being dictated to.

  Eventually the chief herald left, and the packing continued. Matthew was already down at the docks, arranging their passage. Raesinia didn’t intend to waste another hour, now that she’d gotten what she needed. The sooner we can be back in Vordan City, the better. God only knew what the Deputies-​General had been up to in her absence.

  “Your Highness?” Barely said.

  Raesinia rolled her eyes. “If it’s another messenger, tell him—”

  “It’s the king,” Barely said. “Do you want me to tell him to go away?”

  Well. There was such a thing as pushing too far. Though I’d love to see the look on his face if Barely told him to get lost. “Let him in, I suppose.”

  The door opened. The two maidservants bowed low as Georg came into the room, muddy red jewel gleaming on the breast of his suit.

  “Your Highness,” he said.

  “Your Majesty.” Raesinia turned to the servants. “Would you give us a few minutes, please?”

  They bowed even lower and hurried out, relief written all over their faces. Raesinia turned back to Georg, who stood staring at her for a moment, hands clasped behind his back.

  “It’s not done, you know, for the king to visit a guest,” he said. “I don’t know what you did to the chief herald, but the man is practically apoplectic. He’s always had a somewhat fragile disposition.”

  “I didn’t think we had anything left to discuss,” Raesinia said. “At our last meeting, you made it clear I could deal with you, or deal with the Honest Fellows. As Master Goodman has proven accommodating...” She spread her hands.

  “Oh, yes. He told me all about it.”

  “All about it?” Raesinia couldn’t suppress a slight grin.

  “He required some prompting, I must admit.” The king started to pace the length of the foyer. “I could, of course, simply have you all arrested.”

  “I went over that with Goodman,” Raesinia said, keeping her voice nonchalant. “It’s possible. But it would mean war.”

  “Only if you are the Queen of Vordan. If I were to come to an accommodation with Vhalnich...”

  “I’m sure he’d be happy to entertain the offer. Much as the wolf is happy to listen to the sheep profess their loyalty.” She shrugged. “Also, it’s possible that the secrets of VRT might find their way to the market if anything were to happen to me. Just a... hunch.”

  Georg snorted. Reaching the wall, he turned back to Raesinia, eyes narrow. “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”

  “I do my best.”

  The king sighed, rolling his shoulders, first one and then the other. Raesinia watched him warily.

  “Was it such a burden,” he said eventually, “to have to marry my son?”

  “Your son is a wonderful person,” Raesinia said, a little surprised. “But he made it clear he had no interest in marrying me. And I have my own feelings to consider.”

  “Those who sit on a throne can rarely afford the luxury of feelings,” Georg said. “If you don’t understand that now, you will someday. Assuming you live that long.”

  “I wonder if it’s not the other way around,” Raesinia said.

  “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “There was a time when I told myself my feelings didn’t matter. I did what I had to for the throne, for the people, for my family.” She waved a hand. “Look where it’s gotten us. I can’t say for certain I would have gone a different path, but... at some point cold reason takes you only so far.” I realized that in Murnsk, standing on the bridge, watching Marcus run the other way. When I held my hand out...

  “It’s a nice sentiment,” Georg said. “I hope you don’t wind up paying dearly for it.”

  “I’ve paid a great deal as it is, Your Majesty.”

  He shook his head and turned to the door. “Good luck, then.”

  “Your son has promised me he’ll write to you,” Raesinia said.

  Georg paused, his back turned.

  “You might want to try listening to him,” she said. “Just a bit of advice, from one monarch to another.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Georg said.

  Part 4

  Interlude

  Janus

  He felt the Beast’s primary focus sweeping toward him, a hurricane moving over the mindscape,
scattering the floating wisps of thought like dandelion puffs. Janus had to work harder to hold himself together, exerting his will to keep his thoughts from being torn apart and drawn into the ravenous maw.

  Winter has escaped. If Janus had still had anything like breath to hold, he would have let it out. If she’s made it to Dimiotsk, then she’ll be in good hands. That’s one piece in place.

  “Vhalnich,” the Beast said, its voice a shriek of immaterial wind. “I am disappointed.”

  “How so?” Janus said, holding himself at a steady distance from the dark wall that marked the Beast’s core.

  “You had the opportunity to kill or capture the leader of the Vordanai army, this Marcus d’Ivoire. You didn’t make the attempt. Should I suspect you of... sentiment?”

  “I judged the risk too great,” Janus said. “No sentiment was involved.”

  “Risk? We are beyond such things.”

  Janus’ nonexistent lips twisted into a brief smile. As you proved so handily in the north? He’d only been able to watch that chase from afar, but it was clear the Beast had botched the pursuit, at first by being overeager and then by waiting too long. It’s used to thinking of “risk” in terms of its own existence. But even the Beast can have setbacks.

  “Marcus would have come to the meeting only if my body was there. If I tried to take him, it’s quite possible my body would have been killed in the attempt.”

  “What of it?”

  “It’s irrelevant to me, of course, except inasmuch as it affects your plans. Our supply of bodies in the south has been depleted by the battle, and it is only through my body that we retain the loyalty of the soldiers you have yet to incorporate. If that body were lost, things would become... chaotic.”

  “Hmm.” Janus felt the increased stress of the Beast’s attention.

  “You told me you wanted Vordan City taken as quickly as possible, and the Thousand Names seized. I am working only to achieve that end. Now that Marcus’ army has fled out of range of the Illifen passes, we can leave a small force to watch him as we take the bulk of our troops directly toward Vordan City. I don’t think what’s left of the Army of the Republic will put up much resistance.”

  “Good,” the Beast growled.

  “If I may be so bold, I suggest bringing your core body south, now that the north is no longer of such... interest. Having it close by will enable us to secure more bodies quickly once Vordan falls.”

  “I have already begun the journey,” the Beast said. “When the city falls, I will feast. And with the strength that grants me, I will make the world tremble.”

  Janus said nothing. Once the shot is fired, all you can do is wait and see if it will hit the target.

  21

  Winter

  “Take the knife,” Jane said, as though instructing a friend in how to carve a roast. “Put the point of it about here, and press it in, upward, as hard as you can.”

  She stood, naked and beautiful, in front of Winter. Jane as she had once been, well muscled and full breasted, long hair hanging to the small of her back like a curtain of dark red silk. Jane as she ought to be, not the shaven-​headed, scrawny thing Winter had seen in the pontifex’s office in Elysium, with eyes that glowed red from the inside.

  There was a dagger in Winter’s hand, long and gleaming. She raised it to Jane’s throat, her arm trembling. The point shook until it came to rest in Jane’s skin, just above her collarbone, its prick drawing a single bead of blood.

  “Oh, no,” Jane said, with a playful smile that cut like a knife. “Not me. You had your chance at that.”

  Her hands came up, surrounding Winter’s own, and with gentle but unstoppable strength they pushed the dagger across the space between them, until Winter felt the tip touching the skin of her throat.

  “That’s it,” Jane said. “Press it in, upward, as hard as you can.”

  “I can’t,” Winter said. “There’s something I have to do first.”

  “Defeat the Beast?” It was Bobby’s voice, from behind her. “You think that matters to me?”

  “To me?” Leti, just behind Winter’s left shoulder.

  “It matters to me,” Winter said. “If I can save everyone... if I can save Cyte...”

  “Even if you end up dead?” Cyte strode out from nowhere and crossed her arms. She was naked, too, her body slim beside Jane’s, her hair black instead of red. “You know that’s what it’s going to take. You felt it the first time you confronted the Beast.”

  “If you’d been willing to make the sacrifice then, none of this would be necessary,” Jane said.

  “I might still be alive,” Bobby mused.

  “So would I,” Leti said.

  “I know,” Winter hissed. “I know. This time...” She looked down at the dagger, then raised her chin, tensing her shoulders. “This time I’ll do what needs to be done.”

  The blade sank into her flesh as though it belonged there.

  *

  Winter opened her eyes slowly, the lids gummy with sleep.

  Her throat still stung from the dagger’s thrust. She brought one hand up, groggy, and felt for the wound, but there was nothing. Of course. The nightmares had followed her for years, all the way to Khandar and back again. Why should they stop now?

  She shifted, shoulders aching where she was propped at an awkward angle. She lay against the rail of the ship, wedged beside a coil of rope. That she’d managed to sleep regardless was a testament to her exhaustion.

  Even the slight movement brought a rumble from her stomach, and the shaky, hollow feeling that came with it. She’d had nothing but half a handful of dried meat in the last day. Everyone aboard the ships was hungry, but Winter and Dobraev had agreed to make straight for Dimiotsk, and not risk another stop looking for supplies that likely weren’t available in any case.

  This close to the coast, the river had opened out into a broader, slower flow, and the sailors had agreed it was safe to continue by lantern light after dark. They’d seen no other ships, and few lights on the shore. We should reach the city early tomorrow. Winter glanced up at the sky, which was starting to lighten. Today, rather.

  She stood up, thighs and calves aching, and did her best to stretch. With the departure of the Haeta and those refugees who’d decided to take their chances on land, the ships weren’t quite jammed to capacity, but it was still close. The deck was littered with sleepers, and she knew they were packed tight in the hold as well. She could see the lantern of Dobraev’s ship a few dozen yards away, sails drooping. The wind had been weak, and they’d relied mostly on the current and the oars. At least the rain has held off.

  Turning to the bow, she could see more lights, twinkling in the darkness like a swarm of fireflies. Winter walked in that direction, following the rail, stepping carefully over sleeping bodies. The sun rose over the horizon, and the sky went from gray to purple and began shading into blue. Ahead, the lights started to wink out, disappearing like the constellations with the sunrise, and the prosaic reality of the city of Dimiotsk was revealed.

  The river Bataria broadened at the mouth into a wide bay, letting into the Borel Sea. The northern curve of the bay was lined with tall, rocky cliffs, but south of the river the land was flatter, and there a hard-​bitten city had grown up. City was, in fact, perhaps too grand a term—​it was more like a country town writ large. The buildings were made of logs, with leather covering the window openings. With no shortage of space, they sprawled back from the riverfront with only the loosest suggestion of a street plan. Only the Sworn Church was built of brick, sporting a tall spire topped with a silver double circle.

  Docks, most of them decidedly decrepit-​looking, stretched out into the river like the grasping, skeletal fingers of a corpse. Farther along, where the water was deeper, a more substantial set of moorings provided space for oceangoing ships. The harbor was somewhat protected from the sea by a string of barrier islands, barely visible as lumps in the ocean.

  One whole section of the bay was devoted to l
umber, a vast field of tree trunks lashed side by side and floating like a carpet stretching from the dock to the breakwater. A ship was taking some aboard with a crane, pulling them dripping out of the water and lowering them into its hold. The forests of northern Murnsk were famous, Winter knew. She wondered if the trade was hurting—​they certainly hadn’t passed any lumbermen.

  A light flashed from the other ship. Sergeant Gorchov, who was in the bow, watched it for a moment and then looked over his shoulder.

  “The lieutenant says we’ll dock here,” he said. “He has to proceed on to the fort afterward, to report, but there’s no need to drag this lot with us.” He gestured at the refugees.

  “We don’t need to get permission from someone?” Winter said.

  Gorchov snorted. “In Dimiotsk? Not likely.”

  This turned out to be correct. They simply found a dock that looked like it wouldn’t collapse and they tied up, ignoring the furious protests of the crew of a small fishing boat who had been aiming for the same space. Gorchov exchanged scatological retorts with the fishermen over the rail, apparently in a fine mood, while the sailors dropped the cargo net over the side. The refugees swarmed off, despite the soldiers attempts to keep things orderly. I can’t blame them, Winter thought. I’d want to get the hell away from here, too.

  The second ship docked nearby, unleashing a similar tide of desperate humanity. Winter saw Lieutenant Dobraev climbing down the net, hand over hand, and walking along the shore toward their vessel. Alex and Abraham had emerged on deck, looking as bedraggled and hungry as Winter felt. She turned to Gorchov.

  “Thank you for all your help, Sergeant.”

  He shrugged and scratched his beard in a way that reminded Winter so much of Marcus that she almost laughed. “It’s nothing. I should thank you. That bastard Kollowrath would have kept us there until we died at our posts.” He glanced down at the lieutenant. “I’m glad you could talk some sense into Byr.”