“You have no idea,” Winter said.
“I will start looking for the core,” he said, straightening up. “Once I find it and the battle has begun, I will return here. The transformation will not take long.”
“Good luck,” Winter said. We’re all going to need it.
The Ghost vanished into a tower of swirling sand, which rose out of the clearing in a rush of wind. Alex brushed a few errant grains out of her hair and sighed.
“I guess we wait here,” she said.
“There’s a lot of that in battles,” Winter said.
“Do you get used to it?”
She reflected for a moment. “No. It’s always the worst part.”
Alex barked a laugh, then paused. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“The ‘core’ we keep talking about. The Beast’s first body. It’s Jane, right? Your old... friend?”
Winter nodded. “Ionkovo kidnapped her and took her to Elysium. The Priests of the Black forced her to read the name of the Beast.”
“Are you sure you can do this?” Alex gestured at the pyre. “She’s still... alive. Sort of. If we get there, you’re not going to hesitate?”
There was a long silence. The sun, just emerging over the horizon, threw the shadows of the trees across the clearing.
“I loved Jane,” Winter said. “But she... changed. She tried to kill me.” Winter smiled ruefully. “I don’t pretend it’s going to be easy. But it’s not going to stop me.”
Jane’s face rose in her mind for a moment. Her mischievous grin, her flashing green eyes. Take the knife...
I will, Winter told herself firmly. For Cyte, and Raesinia, and Marcus, and everyone else. This is what I want.
Jane only laughed at her. In the depths of her soul, Infernivore stirred uneasily.
RAESINIA
The campfires went out as the sun came up. Through Marcus’ spyglass, Raesinia could see men in blue uniforms forming up on the flats, looking for all the world like a military parade. She searched for Janus among the mounted officers, but couldn’t make out faces.
They stood on a protruding rock just at the crest of Bear Ridge, above and behind the lines of trenches and the guns in their sloped pits. Straight ahead was the point of the ridge, facing northeast, directly toward Janus’ army. The great V formation of the Army of the Republic stretched back and away from Raesinia on either side, like the wings of a bird. Most of it was beyond her view—the bulk of the hill and the remaining trees blocked her line of sight to the west and south, where the line dipped down onto the plain.
She handed the glass back to Marcus. A table had been set up at the base of the rock, and officers bustled about, delivering messages and plotting reports with a reassuring professionalism. For once, no one was suggesting that she shouldn’t be there, or that she’d be safer farther to the rear. The men took their cues from Marcus, and she’d—at last—trained him out of such habits.
“Here they come.” Marcus swung the glass back and forth. “He’s not wasting any time.”
“This is the attack?” Raesinia said. She squinted at the columns. “Already?”
“This is the beginning,” Marcus said. “He doesn’t know where we are, exactly, though his scouts have told him we’ve taken this hill. So he’ll brush us, just to see what he’s up against.” He raised his voice, addressing one of the runners at the base of the boulder. “Message for Colonel Archer. Tell him to hold fire unless things get out of hand. No sense wasting ammunition and showing them our guns.”
Whoever was in command of the artillery across the field had no such compunctions. Tiny puffs of smoke rose into the air, followed a few seconds later by the flat, drifting booms of the reports. Raesinia looked for the impacts, and saw only one, an explosion of dirt rising from the foot of the hill as a ball rebounded.
“Half a battery,” Marcus said contemptuously. “He wants to scare us into opening fire.”
Another half battery started shooting a few minutes later, at closer range. After the first few salvos, the balls started to land on the forward slope of the hill more often than not, but they still caused little damage. The Girls’ Own and Second Division soldiers were huddled in their trenches, not formed up in easily visible ranks, and only a supremely lucky direct hit would prove deadly.
Meanwhile, the advancing columns got clearer. There were two of them, companies one behind the next, well spaced out. At two hundred yards from the base of the hill, still unmolested by any fire from the Army of the Republic, they deployed into a single long line, three ranks deep. Flags hung limp against their poles at regular intervals.
“Tell Colonel Cyte and Colonel Giforte to fire at will,” Marcus directed a runner.
The line began its advance, men moving in unison to the beat of inaudible drums. For a few more minutes, nothing happened, except for the flash and boom of the distant gun batteries. Then, as the trench lines came into range of the oncoming formation, the Girls’ Own began to fire. It wasn’t a single volley, but spread down the line with a rolling crackle, a wave of light and smoke as the soldiers found their targets. Even at long range, some shots told, and bodies began to dribble out the back of the enemy line. They came on, steadily, as more and more fire rose from the trenches. Soon all that was visible on the slope of the hill was a roiling cloud of smoke, lit from within by muzzle flashes like fitful lightning.
The enemy halted, battalions shrinking toward their flags as they closed their ranks. They raised muskets to their shoulders, then fired, all at once. The flash of the volley was terrific, followed by a sound like a single clap of thunder, and a wave of smoke rose over them. Whether it had any effect on the women in the trenches was hard to say, but answering fire continued to rattle back. Marcus lowered his spyglass, looking satisfied.
“Just a probe,” he said.
“They’re still fighting.” Raesinia found her eyes glued to the flashes.
“Not for long. Troops in the open are never going to be able to shoot it out with men behind breastworks. Janus will know that if he wants to take this hill, he’s going to have to do it with bayonets.” He looked over his shoulder. “He’ll try the flanks first, though. I’m going to find Sevran. Where will you be?”
“Here, or at the cutter’s station,” Raesinia said. “Hannah said I might be useful for keeping morale up, if I don’t get in the way. Marcus...”
“What?”
She wanted to kiss him, here in front of everyone, but couldn’t quite nerve herself to do it. It would only be a distraction. But some part of her mind couldn’t help asking, But what if this is your last chance?
“Be careful,” she said, knowing how silly it sounded.
He nodded briskly. “If they start bombing the hill with howitzers, even the cutter’s station will be in range. I know...” He lowered his voice. “I know I don’t need to tell you to be careful. Just try not to get your head blown off where everyone can see it, all right?”
Raesinia laughed, and felt tears prick her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”
*
Sure enough, the fighting at the base of the hill soon died away, the enemy retreating out of the cloud of their own musket smoke. More units were maneuvering in the middle distance, and Raesinia could see cavalry on the move. At the base of the boulder, the young officers—she recognized a few from Alek Giforte’s old staff—received a message from a rider or a runner every few minutes, and plotted small changes to their map.
I should find something useful to do. She felt helpless, the Queen of Vordan hesitant to interrupt her own men. They know what they’re doing. What do I have to add? She was on the point of sliding down from the boulder when the flashes began in the fields below.
Guns. But more guns than before, more guns than she’d ever seen at once. There must have been a hundred muzzle flashes, so close together and nearly simultaneous that they had all died away into smoke before the first sound arrived. It was a bass rumble that grew a
nd grew, rising to a crescendo that seemed to shake the very ground beneath them.
Then, all at once, solid shot was landing all around them. Geysers of dirt exploded upward from the face of the hill, spraying from where the balls buried themselves or bounced wildly into the air. One shot hit the log at the front of a breastwork and smashed it into a spray of flying splinters. Raesinia saw one of the balls as it ricocheted past, hanging at the peak of its trajectory for a moment before it crashed to the ground ten yards beyond her boulder.
“Your Highness!” one of the young officers shouted into the ringing silence that followed. He stood at the base of the boulder, holding out his hand. “Come down, please! It’s not safe.”
Raesinia wanted to scream. Bad enough to feel useless without everyone telling you so. But her eyes went to the huddle of staff, where one of the men was on the ground in a pool of blood, while two others struggled to remove a long wooden splinter from his side. She could see casualty teams moving on the slope of the hill, running to reach the injured.
They’re risking their lives. Raesinia looked back at the smoking line of guns and felt like an impostor. What am I risking?
She slid down the boulder’s face, letting the officer grab her hand and hustle her toward the cutter’s station. Behind her, a second volley of cannon-fire began.
MARCUS
“Nothing serious,” Fitz said. “A couple of regiments looking for a weak spot. We sent them about their business.”
“That’s more than a couple of regiments now,” Marcus said, looking through the spyglass. Heavy columns of men were forming well beyond cannon-shot. Counting their flags, Marcus put them at at least two divisions, possibly more.
“He’s not wasting time,” Fitz said. “Now that he knows where we are, he intends to crush us.”
“It’s the same on the left,” Marcus said. “A couple of divisions. It’ll be a simultaneous attack from both sides.”
“Is that what you would do, in his place?” Fitz said, with a slight smile.
“No. Converging attacks from multiple directions are hell to get timed right. That’s the sort of thing clever officers come up with.” He lowered the spyglass and looked at Fitz. “But it’s what Janus would do.”
“I agree,” Fitz said.
“You know what I need you to do?”
“Take the reserve and advance. Defeat this wing. Then transfer the reserve back to the left in time to withstand the assault there.” He looked over his shoulder at the hill. “Assuming the center can hold out, of course.”
Marcus shook his head admiringly. “Why aren’t you in command, Fitz?”
“Some days I ask myself the same question, sir.”
“Do it. I’ll ride back and start sending the reserve your way. Just don’t take too long.”
“Understood, sir.”
In the distance the sound of cannon-fire went on and on like steady rain.
31
Winter
Winter sat in the clearing, listening to the guns. She’d never heard so many at once. And they were all coming from the northeast, the face of Bear Ridge, where the Girls’ Own were stationed. Cyte. Abby. They were likely crouching in a trench, hearing the balls zip overhead or plow into the earth. Or find just the right target, where unyielding metal meets yielding flesh and turns my beautiful, brilliant girl into a mangled ruin—
The urge to get up, to go to them, was almost overpowering. Winter fought it down, tasting bile at the back of her throat. They’ve survived this long without me. But it wasn’t that she thought she could help, not really. It was a primal instinct to share their danger, as she had so often in the past, that tugged at her.
Something stung her eye, and she rubbed at it. Not tears, but flying grit. Sand. The wind rose, swirling into a funnel, and solidified into the masked shape of the Steel Ghost.
Alex jumped to her feet eagerly. Winter guessed the waiting hadn’t been any easier on her. “You’ve found it?”
“I believe so,” the Ghost said. “To the north, behind the enemy camp, there is a ruined castle. I sensed the presence of the Beast’s core, and it did not appear to be moving. A large number of the creature’s bodies waited nearby.”
“That has to be it,” Winter said. “Let’s get started.”
She looked down at Sothe, who was still sleeping peacefully on the pyre. Part of her, she had to admit, had been hoping they’d somehow manage to avoid this. Let Sothe wake up tonight and find out we didn’t need her after all. But they’d never make it to this castle if they had to fight their way through half of Janus’ army.
Slowly, she dug out her matches. Alex watched, silent, and the Ghost’s masked face was as expressionless as always. Winter struck a match, held it for a moment, and looked down at Sothe.
“Thank you,” she said, and touched the flame to the kindling.
The logs, soaked in oil, caught in moments, and the heat built rapidly. Winter had to take a step back, shielding her face, as flames leapt into the air, building into a column of smoke. She caught a whiff of burning flesh, unpleasantly like cooking meat, before it was thankfully buried under a rush of woodsmoke. Blinking, Winter backed away farther.
“How long does it take?” Alex said, eyes fixed on the flames.
“I wasn’t in a position to count precisely last time,” Winter said. “But—”
Deep in the heart of the fire, something went crunch. Logs shattered and split, the pyre breaking apart and spilling glowing sparks across the ground. At the center of the flames, a figure stirred, rising to its feet. Enormous dark shapes hung at her shoulders, the shadows of wings. The Ghost raised a hand, and sand rained down on the pyre, smothering the flames and embers. A moment later, the smoke cleared away.
The guardian resembled Sothe, but streamlined, inessential detail weathered away. Her lithe body was smooth and unlined, with skin the gleaming white of polished marble, shot through with darker veins. Her clothes were gone, though her naked form was as sexless as a mannequin. Her hair was gone, too, and her face was only a shadow of what it had been—two indentations for eyes, a slight bulge of a nose, and no mouth, as though a sculptor had wanted to give the suggestion of humanity without the substance. Her wings, rising up behind her, were not feathered but perfectly smooth, like a ship’s sail in a strong wind.
“God Almighty,” Alex said. “She’s...”
Beautiful, Winter thought, and monstrous. When she moved, it was with the catlike grace Sothe had always displayed, but there was something deeply unnatural about watching a stone surface flex and bend. And when she was still, she was perfectly still, with no fidgeting or breath to disturb her, so that when she moved again it was like watching a statue spring to life.
“Sothe?” Winter said. Her voice came out in a whisper.
Sothe nodded.
“Are you...?” She shook her head. She’d wanted to say “all right,” but what was the point of that? Winter swallowed hard. “Can you carry me and Alex?”
Sothe flapped her wings once, producing a down rush of air that set sand and ash to swirling. Then she nodded again.
“I will lead the way,” the Ghost said. If the sight of the guardian unnerved him, it was invisible behind his mask. He dissolved into a column of sand, rising in a swirling wind out of the clearing, remaining visible as a smudge overhead.
“How...?” Alex said.
Sothe walked to Winter, bent over, and opened the small pack she’d left on the ground. It contained a number of leather straps, each laden with a complement of knives in various sizes. She put them on, her marble fingers dexterous as ever, buckling them around her stomach, her thighs, and her forearms. Then she gestured for Winter and Alex to come close.
They obliged, shuffling awkwardly together. Sothe walked behind them and slipped one arm around Winter’s waist, then the other around Alex’s. Sothe’s skin was warm, but with the polished feel of stone, like a rock that had spent all day in the sun. Winter wriggled, trying to settle her weigh
t more comfortably, the arm around her staying as steady as an iron bar. Sothe looked down at her and cocked her head.
“Alex?” Winter said. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Alex said. “But I’m not likely to get any readier.”
“Go ahead,” Winter said to Sothe.
The great wings snapped out, gathering air beneath them, and Sothe rose from the ground. She moved slowly at first, wings beating steadily, hoisting them up to the treetops of the clearing and then beyond. Oddly, Winter felt no fear of falling. There was such a sense of power in Sothe’s arm, in the wide sweep of her wings, that it seemed impossible.
If anyone down there is looking up, they’re going to think they’ve gone mad. Fortunately, the soldiers below had plenty to distract them. From this vantage point, Winter could see Janus’ troops massing to attack on the left flank, battalions marching in column to get into formation, teams of horses pulling cannon. In between friendly and enemy lines, light cavalry skirmished, horsemen riding back and forth and firing at one another with carbines. Each shot reached her as a single distinct sound, like a distant handclap, almost lost in the continuing rumble of gunfire from the north.
Saints and martyrs. What I would give to be able to command battles like this. It was the perspective every general dreamed of, hovering above the world like a god. The land unrolled like a living map, full of toy soldiers and cannon and towns. She glanced up at Sothe, to remind herself of what it had cost to gain this vantage. The guardian’s nearly featureless face was set forward, her eyes on the smear of swirling sand that was the Steel Ghost.
A moment later they were picking up speed, the wind shrieking in Winter’s face. The lines of blue-uniformed soldiers fell away, and then they were passing over more fields and villages. The twisted loops of the river Marak lay ahead, the ground rising to form a cliff face looking out over the water. Atop that cliff, some long-ago lord had raised a fortress, a rough half circle of wall that had once enclosed a few buildings. Now the wall was a tumbled ruin, and only fragments of structures remained, hard to identify from on high. But there were tents pitched within the circuit of the old walls. Down at the base of the cliff were many more, of all sizes and colors, arranged in perfect rows as neat as any Vordanai army camp.
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