Page 113 of The Infernal Battalion

“Me?” Cyte hesitated. “I can try. It would be better if it were Winter.”

“Winter’s not here,” Marcus said gently. “And I doubt it would help, coming from me. Try.”

Cyte nodded jerkily. “I’ll do my best.”

“What about you?”

“Sir?”

“How are you holding up?”

She gave him a level gaze. “I’m tired, sir. We’re all tired.”

“Take care of yourself as best you can.” Marcus sighed and rubbed his temples. “God knows I couldn’t keep all this running without you.”

*

They crossed the Vlind at a town called Zeckvol, a dot on the map no one had ever heard of. It turned out to be a few streets’ worth of plaster-​and-​timber buildings, a brick church, and a bridge. Only the last mattered to Marcus. No inhabitants were in evidence, the townspeople all having either fled or taken shelter.

The bridge was a short wooden span, beams anchored to a rock in the middle of the river. Fitz looked at it thoughtfully as he and Marcus reined up on the east bank, while the infantry filed across in a long, bedraggled procession of weather-​beaten blue.

“Shouldn’t take much, sir,” Fitz said. “A little powder and it’ll burn nicely.”

“Good.” It wouldn’t make the locals happy, but there was little choice. Give-Em-Hell’s light cavalry were ranging up and down the river, burning or blowing up every bridge they could find. If Janus’ army wanted to cross, they’d need to use a ford or take a long detour.

Cannon rumbled across, hitched to the back of their caissons, their metal-​shod wheels making the planks rattle.

“If this slows Janus down,” Fitz ventured, “maybe we can afford a short march tomorrow. Give the men some rest and the foragers more time to work.”

“Maybe,” Marcus said. He wasn’t optimistic the river would hold their pursuers for long. “The cavalry will keep watch to see where they cross.”

They sat in silence for a while, as another infantry regiment began crossing.

“I hope Val had the sense to surrender,” Marcus said.

“I’m sure he did,” Fitz said.

What that would mean for him, Marcus didn’t know. He hadn’t ever known Janus to mistreat a prisoner, apart from one near catastrophe in Ashe-​Katarion. But there was the strange red-​eyed thing to consider. Hell. He was always the one who dealt with all this mystical nonsense.

“Sir!” A light-cavalry trooper rode up, his mount spattered with mud. Behind him was a lieutenant Marcus didn’t recognize. “There’s a messenger,” the trooper said, indicating the other man. “From the... ah, enemy, sir.”

“Lieutenant Virson, Ninth Division.” Virson saluted.

Marcus straightened up in his saddle and glanced at Fitz. “Where’d he come from?”

“Rode into the cavalry screen about ten miles back carrying a white flag, sir,” the trooper said. “General Stokes said I should bring him here.”

“Well done.” Marcus turned to Virson. “You’ve got a message?”

“Yes, sir. The emperor presents his compliments and requests a meeting with General d’Ivoire at a time and place of the general’s choosing. I can return with the general’s answer, or any messenger with a white flag will be conducted safely through our lines.”

“Did he say what he wanted to meet about?”

“No, sir,” Virson said. “That’s all the information I have.”

“Thank you.” Marcus jerked his head, and he and Fitz turned their mounts away from the lieutenant and put their heads together. “What do you think?”

“It could be a trap, of course,” Fitz said. “But I think it’s unlikely.”