Page 12 of The Infernal Battalion

“Have them walk around the camp, see if there’s any unusual activity, especially from the Sixth. I want to hear as soon as you have anything.”

“Yes, sir.” Fitz saluted and got to his feet. “If you’ll excuse me.”

“Val, once you’re sure your own people are in order, go and find Give-Em-Hell. Tell him to make sure his men are ready, but quietly. If we need to put down a riot, I want him on hand.” The moral impact of a squadron of advancing cavalry was the best chance of dispersing a crowd without real bloodshed. And Marcus had no doubts at all about the loyalty of Give-Em-Hell’s men, who felt a nearly religious awe toward their diminutive commander.

“Understood.” Val hesitated. “Then what? Do you really think it’ll come to fighting?”

Val looked stricken, and Marcus wanted to give him some reassurance, but all he could offer was a shrug. “I don’t know, and neither does anyone else. We’re at least four days’ ride from Yatterny, even by military courier. The whole thing could be over already, and we might not find out until tomorrow.”

“Or Janus could already be on the march,” Val said glumly. “I’ll tell Give-Em-Hell to be ready.”

*

“They’re trying to keep quiet about it,” Fitz said, an hour later. “But the Sixth is definitely up to something.”

Marcus sat at his desk, massaging his temples to fight off an incipient headache. “You’re certain?”

“Nearly. There’s activity at their supply depot, and the divisional artillery is restocking their caissons. Lots of men suddenly cooking or trying to trade for extra food, like they’re expecting to march.”

“Any chance its spontaneous?”

“No, sir. I visited the quartermaster myself, and there’s a half dozen fresh requisitions over Division-​General Quord’s signature. Either he’s behind this, or someone’s framing him fairly competently.”

Marcus felt his teeth grinding. It’s better than a mass uprising, he told himself. But his experiences in Khandar and the revolution had left him with a pronounced dislike of mutiny.

“Send a message to all commanders that I’m calling a council here in half an hour,” Marcus said. “That shouldn’t push Quord into anything rash; he knows I have to do something. Get a few of your men to go after the messengers and let everyone but Quord know they should wait another hour. I want him here alone.” Marcus sighed. “And have a dozen muskets you can count on waiting when he arrives. In case he decides to be really rash.”

Fitz saluted and stepped outside to give the necessary orders. Marcus leaned back in his chair and scratched his beard.

Then what? Val had asked the question, but it was what everyone was thinking. Secure the army. Then what? Will any troops rally to Janus? If they do, where will he march? It had to be south. He’ll come for Vordan City. His best chance at legitimacy is to take the palace and the Deputies quickly. No doubt the Deputies could be persuaded to ratify Janus’ ascension at bayonet point. So that means he can either descend the Pale, or try for the high passes—

Marcus reached for a leather-​bound stack of maps, then stopped himself. Not yet, damn it. As soon as we start thinking of this as a war, it becomes one. If there’s any chance of stopping it, we have to take it.

Fitz reentered, with two soldiers behind him. Both wore the scorpion badge of the Old Colonials. Some of the Khandarai veterans were deeply loyal to Janus after his near-​miraculous performance there, while others—​mostly those who’d served under Ben Warus before the Redeemer revolt—​were more divided. Marcus could only trust that Fitz knew his men.

“You can wait there,” Marcus said, pointing at the curtained-​off nook that held his bed. “Stay out of sight until I call.”

“The others are outside,” Fitz said. “I told them to watch for Quord and come in just behind him.”

“Good.” Marcus pursed his lips. “What do you know about Quord?”

“Not much. He’s my age, promoted up from lieutenant for service under the Directory. Janus made him a colonel after the coup, and then a general.”

“Which means he’s smart.” Janus was a good judge of ability, and the men he’d promoted to fill the decimated ranks of the post-​revolution army had usually been competent and intelligent. Unfortunately, his eye for character hadn’t always been as keen. “Has he seen any fighting since then?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

We’ll see, then. Marcus was holding out hope that there was some kind of misunderstanding, though it seemed unlikely. It’s never pleasant to accuse a fellow officer of treachery.

There was a scratch at the tent flap a few minutes later, and a young man’s voice. “Column-​General d’Ivoire?”

“Come in,” Marcus said.

Quord was pale, clean-​shaven, and nearly as neat in appearance as Fitz, with a pair of narrow, square spectacles and close-​cropped hair. He held himself as straight as a ranker under inspection, and snapped a crisp salute.

“Sir! Reporting as ordered for the council.”

“Division-​General,” Marcus said. “Good to see you. Please, have a seat.”