Page 136 of The Infernal Battalion

War. It put people through unimaginable stresses, and they each had their own way of dealing with it. Better this than crawling into a bottle, that’s for sure.

“I’m sorry you had to come and find me, sir,” Cyte said, straightening up. “Is something wrong?”

“Nothing urgent. But we need to figure out what we’re doing next.” He put his hand in his coat pocket, where there was a single much-​folded slip of paper. “And that means I need to show you something.”

*

Back in his own command tent, Marcus spent a few moments flipping through the map case. He finally selected a large-​scale one that covered the whole of Vordan, laying it on the table atop the smaller-​scale maps of the Pale valley. Then, while Cyte watched with interest, he fished out the piece of paper and unfolded it. The edges had gone furry with wear.

“This is...” He looked down at the page and hesitated. “I don’t know whether to believe it or not. But I think you need to see it. No one else knows.”

“Sir? Why me?”

“Because you’re the only one here who knows about... magic, and the Priests of the Black, and all that damned nonsense.” He handed her the page. “I got this, in secret, from Janus. When he came to talk to me on the bridge.”

Cyte blinked, and read the note. He couldn’t see it from where he was standing, but Marcus had read the thing so often he had it memorized. It was written in a slightly awkward hand, sometimes running letters together, sometimes stretching them out. Some of the sentences were at an angle, or above or below their neighbors, giving the impression of something that had been written in fragments by someone who couldn’t see what he was doing. But the writing was Janus’. Marcus would have known that careful script anywhere. It read,

Marcus—

I must beg your forgiveness. I have very limited freedom of action, and my mind is not my own. This note is a risk, but I must reach you.

Winter is the key. I am trying to bring him to Vordan City. Find him, help him, trust his judgment. He understands what needs to be done.

Know that I am doing what I can. The Beast is watching.

—​J

“I don’t understand,” Cyte said. She let the note fall to the table, and Marcus saw her hand was trembling. “Janus gave you this?”

“In secret.”

“Who could have been watching? You were alone!”

“I know,” Marcus said. “When we stormed Satinvol, I... saw something.” He described, as calmly as he could, what had happened in the final assault, the girl who had turned on him with her eyes glowing red. Cyte didn’t immediately tell him he was insane, which he guessed was a good sign.

“At first I wondered if I’d just remembered it wrong,” Marcus said. “Things happen, in battle. Or maybe she was a genuine traitor. But that light...” He shook his head. “Then I got this. So what if it’s true? What if there is some kind of demon, something that can control people?”

“The Beast,” Cyte said flatly. “As in the Beast of Judgment?”

“Maybe.”

Cyte looked down at the note, expressions warring on her face. “It could be lies,” she said carefully. “Maybe Janus has truly gone mad.”

“It’s possible. An aftereffect of the poison.” Marcus sighed. “If not, though, it explains why he would do all of this. ‘My mind is not my own.’ Something is using him.”

“If it’s not madness, then Winter is still alive,” Cyte said. Her hand tightened on the edge of the table. “He’s alive.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence.

“I have to go to Vordan City,” Cyte said. “I have to know. If he... If he needs help, then I should be there.”

“The question is,” Marcus said, “how do we get there?”

He gestured down at the map. From their current position on the Rhyf, it was a little more than four hundred miles to Vordan City in a straight line. Unfortunately, that line crossed the densest and most impenetrable part of the Illifen Range. The shortest route, through the passes they’d crossed by on the way west, meant going through Janus’ army. That left the south, skirting the edge of the mountains before turning east to slog across the Vor valley. Call it six hundred miles.

“At any kind of reasonable pace, it would take months,” Marcus said, as Cyte’s brow furrowed in concentration. “Even forcing the marches with plenty of food, forty or forty-​five days, and there’s no way this army could sustain that.”