Page 189 of The Infernal Battalion

“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.