Page 192 of The Infernal Battalion

“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.

Two groups of figures were on the move from the camp, not marching in column but running over the ground, like wolves in a pack. There had to be thousands of them, Winter guessed, a motley mob of uniforms and civilian clothes, with muskets, spears, and swords. One group was headed due south, directly toward Bear Ridge, while the other kept to the bank of the river and moved southwest.

“Red-​eyes!” Winter shouted, struggling to make herself heard above the wind. “They’re headed for the army!”

Alex nodded, her squinting eyes streaming tears.

“We have to warn them!” Winter said. “If we go back—”

“Marcus and Cyte know the red-​eyes are out here,” Alex shouted back. “They’ll be ready. We have our own job to do!”

“And their departure makes that job easier,” the Ghost said, out of thin air. “Only a small force remains to defend the core.”

Winter looked down at the departing red-​eyes, imagined the unstoppable tide of their charge crashing against the trenches the Girls’ Own had dug. Stay safe, Cyte. She squeezed her eyes shut. Please.

“I will descend first,” the Ghost said. “My winds will surround the castle and I will keep those outside from interfering as long as I can. Destroy the core and victory is ours.”

The wind died away as Sothe came to a halt directly over the old walls. Looking down, Winter saw clouds of sand and dust rising, enclosing the ruined castle on all sides. They grew and grew, larger than anything she’d seen the Ghost produce before, becoming a towering sandstorm whose eerie keening was audible even far above. In the center, the air was still clear, and small figures were emerging from their tents and running in all directions.

“Go!” Winter shouted.

Sothe dove, almost straight down. Winter nearly screamed, her throat frozen, all her previous calm ripped away in the terrifying descent. Alex was laughing, a mad cackle that blew away on the renewed wind. Just when Winter was certain nothing could arrest their fall, that they would plow into the earth like a spent cannonball in an explosion of stone and dirt, Sothe’s wings snapped out. They were jerked upward with bruising force, came to a halt, and drifted down the last few yards at the speed of a falling leaf. Sothe’s feet touched the ground gently, and she bent to deposit Alex and Winter on the rocky ground.

“You,” Winter gasped, looking up at Sothe. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”

Sothe shrugged, featureless face impassive. Winter had to imagine the slight quirk of the lip.

Alex sat up with a whoop, breathing hard. “Balls of the Beast. And I thought jumping off the cathedral tower was good.”

“You’re both mad.” Winter caught movement out of the corner of her eye. “Here they come.”

They’d landed near the ruined wall, which was less dilapidated than it had appeared from the air; it was still almost ten feet high and surrounded by chunks of broken stone. A collapsed gate led into a broad yard, with dusty ground studded with small rocks and tufts of grass. On the other side of it were two slate-​roofed wooden structures. One of these had collapsed entirely, leaving little more than a pile of timber and broken tiles, while the other had lost one wall and most of its roof but still seemed intact on the far side. Beyond them was another yard, where the tents they’d seen from above were pitched. All around, enveloping the curtain wall, was the swirling, shrieking curtain of sand and wind called up by the Ghost.

A half dozen men and women ran into the yard through the gap between the two buildings. Two wore white Murnskai uniforms, stained with sweat and mud, while a third was in Vordanai blue. Another pair were women, in the long skirts Winter had seen north of the border, while the last was a boy of no more than twelve, shirtless and grubby, with long, ragged fingernails.

No matter who they’d been, Winter knew what they were now. Crimson light sprang to life in six sets of eyes, flaring bright for a moment, then dying away. Two of the soldiers still had muskets slung over their backs, but they hadn’t made a move for them.

“Winter Ihernglass,” one of the women said. “You’re not supposed to be here. You’re—”

Sothe drew a knife from one of her straps and flicked it at the red-​eye. The assassin’s accuracy had always been impressive, but now she had the inhuman strength of the Guardian as well. The woman’s head disintegrated, a spray of blood and brain painting the rubble behind her as her body toppled.

“—​supposed to be in Murnsk,” the boy picked up without a pause. “What a slippery creature.”

“We’re here to put an end to you,” Winter said.

“I gathered that, yes.” The boy smiled, revealing stained, rotting teeth. “You’re welcome to try.”

The two soldiers went for their muskets. Alex raised a hand, and a lance of darkness speared one of them through the chest, withdrawing just as quickly and leaving him to stagger for a few moments before he collapsed. The other managed to get his weapon up and trained on Winter, but Sothe sidestepped between them as he pulled the trigger. The ball struck her in the shoulder and whined away, leaving only a tiny chip in her stony surface.