Page 29 of The Infernal Battalion

I might have said the same about Janus. Marcus decided not to press the point. Despite Abby’s optimism, the odds were that Winter was dead, his frozen body lying somewhere in the Murnskai mountains along with so many others.

“All right.” Marcus looked around. “I suppose I’d better see if my baggage has arrived. Was there anything else?”

“No, sir. Not for the moment.”

“Good.” He hesitated. “Your father sends his regards, by the way.” He hadn’t, in so many words, but Marcus felt certain he would have, if asked.

Abby laughed. “My father and I have agreed to a truce. I pretend we’re not related, and he pretends I don’t exist.”

“He’s a good man. We wouldn’t have gotten through the coup without him.”

“I’m sure he is. Maybe one day he’ll be okay with the fact that his daughter is a good soldier.” She shrugged. “You can tell him I said hello, if it’ll make you happy.”

“I doubt I’ll see him soon, but I’ll keep that in mind—”

There was a scratch at the tent flap, and Marcus paused. A woman’s voice from outside said, “Messenger for the general, sir!”

“Come in,” Abby snapped.

A moment later a boy ducked through the tent flap. He was a corporal, but no older than sixteen. His wide eyes suggested he’d absorbed the same scene Marcus had outside, but been a bit less polite about staring.

“Sir. Sirs.” He came to attention. “Message for Column-​General d’Ivoire.”

“That’s me,” Marcus said. “What is it?”

“Compliments of Column-​General Kurot,” the boy said. “He’s arrived, and he wants to talk to you as soon as possible. I’m to take you to him, if you’re ready.”

Marcus had hoped for another day or so to get settled in to his new command. No such luck, apparently. Though it was probably a good thing from the point of view of the army as a whole. At least Kurot keeps a quick pace.

“Then let’s not keep the general waiting,” Marcus said. “Lead on.”

*

The new commander of the Army of the Republic had clearly only just arrived, but his staff were unpacking with impressive efficiency. A large command tent was already up, and others were rising around it. Several carts full of neatly labeled and organized supplies stood nearby. Marcus’ guide brought him to the central tent and scratched for entrance, and was greeted by a barked “Come!”

Marcus nodded to the boy and stepped inside. Column-​General Thomas Kurot sat at a folding table behind a portable writing desk. Very little else had been unpacked yet, but the table was already prepared with maps and a set of tiny wooden soldiers, complete with long rakes for moving them about. Beside the map stood a chessboard, pieces carved from black and white marble, apparently abandoned midgame.

Kurot himself was in early middle age, his brown hair fading to gray and receding toward a bald spot atop the dome of his skull. He wore thin, square-​lensed spectacles, which combined with a peaked nose to give him an owlish look. Deep blue eyes gave a strong impression of intelligence. Marcus saluted, finding the reflex a little rusty.

“Sir,” he said. “Column-​General Marcus d’Ivoire, reporting as ordered.”

“General d’Ivoire.” Kurot looked up, and his smile held genuine warmth. “Please. Come and sit.”

Marcus crossed the room, a little uncertainly, and pulled out a folding chair near Kurot. The general looked him over a bit longer and gave an approving nod, as though he liked what he saw.

“Let me first say,” Kurot began, “that it’s an honor to serve with you. I have read your accounts of the Khandarai campaign with great interest, and I’ve heard many stories from the more recent Murnskai expedition.”

“Thank you,” Marcus said.

“And let me also say that I appreciate the difficult position you’ve been placed in.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I am, of course, technically junior in rank to you, having received my promotion to Column-​General only recently. By rights it ought to be you in command of the Army of the Republic.”

“The Deputies-​General believe you are the best choice,” Marcus said noncommittally.

“We both know that has more to do with your perceived affinity for the former First Consul than with anything else.” Kurot spread his hands. “An army can have only one commander, General d’Ivoire, and I don’t pretend that I’m unhappy to have been granted charge of this one. But I want you to know that I appreciate the depth of your experience, and I plan to rely on you a great deal. The Deputies may not trust you, but I know better.”