Page 31 of The Infernal Battalion

“Let me make it my first official order,” Marcus said, “that no one should ever wait for me to eat dinner. Please, get started.”

A laugh went around the table, and the assembled officers relaxed and began loading their plates. Marcus tossed his jacket on the bedroll and sat at the head of the table, with Cyte at one side and Abby on the other.

“Would you mind doing the introductions?” he asked Cyte. “I still need to put names to faces.”

“Of course.” She set down her knife and fork and pointed at the young man next to Abby. “Colonel Parker Erdine, of the cavalry.”

Erdine doffed an imaginary cap and bowed, silky brown hair falling around his face. “An honor, sir.” He had the air of a dandy, but from what Marcus had read he’d proved himself a hard fighter.

“You know Abby,” Cyte went on. “Colonel David Sevran commands the Second Regiment.”

Sevran was a solid, serious man with pockmarked cheeks and an unflappable look. Marcus nodded to him and said, “You commanded a battalion under Ihernglass in the Velt campaign, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he said. “Most of those men are still with the regiment. They’re solid soldiers.”

“Good to hear.” Marcus turned to the oldest man in the room. “I presume you’re Colonel Blackstream, then?”

“You presume correctly,” Blackstream drawled. He wore his age well, with long white mustaches and gray hair pulled back into a complicated braid. Marcus knew he was a War College man, who’d been a captain at Vansfeldt when Marcus had been a nineteen-​year-​old lieutenant. “Fourth Infantry Regiment, sir. We won’t disappoint.”

Winter had written that Blackstream seemed to get along well with the other officers, even if he was a bit dour. Marcus watched his expression for any hint of jealousy—​Marcus was, after all, a considerably younger man who’d advanced much farther in the same career, and that kind of professional rivalry was stock-in-trade for prerevolutionary officers—​but the man’s face was hard to read. Marcus made a mental note to keep an eye on him, and turned to the other side of the table.

“This is Colonel Martin de Koste,” Cyte said. “Commander of the Third Regiment.”

“Honored,” de Koste said, inclining his head. He was tall and neatly dressed, with the attention to detail and etiquette that came from a noble upbringing. Of all the colonels of the Second Division, he was the one Marcus was most inclined to mistrust. Winter had written that de Koste practically worshipped Janus. I’ll have to see if there’s a way to have a quiet word with him.

Aloud, Marcus said, “And of course Colonel Archer and I go all the way back to Khandar. The good old days, eh?”

“The old days, at any rate,” Archer said, grinning. He was a boyish-​looking fellow, with smooth cheeks and golden hair. Despite the impression of youth, he was an experienced artillerist, and a student of the Preacher’s methods. Marcus wasn’t certain if Archer shared the old cannoneer’s religious tendencies as well.

“All right,” Marcus said to the table at large. “I’ll keep this brief. It’s never easy joining a new command, and I know it’s never easy getting a new commander. Winter Ihernglass was one of the best soldiers I ever had the privilege to lead, and this will always be his division. I consider myself to be just looking after it for the time being.”

There were smiles around the table, and Abby leaned back in her chair, looking satisfied.

“I know the thought of fighting Vordanai doesn’t sit right with a lot of you, and I can’t say that I like it, either,” Marcus went on. “Janus bet Vhalnich was... a friend. But anyone who takes up arms against the queen and the people of Vordan needs to be stopped, no matter how great their previous services. I still hope this will somehow be resolved peacefully, though I admit that seems unlikely. If it does come to fighting, I want every courtesy extended, every surrender honored, in accordance with the civilized laws of war. Most of the men we’ll face are just obeying their officers’ orders, the same as ours.”

Colonel Erdine was nodding vigorously, but de Koste was scowling. Interesting.

“In that vein,” Marcus said. “I want to make one point very clear. This is Vordan, and we are Vordanai. That means no looting or pillaging will be tolerated, under any circumstances. Is that understood?” There was a round of nods. “Please communicate that to your men. We’re here to protect the people, not abuse them.” Marcus looked around the table again. “That’s all I’ve got, for the moment. Any questions?”

“You went to meet with Kurot,” Abby said. “Did he tell you anything about the plan?”

“General Kurot assured me he’d fill me in when the time came,” Marcus said.

Blackstream looked sour. “Do you really think he’ll be a match for Janus?”

“I’m sure he’ll do fine,” Marcus said. “He’s... very clever.”

Abby and Cyte exchanged looks. “Clever” was usually not a good trait in an officer. Clever officers got people killed. But that’s what I said about Janus, back in the beginning. Kurot deserves a chance. He ignored the traitorous voice in the back of his mind that said against Janus bet Vhalnich, one chance was all you usually got.

6

Winter

That morning, they skirted another little ridge, veering north to avoid a rocky knuckle of ground that reared up between two valleys, covered with stunted, skeletal trees. The land to the west of the Votindri Range, against which Elysium nestled, was folded like a carpet shoved against a wall. Every quarter mile brought them into a new valley, heavily forested where the trees could get purchase on the rock.

It would have been bad enough if they could just follow one of the little streams, but they were still on the wrong side of the watershed. All the tiny trickles ran south, eventually merging into the river Kovria, which veered into territory known to be under Janus’ control. Up ahead was a line of hills, dark and forbidding. On the other side, they’d be in the basin of the Bataria, and things would get easier, or so Winter told herself. At least we won’t have so much up and down.

Her legs burned already. After the Murnskai campaign, she’d thought she was inured to hard marching, but this cross-​country trekking through forests and over hills was more difficult than traversing even the worst roads. The uncertain footing wasn’t helping—​the trees had shed their leaves with unaccustomed haste in the sorcerous freeze, and now that it had warmed they were decomposing into slime.