Page 34 of The Infernal Battalion

“Now we run,” Abraham said softly.

Winter nodded, heart thudding in her chest. Across the dead forest, she imagined the baying of hounds.

*

This far north, the nights were coming early. Up until now, they’d camped at dusk, keeping a relatively leisurely pace. There was a lot of ground to cover, and rushing it early on would only risk injury.

No more time for that, though. Her lungs were on fire and her legs were lead weights, but she pushed on, switch​backing up the rocky slopes as they climbed toward the range of hills that separated the two rivers. Alex kept up, but Abraham was starting to flag, leaning on his stick. Winter pressed on until the sun dropped below the horizon, painting the clouds a fiery orange, and then called a halt.

“Give me a moment,” Abraham said, leaning against a tree. “I’ll be fine.”

“We can’t keep running forever.” Winter wasn’t sure if she could press on much longer. “Even if the Beast knows where we were, it doesn’t know where we’re going. Depending on how close its other bodies are, it may not be able to follow.”

“We’ll have to keep a watch,” Alex said, looking around in the gathering darkness. “And no fire.”

Winter nodded glumly. Despite the lifting of the magical cold, the autumn chill was rapidly setting in, with nightly freezes. At least it’s still dry. Pushing through wind and snow had nearly gotten her whole company killed once, and she wasn’t eager to try it again.

They had a tent, a clever, lightweight thing from the stores at the Mountain, but they’d been keeping it stowed. The Eldest had provided thick wool blankets, and while Winter begrudged their size in her pack, they’d turned out to be worth their weight in gold. Alex unfolded one, while Abraham shucked his pack and slid to a seat with a sigh.

He’s exhausted. Alex was evidently more used to this kind of travel than the young healer. She walked half the length of Murnsk with a hole in her side to get to me, after all. Still, fatigue was evident in her movements. Winter found a rock to sit on and shrugged out of her own pack, shoulders aching.

“I’ll take first watch,” she said. “Get some sleep.”

“I’m not going to object,” Alex said. “Wake me in a few hours.”

Winter nodded. Abraham already had his eyes closed, head tipped back against the tree. With practiced ease, Alex slid in close beside him and pulled the blanket tight around them both. Within minutes, she was asleep.

There was a closeness between them that made Winter a little envious. It wasn’t romantic—​more like long familiarity and a history of shared hardships. She couldn’t help but wonder what they’d gone through before reaching the Mountain. Someday I may get the chance to ask. She pulled out her own blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and settled in.

Not falling asleep was a challenge. The wool made a warm, tight bubble in the chilly darkness, and Winter wanted nothing more than to hunch in on herself and let consciousness drift away. She forced herself to shift position occasionally, letting drafts of cold infiltrate her cocoon. The pain in her legs and shoulders subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, and the sweat that had sheathed her skin turned cold as the sunlight faded away.

There wasn’t much to see after the light leeched out of the world, but she didn’t dare close her eyes. Overhead, the sky was a solid mass of stars, cut by the bone-​like bare branches of the trees all around. To the east, the mountains made a jagged line on the horizon.

What the hell am I doing? She’d forced herself into motion when the Steel Ghost had returned, but everything still felt wrong. Unreal, somehow. Even when she’d been freezing to death, before Alex had guided them to the Mountain, she’d felt like she’d known what she was doing it for. Janus had explained everything—​the war, the Priests of the Black, the desperate need to reach Elysium and put an end to it once and for all. Standing in his tent, it had all seemed so clear.

Now Janus was gone, and her certainty had gone with him. The plans she’d made with the Eldest and the Steel Ghost seemed like a thin reed in comparison, sandcastles built by children in ignorance of the tide. The Beast of Judgment was out there, getting stronger. The idea that she could stand against it—​stand up to the terrible wall of human flesh that had come for her in Elysium—

God. Tears dried on her cheeks, cold in the night breeze. What I wouldn’t give for a nice set of orders. No need to worry about purpose or direction, just a point on a map to aim for. And good soldiers to march with, good officers to command...

And Cyte. The thought of what they’d had, so briefly, made Winter’s chest hurt like she’d been run through with a bayonet. She’d never had those feelings for anyone but Jane, never thought she could. After Jane’s betrayal had torn her apart, she’d thrown herself into her responsibility to her soldiers, certain that it was all she had left. Cyte showed me there’s more than that. The way she’d shaken when they’d first kissed, desperate and terrified at the same time. The way she’d grabbed at Winter, pulling her close like a drowning man clutching driftwood.

Now Cyte was a thousand miles away, if she was still alive. And Jane’s body is being used by a thing that wants to destroy the entire human race.

Maybe I should have stayed at Mrs. Wilmore’s. If Janus had died in the desert, maybe none of this would have happened. She felt Infernivore shift deep inside her. How bad could it be, being a farmer’s wife? Half the world seems to manage it. She tried to imagine herself kissing a fat, bearded man, cooking his meals, raising his children. My children. The images felt impossibly alien, like something happening on the far side of the moon.

Infernivore shifted again. It was uneasy in the presence of Alex and Abraham, who both had powerful demons of their own. Though it seems to have gotten used to them—

Her eyes snapped fully open. Something’s out there.

Wood went crunch, very faintly.

Slowly, Winter extracted one arm from the blanket and fumbled her pack open. There was a pistol there, buried under the wad of her extra shirts, and beside it a tin box of cartridges. She pulled out first one, then the other. Then, freeing her other arm, she went through the familiar ritual—​pull out the paper cartridge, bite off the end with the ball, sprinkle powder into the pan and make sure it closed, pour the rest down the barrel, spit the ball after it, and jam the whole mess home with the small ramrod. She’d done it so often her hands worked automatically, the salty tang of powder on her lips as familiar as the taste of blood. When it was done she got to her feet, the gun leveled, her thumb on the hammer.

For a long moment there was silence. Winter might have thought she’d imagined the sound, but the growing restlessness of the demon in her soul was unmistakable. Infernivore couldn’t quite detect the Beast the way it could find other demons—​probably because the Beast was spread among so many bodies—​but it still sensed something when the creature got close. She held her pose, turning slowly, eyes searching among the faint shadows cast by starlight.

Two points of red blossomed in the darkness, as bright as twin fires.

“Found you.” An old man’s voice, speaking in Vordanai, his tone singsong. “Knew you’d have to come out. Couldn’t hide forever. Not Winter Ihernglass.”