Page 47 of The Infernal Battalion

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It felt like an invitation to disaster, riding away from the column, even though Marcus had gone through proper channels and informed everyone who needed informing of his brief absence. It’ll be days yet before we’re in any real danger. Even Janus, with his reputation for doing the unexpected, wouldn’t force a march over an inhospitable mountain pass in hostile territory just for the sake of a little bit of surprise. Probably.

He’d fought off all efforts to provide an escort, ostensibly for the sake of morale. This was, after all, still Vordan, and senior officers shouldn’t need guards to ride around the countryside. He was just as happy not to have to explain himself to anyone but Cyte, though. They started early and rode southwest at an easy pace. Marcus was glumly unsurprised to note that Cyte was a far better rider than he was, but an amiable trot down a sleepy lane was a trip even he could handle.

“Have you spent much time in the country, Captain?” he said, as they turned to follow the road around the curve of a hill. The mountains were startlingly close, looming blue and vaguely unreal in middle distance. Between here and there, the land rose into increasingly steep hills, the farms of the flat bottomland giving way to orchards and pasture.

“No, sir,” Cyte said. “City girl for the most part.”

“I’m the same. Closest I got was my time at the War College.” He looked up at the mountains. It feels like I could reach out and touch them. “Pretty, I suppose.”

“Yes, sir.” Cyte hesitated. “Where exactly are we going?”

“Mieranhal.” Marcus waved a hand. “This is all Mieran County. Mieranhal is the county seat.”

“Oh!” Cyte looked around with new interest.

“You’ve been here before?”

“Never, sir. But Mieran has a fascinating history. Linguistically, it’s an isolated dialect, unrelated to the Mithradacii that—” She stopped. “Sorry, sir. I studied ancient history at the University, before the revolution.”

“No need to apologize,” Marcus said. “In fact, I’d be obliged if you’d give me the short version.”

“The short short version is they’re a bunch of mountain people who fought like hell and managed to hang on to their land when everyone down in the valleys was overrun. The Mierantai rulers swore fealty to the Tyrants, and later to the kings of Vordan, but they kept their own customs and language. They’ve been basically keeping to themselves for thousands of years.”

“Interesting.” From a military perspective, Marcus could see it. This kind of hilly country would be a nightmare to fight in, especially against a canny enemy who knew the ground well.

“Yes, sir. They’re supposed to have the oldest surviving examples of preconquest script and architecture.” She cocked her head. “I assume you’re not here for the historical significance?”

“In a way. But I’m interested in more recent history.” Marcus shifted in his saddle, already feeling the aches. “This is where Janus bet Vhalnich grew up.”

“Of course,” Cyte said, sounding irritated she hadn’t made the connection. Her eyes went wide. “You think he might be in communication with someone here?”

“I doubt it, actually. But I’m hoping we can find someone who knew him when he lived here.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to prejudice your opinion,” Marcus said. “But keep your ears open, and I’ll explain later.”

They didn’t reach Mieranhal until well after midday. The roads had an irritating tendency to curve, following the shoulders of the hills to maintain a shallow grade but making it very easy to get lost. Fortunately, Cyte was excellent with maps, and they only had to backtrack twice. Both sides of the road were planted with trees, mostly craggy little apple trees standing in neat rows, their leaves just starting to change from green to yellow. A cheerful young man sitting on a fence post offered them each an apple as they passed, and another for each of the horses. Marcus bit into his as he rode and found it just the right balance of sour and sweet.

Orchards gave way to rocky pastures as they climbed higher, dotted here and there with sheep. Marcus was starting to think they’d taken another wrong turn when they came around a switchback and found their destination looming directly in their path, as though it had snuck up on them. Mieranhal was an ancient stone building, more manor house than true fortress. It had been added to extensively over the years, modern wings sprouting off the original structure, including wooden outbuildings and several plaster-​walled cottages. More orchards and vegetable gardens stretched out behind it, and Marcus saw two girls leading a flock of sheep around the back. As they got closer, several dogs began barking.

The front doors were mammoth things that looked like they’d require a team of dozens to open. Marcus reined up in front of them, not sure exactly what to do, but a smaller door around the side creaked open. A young man stepped out, holding the leash of a large, jowly dog that was sniffing the air entirely. To Marcus’ surprise, the man smiled and transferred the leash to his left hand to make a proper salute.

“Saints and martyrs!” The voice, with its harsh accent, brought a spark of recognition, but it wasn’t until the man came closer that Marcus placed the face. “Marcus d’Ivoire. And risen so high I don’t even recognize the stars on your shoulder.”

“You’re Lieutenant... Uhlan, wasn’t it?” It had been only a year since they’d worked together in Vordan City, thwarting Maurisk’s attempted coup, but it felt more like a century. Uhlan had been one of the Mierantai volunteers who’d served as Janus’ bodyguards and trusted aides.

“Yes, sir. Though not a lieutenant anymore, glad to say. Resigned my commission. Just Medio bet Uhlan, at your service.”

“It’s good to see you,” Marcus said. “This is Colonel Cytomandiclea, of the Second Division. She’s serving as my aide at present.”

“He’s got a knack for finding pretty girls to be his aides,” Uhlan said to Cyte. To Marcus, he said, “What happened to Andy? She finally get tired of you?”

“She died,” Marcus said, feeling a twist in his guts. “In Murnsk. She saved all our lives.”

“Ah, shit.” Uhlan shook his head. “Sorry. And here I am keeping you in the yard. Hyllia!” When a girl’s head popped out of a window, he shouted, “Get someone out here to take care of the officers’ horses, and fetch drinks.” He looked back at Marcus. “You’ll stay for dinner, I hope?”