Page 89 of The Infernal Battalion

“If Kurot is right, then we’ve got Janus cornered.” She shrugged. “I suppose that just seems a little too easy.”

“Even Janus makes mistakes, Captain,” Marcus said. Though, truth be told, he’d been thinking the same thing. “But let’s be careful anyway.”

By nine in the morning, it was clear the day would be hot, a last breath of summer as fall wore on. The advance was leisurely, with regular halts for water. Kurot hadn’t expressed any urgency, and after their exertions yesterday Marcus didn’t want to overstrain his soldiers. Still, he found himself fretting. When the smoke from the Third Division’s camp became visible beyond Fitz, he breathed a sigh of relief. His biggest worry had been that Janus would take the chance to snap at Val while he was stuck out on a limb.

“Come on,” he told Cyte. “We’re going to see General Solwen. If the enemy have been up to anything, he’ll know the latest.”

Barking a brief order putting Abby in command until he returned, Marcus turned his horse up a convenient farm track, threading between stone walls and making his way parallel to the front. Cyte followed him, as usual much more comfortable in the saddle. They got stuck briefly at a junction clogged by First Division baggage wagons, but after a bit of swearing on the part of the sergeant directing traffic, a passage was cleared. Another back​country trail led up to where the Third Division had spent the night.

“Odd,” Cyte said, as they rode closer.

“What’s odd?”

“Scouts.” She nodded at a pair of cavalrymen, carbines in hand, sitting on their horses in the middle of a field. “Seems a waste of manpower to have scouts facing east.”

“Val can be a little paranoid,” Marcus said. “Besides, he doesn’t know for sure when the rest of us will turn up. You’re not the only one who worries about Janus trying something tricky.” He waved at the pair of troopers, who didn’t seem to notice.

The Third Division’s four regiments were still forming up around their camp, soldiers filing into formation, the regimental flags snapping in the slight breeze. Sentries had spotted Marcus and Cyte, and a small delegation of officers accompanied by a couple of troopers mounted up and came out to meet them. Marcus didn’t see Val among them.

He’s busy. Got a late start, as usual. Marcus looked back at Cyte again. She was watching the approaching riders with an odd expression. Something seems...

Marcus looked closer, and felt the blood drain from his face.

The banners are wrong. Not the flags themselves, which were just the usual Vordanai eagles, but the banner staffs. Val, peacock that he sometimes was, had paid out of his own pocket for bronze-​banded staffs with silver caps before the Murnskai campaign had begun. All four regiments here were holding ordinary wooden staffs.

He looked back at the approaching party. There was a captain and two lieutenants, none of whom he recognized. He didn’t know every officer in the Third Division by sight, but he was familiar with most of the members of Val’s staff. So where are they?

This isn’t the Third Division.

The simplicity of the ruse took his breath away. But why not? Both sides of the war used the same uniforms, the same flags. From a distance it was impossible to tell one body of men from another. And anyone who gets up close...

“Cyte,” Marcus hissed under his breath. When she didn’t look around, he repeated it a little louder. “Cyte, keep looking ahead.”

Sir? Cyte mouthed, eyes locked.

“When I say go, I want you to turn your horse around and head back the way we came, as fast as you can. If we get separated, head for General Kurot’s command post.”

She nodded, very slightly, and didn’t ask why. Perfect.

They were about fifty yards from the oncoming group of riders. Marcus loosened his pistol in its holster.

“Go!” he shouted, sawing back on the reins.

His horse objected, bucking, before he got it under control. Cyte, slightly behind him, turned in a smooth circle, accelerating rapidly up to a canter. Marcus pulled his pistol, aimed in the general direction of the approaching officers, and fired. At fifty yards, on the back of a bucking horse, they might as well have been on the moon, but the flash and bang threw them into confusion for a few moments. Once he had his mount headed in the right direction, he applied his spurs.

Despite his instructions, Cyte had slowed long enough to let him catch up, and she came up to gallop only when he drew alongside. Behind him, he could hear shouts of alarm, and then a bellow.

“Stop them! Fire!”

A half dozen carbines went off at once, and Marcus ducked instinctively. He could hear the zip of balls, but nothing came close. A man on a galloping horse was a hard target. They’re going to have to try to ride us down. He looked over his shoulder, trying to assess whether pursuit was forming up—

“General!” Cyte shouted.

Marcus looked forward again to see the two cavalry troopers they’d passed earlier pounding out of the field and onto the road. Now he understood why they were there, and he swore as he fumbled for his saber. The weapon was designed to be used on horseback, but Marcus hadn’t been, and he barely got the sword drawn without dropping the reins. A trooper had swung in behind him, raising his carbine. Marcus jerked his horse’s head to one side in an inelegant dodge as the weapon went off, a cloud of smoke briefly enveloping the galloping trooper. The man dropped back, controlling his horse with his knees in a way Marcus could only envy, and drew his own sword.

Cyte, up ahead, rode alongside the second trooper, weaving as he leveled his carbine. The soldier fired, and Cyte dropped sideways. For a heart-​stopping moment Marcus thought she’d been hit, but she’d only leaned over, hanging off the side of her mount like a trick rider. She swung back up, veering away from her attacker as he drew his sword.

Oh, damn. Cyte’s weapon of choice was a slim rapier—​appropriate for her physique, but practically useless on horseback. Marcus dug his spurs in harder, trying to catch up to her, but his suffering mount was already giving him all the speed she had. Then the trooper behind him closed in, and Marcus didn’t have time to worry. It required all his attention to ride and parry at the same time, steel ringing off steel once, twice, three times before the soldier pulled to one side.