The Infernal Battalion Page 6

  “It does seem out of character,” the Eldest said mildly. “Though I have never met the man.”

  Antov returned with another mug. Winter drank deep, and tasted the faint bite of liquor under the astringent tea.

  “I agree,” the Ghost said. “The explanation seems obvious.”

  “You think he’s been taken,” the Eldest said.

  The Ghost nodded.

  “Taken?” For a moment Winter’s brain refused to process that. “Taken by the Beast?”

  “The Beast is not a mindless plague,” the Ghost said. “It is intelligent, and it has had thirteen hundred years to learn the ways of men. Its knowledge grows with each mind it conquers. It must know that having Janus as a figurehead will help it immeasurably.”

  “Why would it need him?” Winter said. “I thought it was just converting everyone in its path.”

  “We believe its power is not sufficient for that,” the Eldest said. “Not yet. We have studies from Karis’ time, and extrapolations based on other demons. Our guess is that there is an upper limit on the number of individuals the Beast can convert in a day, probably fewer than a thousand to begin with. It also cannot spread itself an unlimited distance, though it can certainly cover hundreds of miles.”

  “Which is fortunate,” the Ghost said. “If the Beast could truly double in size every day, the world would be submerged by now.”

  “But the more it grows, the more power it gains. And the more power it gains, the faster it can grow.” The Eldest shook his head. “We do not have much time.”

  “But that would make sense,” Winter said, feeling like she was finally getting a handle on the conversation. She took another sip of tea and savored the burn as it went down. “If it can’t just convert everyone, installing Janus as a figurehead would save a lot of trouble.”

  “And it gains access to all his knowledge and talent,” the Eldest said. “Which, from your description, is considerable.”

  “In that case, the Murnskai prince is probably taken as well,” the Ghost said. “And presumably enough officers and officials to ensure that Janus’ rule is respected.”

  “Damn.” Winter put the empty mug down and took a deep, clean breath. “You weren’t kidding when you said it was smart.”

  “It is also looking for you,” the Ghost said. “I could sense it, faintly. Most of its forces have departed, but it has not abandoned the hunt.”

  “Nor will it,” the Eldest said. His voice was quiet. “You hold the Infernivore. The tool our order”—​he glanced sidelong at the Ghost—“has sought for a millennium, capable of destroying the Beast once and for all. It cannot afford to let you live.” He paused for a moment to sip his tea, his ancient eyes finding Winter’s. “What will you do?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?” the Ghost said. “She must destroy it. Nothing else matters.”

  Winter opened her mouth to speak, looking from the Ghost to the Eldest, and stopped. Her fists went tight, and there was a long silence.

  “I think,” the Eldest said, “that it would be best if I spoke to Winter alone for a moment.”

  He glanced at Antov, who obediently scurried out of the chamber. The Ghost sat silently for a few seconds longer, his expression invisible behind his steel mask, but in the end he nodded and rose. When he was gone, the Eldest let out a heavy sigh.

  “They have been interesting, my conversations with our friend,” he said, indicating the direction the Ghost had gone. “I wish I had more time to question him about the history of his order, although he admits his knowledge is limited. They are surely the descendants of the Mages who fled to Khandar—​intellectually, if not physically—​but his conception of our mission is somewhat different from my own. At another time, it would make for an interesting debate.”

  “You think he’s right?” Winter said. “That I should go after the Beast?”

  “I would not presume to make such a decision for you. The primacy of an individual’s will is paramount in our philosophy. It is part of why we find the Priests of the Black and their Penitent Damned so abhorrent, this notion of sacrificing oneself completely being the highest virtue.” The Eldest leaned closer. “What do you want to do, Winter Ihernglass?”

  “I... don’t know.” She shook her head. “If you’d asked me an hour ago, I would have said I was happy to stay here and plant potatoes.”

  “Unfortunately, that cannot be.” The Eldest sighed. “The longer you stay at the Mountain, the more likely it is that the Beast finds its way here in search of you. I must think first of those who are in my charge.”

  “I know.” Winter’s arm was aching again where Abraham had repaired the break. He’d assured her the pain was only in her mind, but it was no less real for that. She clutched the spot tightly with her other hand. “What I want is to go home.”

  Home. What did that mean, anymore? Surely not Mrs. Wilmore’s, where her real memories began. Not Khandar, for all that she’d felt comfortable there. For a moment she’d thought she’d found her home with Jane, in Vordan, but that was gone, too.

  Home meant her tent, her soldiers. The Second Division, the Girls’ Own. Abby, Graff, Folsom, all the rest. The routine of marching, cooking, laughter and tears, new recruits and battlefield burials. Is that my home?

  It meant Cyte. Her bright eyes, her razor wit. The softness of her lips, the swell of her breasts, the delicate touch of her fingers. Oh, Cyte. Winter swallowed through a sudden knot in her throat.

  The Eldest waited for a moment in silence.

  “If the Beast is using Janus as a figurehead,” Winter said, voice husky, “it will move on Vordan next.”

  “Not the rest of Murnsk?” the Eldest said, cocking his head.

  “In Vordan it can kill two birds with one stone,” Winter said. “It can gather all the bodies it wants, and it can find the Thousand Names. Janus brought the archive to the city.” She took a deep breath. “If it kills me, that’s the last thing it needs, isn’t it? To destroy the name of Infernivore, so there’s no chance it can be resummoned.”

  “And if it has indeed taken Vhalnich, the Beast will know where the archive has been hidden.” The Eldest nodded. “It does seem logical.”

  Raesinia will fight. She might not know it was the Beast she was up against, but she’d never simply yield the throne to Janus. That means the Second Division will be stuck in the war, on one side or the other. Her guess was that they’d stand by the queen, especially if Marcus d’Ivoire was in command.

  In a way, it made things simpler. Whatever home was, whatever it meant, all of it was standing directly in the path of the Beast. If there’s a chance I can help them, I have to take it.

  Winter looked at the Eldest. “You know what I’m going to say, don’t you?”

  The old man smiled. “I fancy myself a good judge of character. Under the circumstances, I could probably hazard a guess.”

  “So much for the primacy of the individual will.”

  “Will is just another word for who we are,” the Eldest said. “Sometimes a choice may be so finely balanced that we waver between the alternatives. Other times, our basic nature drives us in one direction whether we like it or not.” The Eldest spread his hands. “Philosophers have debated for centuries on the question of whether this means we are not truly free. Personally, I don’t think there’s a lot of point to the argument.”

  “So what’s my basic nature?”

  “A question I wouldn’t attempt to answer, Winter Ihernglass.” The Eldest’s smile widened. “But I can say this much: you are not someone who would abandon her friends, no matter the cost.”

  “No,” Winter said, looking into her empty mug. “I suppose I’m not.”

  *

  The Ghost, waiting outside the high chamber, bowed deeply when Winter emerged.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I was inconsiderate of your feelings.”

  “I understand,” Winter said. “And you’re right. There’s really only one choice.”

  “So I
believe.”

  Winter looked at the impassive mask and frowned. “What, exactly, do I need to do? I tried to use Infernivore on the Beast at least twice. The second time, it just abandoned the body before I could get a hold on it. The first time, though...” She thought back to that moment, when she and Jane had gripped each other, two demons thrashing in invisible coruscations of power. “It felt as though the Beast was devouring Infernivore as fast as Infernivore was absorbing the Beast. Like two snakes eating each other’s tails. I don’t know if Infernivore is strong enough.”

  The Ghost nodded. “The Beast has a... core, one might say. The body into which it was first summoned. That is the center of its power. If that body is killed, another will take on the role, but the process would be inconvenient, so the Beast will keep the core safe as long as it can.”

  “That’s Jane,” Winter said. The woman she’d loved, and who had betrayed her. “The Priests of the Black made her read the name of the Beast.”

  “You must use Infernivore on her,” the Ghost said. “And at the same time, you must invite the Beast into your own body.”

  “Invite it?” She remembered Jane’s glowing red eyes, the feeling of the Beast pressing at the gates of her soul, and shivered. “And that will help?”

  “It will entangle it too deeply for it to pull back,” the Ghost said, then hesitated. “It should, at least. All of this is only theory, for obvious reasons.”

  “That’s not particularly reassuring.”

  “It’s the only chance we have,” the Ghost said. “We have to take it.”

  “What happens to the Beast’s bodies? Do their minds return?” Winter frowned. “When I tried to catch the Beast with Infernivore in one of its other bodies, the body just... died.”

  “As I said, we only have theories, and I can’t even speculate what might happen afterward. But...” The Ghost shook his head. “It does not seem likely that the taken will recover.”

  If that’s true, that means Jane is truly gone. And Janus... Winter decided she wasn’t ready to think about that. We don’t know anything for certain.

  “And...” She paused again, not sure she wanted to say it aloud. “What about me? If I invite the Beast into my body and destroy it?”

  “Again, we don’t know. It may be that Infernivore will devour the Beast entirely.”

  “But you don’t think so.”

  The Ghost fixed her with his empty gaze. “They may destroy each other, and you in the process.”

  So this could be a suicide mission, even if everything works. Winter set her jaw. She’d set out after the poisonous Penitent with twenty-​five soldiers and no guarantee of return, and that had been just to save Janus. If it helps everyone in the Second—​and maybe the world—​then it has to be worthwhile, doesn’t it?

  “I understand the burden we’re placing on you,” the Ghost said. “What we’re asking. But you know—”

  “I know. There’s no other choice.” I’m getting a little tired of hearing that. “Let’s find the Eldest. I need to look at a map.”

  *

  They reconvened in the high chamber after Winter had a chance to wash off the sweat of the day and wolf down a hasty meal. From the kitchen, she’d watched the Mountain people come and go, along with the handful of soldiers from the Girls’ Own who’d survived the journey here. They’d long ago swapped their uniforms for Mountain homespun, and aside from their darker hair and halting Murnskai it was hard to tell the two groups apart.

  A surprisingly good map was waiting when she rejoined the Ghost and the Eldest. Though they were self-​reliant, the Mountain people weren’t ignorant of the outside world—​the Eldest had implied they had spies as far away as Mohkba, the Murnskai capital. So the map was a modern one, military precise on crisp waxed paper. It showed Murnsk west of the Votindri Mountains, a rough rectangle bounded by the mountains and the coast on its long sides, the river Bataria in the north, and the river Ytolin and the Vordanai border in the south. Two more large rivers, the Syzria and the Kovria, snaked across the center of the rectangle; Winter had crossed both with the Grand Army. Elysium and the Mountain were on the far eastern side of the map, nestled against the mountains.

  “We cannot know where the Beast’s core is precisely,” the Ghost said. “But its limited range makes it possible to guess.” He drew a circle with one gloved finger in the center of the map. “We know it has bodies near us in the north, watching for you, and we know Janus is at Yatterny in the south”—​he tapped the city, at the mouth of the Ytolin—“so it follows the creature itself must be somewhere in between.”

  “I don’t think I can just head directly for the core,” Winter said. “I’d never make it.”

  “Agreed,” the Eldest said. “Even aside from the Beast, the journey will be extremely difficult. The false winter unleashed by the Black Priests has wreaked havoc.”

  “And the tribes from north of the Bataria who came to fight the Vordanai are scattered across the whole region, preying on the peasants and one another.” The Ghost looked up at Winter. “You’re the strategist among us. I will defer to your judgment.”

  “I think I need to get back to Vordan,” Winter said. “If I’m going to get to the core of the Beast”—​saying that was easier than saying Jane—“then I’m going to need help. Marcus and Raesinia will understand what’s at stake here. If the Beast is going to use Janus to raise an army, it’ll be a hell of a lot easier if we have one, too.”

  “Taking too long is a risk,” the Ghost said. “The Beast’s power grows the longer we wait.”

  “A necessary risk, I think,” the Eldest said. “I agree with Winter. But I do not think you can return to Vordan the way you came.”

  Winter glared at the map. Janus’ army had followed the most direct route north, along the Pilgrim’s Road to Elysium. Trying to go back that way would lead through the center of the region devastated by the fighting and the weather, as well as being the most obvious possibility for the Beast to guard against. And even if I make it, Janus and his army will be on the Vordanai border, between me and home.

  She nodded. “That leaves two options. East”—​she pointed off the edge of the map, beyond the mountains—“or northwest. East means taking the road to Mohkba and then south from there across the Sallonaik.”

  “It would take months,” the Ghost said. “All the way to Mohkba, south to the lake, and then down the valley of the Velt. And Mohkba is hardly safer than going directly south.”

  “That is where the Church fled,” the Eldest said. “And now that Janus has claimed the emperor’s throne, there may be fighting.”

  Winter had been thinking along the same lines. “That leaves northwest. Down the valley of this river”—​she squinted to make out the tiny text—“the Gereia, until it joins the Bataria. Then down the Bataria to Dimiotsk on the coast, and hopefully to Vordan by ship.”

  “The chaos may have spread in that direction as well,” the Ghost said. “And there’s no guarantee there will be a ship at Dimiotsk going in the right direction.”

  “If not, I’ll try to convince one.” Winter shrugged. “I don’t like it much, but I think it’s my best chance of getting there alive.” She looked up at the Ghost. “Would you be able to make it over the border and head directly to Vordan?”

  The steel mask tilted quizzically. “Probably. I can travel as sand on the wind. Not fast, but nearly invisible.”

  “I want you to go south and find Raesinia and Marcus, then. They need to be warned what they’re up against. You helped them once before, so they should be willing to listen.”

  “I should accompany you. You’re our best chance—”

  “I’m not going to have a chance if Vordan falls before I get there,” Winter said. She gritted her teeth. “You called me the strategist here. One thing I know is that you always need a fallback plan. If I... don’t make it, then the Thousand Names are the only chance left. Someone else will need to read Infernivore and try to stop the Beast.”
>
  “That would take time. And lives. Most who try to read a powerful naath will die in the attempt.”

  “It’s better than nothing, which is what we’ll have if the Beast gets its hands on the Names,” Winter said. “Please.”

  Slowly, the Ghost nodded, slit ​eyes dark and fathomless. “But you cannot plan to travel alone.”

  “I suggest you speak to Alex,” the Eldest said. “I have no doubt she would wish to accompany you.”

  “No,” Winter said. “I can’t ask her to do that. She barely made it out of Elysium alive.” And she’d had to kill her lover Maxwell after he’d been taken by the Beast. “She deserves to rest.”

  “I think,” the Eldest said with the hint of a smile, “that you may find it difficult to stop her.”

  *

  “Obviously,” Alex said. “You need me.”

  Winter hadn’t spoken to her since they’d parted at Elysium. She’d seen her a few times, standing at the edge of the field where Winter was working, just watching. It was a reunion Winter had known would come eventually, but she’d been hoping for a little more time to settle her mind.

  “I don’t—​I’m not going to pretend that I wouldn’t be glad to have you along,” Winter said. “But the chance of anyone coming back from this is small. You’ve already done so much, I can’t ask you—”

  “You don’t have to ask,” Alex said. She got up from her chair and started rooting around under her bed. “I’m volunteering.”

  Winter hadn’t been to Alex’s room before. It was inside the Mountain itself, not in the cluster of huts in the valley. A pair of arrow slits let in some light, but a lamp was burning even in daylight. There wasn’t much to mark the room as lived-in, other than dirty laundry scattered across the floor and a few books stacked here and there.

  Alex herself was seventeen, slim and pretty, with close-​cut dark hair and an expression that always seemed on the verge of mockery. Much of her past was still unknown to Winter—​she’d called herself the greatest thief in the world, and had apparently trained for that profession under a mentor before she’d been captured by the Priests of the Black. She and Abraham had broken out of their custody and fled to the Mountain, where they’d stayed until Alex had heard about Janus’ war against Elysium and come south to offer her services.