As the reports trickled in from the scouts across the river, though, he began to think the situation had changed. The batch that was waiting for him in the morning only confirmed it. Give-Em-Hell wrote that they’d clashed with a few enemy patrols, but that Janus’ force was making no serious effort to push through their screen and reach the Rhyf. Marcus sent new orders, then went in search of Cyte.
The camp was a mess, by any standard. Instead of neat rows, the battalions had set up their tents in loose clusters, grouped only vaguely by regiment and division. A faint, nasty scent on the morning breeze made Marcus wrinkle his nose; they’d clearly gotten sloppy about latrine placement, too. We’re going to have to do something about that. Staying in a camp with bad sanitation was asking to be decimated by disease.
It could wait a day or two, though. They’d had only a day and a night so far to recover from the grueling march. Everywhere he looked, Marcus saw soldiers sitting in groups, cooking or playing cards, but generally simply enjoying not being on the move. The men were still noticeably thinner than they’d been at the start of the march, but the halt was already doing wonders for morale. Two days ago, on the other side of the river, his passage through the camp had been greeted with apathetic silence or ominous grumbling. Now soldiers cheerfully saluted as he went past, though usually without actually getting to their feet first.
Soldiers in the Girls’ Own camp directed him to the cutter’s station. This was a large tent whose sides could be rolled up for easy access, with a few long, low tents alongside where the wounded could be sheltered. After a battle, it would be a nightmarish scene—?every soldier, Marcus included, shuddered at the singing of the bone saw, and he’d seen arms and legs piled up like firewood and enough blood to turn the dirt to mud.
Fortunately, at the moment there wasn’t anything so dire going on. Hannah Courvier, a middle-?aged woman with the long-?suffering expression of a schoolteacher, sat on a crate behind a makeshift desk while a line of Girls’ Own rankers waited to see her. Those who saw Marcus saluted, a wave that progressed down the line. The woman at the head, a solidly built sergeant, was bent over the desk whispering urgently to the cutter.
“—?every time I take a shit,” Marcus heard as he got closer. “I—”
He cleared his throat, and they both looked up. The sergeant saluted, her cheeks coloring, but Hannah just sighed and leaned back.
“Problems, Captain Courvier?” Marcus said.
“About what you’d expect after a march like that,” Hannah said. “But we’ve got to do something about the latrines—”
“I know,” Marcus said. “When you’re done here, find General Warus and tell him I asked you to take care of it. He’ll get you some men to dig new ones.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Have you seen Colonel Cyte?”
Hannah nodded at the first of the tents housing the wounded. “In there.”
The tent flap was low enough that Marcus had to bend nearly double to enter. It felt like a tunnel, dimly lit, both sides lined with bedrolls. The women who occupied them were in various states of disassembly—?a few seemed intact, except for bandages, but most were missing pieces, hands and feet, arms and legs. Some were unconscious, the telltale angry red of infection creeping up from their stumps. Others sat up, talking, playing cards, or reading by candlelight. Once again a wave of salutes went through them at the sight of Marcus.
Marcus took a deep breath to steady himself, then regretted it. The whole place smelled of vomit and the sick-?sweet stench of rotten flesh. He nodded acknowledgment to each soldier as he passed, working his way along the line until he found Cyte. She was kneeling beside a young ranker whose right arm ended just below the shoulder. The girl was examining a sheet of paper while Cyte took notes.
“Cynthia’s dead,” the girl said. “For sure. At Satinvol.”
Cyte nodded, pen moving.
“And someone told me Elly—?Elsbeth—?dropped out with a bad ankle and stayed in a village we passed.” The girl’s face clouded. “You’re not going to punish her, are you?”
“No,” Cyte said. “Don’t worry.”
“Those are the only ones I know.” The girl handed the list back. “Sorry.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” Cyte said. She looked up at Marcus, then back to the girl. “Thank you. I’ll be back.”
“Captain—” Marcus began.
“Let’s get out of here first,” Cyte said quietly. “If you don’t mind.”
That was fine with Marcus. They walked back to the flap, both hunched over, and slipped back out into the morning sun. Cyte led him a few steps away from the line of people waiting to see Hannah. She stretched, arching her back with a distinct pop.
“What are you doing?” Marcus said. “Looking for someone?”
“Just updating army records,” Cyte said. She showed him the notebook, which was covered in a list of names with little notes about their current status—?dead, wounded, missing—and how certain it was. “On the march the bookkeeping fell by the wayside.”
“You can let it fall a little farther, if you like,” Marcus said. “I promise I’m not about to order a surprise inspection.”
“I’d... rather not, sir.” Cyte shook her head. “We had a similar problem in the retreat from Murnsk. By the time we got around to tallying things up, there were a lot of soldiers we just couldn’t account for. This way people have an easier time remembering. It... makes it easier when it’s time to tell the families, sir.”
“Ah,” Marcus said awkwardly. He wondered if Fitz had done something similar back when they’d worked together. Almost certainly. He just made sure I never noticed. “Well. Thank you.”
“Of course, sir. It’s my job. And... it helps, a little.” She held the notebook close, like she was worried it might escape.
War. It put people through unimaginable stresses, and they each had their own way of dealing with it. Better this than crawling into a bottle, that’s for sure.
“I’m sorry you had to come and find me, sir,” Cyte said, straightening up. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing urgent. But we need to figure out what we’re doing next.” He put his hand in his coat pocket, where there was a single much-?folded slip of paper. “And that means I need to show you something.”
*
Back in his own command tent, Marcus spent a few moments flipping through the map case. He finally selected a large-?scale one that covered the whole of Vordan, laying it on the table atop the smaller-?scale maps of the Pale valley. Then, while Cyte watched with interest, he fished out the piece of paper and unfolded it. The edges had gone furry with wear.
“This is...” He looked down at the page and hesitated. “I don’t know whether to believe it or not. But I think you need to see it. No one else knows.”
“Sir? Why me?”