Raesinia found him after another hour, back down among the Girls’ Own trenches, inspecting the newly raised breastworks. The piles of earth in front of the trenches had been topped with logs, producing a makeshift fortification that would block a musket shot, if not a cannonball. Many of the soldiers hadn’t stopped there, but had hacked gaps in the logs wide enough to lay a musket in, like the arrow slits of an ancient castle.
“General,” Raesinia said, as Marcus bent to examine another trench. He heard the soldiers around him go quiet. “It’s late. Don’t you think you should get some rest?”
There were a few quiet chuckles. I suppose everyone in the army knows about us now.
“As you command, Your Highness.” He straightened and looked out across the plain.
Tomorrow. The darkness of the fields was broken by tiny points of light, like a swarm of fireflies. The campfires of Janus’ army, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Part 5
Interlude
Janus
He had almost begun to feel normal again when the touch of the Beast dragged him back into the whirlwind.
The campaign, Janus thought, was proceeding satisfactorily. His men had cleared the Illifen passes, diligently reducing the fortresses and accepting the surrenders of their garrisons. The tactics were sound and, more important, it took time. Time was what was needed, for all the moving pieces to fall into place. For Marcus to reach Vordan City, and for Winter to join him.
He’d sent them a final message when the Beast’s core arrived. From then on, he’d guessed it would be too dangerous to communicate. The Beast’s primary focus was no longer distracted by the pursuit of Winter. It watched his every move.
For a while, though, it had been content to observe, letting him inhabit his own body. He issued orders, studied maps, and received reports. He still let his mind slip free from time to time, of course, to look through the perspectives of other red-?eyes. It was such a joy to be able to see what his scouts saw and not have to wait for a few hastily scrawled words.
Marcus’ approach was not unexpected, though his dispositions showed more imagination than Janus had thought him capable of. Perhaps I didn’t give him enough credit. Or maybe it’s the pressure of command that reveals new depths. Either way, his old subordinate had set him an interesting problem to solve, and he had just been sitting down to figure it out when he felt the cold winds of the Beast at the back of his metaphorical neck. In an instant he found himself lifted from the realm of the physical, back to the mindscape of the Beast, where the dark, brutal winds of the core whistled terrifyingly close.
“What are you doing?” the Beast said, its voice like thunder.
“Planning for tomorrow’s battle.” Janus was unable to gesture, but he invited the Beast to survey the silver threads that led to its many bodies. “We will crush the Vordanai army, I guarantee. Losses will be minimal.”
“Losses are irrelevant. Armies are irrelevant. I want the city, and I want the Thousand Names.” The Beast drew even closer. “You have grown comfortable indeed in your... role.”
“I wish only to serve as you have directed,” Janus said. “Since, of course, you could dash me to pieces at once.”
“Perhaps I should,” the Beast said. “I have never seen a mind maintain itself so long. It is... unnatural.”
“But useful,” Janus said. “It allowed the campaign to proceed while you were busy hunting for Winter.”
“Yes. But that hunt is on hold for the moment. So what further use are you?”
“When the Names are taken, Winter will be the only remaining threat to you,” Janus said. “But sooner or later, your existence will become widely known. Hamvelt, Borel, and the other nations will come against you. I imagine you will want me close at hand to repel them while you pursue your primary purpose.”
The Beast made a thunderous sound that might have been a chuckle. “You are very skilled at arguing for your continued existence, little figment of my imagination.”
“As I said, I wish only to serve.”
“Very well. But for now”—winds snatched at Janus, lifting him away from the silver threads that connected to the real world—“you will observe. I do not need you to fight my battles.”
“Of course,” Janus murmured.
30
Winter
“Well,” Winter said, doing up the last buttons of her coat. “I suppose it’s time to go and save the world.”
Cyte, still in just her uniform shirt, gave a quick nod, arms folded over her chest. Her face was tight.
“Be careful,” she said. “Please.”
“I’m not the only one who’s going to be in danger, you know.”
Winter leaned close and kissed her. Cyte hesitated at first, and then her lips parted, returning the kiss with desperate urgency.
“I’m serious,” Winter said when she pulled away. “I’m coming back, and so are you.”
Cyte nodded, blinking rapidly. Winter wanted to kiss her again, put her arms around her, crawl back into bed and never come out. Instead she slipped out of the tent, shivering at the sudden chill. The sun was only a suggestion of brightness at the horizon, and fall was slipping away quickly.
She walked up the hill, following the paths cut by companies of enthusiastic axmen the night before. At the back of the ridge, behind the artillery, a small copse of trees had been left untouched. Their leaves were fading to brown, but they still effectively concealed the small clearing at their center from prying eyes, and Winter had picked the spot for a meeting place. She pushed through bushes until she broke into the open, and she waited for the others to arrive.
In the center of the clearing, they’d made a pyre, a bed of firewood built on a layer of small sticks and kindling. Winter looked down at it and shivered, but not from the cold.
Alex and Abraham arrived next. Alex had trimmed her hair and traded her ragged traveling clothes for a tighter, darker outfit of leather and silk. Winter raised an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged, blushing slightly.
“I had this stashed in the city from the last time we came through,” she said, looking down at herself. “I thought it was an appropriate costume for the world’s greatest thief. This seemed like as good a time to pull it out as any.”
“Having a fancy costume seems to defeat the purpose of being a thief,” Abraham said, pulling his gray robe away from the bushes with some effort. “You’re not supposed to let people see you.”
“You clearly don’t understand what it takes to be the world’s greatest thief,” Alex said. “You have to show off a little to build your reputation.”
She grinned, but her smile was shaky. Winter did her best to project reassurance.
Sothe didn’t so much arrive as materialize out of the shadows. She shot Alex a pointed look, then nodded to Winter.
“You’re ready?” Winter said.
“Feor assures me the ritual was successful.” Sothe looked down at herself. “I didn’t feel different, at first. But I tested a cut on my arm last night.” She held out her wrist. In a line across her old, fading scars, there was a stripe of flesh that had turned the color of marble. “It is... a strange sensation.”