Page 183 of The Infernal Battalion

“When Parker died...” Abby swallowed. “Stupid, pretty boy. He didn’t have any illusions about what we had. It was... just comfort. I wanted to feel something that wasn’t fear or anger, that’s all. And I couldn’t even have that.”

Winter’s throat was thick. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have been there.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s nobody’s fault but mine.” Abby looked down at her hands. “I just started thinking... what am I even doing here? I joined up with Jane because... because I loved her, or thought I did. And when I realized she’d turned into someone I couldn’t love anymore, I stayed because I felt like I had to keep her girls safe. That was all she ever wanted, really. She just lost sight of it sometimes.”

“You’ve done a good job,” Winter said.

“Have I?” Abby looked up. “How many of the old Leatherbacks are left? How many arms and legs are rotting away somewhere? Am I doing them a favor by leading them into the fight, or am I just lying to them to get them to make one more charge?” Her lips tightened. “I told Marcus we wanted to fight, you know. I was afraid he’d stick us off to the rear somewhere. The girls wanted me to do it, but if I hadn’t said anything, some of the ones we buried might still be alive.”

“And someone else would be dead,” Winter said gently. “That’s why they joined up. To take danger on themselves and away from others.” She remembered Cyte’s angry retort and found herself smiling. “Give them some credit, Abby.”

Abby took a deep breath and blew it out in a rush. She nodded.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Cyte’s right. I’ve been...”

“It’s all right.” Winter paused. “If you want, I’ll find someone else to take command. There’s no shame in it. You’ve given more than anyone could ask for.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Abby said. “I’ve gotten the Girls’ Own this far. I’m not going to abandon them now.”

That felt more like the Abby who Winter remembered. She smiled.

“This really is the last time,” Winter said. “I can’t explain everything, so don’t ask me. But if we win this time, the war will finally be over.”

“There’s never a last time,” Abby said. “But at least we’ll get a chance to rest.”

29

Marcus

Once again, the Army of the Republic was on the march.

The halt at the palace had given them a chance to rest and resupply, and consequently their appearance was much improved from the worn, bedraggled soldiers that had staggered down the Pale one step ahead of Janus’ pursuing legions. Uniforms had been cleaned and stitched, cannon polished, horses groomed, and beards shaved. There were still the little touches that spoke of troops who’d been in combat—​extra weapons tucked away, coats patched and repatched; here and there a shako, bicorn, or other souvenir taken from a luckless enemy on some distant battlefield.

Winter rode with the Second Division, at the head of the Girls’ Own. She’d objected, since she wasn’t going to be in command, but Marcus had insisted. Seeing her back at the head of her troops did wonders for morale, and it was visible in the bearing of the men and women who followed her, though Marcus did see a few curious glances at her new uniform. They’ll figure it out eventually. Abby and Cyte both rode beside her.

The First Division, Fitz’ men, were already on the road, forming the vanguard for the day’s march. Light cavalry from Give-Em-Hell’s command scouted the route ahead, while his cuirassiers brought up the rear. Vordan City had been scoured for cavalry remounts, every military stable emptied and civilian animals pressed into service. A joke said that the city cabbies were now running in the traces of their own carriages rather than give up fares; Marcus hadn’t been back to the city to see if it was true. From the surrounding farms, more animals had been gathered, heavy draft and cart horses that were to pull the guns and caissons. Raesinia had promoted Archer to colonel and given him command of the artillery reserve, though the guns they’d pulled out of the arsenals and garrisons didn’t come close to making up for those they’d lost at Alves.

In the center of the column, between the artillery and the cuirassiers, came the volunteers. They marched in a straggling mob rather than a formation, and they had nothing like a uniform. But there were thousands of them, men and women both. The first of them had started turning up at the gates of Ohnlei as soon as the army had returned, and as rumor got out about Janus’ approach their numbers had grown greater and greater. Marcus was dubious of their combat value—​for one thing, there weren’t enough muskets to go around—​but his plan called for a great deal of digging, and he’d told Raesinia he wasn’t going to turn away anyone who could wield a shovel.

More civilians turned out to line the road as the long column wound away from Ohnlei. A few cheered, but most seemed content to watch, as though they wanted to be able to say they’d borne witness, one way or the other. It was nearly the same route the army had taken last time. Some of us have marched a hell of a long way to end up back where we started. This time, of course, they didn’t have nearly as far to go. The enemy was coming to them.

As usual, Marcus spent the majority of his time riding up and down the column, straightening out snarls. As marches went, this one was easygoing, with the weather fair but cold and the road solid, well-​packed earth. The new Third Division, formed from fresh recruits and the scrapings of the depots, caused the most trouble. The recruits had spent a few weeks parading around with their new muskets and uniforms, but hadn’t yet been through a serious march, while the garrison troops had mostly never served together and were constantly getting in one another’s way. Marcus had sorted out a half dozen arguments about seniority between prickly colonels. He’d promoted David Sevran, one of Winter’s colonels, to command the new formation, and Marcus was determined to give him all the support he could manage.

They halted outside the village of Bellaia, a picturesque little place right out of a romantic landscape painting. A small cluster of houses huddled around a stone church, its double-​circle spire gleaming as the sun set. The villagers made no appearance, and no wonder. Even reduced as it was, the army camp spread over a vast area, covering the fields outside of town like a horde of locusts. At least the harvest will be in already.

There’d be another half day’s march tomorrow, to the spot Marcus had identified on the map. It had no official name, but the locals apparently called it Bear Ridge, a gradual rise in the ground to a rocky, wooded height that loomed in the distance. It wasn’t as large or as steep as Marcus might have liked, but he’d judged it the best of his limited options.

The command tent was already assembled by the time he rode up, and light spilled out through the flap. Marcus handed the reins of his horse to the guard and ducked inside, finding himself the last to arrive.

Raesinia was there, of course. There had been no question of telling her she couldn’t join the battle, not this time. She’d traded her somber dresses for riding leathers, without any ornamentation or jewels. Marcus guessed that most of the soldiers she passed had no idea they were within spitting distance of their monarch.

There was Fitz, imperturbable as always, and Winter, still looking less than comfortable in her new uniform, with Cyte at her side. The newly minted General Sevran looked more natural in his, the stars on his shoulders polished to a fine sheen. The quiet, competent Colonel Archer sat beside Give-Em-Hell, whose usual expansive mood had been checked by the presence of his queen.

As Marcus came in, there was a round of salutes from everyone but Raesinia. He nodded to the officers, bowed to the queen, and took his seat at the head of the table. A map was already laid out, annotated in pencil with the reports of the scouts who’d pushed ahead of the column. It showed Bear Ridge, roughly triangular in shape, with the longest side facing southwest. It rose from the plain between the rivers, only a few miles from the Marak to the west, considerably farther from the Vor in the other direction. The main road swung east to avoid it.

“Well,” Marcus said, looking down at it. “Here we are.”

Silent nods around the table.