Winter

“Inside!” Winter shouted. “Everyone inside now!”

Lieutenant Dobraev looked at her, startled. “What—”

Fortunately, Sergeant Gorchov had more sense. “Back to the gate!” he thundered, in a voice that would have done credit to a parade-​ground instructor. “At the double!”

Dobraev took the hint and started to run, and his escort followed. Vess and the Haeta needed no further urging. They sprinted for the gate, overtaking the more heavily laden Murnskai soldiers. Winter, following behind, sent up a silent prayer that the guards on the walls wouldn’t interpret this as an attack. But there was no repeat of yesterday’s disaster—​either Dobraev had been careful with his instructions, or Gorchov’s shout had carried clear back to the wall.

Alex and Abraham stayed with Winter, who slowed a little as she turned to look behind them. From the trees an army had emerged, a strange, ragged force whose only common trait was their battered condition. There were Murnskai soldiers in muddy whites and Vordanai men in stained blue. Peasants—​men, women, and children—​in leather and homespun, their outfits ragged and torn. Hunters with fur caps, scruffy-​looking bandits, priests in red and white robes whose distinctions had been erased by the mud.

Quite a few of them carried muskets, Winter was surprised to see. It must have decided it needed a stronger force to get to me. The Beast had nearly waited too long, and now its prey was on the verge of escaping.

They passed through the big timbered gate, and Dobraev waved frantically to the guards, who shoved the log barrier forward on its rope hinges. When it was in place, they slotted two iron bars across it, each the size of Winter’s arm. Deeper in the fortress, a bell was ringing, a tinny clamor of alarm.

“To the wall!” Dobraev was shouting. “Every man to the wall! We are under attack!”

There’s too many. She’d gotten only a glimpse of the Beast’s force, but there had to be hundreds of red-​eyes. “You won’t be able to hold the wall,” Winter said urgently. “We have to get the ships ready and fall back—”

“With all respect, Miss Ihernglass,” the lieutenant said, his expression rigid, “I am most appreciative of your warning, and your removal of my oaf of a commanding officer. But this is an hour for soldiers, so I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my way.”

“I—” Winter shook her head, frustrated. Weren’t you just complaining about being in charge? She shook her head. Not the time. People are going to die.

She left Dobraev and went to the Haeta, who were huddled together in a clear space among the shacks and lean-​tos. The soldiers who ran past gave them curious glances on their way to man the wall walk, where the cracks of musketry were already sounding. Alex and Abraham stood at the edge of the group, waiting anxiously for Winter.

“Just in time, huh?” Alex said.

“It was waiting for us,” Winter said. “It must not have been certain it had enough bodies, so it held off.”

“It certainly looked like enough,” Abraham said. “Do you think they can hold the wall?”

“No,” Winter said shortly. “We need those ships ready to sail, with everyone on board. Fyotyr said the sails and oars were taken to the keep. Abraham, do you think you can talk to the refugees? There must be a few sailors here. Get as many as you can to help you get those ships ready.”

“I... can try,” Abraham said, taken aback. “There’ll be a rush to get aboard once they know what we’re doing.”

“Let them. But no cargo, only the people. We’re getting everyone out of here.” Winter glanced over her shoulder at the wall, now wreathed in smoke. A white-​coated Murnskai soldier pitched backward off the wall walk with a scream and landed hard in the mud, and others scrambled to take his place. “Alex, go with him in case anyone tries to get in the way. Do not let those ships leave until everyone’s aboard.”

“Got it.” Alex pointed to the keep. “Come on. Let’s find some oars.”

“Won’t they have everything locked up?” Abraham said.

Alex rolled her eyes. “Greatest thief in the world, remember?”

The two of them ran off. Winter turned back to the wall, watching the flashes of musketry, waiting for the inevitable.

“They’re coming over!” one of the Haeta shouted. Hands appeared above the edge of the log palisade, spindly, underfed figures lifting themselves over the barrier. The Murnskai troops converged with bayoneted muskets, driving them back, but soon more red-​eyes were reaching the top at another spot, and then another.

Come on, Dobraev, Winter thought. You have to see this isn’t going to work. Under normal circumstances, a soldier at the top of a wall had a considerable advantage over one at the bottom. But this wasn’t a stone fortress wall, or even a ditch and scarp as one might find on a modern fortress, just a set of lashed-up logs. It was an easy climb for anyone with a knife or a hatchet. The defenders were harder to hit than the Beast’s musketeers lined up below, but the attackers were indifferent to wounds or casualties, and outnumbered their opponents several times over.

Making matters worse, the circuit of the wall was too long for the relatively small numbers Dobraev could call on. He had no reserve, nothing to plug a breakthrough. The first penetration of the Murnskai lines would be the end of the battle.

Unless we do something about it. One of the attacks was being pushed back, but at another spot, to the left of the gate, the Beast had made a lodgment on the top of the wall. The musketeers outside were concentrating their fire there, bringing down the white-​coated soldiers who ran to drive the attackers back, and the few who made it found themselves struggling hand-to-hand with vicious red-​eyes. More of the Beast’s bodies dropped from the wall walk into the courtyard, their path into the fortress blocked by only a handful of soldiers.

“Vess!” Winter shouted.

She expected another argument, but Vess was smarter than that. The girl raised her spear and pointed, and the Haeta charged with a roar. Winter drew her saber and went with them, reaching the knot of red-​eyes just as the last of the Murnskai were cut down.

The enemy were armed as variously as they were uniformed, carrying everything from sharpened sticks and cudgels to muskets and swords. They turned, fluid as the singular creature they were, to face this new threat, but it did them little good. The front rank of Haeta girls hurled their spears in mid-​sprint, a volley that hit hard enough to punch men off their feet. The warriors had time just to grab another spear from their quivers before they met the red-​eyes, a solid line of spearpoints against which the Beast’s creatures hurled themselves as uselessly as the wolves had days before. Unlike the Murnskai, the Haeta had fought the red-​eyes and knew their strengths. Winter, trotting up behind the line, watched as the girls carefully finished each downed opponent, knowing that the Beast’s creatures could ignore wounds that would cripple a human.

There was the sharp crack of a musket. A girl stumbled, clapping a hand to her throat, then collapsed in a heap. The shooter was on the wall, where a dozen red-​eye musketeers were loading with inhuman speed. Another group was pushing down the stairs beside the gate, shoving the Murnskai soldiers back. The red-​eyes were willing to accept a bayonet thrust to the gut to get their hands on an opponent, disarming the enemy with their own bodies. The Murnskai wavered, and Winter saw Lieutenant Dobraev running to steady them.

“Byr!” The scream came from Sergeant Gorchov, engaged in his own desperate fight above the gate itself. He struggled to cut himself free, but red-​eyes swarmed over the wall on both sides.

Winter gestured with her sword, then charged, hoping Vess and the others would follow. She reached the stairs alongside Dobraev. The Murnskai soldier in front of her slumped to the ground, groaning, and a heavyset peasant woman with a long stick bulled right over him. Winter deflected her downward stroke with one arm and ran her through, then kicked her back into her fellows. A young man with sunken cheeks and carrying a boat hook came forward to take her place, and Winter hacked at him wildly, driving him off-​balance. Dobraev, fighting beside her, managed a strike to his throat, and the young man sank to his knees with a gurgle.

A half dozen Haeta arrived, and Winter grabbed Dobraev and spun out of the way as the spearwomen pressed the red-​eyes back up the stairs. The rest of them were attacking the musketeers on the wall walk with thrown spears, or climbing up the rickety shacks that backed against the wall to get a handhold and pull themselves up to the palisade. The first girl to make it got a bayonet in the eye and dropped back to the ground, where she lay twitching, but two of her companions grabbed the bearded red-​eye who’d stabbed her and pulled him forward, too. He hit the ground headfirst, but the Haeta below took no chances, descending on him with knives flashing.

Winter turned Dobraev to face her. The lieutenant looked dazed, blood spattered across his face, pupils tiny pinpricks in a sea of white. She took him by the collar and shook him roughly, and he gasped, a little color returning to his cheeks.

“Get your men off the fucking wall!” Winter shouted.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about—” the lieutenant began.

Winter snarled. “I am a goddamned division-​general, and I have been in more battles than you have ever fucking heard of. Now give the order before I bash you on the head and give it myself!”

Dobraev took a deep breath, pulled away from her, and shouted.

“Down from the wall! Kila, get the men down into the courtyard!”

Sergeant Gorchov answered with a roar, swinging his sword with such violence that he decapitated a red-​eye entirely in a spray of gore. Winter spoke urgently into Dobraev’s ear, and the lieutenant shouted more instructions. The Beast had concentrated its attacks around the gate, where the defenders were heavily engaged, but the men farther along the wall were free to move. They came down the stairs at a run and lined up in the courtyard, muskets ready. At the lieutenant’s signal, the Haeta and Gorchov’s few remaining soldiers pulled back, ceding the wall to the red-​eyes. As soon as they were clear, the Murnskai opened fire, pinning the red-​eyes to their newly won position with a withering volley of musketry.

Answering shots came from the top of the wall, the few survivors using piles of the dead and dying for cover. That was more than the defenders had down in the yard, and Winter waved them back, in among the shacks and lean-​tos. In the shadow of one of these insubstantial buildings, she caught her breath. The Murnskai found cover and returned fire, and musket balls thocked into earth and wood all around her.

A bloodied Gorchov staggered over to her and Dobraev and grabbed the lieutenant by the arm. Dobraev stared at him.

“Kila. Kila! Are you all right?” he said.

“I’m fine,” Gorchov snarled. “Most of the blood is Vasil’s, brave little fool. Who are these monsters? I saw a girl of twelve throw herself onto a soldier’s bayonet so an old man could dash his brains out with a footstool!”

“They’re mad,” Winter said. “I told you. They don’t value their lives, and they don’t feel pain.”

“Demons,” Gorchov muttered.

“There’s no such thing as demons, Kila,” Dobraev said. “They die the same as men.” He straightened up. “We can pull back to the keep.”

“No,” Winter said. “You’re not listening. We can’t hold them off. They’re not going to give up. They’ll keep coming until we run out of ammunition, if nothing else works. We have to get out of here.”

“The ships,” Gorchov said. “Kollowrath stripped the sails and oars.”

“I sent Abraham and Alex to get help from the refugees,” Winter said.

“It’ll take too long,” Dobraev said. “Once they get the gate open, they’ll swamp us.”

“We fall back,” Winter said. “A fighting withdrawal.” She gestured at the cluttered yard. “One shack at a time.”

“There’s still too many,” Gorchov said. “We’re down to fifty men, plus your... warriors.” He eyed the Haeta.

“I may be able to help with that,” Abraham said. Winter turned, surprised, and saw him trotting over with at least two dozen men behind him, old Fyotyr in the lead. The newcomers were all refugees, dressed raggedly, and most had only clubs and knives for weapons, but they shouted their enthusiasm.

“What about the ships?” Winter said.

“We found some sailors. Alex is keeping watch,” Abraham said. “When they saw what was happening—”

“We want to fight,” Fyotyr said. “If I am to die today, better to die like a man than huddling like a sheep.”

“Some of the women wanted to fight, too,” Abraham said quietly. “The men wouldn’t let them.”

“There are spare muskets and ammunition in the keep’s armory,” Dobraev said. “They can help run it forward.”

“Tell them,” Winter said, and added in Vordanai, “And if any of them decide they want to use those muskets themselves, I’m certainly not going to stop them.”

*

It took thirty minutes before the ships were pronounced ready for the swollen, fast-​flowing river, thirty minutes purchased in blood, step-by-step. As Dobraev had predicted, the red-​eyes soon got the gate open, despite concentrated fire from the Murnskai musketeers that left dozens dead in the gateway. Once they did, a tide of them flowed in from outside the fortress, and the musketry got considerably less one-​sided. The Murnskai were forced back through the camp, giving ground as the red-​eyes assembled and charged, a line of powder smoke marking the front.

Without the refugees, the fight would have been hopeless. The civilians picked up the muskets that fell from dead soldiers, providing fresh bodies for Dobraev to throw into the line. Now that he had the right idea, he was skilled enough that Winter left him on his own, sticking close to the Haeta. She and Vess led them wherever the red-​eyes threatened to break through, blunting their attacks long enough for the line to pull back. The price they paid was terrible, the girls whom Winter had come to know falling one after another, cut down by musket-​fire or gutted with bayonets.

They were fighting around the base of the Keep when word finally came. The stone walls provided cover for musketeers who fired weapons reloaded by refugee women huddled in its lee. A refugee girl grabbed Winter’s arm to get her attention.

“Alex says the boats are ready!” she shouted, almost inaudible above the battle racket. “She says to come now; the sailors don’t want to wait!”

Winter locked eyes with Vess, who waited nearby with a dozen surviving, blood-​stained Haeta. “Go board,” she said. “Don’t let them leave without the rest of us.”

Vess grinned savagely and pointed with her spear, and they took off at a run. Winter found Dobraev and shouted the news in his ear. The defenders disengaged, gradually at first, a few men turning to fire to keep the red-​eyes at bay while the rest hurried ahead of them. When the Beast realized what was happening, its creatures surged forward, ignoring musketry and opposition, ignoring wounds, ignoring everything.

“Run!” Winter screamed. “Now!”

They ran, dodging through the camp, all organized resistance gone. A soldier tripped over a tent line and vanished, trampled by the horde of red-​eyes. There was scarcely any firing now, just a mad scramble to escape. Winter thought her heart would burst, her lungs sawing at the air, Dobraev leaping nimbly over a broken crate just ahead of her.

Then there were no more shacks, and the stone pier was in view. The two ships, packed from bow to stern with a dense mass of humanity, rode dangerously low in the water. They’d pulled away from the pier, held in place by only a few straining lines, with cargo nets dangling from their sides into the rushing water. The soldiers were throwing away their muskets and jumping, swimming out to get a hold on the nets and haul themselves up.

At the ship’s rails, a handful of muskets fired, bringing down a few red-​eyes out of the horde. Winter didn’t stop to look. She pounded down the pier and flung herself into the water. It was shockingly cold, momentarily driving the breath from her lungs, but she felt her boot touch the sandy bottom and push off again. A few floating steps, and she got hold of a net and pulled herself up with arms that suddenly felt as strong as wet paper. Someone grabbed her. She looked up to find Sergeant Gorchov grinning broadly, his beard crusted with blood.

On the deck, someone took an ax to the lines, and the ships sprang into the current. They ran out the oars, sweeping hard to keep themselves steady in the swift-​flowing river. Behind them, the red-​eyes hit the shore and started to swim, and for a horrible moment Winter thought it had all been useless. But even the Beast couldn’t drive flesh and blood beyond its ultimate limits, and the Bataria was in full flood. Most of the red-​eyes that went in the water were swept under and away, and the few that closed with the ships were summarily dispatched with musket shots.

We made it. Winter stared at the crowd of monsters remaining on the shore. Saints and fucking martyrs. We actually made it. She looked across the rope net and found Vess, soaked and huddled against the hull. Some of us.

*

They put in at a rocky beach on the north bank, fifty miles downstream from the fortress. Many of the soldiers made it only as far as the shallows before collapsing from exhaustion, unable to do more than lie in the water and struggle for breath. It fell to the refugees who’d stayed out of the fighting to drag them ashore and get fires built. The north bank of the Bataria seemed to have no trace of civilization, and thick woods came down almost to the river, so firewood, at least, was plentiful.

“We’re going to be pretty hungry by the time we get to Dimiotsk,” Alex said.

She and Abraham had helped Winter, whose arms had been cramping so badly she hadn’t been able to get herself loose from the net. Now, seated beside the blaze of the fire with a cup of warm soup cradled in her hands, she was starting to feel alive again.

“Most of the refugees brought something in their packs or their pockets, but we made them leave all the heavy baggage behind,” Alex went on. “It’ll be two or three days to the city, at least.”

“We’ll survive,” Abraham said firmly. “And some of the sailors said they might be able to fish.”

Winter nodded slowly. Alex, crouching beside her, peered at her a little closer.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she said. “Abraham, do you want to take a look at her?”

“She’s exhausted,” Abraham said. “Leave her alone, Alex.”

“I’m fine,” Winter said. She unfolded her fingers from the tin cup of soup with some effort and took a sip. It was thin, but wonderfully warm. “Just... cold.”

Alex nodded. Abraham clapped her on the shoulder, and they moved off, talking quietly. Winter stared into the depths of the fire, watching the logs slowly crumble, until she heard a soft grunt and looked up to find Lieutenant Dobraev sitting nearby.

“Your friend is quite the healer,” he said. “He tended several men I had despaired of, and they all seem much improved.”

Winter nodded. “He’s... very experienced.”

“Such wisdom in a man so young.” Dobraev shook his head. “I do not pretend to understand you, Winter Ihernglass, or what happened here. I am not sure I ever will. Are you truly a general?”

She nodded.

“In what army?”

Winter didn’t think she could lie to him at this point. “Vordanai.”

“I guessed as much. The famous Girls’ Only division.”

Correcting him seemed pedantic, so Winter only nodded again.

Dobraev shifted, holding his hands up to the fire. “No need to tell anyone else, I think. I am not even sure if we are still at war with you. I have heard rumors... of many things. When we reach Dimiotsk, I will report to the colonel there for orders. I imagine you’ll have time to slip away before then.”

“Thank you,” Winter said.

“It would be poor form to turn you in after you saved my life, and the lives of my entire command.”

“Some of your command,” Winter said.

“True. But without your warning, we all would have been slaughtered by those... fanatics.”

Maybe. Winter couldn’t be sure. If I’d never come here, would the Beast have destroyed the fortress? Or would it simply never have bothered? Am I helping people, or just mitigating the catastrophe I drag in my wake? She took a long breath, thick with the scent of woodsmoke.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I’m glad I could help.”

“What will your Trans-​Batariai friends do?”

“Continue north, I imagine.” I should talk to Vess. Somehow the thought of standing up, right at the moment, was unbearable.

“Tell them they are welcome to continue down the river with us, if they would like to put more distance between themselves and the enemy.” Dobraev looked over his shoulder toward the river. “Will they build boats, do you think?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But when we get to Dimiotsk, I would advise your superiors to be ready. They’ll be coming sooner or later.” They’ll be coming for everyone, sooner or later.

“Oh, believe me, I plan to. Mohkba needs to be told.”

“Will Kollowrath cause trouble, when he recovers?”

“I doubt it.” Dobraev looked pained. “Apparently the men I sent to retrieve him from his sickroom in the keep disobeyed orders and fled directly to the ships.”

Oh. Winter swallowed. For all that the captain had nearly gotten her killed, she wasn’t sure he deserved to be left for the Beast. No one deserves that.

“We will spend the night here, I think,” Dobraev said. “The ships are too heavy to risk the river in the dark.”

“Keep a watch,” Winter said. “Just in case.”

“Believe me,” Dobraev said, looking over his shoulder again, “I plan to.”

*

There were no tents, besides those the Haeta carried, and few blankets. Winter ended up stretched out on the hard ground beside Alex and Abraham, pressed tight together against the chill with a couple of ragged cloaks thrown across them. The watch fed the fires all night, keeping off the worst of the cold, and Winter woke feeling stiff and achy but otherwise much improved.

The trappers among the refugees had erected a few snares, and they had rabbits for breakfast, though not nearly enough to assuage Winter’s hunger. She chewed the last of the jerky from her own pack and told herself it was only two days to the city. We’ll manage.

As soon as it was light enough to see clearly, Dobraev busied himself getting the party back aboard the boats. Somehow this was much more difficult without the threat of the red-​eyes pushing everyone forward, and arguments broke out about who would get what space. Sergeant Gorchov had his hands full breaking up shoving matches. A few of the trappers and other folk used to the wilds quietly melted away, preferring to chance it in the forest rather than stay with the noisy crowd.

Winter watched, waiting for her turn. There had been no sign of the Beast attempting to cross the river, but most of the Murnskai soldiers were still standing guard, muskets at the ready. In the midst of the dead fires from last night’s camp, the small group of Haeta were checking their packs and preparing to depart. Glancing at them, Winter saw Vess looking back at her, and she suppressed a sigh. I can’t put it off forever.

As Winter came over, Vess stood apart from the others, her pack already on her back, a spear in hand. Including her, there were seventeen Haeta girls left, half of the group that had rescued Winter from the Beast’s pursuit. Yath was dead. Clever Yuil, Nish with her quick hands, soft-​spoken, wide-​eyed Boli—

Enough. Listing them won’t bring anyone back. Winter forced a smile.

“You’re going north?” she said.

Vess nodded. “I know this territory. It is not ours, but it is not far to Haeta land. And the tribes close to here will not be unfriendly.”

“Good.” Winter hesitated. “Dobraev offered to take you to the city. It might be safer. I don’t know if the red-​eyes will come over the river.”

“If they do, we will kill them,” Vess said matter-of-factly. “I will warn my tribe when we return.”

Winter nodded. There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” she said, after a moment.

“For what?”

“For putting myself in charge. I... tried. But...”

“Winter.” Vess shook her head, struggling with herself. “Leti... would have wanted this. For everyone to escape together, however much it cost us. I told you that you had to live up to her expectations. I think you have done so.”

“Thank you.”

Vess turned to look over her warriors. “We should go. The farther I am from this place by nightfall, the more comfortable I will feel. Good luck to you.”

“And to you.”

“I hope your blessed friends find what they’re looking for.”

So do I, thought Winter. She gave a slight bow, which Vess returned awkwardly. At command in their own language, the Haeta formed up. A few of the girls waved to Winter as they headed north at an easy trot. Winter waved back, then turned to the river.

Alex and Abraham were waiting for her, some distance away from where the crowd around the ships was finally thinning.

“The Haeta are gone,” Winter said.

“I’d almost rather walk with them to the city,” Alex said. “At least then we’d have something to eat.”

“I don’t think you could convince them to go to the city,” Abraham said.

“I know.” Alex sighed, and gestured at the overcrowded ships. “I’m just not looking forward to that.”

“They’re safer this way,” Winter said. “I’m the one the Beast is following. The farther they are from me, the better.”

“It’s not your fault the thing hates you,” Alex said.

“It’s just a fact,” Winter said.

“You did the best you could,” Abraham said.

I always do, Winter thought. And then people die. Abraham caught her eye with a knowing look, and she half smiled. “I know. The paths not taken.”

“One step at a time,” Abraham said.

“What?” Alex looked at them. “Nobody’s going to fill me in?”

“It’s just... something we talked about,” Winter said. “Come on. Let’s get aboard.”