Django Wexler - The Thousand Names

“Even if it costs us-”

“Even if it costs us all of Khandar.” Janus looked solemnly at Marcus. “I expect this sort of protest from less. . imaginative minds, Captain. But you were there. You saw what they can do. We cannot leave that sort of power in the hands of a gang of Khandarai witches.”

“I. .”

That awful morning now seemed like the beginning of a nightmare, a day of flame and windblown ash that blacked out the sky and coated the streets with gray. He’d almost forgotten the assassination attempt amidst the chaos that had followed. The fires had been every bit as bad as Khandarai legend said they would be, sweeping unstoppably through the tight-packed tenements and thatch-roofed buildings of the lower city, washing against the thick stone walls of the inner city like waves against a breakwater.

Sparks driven by the wind had overtopped the wall and started dozens of smaller blazes, but the upper city was built largely of stone. Marcus had deployed the Colonials to battle these flames as best they could, and also to assist the Justices at the walls. Mobs of hysterical commoners assaulted the gates, desperate for safety, and against all tradition Marcus decreed that the inner city be opened to these refugees. That meant guards and pickets to protect the property of the aristocrats.

Thousands more Khandarai had run for the other traditional refuge and jumped into the canal or the harbor, until the shallows resembled a gigantic open-air bath. That saved them from the flames, but hundreds drowned in the choking, shoving mobs or were forced out into the deeps and went under when their strength gave out. Thousands were left behind in the city, too, unable or unwilling to run, and had burned along with their homes. The Justices were unable to provide even a partial body count, but burial squads were still working three shifts.

Casualties among the Colonials, fortunately, had been light. Most of the patrols had hurried back to the gates as soon as the fire started. The First Battalion had fewer than a dozen unaccounted for, and Marcus hoped most of those would yet turn up.

And before the ashes were cold, Janus had announced his intention to march.

“I. . don’t know,” Marcus said. “I’ll admit that something supernatural came to attack you that morning, but whether that has anything to do with these Thousand Names. .”

The gray eyes flashed. “It was a demon, Captain. A creature not of this earth, wearing a human skin.”

It caught a pistol ball. Marcus had seen a conjuror do that once in a stage show, but that had only been a trick. This had been a real ball from a real pistol, and he’d pulled the trigger himself. Which is impossible. A man might be fast, or strong- not as fast or strong as that thing was -but to catch a ball in flight. .

“Even so,” Marcus said. “Even if he was-”

They rounded a corner, and Marcus was relieved to catch sight of Fitz hurrying toward them. The lieutenant stopped in front of them and saluted.

“Your points are noted, Captain,” Janus said. “My orders stand. I expect a report by evening.”

“Yessir.” Marcus stiffened and snapped a salute of his own. The colonel swept past Fitz and on down the corridor, and Marcus didn’t let himself relax until Janus had turned a corner.

“Orders, sir?” Fitz said. “Has the colonel finished with the prince already?”

Marcus nodded wearily. “We march,” he said. “Tomorrow, at dawn.”

“Very good, sir.”

His face was impassive. Marcus gave him a penetrating look. “Doesn’t that bother you? Just the other day you were telling us how it would be unwise.”

“Obviously the colonel does not agree with me,” Fitz said mildly. “Besides, circumstances have changed. In some ways, we may be safer outside the city.”

“What do you mean?”

“Supplies are already running low among the refugees, sir. I came to tell you that there’s been a disturbance. Some farmers were bringing a convoy of food to market-that’s the inner-city market, of course-and they were confronted by a mob demanding that they sell it to them at pre-fire prices. When the farmers refused, the mob attacked the wagons and took everything they could carry. There are three dead and a dozen wounded.”

“If we leave, that sort of thing is only going to get nastier.”

“Certainly our presence contributes to the maintenance of order,” Fitz said, in the slow, calm tone he used to explain things to officers and small children. “On the other hand, shortages are only going to grow worse, and it’s only a matter of time before the people turn their anger on us.”

“Wonderful.” Marcus shook his head. “It’s all academic, anyway. Unless the prince tries to stop us by force, we leave in the morning. How are the preparations?”

“We’ve commandeered all the transport we can lay our hands on,” Fitz said. “You still mean to take the entire hospital with us?”

“Damn right. If we’re marching, that means all of us. I don’t want one Vordanai in uniform left behind.”

“It’s just that the space would be useful to transport more barrels of water, or-”

“Everyone, Fitz.”

“Yessir. Food is going to be the issue, sir, at least at first. We’ve more or less exhausted the supplies that came with the fleet, and there’s not much to be had in the city unless we start turning some nobles out onto the street.”

“That might make the mob happy,” Marcus said, and sighed. “I’ll bring it up with the colonel. Is there any good news?”

“Ammunition is holding up nicely, sir. The Auxiliaries left us a substantial supply, and since they use Vordanai weapons the calibers match up perfectly.”

“It’s a blessing no one thought to torch the magazines,” Marcus said. The fire had been bad enough. If one of the big arsenals had gone up as well. .

“Yessir. Also, Captain Roston appears to have regained consciousness.”

“Adrecht? When?”

“Early this morning, I understand.”

“You might have told me earlier. I’m going to see him.”

“Sir,” Fitz said, “about our stock of barrels-”

“Later,” Marcus snapped. “Or better yet, whatever it is, just take care of it. You have full authority to take any necessary steps.”

“Yessir!” The lieutenant saluted. “Understood, sir!”

• • •

The hospital had been established in a closed-off wing of the Palace. The prince had objected to this use of royal property, but Marcus had insisted and Janus had backed him. The battalion cutters, who handled immediate battlefield triage and most day-to-day complaints, had consolidated the worst of the wounded cases under the regimental surgeons. Marcus had visited a few times to see Adrecht, but until now his fellow captain had never been awake to receive him and the groans of the wounded had quickly driven him away.

Since then, things had quieted down somewhat. The festering infections and bad blood that accompanied battle wounds had reaped their inevitable toll, and the bodies had long since been carried away. Those who were on the road to recovery had left as well, often of their own accord, since no sane soldier wanted to stay under a cutter’s care any longer than absolutely necessary. The patients who remained were those who’d contracted something lingering, or who’d been wounded badly enough to require serious surgery and had survived the process.

Marcus was met by a surgeon’s assistant, who recognized him, saluted, and led him to the narrow bedroom in which Adrecht had been installed. As Fitz had promised, he was sitting up on the low bed, reading something. The captain was out of uniform, but his blue coat was draped across his shoulders. The left sleeve hung flat against his side, limp and empty.