The Crimson Campaign

Chapter 21

At some point during the beating they’d put a black hood over Taniel’s head and now he tripped and struggled as he was shoved through the camp by the provosts. He could hear their warning to those who passed to stay clear, and their quiet curses when he stumbled. Disoriented, he would have fallen but for the strong arms beneath his armpits. His head pounded, his body a knot of pain.

They forced him up a set of stairs and dragged him inside a building. An inn? Officers’ mess? He didn’t know. He was thrown into a chair, then tied down. He tried to struggle. The effort earned him a cuff on the back of the head.

Taniel slumped against his bonds and strained to hear some sound that would tell him his location. Nothing but the chatter of soldiers outside the building, too low to hear the voices. He might have been anywhere in the Adran camp.

How much time passed, he couldn’t be sure. The air grew cooler, so it must have been night. His face was completely numb. They had to have beaten it into a mess. He felt along his teeth. All there. His shirt was soaked – probably his own blood, and as he sat there, it grew cold.

The numbness in his body began to fade, along with his last powder trance, leaving him to feel the full pain of the beating, when he finally heard the door open. Multiple sets of heavy footsteps. Then another set. Lighter, but no less military.

His hood was pulled off. A match was struck and the lanterns on the wall lit. The room was no bigger than three yards square and was bare but for two chairs and the lanterns on the wall.

General Ket stood above him, arms crossed, her face impassive. She was flanked by two of her provosts. The men glared at him, cudgels held in such a way as if they were daring him to move.

“You’ll need more men,” Taniel said.

She seemed taken off guard that he spoke first. “What?”

“If you’re going to beat me into submission, or whatever it is you’re here to do.”

“Shut up, Two-Shot.” Ket scratched at the stub of her missing ear and then began to pace. “I should have you shot.”

“You’ll have to hang me,” Taniel said. He couldn’t help but chuckle. Shot. These officers all acted like they knew everything, but you can’t put a powder mage in front of a firing squad. Not one armed with conventional rifles, anyway.

One of the provosts put his full weight behind his fist and slammed it into Taniel’s jaw. Taniel’s head snapped to the side and his vision spun. The provost became a fuzzy blur. Taniel hawked a wad of bloody phlegm at the provost, and the man drew back for another punch.

Ket held up a hand. “That’s not necessary, provost.” She rounded on Taniel. “Is this a joke to you? You’re looking at being executed!”

“For what?” Taniel scoffed. “Holding the line?”

“For what?” she echoed incredulously. Ket stopped her pacing to face him. “Insubordination, conduct unfitting an officer, disobeying direct orders. Physically assaulting an officer. The way you act verges on treason.”

“Go to the pit,” Taniel said. He was proud when he didn’t flinch at the provost coming toward him.

Ket stopped the man again.

“Keep it up,” Taniel said. “I can do this all night. Treason? Is it treason to be the only officer in this bloody army that seems to care about winning a battle? Is it treason to rally the men? Give them something to stand up for? You talk to me about treason, when the trumpets sound a retreat every time we’re about to win a battle.”

“That’s a lie!” Ket stepped forward, and for a moment Taniel thought she’d hit him herself. “We sound the alarm when the battle goes against us. You’re down on the lines. You don’t see the desperation of the fight where you are.”

Taniel leaned forward, straining at his bonds. “I don’t see it because I’m winning.” He leaned back. “You’re scared of me. Have you gone over to the Kez? Is that why? You’re scared I’ll–”

Ket didn’t stop the provost this time. Taniel’s words were cut off by the blow, and he was genuinely surprised to find his teeth still there when his head stopped ringing.

Taniel tasted blood. He swallowed. “Is that why you arrested me in secret?” Taniel spoke around a swollen tongue. “Had me dragged through the camp in a hood? So no one could see me?” Taniel snorted and looked the provost in the eye, daring him to hit again.

General Ket scratched at her ear. “You are very popular,” she admitted as she began to pace again. “But even the popular – someone like you, who the common soldiers call a hero – need to be disciplined. Otherwise the army falls apart. It’s unfortunate, but that’s the way it is. I’d make you a public display, but the other generals don’t agree with me. They think if the men see you flogged, it’ll hurt morale and, Kresimir knows, it’s already low enough.”

“So you’re not going to kill me.”

“No. At least, not yet. This is your one and only warning.”

“And you expect an apology?”

“Indeed. Several, in fact. Starting with Major Doravir, and ending with me.”

Taniel shrugged. “Not going to happen.”

“Excuse me?” Ket’s eyebrows rose in genuine surprise.

“I nearly killed a god. I’ve slaughtered dozens of Privileged. Maybe over a hundred. I’ve lost count. In the absence of Field Marshal Tamas – by the way, why was I told he was dead? I have it from the mouth of a god that he’s not. Ah, yes. The god we have in our own camp. The god that the high command are pretending doesn’t exist.

“Where was I? In the absence of Tamas, I’m your best tool against the Kez. I’m rallying the men and killing the remaining Kez Privileged and Wardens. So no. I won’t bloody well apologize to anyone. My father didn’t abide fools. I may not like my father much, but we share that in common.”

General Ket remained silent through the whole speech. Taniel was surprised by that. He expected to be cut off by a provost’s fist halfway in. He was ready to spit the words through his broken jaw if he had to.

“Tamas is lost to us,” Ket said. “There’s no way he’ll survive in Kez. It’s better to assume he’s dead. And as for Mihali… if he wasn’t so popular among the men, we’d have him removed. He’s a very persuasive madman, nothing more.”

“Then why are we fighting this war at all?” Taniel asked. “If Kresimir is on the Kez side, we can’t win. Unless. Ah. Unless you don’t think Kresimir is there at all. You don’t think any of this supernatural stuff is real.”

“I believe what I see with my own eyes,” Ket said. “I see two opposing armies. If there was a god present, we’d all be dead. Now.” She paused to drag a chair over in front of Taniel and sat down, crossing her legs. “The threat of physical pain obviously means nothing to you. Death?” She examined him for a moment. “No, not that either.”

She continued. “This is what’s going to happen: your records will be transferred to the Third Brigade. You’ll keep your rank – but commanding a company of picked riflemen who will take on the tasks I assign. No more of this mucking about on the front line. You’re not an infantryman.”

“You want your own pet powder mage, eh?”

Ket went on as if she hadn’t noticed him speak. “You’ll apologize to Major Doravir. In public. After which you will read a prepared note – again, in public – that apologizes for your misconduct and swear on your father’s grave that you will keep the regulations of the Adran army.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“The savage girl is no longer to share your room. I don’t approve of such illicit relationships among my officers. Especially not with a savage.”

Taniel sneered. “There’s nothing illicit going on.”

“I wasn’t finished! The girl will be placed with the laundresses of the Third. You’ll be allowed to speak with her ten minutes each day. No more.”

“That’s preposterous!” Taniel leaned forward. “She’s not Adran army, she’s–”

He was silenced by the provost’s fist. The blow nearly knocked him over, but the other provost stepped up and held the chair steady.

“Do not interrupt me again,” Ket said coldly. “I’ve put up with your insubordination long enough. Rumors are the girl is some kind of sorcerer. I’ll have her watched. If she attempts to leave the camp, she’ll be beaten. If she attempts to find you, she’ll be beaten. Understand? Oh, and before you say anything – yes, I can keep her here. This is a time of war. Conscription is a reality.”

Taniel waited for a few moments before speaking. “I’ll kill any man who lays a hand on her.”

“You make any threat you want, but you can’t protect her all the time. You’ll do all these things for me, or I’ll hand your girl over to the Dredgers. You’ve heard of them, haven’t you? The scum of the Third. Men so low that the Mountainwatch wouldn’t take them. I reform such men, and if I don’t succeed, I execute them.” General Ket stood up and walked over until she was right next to Taniel. She whispered, “I don’t approve of rape, nor encourage it. But I understand it’s a powerful psychological tool, and don’t think I won’t give your little savage girl to the Dredgers to do with what they will.”

Taniel wondered if he could kill her right then. He’d have to use his teeth to do it. Tear out her throat. The provosts could be fast enough to stop him. But it might be worth a try.

“I’m not a monster, Captain. I’m not doing this on a whim. It is my duty to impose order upon this camp and I will do it even if it costs your little savage her innocence. Do you understand?”

Taniel felt the fury leave him. He wouldn’t – he couldn’t subject Ka-poel to that.

“Yes,” he said.

General Ket headed toward the door. “Untie him. Clean him up. He’s confined to quarters until he apologizes to Major Doravir.”

Tamas watched the slow march of his column as they emerged from the trees of Hune Dora Forest and onto the floodplain of the river known locally as the Big Finger.

The plain was perhaps a half mile across, from the forest to the edge of the river. The ground was rocky, but not overly so, and filled with rich, sandy silt. During a wet summer it might have been impassable by large numbers of cavalry and so given them a greater advantage, but as it was, the plain was dry and hard.

The Big Finger was the first in a succession of mountain-fed rivers collectively known as the Fingers of Kresimir. It was deep and fast-flowing and impossible to cross without sturdy rafts that could be pushed across and land on the other side farther downstream. Or by way of the bridge.

The bridge was nowhere to be seen.

Tamas heard the cries of dismay as the news was passed on down the column. He felt a twinge of pain for his men. They were starving, tired, beaten by the heat, and they’d just arrived at their one hope of delivery and found it gone.

They didn’t know that Tamas had ordered the bridge destroyed.

Across the floodplain, near the river, Tamas could see smoldering bonfires. Flanks of meat roasted above them, the last of the horses taken from the Kez a week ago. Enough for a meal for ten thousand men.

Gavril rode across the floodplain, and Tamas noted he’d kept his own horse alive. He gave Tamas a salute, then said loudly, “Damned bridge washed away.”

“Bloody pit!” Tamas slapped a fist into the palm of one hand.

Gavril went on. “We slaughtered the rest of the horses and scouted for wood for rafts. I’ll need men to build them.”

“All right. We’ve got half a day until the Kez reach us. Olem!”

The bodyguard nearly jumped out of his saddle. He brought his horse up alongside Tamas. He’d been hanging back ever since the incident with Vlora.

“Sir?”

“Organize getting the men fed. Gather the officers so I can brief them.”

“Yes, sir.” Olem flicked his reins and headed down the column, slumped in his saddle like a boy whose dog had just died.

Gavril brought his horse up closer to Tamas. “What the pit did you say to that man? I’ve not seen someone look that guilty since the Lady Femore’s face when her husband caught me in bed with her and his sister.”

“I told him I didn’t want him continuing relations with Vlora.”

Tamas watched Olem as he shouted for men to help him distribute food. He’d have to keep it organized. Eleven thousand hungry men were liable to start a riot. “I ordered Vlora to stop as well. She… vehemently… disobeyed.” Tamas couldn’t tolerate that kind of insubordination, not in a time of war. He didn’t know what he was going to do about that. He’d been avoiding it for two days.

Gavril let out a loud guffaw and slapped his knee. Tamas thought about reaching across and punching him off his horse, but decided against it. Wouldn’t want to risk breaking his neck, even if it would have done him good.

“Did everything go smoothly?” Tamas asked in a low voice, jerking his head toward the river.

“It did,” Gavril said. “Knocked out the bridge yesterday, though the boys weren’t happy about it. I can’t promise they won’t say anything.”

“Last thing I need is rumors going around that I gave the order.”

“I’ll do my best to keep them quiet,” Gavril said, “but if this turns into a death trap, I’m going to curse your name with my dying breath.” The expression he wore told Tamas he was only partially joking.

“That seems fair. How close are the cuirassiers?”

“My outriders say a day.” Gavril scratched his beard. “I hope you’re certain about this. We could have gotten the army across the river and been safe for another two weeks, foraging and resting, and then faced them on the north side of the Fingers in better shape.”

“I am certain,” Tamas said. He looked to the west. The Big Finger meandered out of sight behind Hune Dora Forest about a mile downriver. Tomorrow he’d have a whole brigade of heavy cavalry riding upstream on that floodplain. He’d be boxed in and outnumbered. “I won’t face three brigades of cavalry under Beon je Ipille on the open plains of the Northern Expanse. It would be suicide, even for me. Are you coming to my meeting?”

Gavril looked toward the bonfires. “I’ll give Olem a hand organizing lunch.”

“Good. The men will need their strength. I’m putting them to work next. It’s going to be a long night.”

Tamas rode toward the gathering of his officers, only a stone’s throw from the river. Some of them were still on horseback. The rest were on foot, having given their mounts over to Gavril’s rangers two weeks ago.

He ran his eyes over the assembled men. Every one of his generals, colonels, and majors were present. He dismounted.

“Gentlemen,” he said. “Gather round. Forgive me for not providing refreshment. I left my god-chef back in Budwiel.”

The comment received a few forced chuckles. Tamas felt his heart fall a little and made himself reevaluate his officers. They were a sorry lot. They were gaunt and unshaven, their uniforms dirty. Several wore the fresh scars of their skirmishes with Kez dragoons. Those still in possession of their horses had followed his example and given the better portion of their rations to the marching soldiers. They were tired, hungry, and he could see the fear in their eyes. Fear that hadn’t been so stark before finding out the bridge was gone.

“As you can see, the bridge we’d hoped to cross to escape our pursuers is washed away. This has forced me to make a change in our plans. The Kez dragoons will be here in full force by the end of the day. The cuirassiers will be here tomorrow.”

“That’s not enough time to get everyone across the river,” someone said.

Tamas searched for the source of the voice. It was a major, commandant of the quartermasters of the Ninth Brigade. He was missing his epaulets, and he bore a two-day-old gash across the bridge of his nose, the congealed blood almost black.

“No, it’s not,” Tamas admitted.

A clamor of voices went up. Tamas sighed. On a normal day these were his best officers. Not one of them would have interrupted him. Today was not a normal day.

He raised his hand. A few moments passed, but the hubbub died down.

“A panicked crossing of the river on hastily made rafts will leave our army fractured and in disarray. Beon’s dragoon commanders would not hesitate to attack en masse the moment they arrived. So we’re going to wait, and make a panicked crossing of the river tomorrow afternoon.”

His officers stared back at him, uncomprehending. No one said a word until Colonel Arbor flexed his jaw and popped his false teeth into one hand.

“You’re setting a trap,” Arbor said.

“Precisely.”

“How can we set a trap for half again our number of cavalry?” protested General Cethal of the Ninth Brigade. He was a stout man of medium height. He had a particular wariness for cavalry, since a flanking maneuver by Gurlish cavalry had cost him two regiments and his left eye ten years ago.

“By making ourselves a ripe target.” Tamas picked up a straight stick and cleared away some of the tall grass so he could draw in the sandy dirt of the floodplain.

“But we are a ripe target,” General Cethal said.

Tamas ignored him. “Here is our position.” He drew a line to represent the river, and then chevrons for the mountains. “The smaller division of heavy cavalry will come from the west. The larger number of dragoons, from the south. General Cethal, what is the first thing we teach prospective officers at the academy?”

“Terrain is key.”

“Indeed.”

“But sir,” General Cethal insisted, “you’ve put us on a flat floodplain with almost seventeen thousand cavalry bearing down on us. I can’t think of many worse situations.”

“We have our backs to the river,” Tamas said. “And we have significant manpower. The terrain will be very different tomorrow.”

“You mean to shape the terrain to your needs?” General Cethal shook his head. “It can’t be done. We’d need a week to prepare.”

Tamas stared hard at General Cethal. “Expecting defeat will surely bring it,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Cethal said.

Tamas took a moment to look each officer in the eye before going on. “The ancient Deliv, back before the Time of Kresimir, were foreigners to the Nine. Our own ancestors were just some of the barbarians the Deliv faced. The Deliv had barely a fraction of the fighting men, but they were better organized. A Deliv legion could march thirty miles and create an entire fortification to camp all in one day. They survived because they had the discipline and the will. We shall do the same.”

As he spoke, Tamas had been drawing lines in the dirt with his stick. He pointed at one line. “The soil is somewhat rocky, but the dirt is loose and easy to dig.” He pointed to a series of Xs. “Hune Dora Forest has an abundance of wood.”

Colonel Arbor squatted beside the crude drawing and examined it for a moment. He suddenly laughed. “It might work. Should I get my boys digging?”

“Your battalion has the first rest. We’ll be working all night, so it’ll be done in shifts. Then you’ll chop trees. General Cethal, your men will be digging.”

“My men? The Ninth?”

“Yes. All of them.”

“Do you intend to create a palisade?” General Cethal asked.

“Not quite,” Tamas said. “Get digging. I’ll come around in an hour and give each company specific instructions.” He made a shooing gesture with his stick. “Get to work.”

Tamas watched his officers head off toward their men. It was going to be a long night. He hoped that when morning came, and battle was joined, his efforts would be worth it. Otherwise he would have exhausted all of his men for nothing.

“Mihali,” he whispered to himself, “if you’re still with us… I need some help.”

It was the closest thing to a prayer he’d ever spoken.

Adamat and SouSmith watched the abandoned manor where Privileged Borbador was being kept. The street was empty, the air silent. Dark clouds threatened on the southern horizon, and the wind was beginning to pick up. They were in for a stormy night.

There were no signs of Verundish’s soldiers in the manor. Adamat wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. He’d left the money yesterday at an address the Deliv colonel had given him. He couldn’t help but think of all the things that could go wrong, or wonder whether she had taken the money and simply changed where they were hiding Bo.

Adamat headed down the hill and navigated the ruin until he found the servants’ quarters. Bedding was gone, debris picked up. The only sign soldiers had ever been there was warm ashes in one of the fireplaces. Adamat grew more nervous with each step. Was it all for naught, blackmailing the Proprietor and gathering the money?

The door to the room where they’d kept Bo was closed. He turned the knob and stepped inside.

Privileged Borbador was gone. The chair, the bed, even the stand and the book were still there, but Bo was gone.

“Bloody pit!” Adamat kicked over the book stand. “That bloody…” He dropped into the chair, head in his hands. She’d just taken the money and left, just like that. And with her, Privileged Borbador, and any hope Adamat had of getting his wife back.

SouSmith leaned in the doorway, watching Adamat with a frown. “What’ll you do?” he asked.

Adamat wanted to gouge his own eyes out. What could he do? He thought he’d known despair, but this…

The hall floorboards creaked. SouSmith turned. Adamat pulled the pistol from his pocket. If that was Verundish, he’d shoot her without a second thought.

Bo stepped past SouSmith and into the room. His hair was brushed back, his lapels straightened, and his beard shaved and styled into thick muttonchops.

Adamat felt the strength go from his limbs. He slumped back in the chair and stared at the Privileged.

“I thought you looked beat up the last time we spoke,” Bo said. “What happened to your nose?”

“I’m going to hit the next person who asks me that.” As long as they weren’t a Privileged, Adamat added silently.

Bo gave a thin smile. “Thank you,” he said, “for getting me released. They treated me well enough, but no one likes being tied up like that, not even able to move my hands.” He flexed his fingers. “So stiff.”

“You’re welcome,” Adamat said. “Now you’ll hold up your part of the bargain?”

“I have some things to do.” Bo stepped to the window and looked out.

Adamat felt his chest tighten. Things to do? “I need you now.”

“You’ll have me tomorrow.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me,” Adamat said. “I need to make sure I have your help.”

“You don’t trust me?”

“I can’t afford to,” Adamat said.

“If I decide to ignore our deal, you wouldn’t be able to stop me.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement.

“Probably not,” Adamat agreed.

They locked gaze for a few moments, and Adamat had to remind himself how young Bo really was. Twenty? Maybe twenty-two? His eyes were so much older, like a man who’d seen more than his share of suffering and lived to talk about it.

“Suit yourself,” Bo said.

“You’ll only need one night?”

“Yes.”

“SouSmith,” Adamat said, “go to Sergeant Oldrich, and then the eunuch. Tell them I plan on acting tomorrow, then meet me at the safe house.”

The big boxer nodded and left.

Adamat followed Bo out into the street. The Privileged walked with a purpose, like he had things to do, his head held high and his eyes alert. They had to walk for half an hour before they found a carriage. Bo gave the driver directions and they got inside.

“The eunuch,” Bo said, taking his hands out of his pockets. Adamat realized he wasn’t wearing Privileged’s gloves. “As in ‘the Proprietor’s eunuch’?”

Adamat smoothed the front of his coat. “Indeed.”

“That’s a dangerous friend you have. The cabal tried to kill him a couple times. Failed, obviously.”

“The Proprietor or the eunuch?”

“The eunuch,” Bo said. “The Proprietor had an uneasy truce with the cabal, but Zakary never liked the eunuch. Didn’t try to kill him again after a Privileged he sent after the eunuch wound up dead.”

“The eunuch killed a Privileged?”

“It’s not common knowledge,” Bo said, “but yes.” The Privileged fell silent for the rest of their trip, looking out the window and fingering something beneath his jacket.

The demon’s carbuncle, Adamat guessed. The jewel around his neck that would eventually kill him if he didn’t avenge the death of Manhouch.

“We’re here,” Bo suddenly said.

They climbed out of the carriage in the middle of Bakerstown. The air smelled of hot bread and meat pies, making Adamat’s mouth water. “I’m going to get something to eat,” he said, stopping beside a pie vendor.

“Get me one too,” Bo replied, “then come upstairs.” He disappeared inside a squat brick building sandwiched between two bakeries.

Adamat paid for two meat pies and followed Bo inside. When he reached the top of the stairs, he found himself in a one-room flat. There was a table and a bed, with an old mattress stuffed with straw, and one window looking out into an alley behind the bakery.

Bo stood on a chair in the middle of the room, pressing his fingers gently against the ceiling.

“What are you doing?”

Bo didn’t answer him, but hit the ceiling once, hard. The plaster gave way and a box suddenly dropped into the room, hitting the floor with a crash.

Adamat waved plaster dust away from his face as Bo opened the box. Inside was a pair of Privileged’s gloves and what appeared to be thousands of crisp banknotes, bundled together by silk ribbon.

“I would have expected something a little more… magical,” Adamat said.

Bo pulled on the Privileged’s gloves and flexed his fingers, then began setting stacks of banknotes on the floor next to the box. “I wasn’t raised as a Privileged,” Bo said. “Not like most of the others. I came off the streets originally.”

“So… a box in the ceiling?”

“I’m not stupid. The wards on this box will blow anyone that’s not me halfway across the room if they touch it.”

“Ah.”

“How much did you pay Verundish to let me go?”

“Why?”

“How much?”

“Seventy-five thousand,” Adamat said.

Bo handed him two stacks of banknotes. “Here’s a hundred.”

“I can’t take these,” Adamat said, trying to give them back. “I still need your help, I…”

Bo rolled his eyes. “Take them. I’ll still help you. I don’t care how you got the money, but it couldn’t have been easy. I pay my debts back double, when I can.”

Adamat only put the banknotes in his pockets when he realized Bo wasn’t going to take no for an answer. At a quick guess, Bo had over a million krana in that box. It was a mind-boggling number for a man like Adamat. But to a man like Bo, who’d been a member of the royal cabal, it was probably a trifle.

The Privileged bundled it all up in brown paper and wrapped it with a bow like it was one big package he’d just acquired at the store, keeping back four stacks of krana and secreting them about his person. When he was finished, he stood and nodded to Adamat. “Let’s go.”

Bo wouldn’t let Adamat come with him inside the next time they stopped, nor the time after that. It was the fourth stop, well after dark, when Adamat finally got curious enough to follow him.

They were in one of the more pleasant parts of town, where the growing middle class lived in smart, two-story houses and walked the line between the nobility and the poor. It was not unlike where Adamat himself lived, if a little more crowded.

Bo left the carriage and headed down a long alley between two tenement buildings of spacious flats. Adamat waited for a moment before slipping out after him.

He paused by the edge of the alley, watching around the corner, as Bo knocked on a door. A moment later he was admitted inside.

Adamat inched his way down the alley until he reached a window looking into the flat.

Inside, he could see a pair of children playing next to a large fireplace. A boy and a girl, maybe eight and ten years of age. The window was open to take advantage of the stiff evening winds. Adamat moved to the next window that looked into a kitchen.

A man with a long mustache and burly shoulders stood next to the kitchen table, frowning at Bo. The woman sat at the table, busy with her knitting.

“Just ten minutes of your time,” Bo was saying. He drew a stack of banknotes from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

The woman dropped her knitting needles and held a hand to her mouth. The man sputtered over the amount. Bo drew another stack and added it to the first.

“Whatever you say,” the man said. “Just let me get my coat.”

The door opened, and Adamat was forced to press himself against the wall, hoping the darkness would conceal him from Bo’s eyes.

Bo followed the man out into the alleyway and gestured for him to come down farther. They weren’t ten feet from Adamat when they stopped.

“Now what’s this all about?” the man asked.

Bo lifted his gloved fingers in the air and snapped them.

The man’s head twisted around a hundred and eighty degrees. Bo deftly stepped out of the way as the body staggered and fell. He seemed to regard the dead man for a few moments before he turned and headed back toward the carriage.

Adamat couldn’t help himself. He’d seen gruesome murders in his time, and bad men do terrible things, but the abruptness… He stepped from the darkness. “What the pit is the meaning of this?” he hissed.

“Keep walking.” Bo grabbed him by the arm in a surprisingly firm grip and spun him about, pushing him toward the carriage.

Adamat had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged along. The carriage was soon heading down the street, and Adamat struggled to find a voice to express what he’d just seen. The murder had been quick and cold. A trained assassin couldn’t have done it better.

“Here,” Bo said. He grasped something beneath his shirt and yanked, then tossed it into Adamat’s lap. “Take this. I don’t want the bloody thing anymore.”

Adamat stared down at the ruby-red jewel sitting in his lap. “Is that the demon’s carbuncle?” He wasn’t sure if he wanted to touch it.

“It is,” Bo said.

“I thought you had to kill Tamas,” Adamat said. “How did…?”

Bo looked rather pleased with himself. Not at all like someone who’d just snapped a man’s neck not two dozen paces from his wife and children. “I had to avenge the king. That man there was the headsman who loaded Manhouch into the guillotine.”

Adamat finally drew a handkerchief from his pocket and lifted the jewel to see it better by the light of the streetlamps outside the carriage. It was warm – no, hot – to the touch and seemed to throb with its own inner light. He wondered how much a jeweler would pay for a sorcerous piece of art like this.

“Gorgeous, isn’t it?” Bo said.

“It can’t have been that simple. A god made the precedence for the gaes. You can’t just kill the executioner and have it be all. Can you?”

“Kresimir was just a man,” Bo said. His eyes narrowed as if at something that made him angry. “Just a damned man with a bloody huge amount of power. He may be smarter than most, and have more time to think and plan, but even the so-called gods make mistakes.”

“Is this thing… safe?” Adamat asked.

“Quite.”

Adamat wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. “Why didn’t you just tell Tamas?”

“I wasn’t sure,” Bo said. “I only had the thought recently, and I would have looked a damn fool if his soldiers had killed an innocent man only for the carbuncle not to come off.”

“You weren’t sure? What the bloody pit kind of man –?”

Bo held up his hand and gave Adamat a cold, long stare. “At what point have you ever gotten the impression that there are good people in the royal cabal?”

“You’ve given me that impression,” Adamat said. He swallowed hard. “Yes. You have.”

“Well, get past it.” Bo turned toward the carriage window. “Because I’m not a good man. Not in the slightest. I just pay my debts.”

Adamat watched the Privileged for several minutes. Was that regret in his voice? A frown at the edges of his mouth? It was impossible to tell. Members of the royal cabal were dangerous men, he reminded himself, and were not to be trusted.

He just hoped that Bo really was on his side.