The Crimson Campaign

Chapter 23

Tamas watched the sunrise over the Adran Mountains to the east and wondered if it would be the last he would ever see.

The Kez dragoons had caught up with them late the day before. They made camp over a mile into Hune Dora Forest. He’d spent half the night watching their campfires flicker in the night and listening to them sing cavalry battle hymns. Every so often a gunshot would punctuate the distant sound as one of their scouts got too close and met a powder mage’s bullet.

Now, the world was quiet but for the sound of the swift river on the rocks behind him. Tamas lay on the ground, leaning against his saddle about a hundred paces from the river. He held a powder charge in his hand, kneading the paper between his fingers.

In his mind he could see the dragoons climbing from their tents, stretching in the crisp morning air and preparing Fatrastan coffee over their cookfires. They’d be unhurried. Restful. They knew that their heavy cavalry wouldn’t be here for some time yet, and that Beon wouldn’t attack before he had his full force.

“Where are the cuirassiers?” Tamas asked. His breath fogged as he spoke. Despite the heat of the summer days, the mornings were still chill this close to the mountains.

Gavril stared sullenly toward the tree line as if he expected the dragoons to appear any moment. “Not more than a few hours away. I’d expect them here by noon.”

“They’ll be in formation by two o’clock. One, if Beon’s generals are organized.”

“Not long to get ready.”

“Long enough. Olem.”

The bodyguard stirred from his lookout position a few paces from Tamas’s side. “Sir?”

“Pull our pickets back from the forest. Are the rafts done?”

“Aye, sir. Three big ones.”

“Begin ferrying troops across the river. Start with the wounded, then the greenest troops. Take your time at it. I expect the Kez to attack between one and two o’clock. I want about a thousand of our men across the river by then. Enough to be convincing, but not enough to destroy our ability to fight.”

“Very good, sir. Anything else?” Olem’s tone was crisp. Ready for battle.

“Does everyone know where they are meant to be when the fighting starts?”

“Yes, sir. We drilled them half the night.”

“Make things chaotic. I want lots of milling about. Fistfights. If you have to ‘lose’ one of the rafts in the river, so be it. This has to be convincing.”

“I spoke to Colonel Arbor last night, sir. His men are going to hide their kits and rifles. Make like they’ve abandoned them.”

“Good. Dismissed. Wait. Find me Andriya and Vlora.”

Olem flinched at the mention of Vlora’s name. He saluted and was off.

The wind was blowing westerly, and Tamas could see a low cloud cover inching its way off the Adran Mountains. If rain was coming, it would make this a miserable fight. Beon might even delay his attack, making all of Tamas’s preparations be for nothing.

He wondered idly if Mihali had heard his prayer last night.

“What are you up to, Tamas?” Gavril asked.

“Kind of obvious from this end, isn’t it?”

“I’ve been ranging since you arrived yesterday. To me, it looks like a half-finished defense.”

“Perfect.” Tamas climbed to his feet. The camp was shaped in a square. To the north, the Big Finger raged along its banks. To the east, a scree slope leading up to the mountain prevented a flanking maneuver by Kez cavalry. To the west and south, a mound of earth about three feet tall had been piled all around the camp. It was a standard short defense, from behind which infantry could take easy cover.

It would barely slow a cavalry charge.

To the west, the mound had been topped with tree trunks, propped together to form giant Xs. Between them, sharpened stakes had been driven into the ground. It was a thick, deadly defense against cavalry. A few hundred men worked hard at adding to those stakes as the mound of dirt swung around to defend the south. It wasn’t nearly enough men. There would be a gap in their defenses about an eighth of a mile long. A gap through which ten thousand dragoons would charge.

“Sir.”

Tamas broke away from his examination of the camp. Andriya and Vlora stood at attention. Neither looked like they’d slept all night. Damned fools.

“Gather the powder mages,” Tamas said. “I’m sending you across the river.”

They stared back at him blankly. “Sir?” Andriya said. His hands twitched on his rifle. “You promised we’d be killing Kez.”

“You can do that from the other side of the river. I’m not risking any of my mages in the melee. I want you where you can shoot without being shot – or stabbed.”

“You want us to cross in shifts to keep the Kez scouts at bay?” Vlora asked.

Tamas hesitated. A chill wind cut through the camp and he noticed a low fog creeping its way down from the mountains and across the floodplain.

“No. I want the Kez scouts getting a good look at the camp now. They’re welcome to get as close as they dare.”

“Sir, I’d rather be on this side of the river,” Andriya said.

Tamas sighed. “Not today, Andriya.”

Andriya gripped his rifle. “Please, sir.” He bared his teeth. “You promised I would get to kill Kez.”

“From a distance.” Tamas clipped the words off firmly. “Besides, they’ll be watching for the Marked. They’ll feel more confident with you on the other side of the river.”

“You’re coming with us, then?” Vlora said.

Tamas frowned. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re one of the powder mages, sir.”

“No. I have to remain in close in order to command.”

“That’s not fair.” Andriya was livid. He stared toward the forest, straining like a hound that could smell its quarry. “I’ve got every right to put my bayonet through a Kez noble’s eye. I want blood on my hands.”

“‘Blood on my hands, sir,’” Tamas corrected. He didn’t need this. He had fifteen thousand cavalry about to rain down on him, and just when he thought he might have sorted things out with Vlora, Andriya was becoming insubordinate. “Cross the river. That’s an order, soldier.”

He turned away from Andriya to make it clear that the conversation was over. The two powder mages left him alone with Gavril. Tamas and Gavril remained silent for a few minutes, watching the organized chaos evolve in the camp. Men shouted. Tamas thought he saw a punch thrown. A little while later, the first raft was launched. It got away from the handlers and was pulled downstream with no one on it. A cry of dismay went up from the brigades, and Tamas didn’t think it was feigned.

“Where do you want me?” Gavril asked.

“On your horse,” Tamas said. “You and your rangers should take the eastern flank, in case some of Beon’s dragoons attempt the scree.”

“All right,” Gavril said.

“Here.” Tamas unhooked the cavalry saber from his belt and handed it to Gavril. “Better to swing from horseback.”

“You’re not going to be mounted?”

Tamas smiled, though he didn’t feel any mirth behind it. “I’m taking the center. If I’m not mounted, the men won’t see when I fall.”

Gavril seemed to think on the gravity behind those words before accepting the cavalry saber.

Tamas took the small sword from his saddle and hooked it to his belt.

“I’ll see you after the battle,” Gavril said.

Tamas clasped hands, then was surprised when Gavril pulled him into an embrace. Gavril held him for a moment, then headed off to join his rangers.

Olem returned an hour later.

“Any of the men eat this morning?” Tamas asked.

“Caught a lot of fish in the river, actually. Andriya bagged a pair of goats on the mountainside. There was a little leftover horse. Every man had a bite of something.”

“Let’s hope it’s enough,” Tamas said.

Olem looked up. “At least the buzzards will eat well.”

Tamas watched as the fog he’d seen earlier moving in slowly enveloped the entire camp. It wasn’t thick – barely two feet deep. Enough to obscure the ground but not the camp itself. The clouds had moved in from above. They threatened rain, but Tamas had seen this kind of weather before. There’d be nothing more than a light mist.

Strange weather for a summer day.

At eleven thirty, Tamas caught sight of a pair of horsemen to the west, nearly a mile away at the bend in the river. He sprinkled some black powder on his tongue, and the men came into sharp relief. Tan-and-green uniforms under shining breastplates, and wearing plumed helmets.

The cuirassiers had arrived.

Adamat stood on the sixth floor of the Dwightwich bell tower with a looking glass at his eye. He was examining a fellow with shifty eyes who was wearing a faded red waistcoat and knee-length trousers and sitting on the stoop about a hundred paces from Lord Vetas’s headquarters.

“They have another lookout on the corner of Seventh and Mayflew Avenue,” Adamat said. He could hear the scratching of a pen behind him. He scanned the streets once more with the looking glass and then handed it to a young woman by the name of Riplas – the eunuch’s second-in-command. She took his spot at the window while he turned to the assembled group in the cramped bell tower room.

“You’re sure you have everyone?” the eunuch asked Adamat.

Adamat looked at the eunuch out of the corner of his eye. If he had any idea Adamat was blackmailing his master, he’d given no indication when he showed up the day before with forty of the meanest street scum Adamat had ever seen: boxers, gang members, dockworkers, pimps, and bodyguards.

“I’ve been watching them on and off for almost two weeks,” Adamat said. “They change their posts, but between your reports and mine I think we have everyone.”

He guessed that Vetas was employing over a hundred heads, based on the comings and goings from his headquarters. That was no small operation, and any thirty of them could be in the headquarters at any given time. The Proprietor had said Vetas had sixty enforcers.

Adamat looked over at Bo. The Privileged was down on his haunches in one corner of the room, his eyes closed, hands folded inside the sleeves of his jacket. He opened his eyes, as if he’d felt Adamat’s gaze upon him. Adamat shuddered. He was still unnerved by the casual murder of Manhouch’s headsman the day before.

“Vetas’s pet Privileged is there,” Bo said. “Right now. She’s not some hired fool, either. She’s got cabal-level stuff at her beck and call.”

A bird burst from the bells above their heads, causing Adamat to jump. He noticed that he was the only one to do so and smoothed the front of his coat. A powerful Privileged? That wasn’t good. Not at all. He was depending on Bo to be able to neutralize Vetas’s Privileged even as Adamat’s men seized the place.

Bo must have sensed the unasked question. “I’ll kill her. Don’t worry about that.”

“If it turns into any kind of a fight between you two, we’re all dead men,” the eunuch said.

“Well, you’re not exactly a man,” Bo said with a smirk. He nodded to Riplas. “And she’s not.” His smirk suddenly turned to a frown. “And she’s definitely not.”

Adamat turned to see Fell standing on the bell tower stairs. The Fontain Academy graduate wore a fitted waistcoat, sans tails, and a pair of tight men’s pants tucked into her boots.

“Ricard can’t spare any men right now,” Fell said, “but he sent me.”

The eunuch turned toward her with a look of disgust. “Does he know the resources the Proprietor is shifting for this operation?” he asked.

“As a matter of fact,” Fell said, cocking her eyebrow, “he doesn’t. I’m sure he’ll be interested to know.”

Adamat stepped between them. “It’s more help than you realize,” he said to the eunuch. For Ricard to send his ten-million-krana servant into harm’s way meant a great deal.

“Bah,” the eunuch sneered. His fingers tapped rapidly against the side of his leg. He seemed on edge – not the quiet, thoughtful killer Adamat had met months ago.

Adamat stepped back to the window and took the looking glass from Riplas. “Any more lookouts?” he asked.

“None.”

“Then take the final assignments down.”

Riplas left the room. She had the positions and descriptions of all of Lord Vetas’s lookouts. She’d hand them over to the eunuch’s goons, and they’d do the rest.

Everything was in place. Now Adamat just had to wait.

He lifted the looking glass to his eye and returned his gaze to Vetas’s headquarters. Over an hour passed, and he watched from his vantage point as the eunuch’s goons took care of Vetas’s lookouts. He felt the sweat roll down the back of his neck as he waited. So much could go wrong. The slightest slip, and Faye was dead.

“What if he doesn’t come outside today?” Bo asked.

The front door to Vetas’s headquarters opened, and a familiar figure stepped outside. He wore his sharp black coat, top hat, and carried a cane in one hand. Adamat felt his heart jump at the sight.

“That’s not going to be a problem,” Adamat said. “He’s leaving now.”

Lord Vetas checked the street with the smallest twitches of his head. Probably receiving signals from his lookouts – the closest of whom Adamat had left undisturbed.

Vetas gave an almost imperceptible nod. A woman came through the door – the same one he’d seen in the red dress weeks ago, with the auburn curls – and together they headed south down the avenue. They were followed two steps back by a pair of well-dressed and well-muscled men. A few seconds later a third came out the door, waited for a moment, then followed.

“I’ll keep on his trail,” Fell said, disappearing down the stairs.

“Take his tail,” Adamat said to the eunuch, “and then meet us at the house. Bo?”

Bo stood up, stretching his gloved fingers. “I’ll get a little closer and unravel the Privileged’s wards. It’ll take me some time, but I’ll be ready when you get back.”

Sergeant Oldrich was waiting for Adamat in the chapel beneath the bell tower. He sat in a pew, legs up, a wad of tobacco in one cheek. He tipped his hat back, watching as Bo slid out one exit.

“So,” Oldrich said, turning to Adamat, “you got yourself a Privileged.”

Adamat steeled himself. He couldn’t be sure how Oldrich would react after having specifically stated he wouldn’t help Adamat rescue Bo. “I did.”

“I heard Verundish dismissed her men and left town yesterday. I thought that might have been the cause.”

“I did what I needed to. He’s freed of his gaes, if that makes a difference.”

“Oh?”

“He killed the guillotine operator who took off Manhouch’s head.”

“Huh,” Oldrich said. “Well, I’m sure the field marshal will be delighted. You ready?”

“Let’s go.”

Oldrich’s soldiers fell in with them as they left the chapel, and Adamat told them to stay back a hundred paces.

Adamat, in turn, trailed Fell. He saw her weaving in and out of foot traffic as they headed farther into the city. The streets were crowded just after lunch – that would make it harder for Vetas’s men to spot Adamat, but just as hard for Adamat to keep track of them.

It was a little over thirty minutes before Fell stopped and waved Adamat forward. They stood at a busy intersection, just around the corner from a flower market. Fell had her back against the wall, her shoulders slumped as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Adamat came up beside her and mimicked her body language.

“His tail is over there,” she said, slowly tilting her chin upward in one direction.

Adamat saw the man right away. He was eating a meat pie and scanning the crowd with a mistrusting leer. Not subtle, but an effective lookout. Not far behind him, Adamat spotted the eunuch.

“Vetas is inside the flower stall around the corner,” Fell said. “Leave him to me. Have your soldiers take his goons.”

“I want him alive.”

“So do I,” Fell said.

Adamat needed him alive so Vetas could tell him where Josep was. He wondered why Fell would want him breathing.

“I’m going,” Fell said. She disappeared around the corner, casual and graceful as a cat.

Adamat gave the signal to Oldrich, then tilted his hat forward to hide his face and followed Fell.

He made his way to the middle of the street and was soon joined by Oldrich and six of his men. They each examined bouquets or pretended to talk, but he couldn’t help but think they looked far too obvious.

Vetas’s two goons were standing outside of the Parkside Flower Boutique, watching the crowd, their arms crossed, not the least bit subtle. Adamat glanced toward the tail. The man was gone. Adamat hoped that meant the eunuch had taken care of him.

Adamat could feel every muscle tighten as he watched the flower shop entrance out of the corner of his eye. Maybe Vetas had already spotted them and disappeared out the side. What if his goons warned him, or Vetas was able to slip into the crowd?

His hands were beginning to shake from nervousness when Lord Vetas finally emerged from the flower shop with the woman in the red dress. She carried a bouquet of flowers. He handed a package to one of his goons and scanned the flower market.

His eyes locked onto Adamat’s. Adamat felt a cold sweat break at the corner of his brow. He tensed, ready to chase Vetas through the streets.

Fell emerged from the flower shop, strolling out like a paying customer. A stiletto dropped from her sleeve and she gracefully swung it around over Vetas’s shoulder and pressed it to his throat.

The two goons stepped back, shouting. Both drew pistols. The crowd split apart.

Adamat felt like he was in a dream. He watched himself draw his own pistol and fire it. One of the goons went down. The other took a cudgel to the back of the head from one of Oldrich’s soldiers, and the rest of the soldiers quickly fell in around Vetas, obscuring him from the crowd.

Adamat shouldered his way through the soldiers until he reached Vetas.

Lord Vetas was on his knees in front of Fell, a stiletto still to his throat. She’d relieved him of two very similar-looking daggers and a small pistol, both of which were lying on the ground behind her.

Adamat took great pleasure in the mild look of surprise on Vetas’s face. It died quickly when Vetas saw Adamat.

Vetas smiled. “Adamat! I suspected you might still be alive.”

“Is she still alive?” Adamat pressed the hot barrel of his pistol against Vetas’s face.

“Every pain you do to me,” Vetas said, not flinching at the heat of the pistol barrel, “I will return to you and your wife tenfold. I want you to remember that, Adamat.”

“So she is alive?”

“Quite,” Vetas said. “Though she won’t be in an hour and forty-two minutes if I haven’t returned.” He paused, looking around at the soldiers. “I suspect you know where my headquarters is. You’ve probably been watching me very closely. Bravo. But do you have enough men to get in there?”

“You mean past your Privileged?” Adamat asked. “Yes. Yes, I think I do. Where is my boy?”

Vetas gave a sickeningly self-satisfied smile. “An hour and forty-one minutes. Are you sure you have time for this?”

Adamat looked at the woman in the red dress. Oldrich held her tightly by the arm. She glared at him through narrowed eyes, but he could see that her hands trembled. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“Nila,” she said.

“What do you do for him?” He pointed at Vetas.

“Nothing! I… nothing. I don’t work for him. I’m just there to watch Jakob. He’s only a boy!”

“What was Vetas buying in there?”

“Flowers!”

“For who?”

“Lady Windeldwas, or something like that.” Nila brushed the hair out of her face.

“Lady Winceslav?”

“Yes, that was it.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.” For all her fright, she was remarkably calm beneath the torrent of questions.

Adamat turned back to Vetas. “Why?”

“An hour and forty minutes, Adamat,” he said.

Adamat brought his pistol back and slammed the butt across Vetas’s face. “Secure them,” he said to Fell. To Oldrich, “Sergeant, give her four of your men. We need to get off the street before the police get here.”

Fell dragged Vetas to his feet, still holding the stiletto to his throat. Oldrich sent four of the men with her, along with Nila and the two wounded goons, and the rest of the soldiers followed Adamat.

They met up with the eunuch three blocks down from Vetas’s headquarters.

“My men are in position,” the eunuch said.

“Where’s Bo?” Adamat asked, wheezing from the effort of the run.

He found the Privileged around the corner, standing in the middle of the street. Bo wore black gloves over his Privileged gloves to conceal them. He was muttering to himself, his gloved fingers working silently in the air in front of him, as if he was playing an invisible piano with one hand and plucking a harp with the other. There were three or four people watching him as if he was some kind of madman. He certainly looked the part.

“We have to go in now,” Adamat said. He hunched over his pistol, trying to conceal it from view while he reloaded it.

Bo’s fingers continued to work the air. “I said I’d need time.”

“We don’t have much time,” Adamat said. “His men have orders to kill Faye if he doesn’t return at a prescribed time.”

“Unfortunate,” Bo said with a scowl. “Tell the eunuch to get his men in place.”

The order was given, and five minutes later the eunuch joined Adamat and Bo.

“We’re ready,” the eunuch said.

Bo looked him up and down, eyes lingering on the tailored suit and the bald head. “You make my skin crawl.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Adamat smoothed the front of his jacket. “Sergeant?”

Oldrich’s remaining soldiers had fetched their rifles. They were beginning to get looks from the passersby. “We’re ready,” Oldrich said.

“Let’s make it a parade, then.” Bo turned on his heel and marched down the middle of the street, heading toward Lord Vetas’s headquarters. His fingers twitched, making music that only he could hear. Adamat exchanged a look with Captain Oldrich. This was not how they’d taken the house in Offendale.

Bo didn’t slow as he rounded the corner and stepped his way toward Vetas’s house. When he reached the middle of the street directly in front of the house, he turned and faced it. He raised his hands above his head. In one of the windows, a lookout shouted a warning.

Even though Adamat couldn’t open his third eye, he could still feel it when a Privileged standing at his elbow reached into the Else. Sorcery flowed into the world, and Bo threw his arms wide, and the entire face of the building collapsed like a piece of cake sliced by a giant knife.

Adamat stared at the dust rising from the rubble. Men inside the house stared back, coughing and waving away plaster dust. The shock was plain on their faces.

Sergeant Oldrich drew his sword. “Charge!” he screamed.

All pit broke loose.