The Crimson Campaign (17 page)

“Move back,” he said.

She ignored him. He pulled himself up into the saddle behind her, and to take the reins, he had to wrap his arms around her waist. She snuggled up against his chest and he flicked the reins with a sigh.

The number of people along the road increased as they got closer and closer to the front. In the last ten miles there were so many tents that they filled the entire valley from one side to the other. It seemed like a sea of people – soldiers, smiths, whores, cooks, laundresses, and merchants. He saw soldiers with the stripes of just about every brigade in Adro, including all of the Wings of Adom, Lady Winceslav’s mercenaries. By now she’d know that Tamas was dead. Taniel wondered if she’d pull her mercenaries out of the war.

The road seemed to disappear beneath the crowd, and Taniel knew they were just one good rainstorm away from it becoming a shit hole of mud. The Addown River cut through the whole thing, a dirty mess clogged with the waste of hundreds of thousands of people. There were barges moored here and there along the river – supply ships from Adopest, no doubt bringing food, weapons, and fresh recruits.

The tents gained some order as he finally reached the army proper. He didn’t think he’d ever look forward to straight lines and discipline again, but after having to push his way through the final few miles he was glad to leave the reserves and hangers-on behind him.

For most of the trip down the Alley the cannon fire had rumbled together like thunder in the distance. Now he could pick out individual blasts. The artillery crew were working full-time, it seemed. That didn’t surprise him; he’d seen the Kez Grand Army.

What did surprise him was the crack and spark of sorcery he noticed as he got closer. There were Privileged fighting on the front – on both sides. Most of the Kez Cabal had been wiped out at the Battle for South Pike or at Kresim Kurga by Ka-poel. And where had Adro gotten any Privileged?

It took some questioning, but Taniel was soon able to find the closest officers’ mess. It was mostly full of officers from the Third Brigade. He tossed his powder-keg pin on the bar.

“I need a room,” he said.

The barkeep eyed him suspiciously. “No rooms here, sir. All full up.”

“Kick someone out,” Taniel said. “I’m not sleeping in a tent in this mess.” Pit. He’d skin a man who tried to do something like that to him. But Taniel wasn’t about to leave Ka-poel anywhere in an army this size that didn’t have a locking door.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t do that.”

Taniel looked down at his powder-keg pin. “You see that, right?”

The barkeep slid the powder-mage pin back across the bar toward Taniel. “Look, ‘
sir
.’ There aren’t any powder mages left in the army. They’ve all been wiped out. So don’t try to pull one over on me.”

Taniel rocked back on his barstool. All of them? Gone? “What do you mean ‘wiped out’? How could they be wiped out?”

“They were with Field Marshal Tamas when he was lost behind the enemy lines.”

“There’s not a single Marked this side of Budwiel?”

“Not just this side of Budwiel. They’re dead.”

“Have you seen the bodies?” Taniel demanded. “Well, have you? Do you know anyone who has? Has there been recent news from Kez? I thought not. Now get me a drink, and have someone find out about getting me a room.”

The barkeep folded his arms across his dirty apron and didn’t move.

“Look,” Taniel said, “if I’m the last living powder mage north of Budwiel, then I’m a damned celebrity. There are Privilegeds out there who need to be killed. I’ll need a drink and eventually some sleep to be able to do that.”

“Is this man bothering you, Frederik?”

A woman positioned herself at the bar and looked at Taniel, bemused. Taniel recognized her as the major with the beauty mark on her cheek. The one who’d tried to arrest him earlier that day. Had she followed him?

“Ma’am,” Frederik said. “He claims he’s a powder mage.”

“He is. This is Taniel Two-Shot.”

The barkeep ducked a quick bow. “Sorry, sir. What will you have?”

“Gin.” Taniel cleared his throat. “No apology needed.”

“And for the savage?”

Ka-poel was drumming her fingers on the bar, looking bored.

“Her name is Ka-poel, and she’ll have water.”

She smacked him in the shoulder.

“Wine,” Taniel amended. “Something with a light taste.”

The major regarded Taniel warily, sizing him up the way she might an enemy on the battlefield. “You let your servants treat you like that?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” Taniel said, trying not to let his irritation show. “I must have missed your name?”

“I’m Major Doravir, of the Third, adjutant to General Ket.”

“My ‘servant’ is a Bone-eye, Major. A sorcerer more powerful than half the Kez Cabal put together.”

Doravir seemed doubtful. “Is she your wife?”

“No.”

“Your fiancée?”

Taniel glanced at Ka-poel. Had he given this major that impression? “No.”

“Does she have a rank?”

“No.”

“Then she doesn’t belong in the officers’ mess. She can wait for you outside.”

“She’s my guest, Major.”

“With all the crowds, General Ket has declared that only spouses may stay with officers at the mess. Too many men bringing their whores back to sleep with them.”

Taniel felt his fingers creeping toward the pistol at his belt, but remembered the advice the colonel had given him earlier in the day. No, he couldn’t do that here. He turned to Ka-poel. “Pole, will you marry me?”

Ka-poel gave one serious nod.

Pit. Taniel hoped she saw what he was playing at. He turned back to Doravir. “She’s my fiancée.” He glanced at the barkeep. “Get me a room.”

Doravir snorted out her nose. “You’re funny, Two-Shot. You can stay with me in my room. Frederik, give him a key.”

“And my fiancée here?”

“She can stay in the closet.” Doravir gave Ka-poel a mocking smile. That did not bode well.

Taniel took the glass of gin from the bar and drained it in one swallow. It almost knocked him clean off his feet. How long had it been since he’d drunk hard liquor? He blinked a few times, hoping his eyes weren’t visibly watering. “I’ll stay somewhere else, thank you.”

“Good luck.” Doravir snorted. “There’s not an empty room within five miles of the front, and with Tamas gone, no one will put up with a mere captain shoving them out. You’ll have to push a private from his tent.”

Taniel took some pleasure in the annoyance in Doravir’s voice. “I think I’ll do that, then. Come on, Ka-poel.”

Adamat was slapped awake with rough hands. He jerked forward, reaching for a cane that wasn’t there, and groggily took stock of his surroundings.

He was in the back of a carriage with one other man – the same pickpocket who’d pistol-whipped him before taking him to the Proprietor’s. The carriage wasn’t moving. Outside, he could hear the general bustle of an evening crowd.

“Toak, was it?” Adamat asked.

The man nodded. He held a pistol in his right hand, hammer back, pointed at Adamat. “Get out.”

“Where am I?”

“Quarter mile north of Elections Square,” Toak said. “Get out.”

Adamat climbed from the carriage and held his hand up to shade his eyes from the afternoon sun. As soon as he was off the running board, the carriage took off, disappearing down the street. Adamat rubbed his eyes and tried to get his mind working. He felt nauseous. What had they given him? Ah, yes. Ether. He’d be in a fog for hours yet.

He spent until just before dark at a nearby café, nursing a soda water to settle his stomach.

Why had the Proprietor offered him employment and then simply dumped him back on the street? A very strange way to act. The Proprietor was known for secrecy and efficiency. For keeping his promises and destroying his competition. He was not known for behaving strangely.

It had to be something Adamat had said.

Adamat blamed the ether when it took him well over an hour to realize the obvious.

The Proprietor had intended on paying him to go after Lord Vetas. But why pay a man to do something he already plans to do? Adamat shook his head. Stupid. On both his part and the Proprietor’s. If Tamas was truly dead, Adamat would lose the few soldiers Tamas had granted him. Adamat couldn’t take Lord Vetas alone.

Adamat knew where Lord Vetas was holing up. The house with the woman in the red dress. The house where he had seen the Eldaminse boy.

Now that he knew that, a frontal assault would be necessary. The same as they had done to rescue Adamat’s family. Smash open the doors, take them by surprise. A man like Lord Vetas would have guards. What had the Proprietor said? At least sixty men and a Privileged.

Adamat needed manpower. He needed help. The Proprietor’s help.

No doubt the Proprietor would have had him followed. The location of Adamat’s safe house, and the errands he needed to run, were not things he wanted the Proprietor to know. Adamat climbed to his feet and called for a hackney cab.

He changed cabs three times and cut through half a dozen buildings before he felt confident no one was following him anymore.

It was well after dark when he arrived at the textile mill. The looms were still working despite the late hour. Adamat talked his way inside and climbed rickety wrought-iron stairs up to a room overlooking the mill’s work floor. Inside he could see a woman leaning over a brass microscope. She was about forty, with hair dyed black to hide the gray roots. The walls of her office were lined with fabric samples of every kind – from cheap canvas to fine silks that cost a hundred krana for a yard.

He rapped on the door.

The woman waved him in without looking up from her microscope.

“Hello, Margy,” Adamat said.

The woman finally looked up. “Adamat,” she said in surprise. “What a pleasure.”

“Good to see you.” Adamat removed his hat.

“You as well.”

Adamat took her hand a moment. Margy was one of Faye’s oldest friends. Adamat considered telling her about the whole predicament before dismissing the thought. “I need some help,” he said.

“Not a social visit, then?”

“Unfortunately.”

Margy turned back to her microscope. “Don’t you usually send Faye on these kinds of tasks? How is she, by the by? I haven’t heard from her all summer.”

Adamat cringed. “Not well. What with everything going on with the revolution and all that. It’s played like the pit on her.”

“Sorry to hear that.” Margy suddenly spit on the floor, her face turning sour. “Damn that Tamas and his damned coup!”

“Margy?” Adamat couldn’t keep the shock from his voice. Margy had always been outspoken, but he wouldn’t have put her as a royalist by any means. She’d risen to be head foreman of the biggest textile mill in all of Adro by her own hand, not by any kind of appointment.

“He’s gonna take us all to the pit,” Margy said, wagging her finger at Adamat. “Just you wait. I hope you don’t buy into all this nonsense about him trying to make a better world. It’s just a power grab, that’s all.”

Adamat raised his hands. “I stay out of politics.”

“We all have to choose sides one day, Adamat.” She tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear and cleared her throat. Adamat could tell she was a little embarrassed by her outburst. “Now what did you need?”

Adamat removed the fibers from his pocket carefully, hoping he was giving her bits of the Proprietor’s rug and not string from his borrowed jacket. “I need to find this rug,” he said.

She took the fibers carefully. “This isn’t pocket lint, is it? Faye brought me pocket lint more than once.”

“I do hope not.”

Margy put the fibers under her microscope and spent a moment adjusting knobs on the side. “Vanduvian wool,” she said.

“High grade?”

“The finest. Whoever owns this rug is very, very rich.”

“Any chance of tracing the rug?”

Margy stepped away from her microscope. “I’d say so. Only a few rug dealers sell Vanduvians. I’ll ask around. Stop by in a couple weeks and maybe I’ll have something for you.”

“That long?” Adamat said.

“You need it sooner?”

“If at all possible. It’s a rather urgent matter.”

Margy sighed. “It’ll cost you.”

“I don’t have much money on me.”

“I don’t want money,” Margy said. “You tell Faye that she’s taking me out for dinner at the Café Palms sometime before the leaves turn, and we’ll call it square.”

Adamat swallowed and forced a smile on his face. “I’ll do that.”

Margy turned back to her microscope. “Come by in a week and I’ll know where the rug is from.”

CHAPTER

12

As Taniel drew closer to the front, he realized that the Privileged sorcery he saw from afar was in fact coming from the Wings of Adom mercenaries.

The Wings of Adom held the western edge of the front, sandwiched between the rising mountains and the Adran army. They had four brigades on the front, their uniforms brilliant in red, gold, and white.

The Privileged sorcery from both sides was weak at best. Fire splashed against shields of hardened air, and lightning sprang from the sky to strike among the ranks, but the blasts of power seemed halfhearted. Even a mercenary army as prestigious as the Wings couldn’t pay as well as a royal cabal, and it seemed the Kez were making use of the weakest and the youngest sorcerers. After the carnage at Kresim Kurga, who did they have left?