The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

  “Nila,” the voice insisted. “Get dressed.”

  The expensive clothes and the jewelry made Nila sick to her stomach. She might as well accept presents from a demon as from Lord Vetas. She knew they came with a price.

  “I’m not going to,” Nila said.

  Footsteps creaked across the floorboards. Faye knelt in front of Nila and took her hand.

  They’d been cooped up in this manor together for six days and Nila still didn’t know much about the woman. She knew that Faye’s son was being held as a prisoner in the basement, and that she had other children elsewhere, also prisoners of Lord Vetas. She also knew that Faye would kill Vetas, given the opportunity.

  At least, she’d try. Nila was beginning to wonder whether Vetas could be killed. He didn’t seem human; he barely ate, he didn’t sleep, and he didn’t get drunk no matter how much wine he consumed.

  Faye tugged at Nila’s hand. “Up,” she said. “Get dressed.”

  “You’re not my mother,” Nila said. The words came out as a snarl.

  “She’d tell you the same thing if she were here.”

  Nila leaned forward. “She’s dead. I never knew her, and neither did you. Maybe she’d tell me to break this window and cut my own wrists rather than give in to Vetas’s demands.”

  Faye stood up. The kindly entreaty written across her face seemed to disappear and her expression hardened. “Maybe,” she said. “If so, she was a fool.” Faye began to pace the room.

  Nila had guessed her to be a housewife of some middle-class merchant. She wondered what value Faye had to Lord Vetas. Faye hadn’t spoken of it. And only a few words here and there about her children. In fact, the woman was far too calm. Ever since her initial outburst the night she’d been brought in, Faye had been meek as a dormouse. Nila imagined that if she had children, she’d not rest until they were out of danger. Faye was either very patient – and a stronger woman than Nila gave her credit for – or something else. Perhaps a ruse by Vetas? A spy?

  That didn’t make sense. Nila wasn’t worth spying on. If Vetas wanted something from her, he was the type of man to torture it out.

  Either way, Nila didn’t trust Faye. She couldn’t trust anyone here in the Vetas’s lair.

  “If you don’t get dressed,” Faye said, “Vetas will take out his anger on you or the boy. Maybe both.”

  “I’m not his whore,” Nila said.

  “He’s not asked you to do anything degrading.” The silent “yet” hung in the air for a moment. “Just to accompany him on his errands. It’ll get you out of this damned house again. I’ll keep an eye on Jakob while you’re gone. Here,” Faye said, “let me help you.”

  Nila let Faye pull her to her feet and strip off her old dress.

  “There’s new undergarments,” Faye said, lifting a small box from the bed.

  Nila snatched the box and threw it to the floor. “I’ve seen them, thank you,” she snapped. “Only a whore wears a shift like that.” She took a deep breath, realizing that her hands were shaking.

  Faye let her arms drop to her side. She stepped to the nursery door, looking in on Jakob, and then closed it. She turned to Nila, hands on her hips.

  “Have you seen the room in the basement?” Faye asked.

  Nila stared back defiantly. Who was this old woman to demand things of her?

  “Well?” Faye said.

  Nila nodded sharply and tried not to think of the room with the long tables and blood stains and sharp knives on the bench.

  “He showed them to me, too,” Faye said. “When I first got here. I don’t want to go to that room and I imagine you don’t, either. So keep him happy.”

  “I’m…”

  “I don’t care who you are,” Faye said, “or why you’re here. But you seem to care for Jakob. Vetas is not the kind of man to hesitate in turning his insidious practices on children.”

  “He wouldn’t.”

  Faye took a step closer to Nila. Nila made herself stand her ground, but a look in the woman’s eye frightened her.

  Faye said, “He cut off my boy’s finger while I watched. While my children watched. We all screamed, and his goons held us back. Then he sent the finger to my husband, to ensure his cooperation in one of Vetas’s plans.” Faye spit on the floor.

  “And what are you doing now?” Nila said.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “For what?” Nila scoffed.

  “My chance.” The words were barely audible. Faye wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and took a deep breath. “There’s time for fury. And there’s time for patience. And Vetas’s reckoning will come.”

  “What if I were to tell him what you said? How do you know you can trust me?”

  Faye tilted her head to one side. “Go ahead and tell him if you want. You think he doesn’t know that I’d pull his guts out through his ass if I got the chance?” Faye shook her head in disgust. “My husband is an inspector. He’s a smart man, a principled man. He’s always thought the nobility were a load of inbred fools. I once asked him how he could put up with a baron’s mockery or the obtuse idiocy of a duchess long enough to finish a high-profile case.”

  Nila remained silent, watching the side of Faye’s face while she talked.

  “He said,” Faye went on, “that swallowing his pride and being patient in the face of adversity had allowed him to feed and protect his family for years, whereas giving in to his instincts to fight back would only land him in prison, or worse. Waiting is all I can do right now. So I wait. And you should, too. Put on the damned dress.”

  Nila watched the woman for any sign of dishonesty. There was fire in her eyes. Fury. The kind only a mother is capable of.

  “Give me some privacy,” Nila said.

  She was dressed by the time there was a knock on the door. Not from Jakob’s nursery but from the hallway. Nila swallowed her fear as she heard the door open and was glad that she had put on the clothes.

  “That’s progress,” Lord Vetas said. “Turn around.”

  She turned to face him, forcing herself to meet his eyes.

  He looked her up and down and slowly swirled the wine in the glass in his right hand. “You’ll do,” he said.

  “For what?” she asked.

  If he heard the anger in her voice, he ignored it. “I’ve been trying to secure a luncheon with a woman named Lady Winceslav for some time. I have finally succeeded. You will accompany me to the luncheon as my niece. You are a shy girl, and will say nothing more than ‘yes, ma’am’ or ‘no, ma’am.’ I intend on courting her, and she’ll be more amiable to the idea if I have a close female relative. I’ll only need you for a few weeks, at most.”

  “Who is —”

  “That is of no concern of yours. Play your part well and you’ll find I allow you to keep the small measure of freedom I’ve permitted. Play it poorly and I will punish you. Understand?”

  “Yes,” Nila said.

  “Good. Where’s the boy?”

  Nila wished there was some kind of lie she could tell him. But where else would Jakob be but in his nursery? “Jakob,” she called, “come in here, please!”

  The door to the nursery opened and Jakob skipped across the room. He looked up at Vetas with a smile on his face. “Hello!”

  Vetas grinned at him. The expression reminded Nila of a polished skull she’d seen once in an apothecary’s shop. “Hello, my boy,” Vetas said. “How are you enjoying your new clothes?”

  Jakob spun around, arms out, to show off a smart suit of a blue jacket, matching knee-length pants, and high socks. “They’re very nice,” Jakob said. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, child,” Vetas said. “I brought you something.” He stepped back into the hallway and came back with a box not much bigger than the one Nila’s boots had arrived in. Setting the box on the floor, he flipped off the top to reveal a set of wooden soldiers and horses, twenty in all.

  Jakob gasped with delight and set about pulling them from the box all at once, scattering them across t
he floor.

  “Take them to your room,” Nila said.

  Jakob stopped unpacking and cast Nila a scowl. He put the toys back in and began to drag the box toward the nursery.

  “Do you like them?” Vetas asked.

  “Of course! Thank you, Uncle Vetas!”

  “You’re welcome, child.”

  Vetas’s grin disappeared the moment Jakob was out of sight. He took a sip of his wine. “Be ready in half an hour,” he said. He left the room, and Nila heard the door lock from the outside.

  “Uncle Vetas,” Jakob had said.

  Nila wondered how Faye planned on killing Vetas, and if perhaps Nila would get her chance first.

  CHAPTER

  9

  Taniel hurried through the streets of Adopest, blinded by disbelief. Tamas dead? It couldn’t be. The old bastard was too stubborn to die. It was late morning and the traffic was thick, and he had to shoulder his way past pedestrians and dodge carriages and carts. He could hear Fell apologizing to the people Taniel bowled over.

  Taniel paused momentarily to make sure Ka-poel was still with them. She was right beside him, faithful as his own shadow. Fell appeared out of the crowd. Of the messenger who’d found them in the mala den, there was no sign.

  “Pole,” he said. “Do you know if he’s dead?”

  Ka-poel seemed taken aback.

  He took her by the shoulders and pulled her closer. “Did you ever make a doll of him? Do you have some kind of connection?”

  Her frown cleared and she shook her head. Nothing.

  “Pit.” Taniel turned around.

  “I’m sorry about your father,” Fell said, coming up beside him.

  “I’ll believe the old bastard is dead when I see his body,” Taniel said. He suddenly felt ill as a vision of Tamas lying cold and stiff in an open coffin filled his mind. He pushed the vision aside, but found himself leaning on Ka-poel for support.

  She looked up at him with her glass-green eyes. They contained a mix of emotions: anger, confusion, sympathy, resolve. Her eyes hardened and he looked away.

  “Where the pit are we, anyway?” he asked. “I don’t recognize anything.”

  “Because you’ve been charging headlong through the crowds,” Fell said. “This way to the People’s Court.” She pointed east. They’d been going north.

  Taniel nodded. “Lead on,” he said. He still had his hand on Ka-poel’s shoulder. She hadn’t moved it. “Pole,” he said, “I…” He stopped. His mind was a haze, but the man coming toward him along the street looked familiar. Taniel could have sworn he’d seen him hanging around Kin’s mala den. He was tall, with wide shoulders and a slight limp. Something was off about him.

  The man looked up and into Taniel’s eyes. It was all the warning Taniel got.

  The man took two great strides toward Taniel. He shouldered Ka-poel out of the way and then Taniel felt the man’s fist connect with his sternum. He was thrown up, above the heads of the crowd, and then tumbled to the ground, landing shoulder-first on the hard cobbles.

  Taniel gasped in ragged breaths. Had his ribs been broken?

  A small crowd gathered around Taniel. He heard voices asking if he was all right. A gentleman nudged Taniel’s arm with his cane. A woman screamed.

  Only one kind of creature could have hit Taniel that hard.

  A Warden.

  Taniel snatched the gentleman’s cane, ignoring a shout of protest, and pushed himself to his feet in time to see a young woman thrown to the ground as the Warden pushed past her and grasped Taniel by the throat with both hands.

  Steel jutted from the Warden’s throat and stopped mere inches from Taniel’s eyes. The Warden threw him to the ground and whirled, to reveal a stiletto jammed into the back of his neck right at the spine. The Warden gurgled, and attacked Fell, who danced out of the way quicker than Taniel would have given her credit for.

  Taniel leapt to his feet and brought the cane down on the back of the Warden’s head. The hardwood cane splintered from the force of the blow.

  The Warden barely flinched. He turned toward Taniel, then back at Fell, as if trying to decide which threat to attack. While they watched, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and with the other hand reached back and slid the stiletto from his own spine. Vile, black blood spurted from the hole in his neck. Taniel heard someone be violently sick on the street.

  The Warden pushed his handkerchief into his wound to stop the bleeding. The whole grisly procedure had taken less than five or six seconds. The Warden then turned on Fell, leaping quickly.

  Taniel was ready. He jumped forward, holding the jagged end of the broken cane like a dagger in one hand. He drew back his arm to ram it into the Warden’s back.

  Something hit Taniel from the side. His teeth rattled. His vision went dark.

  A second later and Taniel was staring up into the distorted face of another Warden. The Warden had his knee on Taniel’s chest and his hands closed around Taniel’s throat. Taniel squirmed, but he didn’t have the strength to fight. He needed powder.

  Taniel was able to bring his knee up between them, pushing the Warden’s weight off his chest. He brought the broken cane around with his one free arm and stabbed it deep into the Warden’s arm. The Warden laughed and put his knee back on Taniel’s chest.

  Taniel groaned as the knee was pushed into his sternum with additional weight. Ka-poel was on the Warden’s back. She stabbed her long needle into the Warden’s spine again and again. The Warden shook like a bull trying to throw off an unwanted rider. Taniel thought he felt something pop in his chest.

  The Warden stood, unable to get Ka-poel off his back, and Taniel gasped, feeling the air rush back into his lungs with exhilaration. He needed to get out. To get away. He needed powder.

  He rolled onto his belly and lurched up to his knees. The Warden lashed out with one boot, kicking Taniel back to the cobbles. Taniel struggled to his feet. Behind him, Ka-poel fought to stay on the Warden’s back as he reached his over-long arms out behind him to try to peel her off.

  People were calling for the city police now. The crowds had gathered, but kept their distance.

  Ka-poel couldn’t win this fight. But then, neither could Taniel. He reached out with his senses. There had to be powder around here somewhere. Someone had to have some.

  He stumbled over to a young man in a bowler cap who was carrying a rifle over one shoulder. It was a Hrusch, and it looked freshly bought – it hadn’t once been fired. Taniel grasped the young man by the front of his shirt. “Your powder horn! Give it to me!”

  The young man tried to pull away. Taniel reached into his kit and felt his hand close around the smooth cylindrical shape of the powder horn. He wrenched it out of the bag triumphantly and spun back to see Ka-poel still on the Warden’s back, if only barely.

  “Pole, down!”

  Ka-poel released her grip and was thrown to one side. Taniel held the powder horn like a grenade and threw it overhand. He reached out with his mind to ignite the powder and warp the blast to blow the creature to bits.

  Nothing happened.

  The Warden caught the powder horn in one hand. He stared Taniel in the eye and flipped the horn around so the tapered end pointed toward himself, and bit through the horn. Powder spilled out from between his lips. His tongue lapped at the powder, grinding it between his teeth.

  Taniel backed up until he thumped against the young man he’d stolen the powder horn from.

  “Charges,” he said. “I need powder charges!” A cold sweat broke out on Taniel’s forehead. This Warden. This thing…

  The young man turned and ran. Taniel heard screams and saw more people fleeing. He felt his boot hit something as he tried to step back again. The young man had dropped both his kit and his rifle.

  Taniel rummaged inside the kit quickly, sure not to take his eyes off the Warden. There was a handful of powder charges. He crushed the end of one between his fingers and drew a line of the black powder on the back of his hand. The Warden was still eating
the powder from the powder horn. All of it.

  It didn’t make sense, but somehow the Warden was a twisted reflection of Taniel himself. This Warden was a powder mage.

  Taniel snorted the powder.

  For a few moments, Taniel thought he might faint. At the edge of his vision the world went dark before suddenly becoming so stark it hurt his eyes. He flexed his hands, then felt his chest. No pain. He gritted his teeth and took the rifle in both hands.

  The Warden charged him without warning. Taniel stepped to one side and gripped the barrel with both hands, bringing the stock back over his shoulder and whipping it out and around into the Warden’s face.

  The hickory stock shattered and the Warden went down with a satisfying thump. He flopped onto his stomach and pushed himself to his knees, then rammed himself into Taniel’s chest.

  Taniel backpedaled, trying to stay on his feet. He wouldn’t be able to wrestle a Warden down on the ground – not if the Warden was in a powder trance. Taniel set one foot behind him to stop his backward movement and wrapped his arms around the Warden’s middle. He jerked the Warden off balance and let go.

  The Warden rolled away from Taniel and slowly got to his feet.

  The creature’s face was a mess of pulped flesh and slivers of wood. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth, and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He bared his teeth at Taniel. Half of them were missing.

  “What the pit are you?” Taniel said.

  The Warden cocked his head to one side. He lifted his brown hair, which was tied loosely over his right shoulder in a ponytail, to reveal the raised red welt of a brand. The image of a rifle about the length of a man’s finger had been burned into his skin.

  It was the brand that Kez Privileged gave to powder mages before their execution.

  The Warden let his hair fall back into place. He watched Taniel for a moment, then looked to his side. Ka-poel was there, her long needle in hand, crouched low. She snarled at the Warden.

  “Pole, get back…”

  The Warden leapt toward Ka-poel. He moved with incredible speed, crossing the distance in the blink of an eye.