“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.
“D
id 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.
Pri
vileged 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?”
The Crimson Campaign Page 27
