The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

Beon gave him a weary nod. “Field Marshal. I should thank you for saving my life from your men yesterday.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “Ah,” Beon said. “I should thank you. But I won’t.” He let his head sag. “I don’t know if I can live with the shame of such a defeat.”

  Gavril leaned against one of the wooden stakes that made the stockade. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gavril said. “It’s Tamas, after all.”

  Tamas suppressed his annoyance to keep it from reaching his face. “Deceit may not be a gentleman’s tool, but in the end, victory is all that matters on the field of battle.”

  “Too true,” Beon said. “The trench. It was well done. Dug and concealed, all in one afternoon. My scouts kept at bay, and that bit of fog concealed it completely. You played me, Field Marshal. You knew I’d order the charge when I saw you trying to cross the river.”

  Tamas allowed himself a small nod.

  “Bravo,” Beon said with a sigh. “What now? As you can see, you’ve taken thousands of us hostage. We’re hundreds of miles from the nearest city that might afford ransom. Thousands of both sides will die of improper treatment and disease within the next couple of weeks.”

  “I’ve sent a man to your camp and called for a parley,” Tamas said. “I intend to ransom all of your soldiers and and most of your officers in exchange for food, supplies, and a promise of parole.”

  “Parole?” Beon seemed surprised. “As a man of honor, I must tell you that a great number of my officers will not adhere to the conditions of parole. The moment your prisoners are free of your hands, they will be set back to fighting you.”

  “As a man of honor, I expect you to tell me which of your highest officers are, in fact, men of honor.”

  Beon chuckled. “Ah. And those are the ones you will ransom back to the remnants of my army? I see. You realize, of course, that the honor will only stand until my brother catches up with his infantry, and relieves me and my officers of our command?”

  “I do. And I never said I would ransom you.”

  Beon tilted his head to one side. “I can’t imagine any use you would have for me. My presence will not prevent my brother from launching an attack when he catches you.”

  “Still. I’d rather you not be on the other side for the time being.”

  “You don’t trust me not to break my parole?”

  “It’s not that, either. By the way, General Cethal sends his regards.”

  “He mounted a valiant defense. I’ve broken greater numbers of infantry with fewer cuirassiers. Tell him it was a fine stand.”

  “He’s dead,” Tamas said.

  Beon lowered his head.

  Someone cleared his throat. Tamas turned to find a messenger at his shoulder.

  “Sir, the Kez are here for the parley.”

  “Of course. General Beon, if you will?”

  The Kez had sent what remained of their officer corps. A colonel, five majors, and six captains. Tamas ran his eyes over them. The Kez retreat had been last-minute. Only two of the majors had wounds on them. That meant the rest had fled before even entering the melee.

  The parley proceeded much as he expected. The Kez rattled their sabers and made demands, but in the end, they knew they were beaten. They traded powder and ammunition in exchange for having their surviving officers returned to them – with a few notable exceptions. Food, and information regarding how things went back in Adro, were exchanged in return for their soldiers.

  “You cannot possibly think we will allow you to keep Beon je Ipille,” the Kez colonel said. “He is third in line for the crown!”

  “‘Allow’ me?” Tamas said. “It is I who am allowing you to leave with your lives. Almost four thousand men in exchange for road rations, information, and a shaky promise of parole? I’m the one being robbed. I’ll keep General Beon until his father offers to trade safe passage back to Adro for his son’s life. We will make the exchange of prisoners at first light tomorrow.”

  They exchanged information about the landscape in northern Kez and the position of the infantry brigades under Beon’s brother. The Kez returned to their camp, noses raised, proud even in defeat.

  “My father hates you,” Beon said as they walked back to the Adran camp. “There isn’t a chance in the pit he’d trade my life for those of your army. Especially after my failure here.”

  “I know.” Tamas stopped and turned to Beon. “You will be accorded every respect due to a prisoner of your status. I expect your word of honor that you will not attempt to escape my camp and that you will not attempt to transfer information about the disposition of my army to your own. In exchange, you will be given a tent, full freedom of the camp, and the choice of any two menservants from your own army.”

  “I give my word of honor,” Beon said.

  “Very good.”

  Beon was escorted to the stockade to select his menservants, leaving Tamas alone with Gavril.

  “You really trust him?” Gavril asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why are you keeping him here?”

  Tamas removed his hat and gingerly touched at the fresh stitches on his scalp. It would be months before the hair grew back properly to conceal the wound. In the meantime, he would look like some half-mad fool.

  “He’s the only one of Ipille’s sons worth anything as a human being. I intend to return to Adro and throw back Ipille’s army. According to them” – he jerked his head in the direction of the retreating Kez officers – ”Ipille is personally in Adro. If I can manage to kill him and his two oldest sons, Beon will be king of Kez and he might actually listen to reason and help me end this war.”

  “Ah.” Gavril scratched at his beard. “What else did you find out about Adro?”

  “Last the Kez cavalry heard, Ipille had burned Budwiel and was slowly but steadily advancing up Surkov’s Alley. Hilanska and the rest of the generals are holding fast with the help of the Wings of Adom. Supposedly, Kresimir himself is there, but he’s not using his powers to aid the Kez army.”

  “I thought Kresimir was dead.”

  “That’s not what the Kez think. After South Pike collapsed, Privileged Borbador told me that you can’t kill a god.”

  “If he’s alive,” Gavril reasoned, “he probably wants whoever shot him in the face.”

  “I know,” Tamas said. “We march tomorrow afternoon. I need to get back to Adro and put myself between the Kez army and my son. If Kresimir is alive, I’ll make him wish he had been destroyed at South Pike.”

  Adamat stopped with his hand on the door to a decommissioned grain mill in the factory district of Adopest. He looked over his shoulder and tried to tell himself he was no longer at risk of being followed. Lord Vetas was captured, his men taken or scattered, Adamat’s family now safe. He was being paranoid, he reasoned, and pushed the door in.

  Or was he? He made his way past a secretary’s desk, long empty and half-rotted, and past the millworkers’ bunk rooms, which smelled like an animal had made a nest in them and then died.

  Adamat had successfully blackmailed the Proprietor. Lord Vetas’s master, Lord Claremonte, might have other spies in the city. And there was still the Kez army pushing its way north through Surkov’s Alley.

  Would Adamat and his family ever really be safe again?

  He went through another door that led to the mill’s main workroom. The room was several hundred feet long with over a dozen millstones placed at intervals along one wall. Most of them were either broken or missing completely, the machinery left to rot when the mill was abandoned. The sound of the river, over which this portion of the mill was suspended, filled the room.

  Bo sat with his chair tilted back on two legs, leaning against the wall next to the door. Beside him, Fell held a pipe between her lips and stared at something in the distance. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up, and there were flecks of blood on her arms.

  “You missed the morning’s festivities,” Bo said to Adamat.

  “You call torturin
g a man ‘festivities’?” Adamat asked.

  “I’m not a good person,” Bo said.

  Adamat cast a glance over Bo’s clothes. “You’ve blood on your shoes.”

  Bo swore, then licked his thumb and ran it over the top of one of his shoes.

  “How is your wife?” Fell asked, taking the pipe from her mouth.

  Adamat hesitated. “She has… had a rough time of things.” That was as much of an understatement as Adamat had ever made. Faye had been beaten and abused. She’d cried for two days straight and wouldn’t allow any of the children out of her sight for more than a few minutes. She grew from melancholy to cheerful and back again in seconds, but Adamat wouldn’t expect anything different from someone who’d been through what she had. “She’s strong,” Adamat said. “She’ll be fine.”

  Bo let his chair thump down onto four legs and stood up, stretching. “I’m happy to hear that.”

  Strangely enough, Bo sounded sincere. Privilegeds weren’t known for their empathy.

  “Hit me,” Bo said to Fell.

  A smile flickered across Fell’s face. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a cashew, then tossed it in the air. Bo caught it in his mouth.

  “I need to get back to Ricard,” Fell said, gathering her bag of cashews and a leather satchel at her feet.

  “Go on,” Bo said. “We’ll take it from here. It was good working with you this morning.”

  Adamat held up a hand. “A question.”

  “Yes?” Fell asked.

  “Did either of you see a young woman or a boy after we vacated Vetas’s manor?”

  “The girl in the red dress?” Fell asked.

  The one she’d let escape, along with Vetas, very nearly getting Faye killed? “Yes. Her.”

  Fell shook her head.

  Bo hesitated a moment. “Maybe… no. No, I don’t think I saw them.”

  “Pity,” Adamat said. “Faye asked me to look for her. She was another prisoner of Vetas, and the boy may be a royal heir.”

  “I’ll put my ear to the ground,” Fell said. She gave them each a nod, her glance lingering on Bo, and then made her exit.

  “How was the ‘work’ this morning?” Adamat asked after Fell had left.

  “She’s very good at putting a man to the question,” Bo said, either missing or ignoring the innuendo in Adamat’s tone. He cracked his knuckles and headed down the long line of millstones. “Not as good as I am, but then, I am a cabal Privileged.” Bo glanced over his shoulder as if to be sure Fell was gone, then said, “Don’t trust that woman.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it.”

  “Good. She’s loyal to Ricard and to her precious Academy. Nothing else. And I’m not even sure if she’s more loyal to Ricard than she is to the Academy.”

  “I imagine she’d say the same thing to me about you,” Adamat said.

  “Oh,” Bo said, “I don’t think you should trust me, either. But you only have to deal with me for another couple of days. As soon as this Vetas business is cleaned up and I think your family is safe, I’m in the wind.”

  Bo led Adamat down the stairs at the end of the room and into the wheel room beneath the mill. For each of the millstones above them, there was a wheel down here with one end dipped in the water. Or at least, there used to be. Most of them were missing, leaving an empty channel of water flowing through one side of the floor.

  Lord Vetas was strapped to an upright gurney in one corner. His arms were missing – of course, Bo had taken those off two days ago. A bloody blanket covered his body; likely more for Adamat’s sake than for Vetas’s. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.

  Bo kicked the gurney and Vetas’s eyes shot open. He immediately tried to recoil from Bo, but his bonds kept that from happening.

  “You remember our friend Adamat?” Bo asked.

  “Yes,” Vetas whispered, not taking his eyes from Bo.

  “He has a few questions. Answer them.”

  Adamat centered himself before his former tormentor and tried to force himself to remember what Vetas had done to his family. This pitiful creature before him didn’t deserve pity or compassion.

  “Where is my son?” Adamat asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Sold him.”

  Adamat rocked back on his heels. “Sold him? What do you mean?”

  “Slavers.”

  “There are no slavers in Adopest!”

  A hideous giggle wormed its way up through Vetas’s throat, only for him to swallow it when Bo took a step forward. “Kez smugglers,” Vetas said, his voice still quiet. “Used to take powder mages out from under Tamas’s nose and send them in to Kez.”

  “My boy is not a powder mage,” Adamat said.

  Vetas blinked back at him. His eyes, once serpentine and unfeeling, were now just… dead, was the only way to describe them. They showed fear when they glanced toward Bo, but other than that, nothing.

  “Why would you sell him to the Kez?”

  “My Privileged said he was a powder mage.”

  Adamat began to pace. Josep, a Marked? That seemed impossible. “How long ago?”

  “A week.”

  “Have they taken him from the country?” Adamat felt his chest tighten as he began to panic. Smugglers dealing in human beings – especially powder mages – wouldn’t wait to get their cargo out of the country. In all likelihood, Josep was gone already, far beyond Adamat’s reach.

  “I’d imagine,” Vetas said.

  “What do they want them for?” Adamat said. “The Kez don’t want powder mages alive. They’ve no need for smugglers. They use assassins.”

  “Experimentation,” Vetas said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Just a guess.”

  “Where can I find them?”

  Vetas looked away for a moment. Adamat stepped forward menacingly. There was no fear in Vetas’s eyes. Not until Bo began to rub his thumb and forefinger together.

  “A pub near the waterfront,” Vetas said, his eyes twitching toward the water flowing through the mill trough.

  A pub, eh? Probably not more than half a mile from this very place. “Tell me everything,” Adamat said.

  He questioned Vetas for half an hour, getting the names of contacts, locations, and passwords. He had to be thorough. Slavers in a place as civilized as Adopest tended to operate in utmost secrecy, and would have taken dozens of precautions.

  Adamat finished his questions and headed immediately toward the door. He couldn’t get away from Vetas fast enough. The man revolted him. He’d taken Adamat’s wife and children and put them through unspeakable trials. He’d plotted against Adro, and he’d dealt with the lowliest of scum.

  Bo jogged to catch up with Adamat as he climbed the stairs back to the mill’s main floor.

  “You didn’t ask him anything else,” Bo said.

  “I don’t need to know anything else.”

  “Claremonte’s plans? His designs on Adro? You don’t want to know all that?”

  Adamat stopped and turned to the Privileged. “Later. I have to get my son back.”

  “It’s too late. If slavers have him, he’ll be out of the country by now.”

  “How would you know?” Adamat demanded.

  “Common sense,” Bo said. “And remember. The royal cabal was a dark place. Dealing with slaves was one of many things they did.”

  “Bah!” Adamat strode toward the front of the mill.

  Bo kept up, much to his annoyance. “We’ve been questioning Vetas for two days. Claremonte is planning something big. Not even Vetas knows it all, but Claremonte might even have plans of invasion!”

  “And I suppose you’re going to help stop him?”

  Bo’s silence made Adamat sigh. The Privileged had no interest in helping. He’d probably leave the country now that his debt to Adamat was paid. It seemed that Bo had just enough civic sense of duty to try to convince Adamat to help stop Claremonte.

/>   “Even Vetas said that your son would be gone by now,” Bo said.

  “And you trust him? That’s awfully naïve for a cabal Privileged.”

  Bo leaned in toward Adamat. “I broke him,” he said in words that were nearly a growl. “He wouldn’t dare lie to me.”

  “It was too easy,” Adamat said. “I know what type of man Vetas is. He’s keeping something back.”

  Doubt flickered across Bo’s face, then resolved itself in a scowl. “No. He won’t. He can’t. Like I said, I broke him.”

  “You should keep at it.” Adamat’s stomach twisted at the words. This kind of torture made him sick. Even when applied to Lord Vetas. “There’s no telling what else he has in that head of his.”

  “He’ll be dead within hours,” Bo said.

  “Ricard’s orders?” Perhaps Ricard thought Vetas was too much of a liability to keep alive for long. If Claremonte managed to find and rescue him, the following wrath would be terrible indeed.

  “I don’t take orders from Ricard. No, nature will finish what I started. It’s taken what little knowledge I have of healing to keep him alive. I tore his arms off, and then spent the last two days questioning him. You think he’ll live long? No. By nightfall I’m throwing his corpse into the Adsea and getting the pit out of this country.”

  “Well, then.” Adamat took a deep breath and smoothed the front of his coat. Here he was, back to square one. All his allies were gone. The Proprietor had cut off contact. Ricard was busy dealing with the fallout of Vetas’s capture, and Bo was leaving the country. Adamat was alone again. “I guess this is good-bye.”

  Bo tugged at the fingers of his right glove and pulled it off. He extended his hand. “Thank you.”

  “No,” Adamat said, clasping the hand. He felt his heart skip a beat. Privileged did not shake hands with anyone. Not ever. “Thank you.”

  Bo headed back toward the mill basement. Adamat watched him go, hoping that perhaps he’d change his mind and stay in the country. Maybe he’d even help Adamat rescue Josep. But after a moment Bo disappeared downstairs.

  Adamat headed into the street. This would be difficult. Maybe, just maybe, he had one friend left in Adopest.

  Adamat paused on his doorstep and looked through the front window.