The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “Stay close. I’m sure I’ll need something.”

  Abrax returned to the tent a moment later. Taniel thought to stand, and realized that he’d taken Ka-poel’s hand at some point. He decided to stay by her side.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Believe me this,” Abrax said, her face flushed, her brow furrowed. “If you’ve lied to me, I’ll put the noose around your neck myself. But I won’t see a man lose his life because he defended himself and his loved one.”

  The doctor came moments later. Taniel refused to leave the tent, but did avert his eyes as the doctor examined Ka-poel. She struggled a little – he hoped that was a good sign.

  “I’ve given her something to help her sleep,” the doctor said after her examination. She glared at Taniel. “She’s suffered a brutal assault.”

  “It wasn’t him,” Abrax snapped.

  The doctor’s glare lost its bite. “She wasn’t raped, and she had blood beneath her nails, and her knuckles are bruised. She gave them a good fight. That might help you catch them.”

  “They’re dead already,” Taniel said flatly.

  “Good. Her languid state is from exhaustion. She might have fought them for hours. Her left arm is broken, and she might lose an ear. No concussion, though, and that’s remarkable.”

  Taniel returned to Ka-poel’s side, barely noticing that Abrax lowered herself into a chair nearby to watch them.

  Taniel wasn’t sure how late it was when he heard angry shouting outside the tent. Abrax lifted herself warily from her chair and went outside.

  “What did I say about a closed camp?” Abrax demanded.

  “Brigadier Abrax,” a sharp voice said.

  Taniel put his head in his hands. Doravir.

  “You’re harboring a man wanted for the murder of four infantrymen and a captain of the Third Brigade. Release him to our custody now.”

  CHAPTER

  31

  Nila felt her fingers shaking as she tried to position the needle beside her target.

  “Don’t be nervous,” Bo said. His voice was soft and soothing. He sat cross-legged on a faded pillow in one corner of the room beside the only window, a musty old tome of a book cradled in his lap while he watched her. “If you mess up, it’s all right. I’ll only be burned from the inside out by otherworldly fire, consumed like a bale of hay soaked in lantern oil.”

  “You’re not making this any easier,” Nila said. She took a deep breath and stabbed the needle into one of his Privileged’s gloves. The positioning looked right. It had to be perfect for the gloves to work properly.

  “I know,” Bo said. She could hear his grin in his tone.

  “Why can’t you do this yourself?”

  “Because I hate sewing. And you’re a laundress. You’re probably far better at it than I am anyway.”

  And Nila owed him. Even if he didn’t say it, Nila was certain it had crossed his mind.

  She was painfully aware that Bo had offered to shelter her and Jakob for three days. That had been nine days ago, and she wasn’t entirely certain why he hadn’t forced them out into the street. A Privileged seemed the last type of person to whom she would want to owe a favor, so when he mentioned that he had several pairs of ripped gloves that needed mending, she volunteered.

  That was before she knew that the stitching on Privileged’s gloves had to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  She wondered why else he’d let them stay. Perhaps he expected to bed her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he was watching her. He seemed to do that a lot, but only when he thought she wouldn’t notice. It made her nervous.

  But he’d given her and Jakob food, shelter, and the first pleasant company she’d had in a long time. He was calm, quiet, and hadn’t tried to force himself on her. Yet.

  Every time she started to wonder what it would be like to let herself sleep with him, she had to remind herself of Dourford, splattered across the street. Bo wasn’t just a man. He was a Privileged. Privileged were dangerous people.

  “This requires a skilled seamstress,” Nila said. “I can sew, but this is —”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  She returned to her task. She’d managed to finish three of the twelve gloves he’d stashed away for repair. Whether any of them could be used…

  “Will you really burn from the inside out if I do these wrong?” Nila asked.

  “No.”

  “You git!”

  “They won’t work, though. Which is just as likely to get me killed.” Bo set his book to one side and climbed to his feet, joining her at the table. He put on one of the finished gloves and snapped his fingers. “Nothing. This one won’t do.” He tried on another glove. “Nor this.” He tossed the two useless gloves in their own pile and put on the third. Again, he snapped his fingers.

  A small flame appeared at the tips of his fingers. The flame went out and he removed the glove, putting it in his pocket. “This will. Excellent.”

  “Do you want me to…” Nila reached for the two useless gloves.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll dispose of those ones.”

  For a moment she thought he was going to return to his pillow and his book. Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down. He kicked out another chair with his feet and put them up, leaning back with his hands folded behind his head. “Where’s the boy? I haven’t heard a peep out of him all day.”

  “He’s playing in his room. I told him to keep quiet so that you could read.”

  “Very considerate of you.”

  Nila made a mistake in her stitching. She cursed under her breath and pulled the needle back out to try again. Why was he watching her? What did he want?

  “You’re a very good-looking girl. Did you know that?”

  Oh. That was why. Nila felt her heart skip a beat. She’d heard rumors that Privilegeds had a powerful sex drive. That cabal Privileged each had several concubines, and that few women could resist them.

  “I’ve been told that before,” Nila said.

  “You should wear your hair back more often. It helps display those cheekbones.”

  Nila didn’t trust herself to speak. Had he asked about Jakob because he was hoping to get her alone? Would he give her an ultimatum: Either get out or come to my bed? Nila resolved not to do it. She still had her silver hidden outside the city. She’d been thinking about this ever since Bo first took them in. She’d get the silver and take Jakob northeast into Novi. They would head to the capital and get a small house there, and she’d take up as a laundress.

  Bo opened his mouth.

  Here it comes, Nila thought.

  “Do your parents live in the city?”

  “I won’t…! What?”

  “Your parents,” Bo said. “Do they live in the city?”

  Nila was taken aback by the question. “My parents are dead,” she answered curtly. This wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. “I’m an orphan.”

  “Oh,” Bo said. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “I never knew them.”

  Bo was staring at the ceiling. His tone was wistful. “I knew my father a little before he died. I spent some time in an orphanage, too. Then out on the streets for me.”

  Nila almost laughed. Was this how he’d try to get her to bed? Make them feel some kind of kinship? “And then the royal cabal?”

  “No. First Taniel Two-Shot. And then his father, Tamas, took me in. That’s where the dowsers found me. Did you ever get tested as a child?”

  Bo knew Field Marshal Tamas? He’d been adopted by him? That seemed far-fetched. “Tested?”

  “By the cabal dowsers. For ability.”

  Nila saw another mistake she’d made. She pulled out the needle and used the tip to pick out the thread. “Of course. They came to the orphanage every year.”

  “You should try again,” Bo said. He removed a pair of gloves from his pockets and tossed them on the table. “Sometimes the dowsers miss someone
.”

  Nila wanted to roll her eyes. He was still flirting with her. She could tell by the tiny smile at the corners of his mouth, and by the playful tone of his voice. “I don’t think so.”

  “Suit yourself.” Bo put the gloves back in his pocket.

  There were several blissful minutes of silence while Nila sewed and Bo sat in his chair, rocking back on two legs and staring at the ceiling. Nila’s mind began to wander. Maybe she shouldn’t go to Novi. Perhaps she should head across the ocean to faraway Fatrasta. Less likely she or Jakob would ever be found or recognized.

  “Jakob,” Bo suddenly said. “His last name was Eldaminse, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you worked for his family?”

  Nila nodded. The Eldaminse house. That seemed like so long ago. Had it really only been four months? Memories of that place felt like visions of a world from a dream.

  “Did you know anything about his father’s business?”

  “I was a laundress.”

  “Servants hear everything. That’s why so many of them spy for the cabals.”

  Nila blinked. “They do?”

  “Well. Indirectly. They don’t know who they’re spying for, they just know they’re being paid for information.”

  “I never did. I was taught never to snoop.”

  “Pity.” Bo rocked his chair down onto all four legs and stood up. “Jakob,” he called, heading down a short hall toward the room Nila and Jakob were sharing.

  Nila paused in her sewing and cocked her head to one side.

  “Jakob,” Bo said, his voice muffled, “do you remember if your father was ever visited by any military men?”

  Nila couldn’t hear Jakob’s answer.

  “Really? Interesting. How long ago was that?” There was a pause, and then, “Thank you, Jakob. You were very helpful.”

  Bo returned to the room. He grabbed his jacket off the hook.

  “Where are you going?” Nila said.

  “For someone taught never to snoop, you sure look like you were listening hard.”

  Nila felt her cheeks redden.

  Bo smiled. “I’m heading to the Public Archives. I’ll likely not be back until tomorrow. There’s a small stack of banknotes hidden under the windowsill. Feel free to get you and the boy some food.” He stopped in the door, his gloves in one hand. He seemed preoccupied. “Are you sure you don’t want to try on my gloves?”

  Nila pushed her chair back and stood up.

  “I’ve had enough of this,” she said.

  Bo’s eyebrows rose. He seemed genuinely surprised. “Of…?”

  “Your flirting. I’ll leave if you want us to, but I’m not going to bed with you.”

  Bo took several quick steps across the room, coming to a stop with less than a handbreadth between them. He leaned forward, and Nila could hear her heart thumping in her ears. She became acutely aware that if Bo did try to force himself on her, or to hurt her or Jakob, she couldn’t do a thing about it.

  “I flirt with everyone,” Bo whispered in her ear. “And if you wanted to go to bed with me, I wouldn’t say no. But I’ve never raped a woman and never will. So stop cringing every time you catch me looking at you. I like looking at people. I find them fascinating.”

  Nila’s throat was dry. A glance down showed her that Bo still wasn’t wearing his gloves. “If you don’t expect me to go to bed with you, why haven’t you made us leave?”

  “Because I like you,” Bo said. “And I like the kid. But I’m leaving the city soon and you should figure out your plans. I won’t be here longer than a week.” He stepped away. “See you tomorrow?”

  Nila swallowed. “Yes.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  Tamas’s army crossed the last of Kresimir’s Fingers and ascended the wide plateau of the Northern Expanse almost seven weeks after they’d left Budwiel.

  The Northern Expanse, like the Amber Expanse to the south, was a breadbasket of the Nine. Unlike the Amber Expanse, it was not home to cattle farms or wheat fields but to immense bean fields, which could survive better with little water.

  Tamas ordered forage teams to spread out across the plateau, under the command of the most levelheaded sergeants in the army. He needed to strip the land of its resources while making this as painless to the native population as possible.

  He rode at the head of the column, eyes on the northern horizon. It would be several days before they crossed the Deliv border and could see the city of Alvation, but he couldn’t help that his heart beat faster with every step. Soon, they’d find relief. Soon, they’d cross the Charwood Pile Mountains and descend into Adro, taking the fight back to the Kez.

  Gavril rode up beside Tamas. He and his horse were coated in dust from coming up behind the column. Not far behind him, an old man rode a pack mule. He had a hard time keeping up with Gavril’s charger. Tamas reined in his mount. Olem stopped too, his eyes vigilant despite the plateau being empty but for their army.

  “Who is this?” Tamas said, nodding at the old man, who was still fifty paces off.

  “A Kez bean farmer.”

  “Why is he here?”

  “Wanted to talk to you.”

  Tamas cocked an eyebrow at Gavril. This was the last thing he needed. Why on earth would Gavril bring him here? “Does he know who I am?”

  “Yes, and he has some interesting things to say.”

  What could an old bean farmer on the Northern Expanse have to say of interest?

  The old man brought his burro up beside their horses.

  “Are you the field marshal?” the old man said in Adran. The Kez accent was so thick that the words were barely distinguishable. His face was wrinkled, his skin brown from the hot sun of the plateau and perhaps a mix of Deliv blood. Labor and trade went on freely between the Deliv to the north and Kez farmers on the plateau.

  The old bean farmer was emaciated. He might have been plump at one point, but the skin now sagged from his cheeks and sickly splotches on his face spoke to malnutrition.

  The man’s eyes held a smoldering anger that surprised Tamas.

  “I speak Kez,” Tamas said in Kez.

  “Are you the field marshal?” the bean farmer said again in Kez.

  “I am. Good afternoon.”

  The bean farmer spit at the feet of Tamas’s charger. He bared his teeth and glared, as if daring Tamas to do anything about it.

  Tamas looked at Gavril. His brother-in-law, still bruised from their fight last week, just shrugged his shoulders.

  “Something wrong?” Tamas asked.

  “You tell me.”

  Tamas shot another glance at Gavril. What was this all about?

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “You took my crop,” the old man said. “It was a good one this year, considering the drought. You took my wife and daughters. Your blasted men broke my son’s legs when he refused to serve them!”

  Tamas scowled. Damned infantry. Even the best couldn’t keep themselves under control. He’d ordered that women be left alone under penalty of death. The food, they needed, but Tamas didn’t need his soldiers raping and killing their way across the Kez countryside.

  “What company did this?” he asked Gavril.

  “None of ours. The man and his son were alone in his hut when the forage teams found him. The place had been stripped bare, all the furniture broken. The boy’s legs were broken, like he says. The lad will be a cripple for life. Looks like it happened weeks ago.”

  “I’m sorry about your wife and daughters,” Tamas said, “but it wasn’t my men.”

  “Are you calling me a liar?” The bean farmer edged his mule closer to Tamas.

  Tamas took a deep breath and reminded himself that striking an old man wasn’t the best way to end a conversation. “When did this happen?”

  “Eighteen days ago,” the bean farmer said.

  “It couldn’t have been us. We just arrived.”

  “Then who was it? I know Adran troops when I see them.” The bea
n farmer leaned over to pluck at Tamas’s jacket. “Adran blues, with silver trim. I’m not a fool!”

  “How many men?”

  “Thousands of ya!” The bean farmer spit again.

  “Gavril, any sign an army came through here recently?”

  Gavril rode off a few feet to confer with one of his scouts. He came back a moment later. “Foraging teams are all reporting the same thing – the land’s been stripped clean. All the crops were harvested early, or burned, and the men have come across dozens of empty farmsteads.”

  Tamas drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. The forage he’d been expecting on the Northern Expanse – gone. All of it. Nothing for his men to eat on the way to Alvation.

  “Well?” the bean farmer demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “Which way were they headed?” Tamas asked.

  The bean farmer seemed taken aback. “North.”

  “Olem, give this man enough food for him and his son and send him back to his home. Let him keep the mule.” Tamas flicked the reins. “Gavril.”

  Tamas left the cursing old bean farmer in Olem’s hands and rode back to the head of the column. Gavril came up beside him, letting his charger keep pace with Tamas’s.

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Tamas said. “We don’t have any troops in northern Kez.”

  “I’d say the old man isn’t right in the head, but the place has been swept clean. It would have taken a great number of men to come through and strip the plateau like this.”

  Tamas gripped his saddle horn. How was he going to feed his men with no forage?

  “How many?” Tamas asked.

  Gavril scratched the stubble on his chin. “At least a brigade or two.”

  “Wearing Adran blue, but not Adran.” Tamas mused it over in his head. “Shit! They’re trying to slip into Adro.”

  “The Kez?”

  “It must be. They come through here, acting like an invading army – bluff their way through Alvation and then take an unsuspecting Mountainwatch. They might be in Adro already.”

  “What should we do?” Gavril asked.

  Tamas let his fingers play upon the butt of one of the saw-handled dueling pistols stuck in his belt. A gift from his son. “We keep going. We catch up to them and take them from behind.”