The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

  How long had Claremonte been planning this? He must have quietly captured the lock system weeks ago, and bribed the Deliv navy to let him sail his fleet up the canal from the ocean.

  What did Claremonte want with Adro? To conquer it? Did he want their resources? Was the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company in the employ of the Kez? Or were they operating on their own? Adamat found the latter thought somehow more terrifying than the former. If both Brudania and Kez wanted Adro, Adopest would be torn apart between them.

  He had to get his family out of the city. Who knew what an occupying army would do?

  But where to go?

  They were trapped. One army to the south, one to the north.

  He could send them to Novi. Adamat didn’t know anyone in Novi. Perhaps he could…

  There was a knock on the door. Adamat snatched the pistol from his desk and took a sip of wine before heading to the front hallway.

  “Stay upstairs,” he said when he saw Astrit looking curiously down from the landing.

  He opened the door to find a servant there. Adamat recognized him, though he’d never heard the man’s name. One of Ricard’s.

  “Inspector Adamat?” the servant said.

  “Yes?” Adamat said cautiously.

  “Mr. Tumblar requests you at the Warriors’ headquarters, sir. There’s a carriage waiting.”

  “He’s back?”

  “Arrived less than an hour ago, sir,” the servant said.

  Could this be a trap? Were agents of Lord Claremonte there now, waiting to kill Adamat when he showed his face? Or was Adamat just being paranoid? “Did he say anything else?”

  “No, sir. Just requested your presence.”

  “I’ll be a moment.”

  Adamat went out to the garden behind the house where Faye was sitting alone with a book. The sun shone down between the rooftops, and Faye had her head tilted back, face to the light, her book sitting in her lap.

  “Love,” Adamat said gently.

  Faye jumped. The book slid from her grasp, and she put a hand to her chest.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she said. “Was someone at the door?”

  Adamat fetched the book and gave it back to her. “Yes. A messenger from Ricard. He’s asked to see me.”

  “Well?”

  “I want you to go to Novi,” he said.

  “I will not.”

  “Please, no more arguing.” They’d fought the entire trip back from the north over what she and the children should do. She wanted to stay in the city. He wanted her to get out. “You’ll be safer in Novi.”

  “Just like I was safer in Nafolk?” she asked, bristling.

  “Faye…”

  “Don’t ‘Faye’ me,” she said. “We’ll stay together. No more sending us off for our own good. Me. The children. We’re not going anywhere.”

  Adamat opened his mouth to protest, but couldn’t think of what to say. He wasn’t going to win, he knew that, but he still wanted to fight. Couldn’t she see it was better for her to be somewhere safe?

  Adamat leaned forward to kiss the top of her head. “I’m going to see what Ricard has to say,” he said.

  CHAPTER

  35

  Taniel crossed the no-man’s-land between the Adran and Kez armies under the cover of dark.

  He supposed he could have done it during the day. He’d walked unseen through the Adran camp just to try out Mihali’s spell. It worked. But some deep reservation kept him from trusting Mihali completely.

  He arrived just after midnight. There were sentries stationed a half mile out from the Kez camp. If the Kez operated anything like the Adran army, many of the sentries would be Knacked – men who could see in the dark or hear quiet noises and had the third eye. Taniel had forgotten to ask if the spell worked against the third eye.

  Or if he made sounds when he walked.

  He stopped a few dozen yards from the closest sentry and poured a measure of black powder across the back of his hand. A single, long snort and the powder was gone.

  Taniel dusted off his nose and crouched in a shallow streambed. There wasn’t much cover to speak of in the valley. What little brush there was had been stripped by the Adran camp for burning or to make space for tents or just because soldiers got bored. Taniel could smell that a latrine had been dug nearby.

  He measured the space between the two closest sentries. Fifty paces, give or take. He headed for the gap.

  A twig snapped beneath his foot, and one of the sentries turned toward Taniel.

  “Password!” the sentry demanded in Kez.

  The sentry waited for a few moments. The barrel of his musket wavered, and he squinted into the dark.

  “Powell?” the sentry called. “Powell!”

  “Heh?”

  The reply came from less than ten feet away. Taniel could feel his heart beating in his throat.

  “You see anyone out there?”

  “What kind of fool question is that? I’d a-raised the alarm if I did.”

  “I thought I heard something. Coulda been a spy.”

  “Idiot. If it was a spy, he knows I’m here now.”

  “Oh.” The first sentry seemed pleased with himself. “Then we scared him off, did we?”

  “By Kresimir, you’re daft. Just watch the night.”

  Taniel skirted the spot he’d heard the voice come from. Even with his Marked eyesight he couldn’t make out a figure in the darkness. The sentry must have been damned good at hiding.

  Taniel passed a few dozen more sentries without incident and then he was in the heart of the Kez camp. He wasn’t sure when Mihali’s sorcerous invisibility would cease, so he did his best to keep low as he crept through the camp.

  It was desolate. In the Adran camp there was always someone awake. Men telling stories or women doing laundry, no matter the hour. The fires were kept going most of the night, and there was always the hum of quiet voices. The Kez camp, however…

  The tents were in perfectly straight lines, giving Taniel good vision down the aisles. He didn’t spot a soul for five minutes, when he finally caught sight of a squad of Kez guards. They marched double-time through the center of the camp, eyes straight ahead, muskets held over their heads. It looked more like they were being punished than that they were on guard duty.

  Taniel avoided the few patrols and made his way toward the rear of the camp. It wasn’t hard to find his objective.

  The command tent was as big as a city administration building and was made up of a dozen smaller tents. Guards were posted at even intervals around the entire tent complex. Light shone through the walls, and Taniel’s Marked hearing could make out the sound – if not the words themselves – of heated argument.

  Someone was still up. That suited Taniel fine.

  He hunkered down behind a soldier’s tent and watched the main entrance. He didn’t need anything fancy. Just someone who’d know their way around the Kez camp. A high-ranking officer would be the best.

  It didn’t take long before whatever argument had been taking place died down. Five minutes later, officers began exiting the tent.

  Taniel watched them go, noting what direction they went.

  A major. Another major. A colonel – good. A general. Even better.

  He shifted in his hiding spot, ready to follow the general at a distance, when someone else caught his eye.

  Taniel recognized the man. Field Marshal Goutlit – Tine’s replacement. Tamas had always referred to Goutlit as a competent bureaucrat, a man who thought of losses as nothing more than numbers on paper and had no qualms about sending ten thousand men to their deaths if it would win him even a trivial victory.

  Goutlit immediately headed south, toward the rear of the Kez camp. One of the guards broke off from the command tent and followed.

  So did Taniel.

  Goutlit’s sleeping quarters was a farmhouse only a few hundred yards from the command tent. The field marshal went inside while the guard took up a station beside the front door.
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  Taniel rounded the farmhouse once. Two windows, both with shutters fastened tight. No other door but the front.

  He pressed himself up against the wall of the farmhouse and crept back around to the front. A hand over the guard’s mouth and a knife between the ribs and into the man’s left lung was enough to keep him from making noise. Taniel removed the knife and rammed it into the guard’s heart, then slowly lowered the body to the ground.

  “Pouli,” Goutlit called from inside. “Get in here.”

  The door creaked when it opened. The farmhouse was dark but for a light coming from the only other room.

  “Pouli,” Goutlit said from the other room. “They didn’t bring the girl I asked for. Damned quartermasters can’t do a thing right. Go and fetch her this instant. It’s late enough as it is, I want to be asleep in half an hour.”

  Taniel grabbed the dead guard by the belt and dragged him inside, then closed the door.

  “I said this instant, man. If I have to —”

  Goutlit came out of his room carrying a lantern. He was a balding man of medium height and square shoulders and a strong gaze. He’d removed his jacket and was shaking his head, obviously in a bout of anger. He froze when he saw the body of his guard.

  Taniel was on him in a moment, bloody knife in one hand, the other pressing over Goutlit’s mouth to cut off a strangled cry.

  “Shh,” Taniel said. “Quiet now, or I cut out your heart.” He waved the knife in front of Goutlit’s eyes. “This is how it works: If you call out, I kill you. If you try to run, I kill you. I’m faster and stronger than you and I won’t hesitate. Do you understand?”

  Behind Taniel’s hand, Goutlit whispered, “I only speak Kez.”

  “Don’t lie to me. I met you years ago at a ball thrown by Manhouch and you spoke Adran fine. Now tell me, do you understand?”

  Goutlit inhaled sharply. “Yes.”

  Taniel stepped away from Goutlit, but watched him carefully out of the corner of his eye. He checked outside the door. No alarm. No one suspicious that the guard was not at his post.

  “Can you see me?”

  “What?” Goutlit said. “Of course.”

  So Mihali’s invisibility was gone for certain.

  Goutlit slowly sagged into a chair. “Who are you?” he asked in Adran. “Are you here to kill me? I have money. I can make you a rich man.”

  “I don’t care about your money,” Taniel said. “I won’t kill you if you cooperate.”

  Goutlit, Taniel remembered his father saying, was not a brave man. His strength was arithmetic. He stayed as far from the fighting as possible and only engaged the enemy when he had overwhelming force.

  “I will not betray my country,” Goutlit said, chin up.

  Taniel left the dead guard and pounced on Goutlit. The man let out a high whimper and tried to press himself into his chair. “If you don’t help me, I won’t think any more about snuffing out your life than you would of killing a mouse in your pantry.”

  Another whimper.

  “No need to betray anything,” Taniel said. “No one will ever question your loyalty. Though you may want to come up with some reason as to why Pouli here wound up dead.” Taniel left Goutlit, smelling mildly like piss, in his chair and finished getting Pouli’s boots off and then took the man’s pants and jacket. They’d be a bit too big, but they’d have to do.

  “Tell me about Kresimir,” Taniel said.

  Goutlit remained silent.

  “The god,” Taniel said roughly, “living in your camp. Where is he?”

  “He’s living in the old keep. About a mile south of here. He was in Budwiel, living in the mayor’s mansion, but two days ago it was destroyed by Adran sorcery.”

  Taniel chuckled. “Adran sorcery, huh? Does the General Staff believe that?”

  Goutlit licked his lips. Enough of an answer.

  “So he’s in Midway Keep?”

  Goutlit said, “That’s it.”

  “Guards?”

  “Prielights.”

  Elite guards of the Kresim Church. As far as Taniel knew, the Church had made no public proclamation about the war. It seemed like they were ready to defend their god, though. “How many?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Inside or out?”

  “Both.”

  “Does Kresimir ever come into the camp?”

  Goutlit shook his head. “Never. We always go to him.”

  “Is it true he wears a mask with no right eyehole?”

  “Yes.”

  Taniel tongued his teeth. Interesting.

  “Who are you?” Goutlit asked as Taniel put on the dead guard’s pants.

  Taniel tightened his belt. “Change your pants. You smell like piss. And get your jacket.”

  Goutlit’s hands shook as he changed his clothes. Taniel watched, just to be sure the man wouldn’t try to slip out a window.

  Taniel spotted the liquor cabinet in the corner. He crossed to it and found a bottle of Starlish whiskey, pouring out half a measure. He held the glass out to Goutlit.

  The Kez field marshal drank it hungrily in two great gulps, then doubled over coughing. Taniel cringed and listened for any voices outside the farmhouse. Nothing.

  “You’re him, aren’t you?” Goutlit asked.

  “Who?”

  “The eye behind the flintlock. Taniel Two-Shot.”

  Taniel felt his chest grow cold. So. The rumors Mihali had heard were true. Kresimir was looking for him. “Let’s go,” Taniel said, shouldering the guard’s musket. “Remember – any false word or movement and you are a dead man.”

  Goutlet straightened his jacket. The whiskey seemed to have given him courage. “What do you want of me?”

  Taniel opened the front door. The god was coughing blood at night, Mihali had said.

  “You’re going to help me steal Kresimir’s bedsheets.”

  CHAPTER

  36

  “Are you sure this is wise, sir?” Olem asked. “We’re awfully close to the city.”

  Tamas gazed through his looking glass at the city of Alvation. It was an unwalled city, spilling along the north side of a shallow river that flowed from the northeast and wound along the Northern Expanse. Most of the buildings were two or three stories, smoke rising from their chimneys, with stone-shingled roofs. It was a major intersection of the Great Northern Highway and the Charwood Pass – a Mountainwatch toll road that took trade up over the Charwood Pile and into Adro.

  He guessed Alvation to number around a hundred thousand souls. Not as large a city as those in the south of Kez or on the coast of Deliv, but not a small one, by any means.

  “No, not entirely,” Tamas answered.

  Olem lay at Tamas’s side. Vlora on his left. Behind him, the rest of his powder mages made camp in an abandoned farmhouse while Tamas, Olem, and Vlora crouched in a dry irrigation ditch and observed the city from three miles out.

  An abandoned farmhouse. This close to the city. Something was surely wrong here.

  “I don’t see any sign of the Kez army,” Olem said.

  “There.” Vlora pointed. “Do you see where the Charwood Pass first enters the city from the west? A little way east of that. Blue-and-silver uniforms. The Kez impostors.” Vlora was in a powder trance, like Tamas himself. They’d both be able to see farther and clearer than Olem.

  Tamas searched until he found the spot she’d indicated. A group of some fifty soldiers moved through the stalls of an open market, pointing and shouting. They had several large carts and were filling them from the vendors’ stalls.

  “Nikslaus is bleeding the city for all they’ve got,” Tamas said. “Sending his men out to collect a tax.”

  Tamas traced the outside of the city with his looking glass, then to where the city met the Charwood Pass. He squinted to see into the long shadows cast by the late-day sun. Figures milled about. More soldiers. Tamas spotted barrels, carts, horses.

  “I sense a lot of powder in the city,” Vlora said.

 
; “There’s an army camped there.”

  “More than usual.”

  Tamas didn’t know what that could mean. Perhaps the Deliv had been stockpiling powder here in preparation for a war with Kez or Adro. “Interesting.”

  Vlora said, “At the base of the mountain. Looks like their headquarters for besieging the Mountainwatch.”

  “I see it,” Tamas said.

  “Where the pit is the Deliv army?” Olem asked.

  Tamas continued to examine the city. It was a question he’d asked himself a few times. “King Sulam might be gathering an army even now. Or Nikslaus took the city fast enough that word hasn’t yet reached Sulam.” It was a possibility he didn’t want to consider. The Deliv had a proud history of having a swift, efficient army – even if their current one was rather outdated. “Likely, Nikslaus plans on being over the mountains before Sulam responds. Then he can pin it on the Adran army and bring Deliv into the war.”

  Olem said, “They’re occupying the city, sir. The people have to know that it’s Kez soldiers in disguise.” He chewed on his fingernails – he’d been doing that ever since smoking his last cigarette.

  “I don’t know,” Tamas said. “Nikslaus isn’t an idiot. He’ll think of something.”

  “Should we bring the army forward? Call for an attack?” Olem asked. “If we position at night, we may be able to blindside them.”

  “If they don’t already know we’re here.” Tamas cursed quietly under his breath. “They’ve got Gavril, remember?” The city had no walls, which made it easier to take without artillery, but the Kez were entrenched. They had all the supplies, and knew the lay of the land. Urban warfare would be chaos.

  “Sir,” Vlora said. “Look at the church steeple near the center of the city.”

  Tamas scanned along until he found the church.

  “Above the bell tower,” Vlora said.

  Tamas took a sharp breath. Above the bell tower of an old stone Kresim church hung dozens of bodies. Men, women, white Kez, and black Deliv. Children. He felt his stomach turn, and for a moment Sabon’s dead face flashed before him.