The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

  Nila smoothed the front of her dress and turned up her nose. Trickery! “Well, I’m not a Privileged,” she said. “Get that out of your head.”

  Bo crossed the room quickly. She took a half step back, and suddenly she felt the sting of his palm across her cheek.

  Fury rose up inside her. He had slapped her! Unprovoked. She drew back her fist.

  “Wait!” Bo said.

  Nila wasn’t sure why she’d stopped.

  “Look.”

  Nila looked at her hand, the one cocked back in a fist, ready to beat Bo to a pulp. It was wreathed in blue flame. She could feel the heat of the flame on her face but not on her hand. She gave a shout and leapt back, shaking the hand until the flame went out. What had happened? How had she done that?

  “Sorry about the slap,” Bo said, his eyes both gleeful and wary at the same time. “I needed to elicit an emotional reaction from you.”

  “You could have just kissed me,” Nila snapped.

  “Oh? I’ll keep that in mind next time.” Bo rubbed his chin. “It appears, young lady, that you are a Privileged. You can tap into the Else. What’s more – and this is really interesting – you weren’t wearing gloves just then.”

  CHAPTER

  37

  Tamas and Vlora slipped into Alvation under the cover of night.

  The river was easy enough to cross – slippery and treacherous, and cold as Novi’s frosted toes, being runoff from the mountains – but no more than thigh-deep.

  As they made their way past the mills and into the tenement district, Tamas realized he’d never heard streets so quiet in the middle of the night. If he closed his eyes, he might imagine himself out on the plateau but for the infrequent step of boots on cobbles from patrolling Kez and the occasional bark of a dog. There was no one about but the patrols. He didn’t even hear the familiar slosh of chamber pots being emptied out of windows.

  Nikslaus had the city under martial law, and from the look of the bodies hanging from the bell tower in the city center, he was serious about punishing infractions.

  Tamas took note of the powder that Vlora had sensed. There did seem to be quite a lot of it scattered throughout the city, and not just in munition caches. They had enough to supply twenty brigades – which seemed strange, because there weren’t any Deliv soldiers around and it was far more than the Kez could carry.

  As they passed through the market district, there was a sudden shout nearby. Tamas stopped to listen, and a moment later the crack of muskets filled the air.

  Tamas motioned for Vlora to follow and sprinted toward the sound. It couldn’t have been more than two or three streets over. He climbed a nearby market building and headed quietly toward the edge.

  The street below was a war zone.

  Bodies littered the cobbles, no more than lumps in the darkness, lying in pools of their own blood.

  An experienced eye told Tamas that the Deliv had sprung a trap on a Kez patrol. The initial volley had done its work, cutting down half the patrol, but the rest had taken the fight to the Deliv partisans and were making short work with their bayoneted muskets.

  Tamas drew his pistols.

  “Not our fight,” Vlora whispered urgently in his ear.

  He hesitated a few moments, and that was long enough for the Kez patrol to finish cleaning up the partisans. What remained of the Deliv fled into the night. The patrol regrouped to tend to their dead and make prisoners of the wounded partisans.

  Tamas descended from the rooftop and headed back down the street. When they’d gone far enough, he said, “An organized resistance. They’re trying to take back the city.”

  Vlora had her nose to the wind, her ear cocked. She nodded slowly as her eyes searched the night. Like him, she was in a powder trance, listening, smelling – trying to get a bearing on the state of the city.

  “But how organized?” she asked. “We’re trying to liberate the city in one day. Not help a small group of partisans.”

  Of course she was right. Tamas needed to keep perspective. He had a goal for the night, and needed to reach it.

  They passed out of the market district, then a small suburb of close-packed houses, before they reached a wealthier part of town. Along the way they passed two more fights between Deliv and false Adran soldiers. The houses became farther apart, most of them surrounded by gardens with high walls, and the street was wide enough for six carriages. Tamas felt like he finally knew where he was.

  Hailona’s home was one of these manors.

  Tamas heard the sudden sound of a man shouting. Another voice joined the first and then a musket blast. The racket grew louder – it was coming up the street behind them. Tamas cast about for someplace to hide but saw only the empty, wide street and walled yards.

  “Quick,” Tamas said. He dropped to one knee, making a hammock of his fingers, and jerked his head at the wall beside them. Vlora put her foot in his hands, and he pushed her up and over the brick wall. She put her hand back down, but even when he jumped, it was well out of reach. Tamas looked back down the street.

  A small group of Deliv appeared around the bend. There were eight – no, nine – of them. Most limped desperately as they fled from an unseen foe. They wore greatcoats and wide-brimmed hats, concealing their features. One stopped and fired a pistol around the corner of the walled yard they’d just rounded. He leapt back from returning fire.

  Tamas dropped to the ground, pulling his legs up and covering his face with his coat and hat. The only place to hide was in plain sight. At best, they’d think him a drunk or vagrant.

  He watched beneath the brim of his hat as the Deliv worked their way along the other side of the street, looking over their shoulders continuously.

  The source of their fear revealed itself a few moments later. A man ducked around the corner behind them, aimed his musket, and fired. He wore the Adran blues – but he was no Adran. He was followed by more of the same. They ran across the street, taking cover behind the thick-grown trees beside the street, firing haphazardly at the Deliv as they retreated.

  One Deliv staggered and fell. He waved on the rest of them, cursing loudly when others stopped to help.

  Tamas felt his fingers close around the hilt of his small sword. His heart began to beat harder. Could he just watch this slaughter and stand idly by?

  The Deliv were outnumbered two to one, and most of them were wounded. Wherever they were retreating to, they wouldn’t make it.

  A Kez soldier dashed behind one of the decorative oaks that lined the street. He was less than a dozen feet away and hadn’t seemed to notice Tamas’s huddled form. He stopped to reload his musket, clearing his barrel and priming the powder. Tamas felt his knuckles so tight on his sword they chafed. His trance-attuned hearing picked up Vlora’s whisper from on top of the wall: “Not our fight.”

  Tamas’s sword entered the Kez soldier’s throat from the side, right between his esophagus and his spine. The man dropped without even a gurgling protest. Tamas felt his legs pump hard, the pain to his right barely registering as he crossed the street in a dozen long strides.

  One of the soldiers turned toward him. Tamas slashed his sword upward, cutting through the front of the man’s face, then followed through by plunging his sword into the ribs of the next soldier.

  They all knew he was here now. Panicked shouting rose in the street.

  The world seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Tamas sensed a spark hit the powder pan of a pistol, traveling toward the barrel. In the instant before the weapon fired, Tamas reached out and absorbed the energy of the blast, throwing it behind the swipe of his sword as it took a man’s head clear off.

  A soldier – a woman – drew her sword, only to fall from a bullet in the eye. Tamas’s mind barely registered Vlora’s help as he switched to the next target. A man with a captain’s silver collar dashed up the street toward Tamas, his small sword at the ready.

  Tamas threw himself forward, breaking inside the man’s guard in two quick strokes and disemboweling him
. Tamas spun for the next Kez soldier and…

  None were left. The street was clear. The only sounds were the moaning of the wounded and dying, and Tamas’s own panting. He felt his heart hammer at the inside of his chest. He cracked a powder charge and sprinkled it on his tongue. The hammering began to subside.

  The Deliv were still retreating up the street. One even turned toward Tamas, pistol raised, and fired. Tamas felt his heart skip a beat as the bullet ricocheted off the street not far from his feet. The Deliv swore loudly enough to be heard across fifty paces and dropped his pistol. He grabbed one of the other Deliv by the shoulder and pointed toward Tamas.

  The small group came to a stop. They all stared toward Tamas as he stood among the Kez bodies.

  Tamas looked over the group. How well could they see him in the dark?

  Regardless, he didn’t have time for this. He had a mission to finish. Halley’s manor was just down the street. Unfortunately, the Deliv group was in between him and Hailona’s manor.

  He looked across the street. The shadow of Vlora’s head was just visible at the top of the wall. He reassessed the height.

  Tamas broke out in a run across the street. One of the Deliv shouted for him to stop.

  His foot hit the wall about two feet up. His boot caught just enough friction to send him up, and he pushed off with all his strength. He grabbed the top of the wall, felt Vlora’s hand grasp his arm, and then he pulled himself up and rolled over, falling with a thump to the garden below.

  Tamas rolled over onto his back, hoping he hadn’t just cracked a rib in his fall. He took a deep breath. He felt some pain, but not too much.

  “You all right?” Vlora asked, crouching beside him.

  “Getting too damn old for fights like that.” He climbed to his feet and ran his fingers along the hilt of his small sword. “But that felt good. Very good. I needed a fight like that.” He paused, saw that Vlora was looking at him strangely. “What?”

  “Now I know where Taniel gets it,” she said. After a few seconds, she added, “You’re the only other one I’ve seen move as fast as him. None of the other powder mages can do it. We’re all stronger and faster than regular men, but you and Taniel… damn.”

  Tamas’s heart hammered in his chest, too hard. He wasn’t just getting old. He was old.

  They headed across the garden and crossed the wall again a hundred yards later. The group of Deliv was still in the street, now behind Tamas, and were checking the dead and finishing off the wounded Kez soldiers. Tamas and Vlora crossed the street farther down, unnoticed.

  They kept on down the same street and turned two corners before they reached Hailona’s city manor.

  It was a grand affair with a short gravel drive, manicured lawn, and a brick façade with evenly spaced windows. The roof was tall and steeply slanted and must have had over a dozen chimneys.

  The windows of the manor were dark, the driveway lanterns unlit. Tamas ran across the lawn and around the back of the house. He passed by the servants’ quarters, where there would likely be someone still up, and found the observatory porch.

  The observatory had belonged to Hailona’s husband before he died twenty years ago. The last time Tamas had been here it was Hailona’s study. He paused at the glass door to the observatory as a thought occurred to him.

  He didn’t even know if she still lived here.

  Tamas sought to recall if Sabon had ever mentioned Hailona selling her city manor. Not likely. He was usually taciturn when it came to the subject of his sister.

  It was better that way.

  Tamas forced the door with his shoulder, wincing when it made a loud noise. He paused, listening for the sound of footsteps or of a servant sounding the alarm.

  Nothing.

  He stepped inside. Vlora followed after him a moment later.

  The study was different from the last time he’d been here. No telescope. A different desk. Where it had been, a large globe of the world rested on a stand in the corner.

  Tamas felt the creeping fingers of panic in his bowels. What if she wasn’t here? She was his only link in this city. How would he find Gavril?

  “This,” Tamas whispered, “might not be her home.”

  Vlora touched his arm. “Is that her?”

  There was a portrait above the mantel. It was a Deliv man that Tamas didn’t recognize. He wore a military uniform, and his head was shaved bald. Behind him stood Hailona.

  Tamas let out a soft sigh of relief. This was the right place after all.

  “I’ll have to go wake her up,” Tamas said. He wasn’t looking forward to this part. A gross invasion, entering her bedchamber at this time of night was not the best way to reignite a long-forgotten acquaintance.

  Especially if she’d remarried.

  Vlora hissed at him. She stood beside the window, her fingers on the curtain.

  He went to her side. There were people outside, coming straight for the observatory portico. Tamas blinked. It was the same group he’d saved from the Kez soldiers. Was her husband among them?

  “Hide!”

  Tamas made for the closest door, sliding inside and closing it all the way but for the slightest crack. He checked his surroundings. A closet, albeit a big one. Vlora barely moved, electing to slide behind a thick curtain. Tamas swore quietly. Neither of them could extricate themselves without alerting the occupants of the room.

  Tamas watched the room through a crack in the door. He could hear hushed voices outside, but not make out what they were saying. The glass door opened and the group filed in.

  Most seemed wounded in some way. Two of them had to be carried. Tamas could smell the gunpowder and blood – but then again, that may have just been him.

  “Get us some lights,” a woman’s voice said. “Ruper, take them to the sitting room. Fetch towels. Get a fire going. We need hot water.”

  Tamas recognized that voice. Even after fifteen years he recognized the voice, and it surprised him.

  Hailona.

  Doors opened and shut, feet pounded frantically into the rest of the manor house. There was grunting and cursing as the wounded were carried to another room.

  A male voice spoke up as someone fumbled around in the dark. “They’ll come for us.”

  “I know,” Hailona said. She sounded miserable.

  A lantern was lit, casting the room into light and shadow. Tamas blinked his eyes to let them adjust. Through the crack in the door he could see a Deliv with a black braided ponytail over one shoulder. The man suddenly swept his arm across a desk, throwing parchments, weights, and a small stack of coins to the floor.

  “Someone must have sold us out!” he said. “I’ll find them, I’ll kill them with my bare hands.”

  “Calm down, Demasolin,” Hailona said.

  “I will not! All is lost. They were ready for us. You saw it as well as I. The bloody Adrans! Indier took a bullet through the eye the moment she stepped into that room! A dozen musket men, all concealed in the shadows. Someone had betrayed us.”

  “They’re not bloody Adrans,” Hailona said. She sounded uncertain. “You heard them speak in Kez.”

  “A ruse! Two brigades in Adran blues! You think we wouldn’t have heard about two brigades of the Grand Army splitting off from Budwiel to come up here? Our spies are better than that.”

  “And our spies in Adro?”

  “We have few spies in Adro! They’re supposed to be allies.”

  “Tamas would never —”

  Demasolin whirled on Hailona. “Don’t you defend him! That damned butcher would do anything, and you know it.”

  “And Sabon?” There was steel in Hailona’s voice. “You think Sabon would let him attack Deliv?”

  Tamas felt his breath seize in his chest. Oh, pit. She didn’t know Sabon was dead. He’d sent her a message, but it must not have reached her. He squeezed his eyes closed, trying to control his breathing.

  “There’s a reason your parents disowned him,” Demasolin said.

  Tamas he
ard a loud crack. Demasolin reeled back into view, clutching his cheek. Hailona stormed after him. It was the first time Tamas had gotten a good look at her.

  She had not aged well. Her features were wrinkled, her hair gone gray. There were well-defined crow’s-feet in the corners of eyes red from unshed tears. Her jaw was set, her hand raised to strike again.

  “Speak ill of my brother again,” she said quietly, her voice a challenge.

  Demasolin squared his shoulders. “You dare strike a duke of the king?”

  A duke. No wonder he thought Tamas a butcher. The nobility of all the Nine feared and hated Tamas, even his supposed allies. Just what Tamas needed.

  Hailona was about to speak when Demasolin held up one hand. He sniffed the air. His eyes suddenly darted around the room.

  “There’s someone here,” he whispered.

  Tamas could see Vlora’s hiding spot from his own. The curtains shifted slightly. Tamas laid his hand on the hilt of his sword and took a long, quiet breath. He put his other hand on the closet door, ready to push it open at any moment.

  Demasolin drew his sword and began to make a long circuit of the room, sniffing and casting about. Tamas let himself relax and opened his third eye. Demasolin glowed faintly in the Else.

  He had a Knack.

  Demasolin had just passed Vlora’s hiding spot when he suddenly whirled and thrust his sword into the curtains with a shout.

  Tamas choked down a startled cry.

  Nothing had happened. Demasolin pulled back the curtains.

  “An open window,” Hailona said. “Really?”

  “There!” Demasolin said, gazing out into the night. “Someone flees!” He dashed out the door, sword at the ready, and into the night.

  The room was empty but for Hailona. He could see her rush to the door, watching Demasolin disappear. A moment later she came back into the room, her shoulders slumped, and dropped into a divan.