The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

“You… you let him die?”

  “I didn’t. It was an ambush, I…”

  The softness in her eyes a moment ago was gone. Any love, any feeling, also gone. She breathed heavily, clutching at her dress, her eyes filled with horror. She turned and fled down the belfry stairs.

  “Halley!”

  Tamas heard the door to the chapel slam below. He fell back against the bell, felt it rock slightly from his weight without making a sound. He shook his head and stared out into the rain sightlessly.

  Was all he left behind misery and death? Sorrow, widows, and grieving families? He made his hands into fists. How dare she blame him? Sabon was his best friend. His closest confidant for the last fifteen years.

  No, she was right to blame him. He was a harbinger of death, it seemed. Not to be trusted with the lives of anyone dear.

  It was perhaps an hour before Tamas heard the chapel door open below. A slow, measured step lit upon the stairs. Tamas frowned, wondering who it was for only a moment before the mint-tinged smell of cigarette smoke wafted up the stairwell.

  “Sir,” Olem said as he joined Tamas. He wore a greatcoat and forage cap pulled down over his eyes, soaked from the rain. Beneath the coat, his Adran blues. He wore the colonel’s pins Tamas had given him last night. That seemed like an eternity ago.

  “I thought you ran out of those.” Tamas looked at the cigarette between Olem’s lips.

  Olem drew it from his mouth, turned it sideways as if it were a peculiar thing, and blew smoke out his nose slowly before returning the cigarette to its place. “Stopped at a tobacconist on the way through town.”

  “I see you have your priorities straight.”

  “Of course. You don’t look so well, sir.”

  Tamas looked back out across the city. “Sometimes I feel like a pestilence.”

  “That argument,” Olem said after a moment’s consideration, “could be made.”

  “You make me feel so much better.”

  “I try, sir.”

  “What are you doing here? I told Vlora to give the signal, not order you here. And how the bloody pit did you get past the river in broad daylight?”

  “I pretended I was a Kez colonel pretending to be an Adran colonel,” Olem said. “It was disturbingly easy.”

  “They didn’t ask for papers or proof?”

  “In this rain?” Olem gestured at the downpour. “You don’t understand an enlisted man, sir. Nobody asks for bloody papers in this kind of weather.”

  “Sloppy.”

  “I call it lucky. I also have news.”

  Tamas straightened up. “What kind of news?”

  “A Deliv army is about a day and a half outside the city. Coming from the west. Our outriders spotted them just a few hours ago.”

  “How big?”

  “Several brigades, at least.”

  “Pit.”

  “That’s not a good thing, sir?”

  “Maybe. We need to launch an attack soon.”

  “We won’t be ready, sir.”

  “We have to. Something to tell the Deliv that there is more going on here than meets the eye. Otherwise their brigades will fall on us, thinking we are the ones holding the city.

  “Come with me,” he said, heading for the belfry stairs. “And keep a hand on your pistol. I might be starting a fight I can’t win.”

  Vlora was waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

  “My powder mages?” he asked.

  “Waiting in an abandoned factory a quarter mile from here.”

  Tamas gestured for her to join him. He checked the street outside the chapel before crossing over to Millertown. The ground was muddy from the rain, a frothy slurry of refuse and garbage. They cut through several alleyways to avoid Kez patrols and then entered one of the larger mills.

  A pair of Deliv partisans guarded the door. They let Tamas pass through, eyeing Vlora and Olem suspiciously. Tamas climbed the stairs to the second floor.

  Demasolin was examining a report while a few of his captains and spies looked on. He glanced up when Tamas entered, but did not greet him.

  Tamas counted the men in the room. Six of them, if it came to a fight.

  Tamas removed his gloves and threw them on the table for emphasis. “Why didn’t you tell me about the army?” he demanded.

  Demasolin glanced up again. “What army?”

  “Don’t be bloody coy with me. You’ve got the entire city running with your spies. I know you can get people in and out. There’s a Deliv army just over a day’s march from here.”

  “You didn’t need to know.” Demasolin returned to reading his report.

  Tamas planted both hands on the table in front of Demasolin and leaned over it until his face was only a few inches from Demasolin’s. “You want to go another round? You willing to bet my leg will go again? Because you’re putting my whole army in danger.”

  He heard the creak of movement behind him as Demasolin’s underlings shifted uncomfortably. Tamas would leave them to Olem and Vlora if it came to blows.

  Demasolin set the report facedown on the table. He leaned back in his chair, and his fingers crept slowly toward the sword at his hip.

  “If the Kez know,” Tamas said, “which they undoubtedly do, they’ll torch the city tonight and be gone by morning.”

  “They won’t torch anything in this weather.”

  “Nikslaus will find a way. That leaves you all dead, and my army sitting there looking guilty while whoever survives the Kez slaughter will say Adro did it. No one wins if your king attacks my army. Would you risk the lives of everyone in this city, and the lives of Deliv soldiers, because you think I’m a butcher?”

  Demasolin’s fingers stopped their movement toward his sword. “We’ll have to act tonight. Just after dark.”

  “Have you found where they moved the prisoners?”

  “We have.”

  Tamas bit his tongue. How long had Demasolin been sitting on that information, too?

  “Can you provide a distraction?” Tamas asked.

  “No,” Demasolin said. “You have one man in there,” he said. “I have dozens. Including my brother. I’ll be going after them, and it’ll be you who provides a distraction.”

  “Where are they being held?”

  “I don’t think you need to know that.”

  Tamas wanted to reach across the table and strangle Demasolin. Even so, he wasn’t sure if that was a fight he wanted to start, and he wasn’t keen on risking his leg going out again. He had better people to strangle.

  Demasolin produced a map of the city and spread it out across the table. “The main city barracks is here. There are about two hundred men stationed there. Get close enough to detonate their powder reserves and it’ll bring every soldier within a half mile running.”

  Tamas spun the map around so the south end was facing him. He ran his eyes around the marks, then spaced his fingers and did some math.

  “No,” Tamas said. “You’ve tried this already. Your failed attack last night. Someone is feeding the Kez information. They’ll be ready for your attack on the prison and for mine on the barracks.”

  “What else can we do?” Demasolin said. “I don’t know who the damned traitor is.”

  “You want a distraction? I’ll give you a distraction. This General Saulkin. He’s staying at the governor’s manor, correct?”

  Demasolin answered hesitantly. “Yes.”

  “Is he still there?”

  “As of an hour ago, yes.”

  “Tell your spies that Field Marshal Tamas is going to kill Saulkin.”

  “And how will that help?”

  “Because Saulkin is Duke Nikslaus, and I cut his bloody hands off. If he knows I’m in the city, he’ll forget about everything else.”

  “Then you’ll walk into a trap.” Demasolin held up one hand. “Don’t get me wrong. The world will be a better place if you die today. But if he kills you right away, this city may die with you.”

  Tamas ran his fingers along the map,
memorizing the streets of the city. “I walked into one of his traps twice now. I don’t intend to do it again. Do me a favor, though… don’t give this information to your men until about six o’clock.”

  “Are you going to tell me how you plan on avoiding a trap?” Demasolin asked.

  Tamas tapped the map absently. “I don’t think you need to know that. Remember. Six o’clock. I’m going to kill this bastard once and for all.”

  CHAPTER

  42

  The beatings lasted through the night.

  They pummeled Taniel with cudgels and fists. He faded in and out of consciousness but was, mercifully, out for most of it. He could feel the cold air on his skin when they finally took him outside. Through bloody eyes he could tell that the sun barely touched the tips of the eastern mountains.

  Dawn was here.

  Ka-poel might already be dead.

  Taniel’s feet dragged behind him as the Prielight Guards carried him through the Kez camp. A thousand voices reached his ears along with the sounds of an army preparing breakfast. Taniel wondered if any of them knew – or cared – who he was.

  He was dropped unceremoniously on the ground. Taniel lay facedown, groaning into the dirt. His whole body felt numb and destroyed, smashed to a pulp by Prielight Guards. His body would be one giant bruise in a day or two. If he lived that long.

  He felt along the inside of his mouth and wondered at the resiliency of his teeth. Was that Ka-poel’s sorcery at work? Keeping him from breaking bones? His ribs felt broken, though Taniel didn’t think he had the strength in him to check.

  Did he?

  Taniel opened his eyes. Men moved and worked all around him. A sea of legs and feet.

  “One, two, pull! One, two, pull!”

  The mantra was repeated again and again. What could they be doing?

  He dragged his hand along through the dirt until he could see it. Moved a finger, then another. They were all still working. That was something, wasn’t it? Those cuts on his knuckles. Where had they come from?

  Oh. Right.

  Those were from Kresimir’s teeth.

  Strong hands lifted Taniel to his feet. He swayed back, nearly falling. His arms were lifted, wrists bound together by strong cord.

  “Make it tight,” someone said. “He’ll be up there a while.”

  Up where?

  Taniel’s arms were lifted above his head. He felt the rope between his wrists snag on something and the guards stepped away. Taniel’s legs gave out beneath him, but he didn’t fall.

  “One, two, pull!”

  Taniel’s whole body jerked as he was lifted from the ground by his wrists.

  “One, two, pull!”

  Panic caused Taniel to flail about with his legs, but there was nothing beneath him but air. He looked up.

  He hung from a hook fastened to an immense beam being lifted perpendicular to the ground. Teams of men pulled on ropes to raise the beam until it pointed at the sky.

  The vision of Julene, nailed to a beam in the middle of the Kez camp, her hands gone at the wrists, haunted his memory.

  He vomited down the front of himself.

  “One, two, pull!”

  It took the workers some time to get the beam in place. Taniel’s back finally hit the wood and his feet scrambled for purchase on the beam. There was none to be had.

  He was facing the Adran camp. In the early dawn light he could see soldiers gathering on the front lines, pointing and talking. A few officers were examining him through looking glasses. He closed his eyes, unable to bear looking back. Those men he’d thought to lead to victory would see him here now.

  He had to warn them. What had Kresimir said last night? He planned to burn the army, and Mihali with it.

  A rasping noise reached him. It was guttural and base, but it had a pattern to it. Slowly, Taniel realized someone was laughing.

  “Two-Shot,” the voice said.

  Taniel craned his neck.

  There, not much farther than spitting distance to his left, was another immense beam. They must have moved it up closer to the lines during the night. And still hanging there, the seared stumps of her wrists crossed in some kind of sick entreaty, was Julene.

  “Didn’t think I’d see you here, Two-Shot,” she said.

  Taniel looked away from the Predeii.

  “Sorry, is it my voice? They haven’t given me water in two months.” She stopped and cleared her throat. Another long, raspy laugh. “The problem with not being able to die is just that.” A cough, and then another laugh.

  Taniel closed his eyes, hoping she would stop talking.

  “You look good, Two-Shot,” Julene said. “I mean it. Look at me. Kresimir tortured me for weeks before he hung me up here. I’m curious why he didn’t do the same to you. Don’t worry. A couple of weeks and you’ll be good as new. Me, though. I’ll never heal. Kresimir made sure of that. I haven’t seen a mirror lately, but tell me, can you still see that charming scar on my face?”

  Had she gone mad from hanging from the beam for so long, unable to die? Taniel’s arms were beginning to ache from the strain of holding his weight. They could only get worse as long as he was up here. He finally turned to look at Julene.

  She was hideous. Most of her hair was gone. Her skin, which once looked young and supple, was now cracked like old leather. Her face had been particularly savaged – the tip of her nose cut off, most of her teeth gone. She grinned at Taniel, as if she knew what must be going through his mind.

  There was madness in her eyes.

  “Charming as always,” he said. He looked up at his hands, tied about the wrist. They were starting to hurt more now. He tried lifting his legs but gave up after several moments with a groan – half pain, half anger.

  “The pain doesn’t go away,” Julene said. “Even after months. Even after your arms are numb it will still throb deep down in your shoulders. I find” – she moved her head slowly to one side, a look of agony moving across her face – ”that switching the arm that holds all the weight gives you some relief.”

  Taniel closed his eyes. Would he last that long? Would he still be alive in months, watching his country burn, unable to do a thing?

  From the Adran army he saw a rider heading toward the Kez lines with a white flag billowing above him.

  A call for truce? Or had that traitor Hilanska finally convinced the General Staff to surrender?

  Taniel began to struggle harder. He had to get off this rope.

  Tamas found Hailona in the mill’s basement, an old granary. It was the only private room in the place. It smelled of dry old wheat, the scent dusty in Tamas’s nostrils.

  Hailona looked up when he knocked on the door frame of the open door. Ruper, the butler, was just inside. He stood when he saw Tamas.

  “You killed my little brother,” Hailona said.

  Tamas knew that wasn’t fair. Knew he wasn’t in the wrong. Sabon had known the risks of being one of Tamas’s soldiers. But Tamas also knew that convincing Hailona of that would be next to impossible.

  “I need your help.”

  “Go to the pit. Get out of my sight.”

  “Hailona…” Tamas took a step forward.

  Ruper got between them, blocking the path to his mistress with his body.

  Tamas narrowed his eyes at the butler. “Hailona, I need a way into the governor’s mansion. I’m going to kill the man who killed my wife and your brother.”

  Ruper moved forward until his chest touched Tamas’s. “My lady has said for you to leave, sir.”

  Hailona held up a hand. “Ruper, it’s all right.” She dried her eyes with a handkerchief. Her hand remained up, as if asking for time to think. After a few moments, she let it drop. “Ruper, I want you to show Tamas the secret passage into the mansion.”

  “Are you sure, ma’am?”

  “Yes.”

  Tamas stepped back from the butler. “Thank you, Halley.”

  “Kill the bastard, Tamas,” Hailona said. “Make him suffer.” S
he took a shaky breath. “Then I don’t ever want to see you again.”

  “I understand.”

  Tamas left the mill. Vlora was waiting for him out in the rain. She wore a tricorn hat and a greatcoat. She tipped the hat toward Tamas, water pouring off the front. She leaned against a rifle, and he could see her blue uniform beneath the greatcoat and a pistol at her hip.

  “Did Olem head back to the army?”

  She nodded.

  “Where are the others?”

  “Waiting.”

  Tamas nodded. A few minutes later Ruper joined them in the street and they made their way out of Millertown. At the edge of the mill district, lounging around the outdoor seating of an otherwise abandoned streetside café, was Tamas’s powder cabal.

  He’d only brought the best. The ones that Sabon had been training during the summer in Adopest were still in the city. They didn’t have the experience or training for a mission like this.

  His powder cabal was outfitted much the same as Vlora, in greatcoats and tricorn hats. Every one of them had as much weaponry and powder at they could carry, from pistols to swords and daggers. Tamas felt a smile touch his lips. Eight men and women, every one of them a talented powder mage. As good as an army, as far as he was concerned. Tamas checked the streets quickly for any sign of Kez patrols, then turned to his mages.

  “We’re going to provide a distraction so that the Deliv can rescue the political prisoners being held by the Kez,” Tamas said. “Gavril is among those prisoners. I’d like to be there to get our man out, but we have a more important task.

  “Ours is to cut the head off this Kez abomination of an occupying army. We’re going straight for the throat. You all know my history with Duke Nikslaus, so you all know that I choose to do this with some… relish.”

  There was a low chuckle among the powder mages.

  “But as I said, we’re to provide a distraction. I intend on luring in as many soldiers as possible. There will be Wardens, no doubt. Perhaps several dozen. The odds, despite our skills and talents, will be very heavily against us. This mission smacks of revenge for me. I won’t ask you to throw your lives away for my vengeance.”

  One of his mages, a girl not much older than Vlora by the name of Leone, spoke up. “You expect to die here, sir?”