The Crimson Campaign

by Brian McClellan

  “Vlora!” Tamas ran forward, only to stop when a voice called out.

  “No closer.” Nikslaus. The voice came from just inside the doorway where Vlora and the Warden had disappeared.

  “I’m coming to kill you,” Tamas said.

  “Not if you want this one alive.”

  Tamas looked down. Both pistols were spent. He might be able to angle a bullet around the corner. No. He knew he could.

  “Vlora?” Tamas called out.

  No answer.

  “If she’s dead,” Tamas said, “I’ve no reason to stop myself from coming around this corner.”

  Tamas heard a deep, angry grunt, and then Vlora’s voice. “I’m all right, sir.”

  “For now,” Nikslaus said, “but if she bites my Warden again, I’ll let him snap her neck. I’m using her as a shield, Tamas. If you angle a bullet around that wall, it’ll hit her.”

  Tamas sheathed his sword and drew a pistol. He reloaded quickly, steadily, and then shoved it in his belt so he could reload the other.

  “How is your leg?” Nikslaus called. “I’m surprised you can put that much weight on it.”

  “It was healed by a god. It feels fantastic. How are your hands? Did Kresimir grow them back for you?”

  Tamas was satisfied to hear a low curse.

  “Surrender, Tamas, or I kill the girl.”

  “Kill her,” Tamas said. “I don’t care.”

  “I think you do. I recognize this one. Vlora. I never told you that was one of my little schemes, did I? Having her seduced.” Tamas heard another low grunt – the Warden – and then Nikslaus’s laugh. “You probably thought it was the nobility. Well, that’s what the fop thought, too.”

  “She betrayed Taniel,” Tamas said. “Like I said: kill her.”

  Nikslaus clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Oh, Tamas. I know everything about you. I know your hopes and your fears. I know your favorites. She’s always been one of your favorites. Did you think about bedding her after Taniel canceled the wedding? I know you did. So suddenly available. How that must have tempted you.”

  Tamas opened his third eye and stepped away from the wall. He could see Nikslaus’s bright glow in the Else through the wall. It was several dozen paces back from the corner. Closer, he could see the dull glow of the Warden and the barely perceptible glow that Vlora gave off in the Else. The Warden was using Vlora as a shield. Tamas would likely hit Vlora if he tried to angle a bullet around the corner.

  “Throw your pistol down, Tamas, and I’ll let her live,” Nikslaus said.

  “Why should I trust you?”

  “You’ve no choice. The courtyard is filling up with soldiers. I don’t care how many mages you brought, you’re outnumbered and outmatched. You throw down your weapons and come out, and I give my word that this girl lives.”

  “Why so magnanimous?” Tamas said. He drew his second pistol. He aimed one at the glow of the Privileged and one at that of the Warden.

  “Not sure what’s come over me,” Nikslaus said. “Maybe it’s the prospect of your head on a pike!” His voice rose to a shout. “Think of it, Tamas. Only a couple months ago, it was me trapped inside a manor, while your soldiers filed into the courtyard. What a reversal of fortunes! Maybe I’ll cut off your hands before I kill you.”

  Tamas examined the walls. Marble over limestone, most likely. To pierce it, he’d have to put half a horn’s worth of powder behind a bullet, and concentrate energy around the bullet to keep it from fragmenting. One, he could do. Not two.

  “I wouldn’t take the time,” Tamas said. He lowered the pistol aimed at Nikslaus and uncocked the hammer. He set it on the floor and slid it out into the middle of the hall where the Warden could see it.

  “I’m unarmed. Now let her go,” Tamas said.

  “When I see you on your knees!” Nikslaus screamed.

  Tamas focused on the smudge of color in the Else that was the Warden. He concentrated on his bullet, and set the barrel of his other pistol against the wall and pulled the trigger.

  He dropped the pistol as soon as he’d pulled the trigger and leapt and rolled into the hallway, snatching up the other pistol and coming up into a crouch. The pistol kicked back in his hand as he touched the powder with his mind.

  Both shots had hit the Warden. The first, through the wall, had gone low, cutting through the creature’s neck. The second took it between the eyes, just over Vlora’s shoulder. The Warden collapsed backward, Vlora still in its grip.

  Tamas caught sight of Nikslaus running across the room behind the Warden.

  Tamas gently wrested Vlora from the dead Warden’s grip. The creature had been holding a knife to her throat. She had a cut there, leaking crimson, but Tamas could not tell how deep.

  “Vlora. Vlora!”

  Her eyes were slightly glazed, her face panicked. There was a shard of marble embedded in her cheek. Tamas pulled it out, brushing her hair out of the way with one hand.

  She shook her head suddenly, as if coming out of a dream. “I’m alive,” she said. “I’m alive. I’m fine.” She seemed to be speaking more to herself than him.

  Tamas removed a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to her throat. She could still speak, so the cut wasn’t too deep. “Keep pressure on it.”

  “Go,” Vlora said. “Go after him.”

  Tamas took off his greatcoat and wadded it into a ball. He lifted Vlora’s head and put it underneath. “Andriya! Pit, where is he? Andriya!”

  Leone appeared suddenly, her bayoneted rifle held at the ready. She set her rifle on the ground and squatted beside Vlora.

  “Stay with her,” Tamas said. “Vidalslav makes the cleanest stitches. When the fighting dies down, make sure she sees Vlora first.”

  Tamas retrieved his other pistol and checked the room. Nikslaus had fled through a side door. He caught sight of the Privileged running across the lawn, heading for the front gate.

  “Sir,” Leone said, “we’ve taken the house, but the courtyard is filled with soldiers.”

  Tamas dropped a bullet down the barrel of one of his pistols and rammed cotton batting down to keep it stable. “I don’t care,” he said. “I have a man to kill.”

  Taniel sagged against the rough-hewn wood of the beam from which he hung, what little strength he had sapped from his struggles.

  He’d tried to loosen his bonds. No amount of wiggling would get him out of them. What else could he do? He looked down. No use anyway, he supposed. Kez guards stood at the foot of the beam at the bottom of a fifty-foot drop. Could he survive that far of a fall? Would he land, only to have the Kez finish off his broken body?

  How would Tamas have gotten out of this? The old bastard may have been mean, but he was clever, too.

  Julene had watched him struggle for all of an hour. She seemed amused by it, if anything, and the madness in her eyes seemed to come and go.

  “Why did he do this to you?” Taniel asked.

  Julene gave that choking laugh again. “I ask myself that every day.”

  There’d be no help from her, Taniel decided. She was clearly as mad as the god who put her there. He looked up at the hook from which he hung, and then toward the Adran camp. Even at this distance, without a powder trance, he could tell that the General Staff was gathering. Equal commotion was going through the Kez camp. Both sides were preparing for a parlay.

  Was that when Kresimir planned to kill them all?

  “Kresimir didn’t want to come back,” Julene said.

  Taniel turned his head sharply toward her. The madness was gone from her, and her eyes were suddenly lucid.

  “He wouldn’t have, if I hadn’t summoned him like I did,” she went on. “He doesn’t care that Tamas killed Manhouch. The fate of the mortals of this world don’t concern him. I was so wrong.” Julene coughed, then swallowed hard, her broken face somehow twisting to look more bitter. “If I live another twenty thousand years, I could not possibly make a mistake again like I did by summoning Kresimir.” Her whole body shuddered, a
nd she threw back her head, moaning in agony.

  Taniel turned away. He couldn’t look at that. Cruelty for the sake of cruelty. Gods, it seemed, were capable of pettiness just as much as the next man.

  Taniel scanned the Adran camp, looking for familiar faces. It was too far to make out individuals.

  By now Ka-poel would know what had happened to him.

  If she was still alive.

  Taniel flexed his arms and pulled against his rope. He lifted a few inches, and then fell back. His struggling all morning had exhausted him.

  “What are you doing, powder mage?” Julene said.

  “Trying to get away.” He pulled himself up again. He gained an inch. Maybe two.

  “You can’t. You fall from here and you’ll break your legs.”

  “Maybe I can shimmy down.”

  Julene rasped out a laugh. “They’ll just put you back up.”

  Taniel spotted a movement in the Kez camp. It wasn’t significant, and he knew not what drew his eye in that direction. He willed himself to see farther.

  A small figure was winding its way through the soldiers. A hooded shape – it could have been a child. But Taniel knew that build. He knew how to read the sway of the walk, from long familiarity.

  Ka-poel. What was she doing here? She had to get out, to leave the camp before she was caught!

  No one paid her any mind. The soldiers were preparing for something big. She was a few hundred yards away, just working her way through the camp in no particular hurry.

  Taniel flexed again. He lifted himself up until his face nearly touched the hook. Every fiber of his body trembled from the effort, his bruised flesh crying out in pain.

  “What do you plan to do, powder mage?” Julene’s voice was steady. The rasp was gone. A glance in her direction showed her staring intently at him.

  Taniel let himself drop, gasping at the effort. “I’m going to kill Kresimir.”

  Ka-poel was getting closer. What did she plan on doing when she got to him? Her sorcery couldn’t get him off this beam.

  In the distance, in the no-man’s-land between the armies, Taniel saw a lone figure head out from the Adran camp. Tall and fat, wearing a white apron. Mihali.

  It only took a moment of searching before Taniel found Kresimir standing at the head of the Kez lines. The god had changed his bloody clothes for clean ones and still wore his mask. He, too, began heading toward the middle of the field.

  Taniel lifted himself up until he reached the hook. Inch by inch, he felt with his fingers. His struggles had loosened his bonds. Perhaps not enough to slip out of them, but…

  Taniel grasped the hook with both hands and placed his feet flat against the beam. He pressed with his legs, working his toes against the wood like the feet of a clamp. Firmly braced on the beam, he pushed up, willing even more strength from his already burning thighs. Just a couple inches was all he needed…

  And he was there! He worked his bonds along the curve of the hook until suddenly the rope was free. A wave of giddiness swept over him, nearly making him fall. He was free of the hook! He could drop from this height anytime he wanted.

  He looked down and his stomach lurched. That didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  Grasping the hook, he turned himself around so that he was facing the beam.

  “You’re a stubborn bastard,” Julene said.

  Taniel didn’t answer her. Slowly, he began working his way down the rough-hewn beam. He dug his fingernails and the toes of his boots into the wood as if he were scaling a cliff face. Every muscle protested in agony. There was no way he could scrape his fingernails the entire way down.

  He worked down the first few feet and stopped, gasping for breath.

  “Can you really do it?” Julene asked. “Kill Kresimir?”

  Taniel worked his way down another foot.

  “It’s the savage, isn’t it? By pit, her sorcery is potent. She might be able to kill him.”

  Taniel remained silent. Another foot. He could do it.

  He looked down. There were four guards stationed around the base of the beam. None of them noticed his descent. He’d have to get near enough to the ground to drop on one of them, and then fight the other three – his hands still bound. Ka-poel would be there by now. She could…

  She entered his line of vision suddenly, approaching one of the guards at a quick pace. The guard straightened and said something, holding out a hand. Her small fist darted out, slamming into his throat. The guard fell to his knees, gurgling blood.

  Another foot. Taniel’s heart thundered in his ears. He had to keep moving.

  “Make me a promise,” Julene said.

  “Faster, faster, I have to go faster,” Taniel whispered to himself.

  “Promise you’ll kill me. Shoot me in the head with one of those bullets you used to blind Kresimir. I won’t survive that. Not in my weakened state. Consider it an act of vengeance, if you like.”

  Taniel looked down. Ka-poel was grappling with another guard. A third grabbed her by the shoulders.

  “Promise me, Taniel.”

  Taniel was struck by the pleading in her voice. He stopped just long enough to look at her. “I promise,” he said.

  Julene gave a shrill laugh.

  Below, the three guards had forced Ka-poel to the ground. Taniel took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

  Then he let himself fall.

  CHAPTER

  44

  Tamas followed Nikslaus through a side door of the mansion and out onto the lawn. The ground was soaked, rain coming down in thick sheets. Even though it was only half past six in the afternoon, the sky was darkening. A grandfather of a storm was blowing in.

  The Privileged was just rounding the corner to the front of the mansion as Tamas came out the door. He set off in pursuit.

  He reached the corner of the building and stopped. A quick glance showed fifty, maybe sixty soldiers in the courtyard. They hid behind carriages and sculptures, exchanging fire with the powder mages inside.

  Nikslaus leapt onto the running board of a carriage, hooking one arm through a handstrap. Tamas could hear him yelling between the volleys of musket fire:

  “Go!” Nikslaus pounded on the roof of the carriage with one stub and ducked inside. The carriage took off down the short drive and turned into the street.

  A bullet took a chip out of the masonry just above Tamas’s head. He flinched away. They’d spotted him.

  Tamas examined the soldiers. Too many. Even at his best. Most of his powder was gone, used in that shot through the limestone. He checked the garden wall about fifty paces away. Too tall.

  Tamas heard a commotion around the corner and risked a glance.

  The powder horn of a Kez soldier suddenly exploded, ripping the man in half. Another followed, and then another. Men began to throw their muskets, horns, and charges away to avoid being killed. It had to be Vlora. Only she had the range igniting powder to kill men all the way by the gates. She must have gotten to a window, or had someone directing her. It was dangerously stupid to ignite powder blind, both for yourself and for your allies.

  The front doors of the manor suddenly burst open. Andriya flew through them. He held a bayoneted rifle in both hands and was screaming at the top of his lungs. His eyes were wild, his hat gone, his greatcoat billowing around him. He leapt on the closest Kez soldier, skewering the man mercilessly.

  It was the best Tamas was going to get for cover.

  He set off at a sprint across the lawn, cutting behind the Kez soldiers. Most ignored him, their eyes all on Andriya.

  Tamas neared the gate. A soldier turned toward Tamas, desperately trying to fix the bayonet to the end of his musket. Tamas sprinted toward the soldier, put his foot on a rock near the driveway, and launched himself in the air. He cracked the man in the chin with one boot and was past him and through the gate.

  There were more soldiers in the street. Tamas realized he was alone in the midst of twenty or more Kez infantry.

  He igni
ted all the powder nearby. He used his mind to warp the blast away from him, but he’d never been as good at that as some, and the shock wave knocked him off his feet.

  Tamas crawled to his knees, then to his feet. He tried to shake the dizziness. The ache of his leg suddenly pushed through his powder trance, making him stumble as he searched for Nikslaus’s carriage.

  The ground was littered with bodies. Nearly every one of the soldiers had been killed outright. Only a few moaned in agony, clutching at missing limbs. Gore and blood filled the street. The sight of it – the smell of powder and blood – made him retch.

  There, at the end of the street. Nikslaus’s carriage was heading down the main thoroughfare of the city toward the mountains, disappearing into the deluge. Tamas could see the driver frantically whipping his horses. Civilians leapt out of the way as the carriage surged forward.

  Tamas tried to run. He lurched sideways, catching himself with one hand on the lip of an overflowing rain barrel. He pushed back to standing and kept on, moving slower, trying to get his head to stop pounding. He felt something dribble down his cheek and touched his face. There was blood there. It felt like it was coming from his ears.

  He couldn’t stop now. The carriage was getting farther and farther away. Before too long it would break out of the city and head up into the mountains. Nikslaus would get away again.

  Tamas crunched one of his few remaining powder charges between his teeth and forced himself to run.

  The street cobbles pounded away beneath his feet. He let the powder trance take him over completely, feeling the burn of powder through his veins. Shops and houses flew by him. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes as he ran faster than a horse, his heart thumping in his ears. His hat came off, whipped away by the wind, and rain pelted his face.

  The carriage reached the eastern edge of the city well ahead of him. Tamas could see the land in his mind’s eye. A few hundred yards of sloped parade grounds, filled with Nikslaus’s soldiers and their ill-gotten gains from looting the city, before the mountains rose steeply and the road entered a valley, where it crept gradually higher into the Charwood Pile.