The Crimson Campaign (10 page)

“My powder mages,” Tamas said sternly. “Are they in place?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you’ve sighted the last of the Kez Privileged?”

“They’re hanging back,” Vlora said. “They think we’re on Budwiel’s walls, waiting for them, so they’re well behind the columns. Quite within range of us here. You signal the attack, sir, and we’ll drop the Privileged.”

“Excellent. Get to your position.”

Vlora crawled off the knoll without another word. Tamas looked over his shoulder to watch her go.

“All ready, sir.” Olem came jogging up the hill and threw himself to the ground beside Tamas. “Time to hurry up and wait.” He caught the way Tamas was looking.

“Still thinking of punching her, sir?”

Tamas gave Olem a wry look. Since when had his men gotten away with speaking that way to him? “No.”

“You seem angry, sir.”

“She has a lot of growing up to do still. I’m mostly sad. Had things gone differently, she might be my daughter-in-law by now.” He sighed and brought the looking glass back to his eye. “Taniel might not have been on that damned mountain and lying in a coma under the House of Nobles.”

Olem’s voice was quiet. “He might not have been there to put a bullet in Kresimir’s eye and save us all, sir.”

Tamas drummed his fingers against his looking glass. Olem was right, of course. Change one event in history, and you might as well change everything that followed. What concerned him now was trying to find a way to bring Taniel out of his coma, and to keep his body safe until he did.

As if he could read Tamas’s thoughts, Olem said, “He’ll be all right, sir. I’ve got some of my best Riflejacks keeping an eye on him.”

Tamas wanted to turn to Olem, to thank him for the reassurance. But now was not the time for worry or sentiment. “The lines are beginning to advance,” Tamas said. “Make sure the men hold. I don’t want the Kez to know we’re coming until the right moment.”

“They’ll hold,” Olem said with confidence.

“Make certain. Personally.”

Olem moved off to check on the brigades, leaving Tamas alone on the knoll for a few precious moments. Soon, an unending stream of messengers would be requesting further orders as the battle began and raged throughout the day.

Tamas closed his eyes and envisioned the battlefield as a crow might.

Kez infantry formed a half circle facing Budwiel’s walls. Their ranks would tighten as they advanced to account for the terrain, and fill in the gaps from casualties caused by Adran cannon. A single line of Kez cavalry, perhaps one thousand strong, waited on the Great Northern Road for the infantry to take the walls and throw open the gates, at which time they would charge into the city. The rest of their cavalry camped over two miles behind the battlefield. Most of them weren’t even on their horses. They didn’t think they’d be needed today.

The Kez reserves waited behind the rest of the army. Their numbers were a terrible sight, but Tamas’s looking glass and his spies told another story: They were there for show only. Only one out of five had a musket. Their uniforms were mismatched and off-color. Tamas shook his head. The Kez had more men than they had guns. The reserves would break and run at the first sign of his troops.

The
rat-tat-tat-tat
of Kez drummers reverberated against the mountains, and Tamas felt the ground tremble as the mass of Kez infantry began their advance. He directed his glass toward the walls of Budwiel.

The heavy artillery, already firing on the Kez field guns, redoubled their efforts as the wall of infantry crept closer. Tamas could see soldiers of the Second on the walls, their Adran blues looking sharp, their discipline steady.

As the lines of Kez infantry reached the killing field, artillery blasted holes in their ranks. Those holes were quickly closed, and the tan-and-green uniforms marched onward, leaving a hundred dead for every dozen paces they gained. The smell of gunpowder reached Tamas on the wind and he took a deep breath, savoring the bitter sulfur.

He climbed to his feet and motioned over his signal-flag man. On the field below their vantage point, he watched as the mass of Kez reserves shifted forward to take places behind the infantry. Tamas scowled. If they were to take the city, it would be with the mass of infantry. Why would they even move the reserves into position…?

He felt a cold tingle down his spine. The Kez thought they’d be able to sack Budwiel today. They would secure the walls with their infantry and then signal the reserves into the city to burn, rape, and plunder. Tamas had seen them do the same in Gurla. If they breached the walls, it would be a horror beyond imagining.

To think they’d do it in a single day was beyond optimistic on the part of the Kez commanders.

He couldn’t let that happen.

“Signal at the ready,” Tamas said. The flagger beside him waved out the order. Tamas could see the eagerness in the man’s face. The Seventh and Ninth were ready. They’d tear into the Kez flank with gusto. Tamas felt his blood begin to rise. “Wait… wait…”

Tamas blinked. What was that?

He put his looking glass to his eye. When he focused on the fields directly before Budwiel, he saw dozens of twisted men running toward the walls. They wore black coats and bowler caps. Wardens.

But these Wardens… Tamas swallowed. He’d never seen anyone run this fast, not even one of those sorcery-spawned killers. They covered the last few hundred yards to the wall with the speed of a racing Thoroughbred.

In his glass, Tamas could see the wall commanders bellowing. Muskets opened fire. Not a single Warden went down. They reached the base of the wall and leapt, clinging to its vertical face like insects and scurrying to the top. In a flash, they were among the gun crews, brandishing swords and pistols.

Wait, pistols? Wardens didn’t carry pistols. Privileged had an aversion to gunpowder, and they were the ones who created the sorcery-spawned monsters.

Small explosions rocked the top of the walls. Bodies fell from the fortifications, and one by one, the cannons ceased firing.

Tamas rocked back on his heels. What was happening? How could those Wardens have gained the wall so easily? He smacked his looking glass in his hand. Without the cannons to keep them at bay, the Kez infantry would take the walls easily. They wouldn’t have the threat of artillery at their backs to keep them from turning to face Tamas’s brigades head-on.

“Sir,” the flagger said, “should I signal the attack?”

“No,” Tamas said. The word came out a strangled cry.

He continued to watch as the infantry reached the base of the wall. Ladders went up, and by the time the tan-and-green uniforms reached the top of the wall, Tamas could not see a single Adran soldier left standing. The Wardens had cut them all down.

“Sir.” Olem appeared at Tamas’s side. He drew his own looking glass to his eye. “What… what happened?” Tamas could hear his own disbelief reflected in Olem’s voice.

“Wardens,” Tamas choked out. He wanted to spit, but his mouth was too dry. They were soon joined by officers of the Seventh and Ninth. They all looked out at the battle together.

Kez infantry flooded the walls. Minutes later the front gates were thrown open. The Kez cavalry charged up the road toward the gates.

“We must attack, sir,” said a major whose name Tamas couldn’t recall.

Tamas whirled to his officers when he heard mutters of agreement.

“It’s suicide,” he said. His voice cracked. “Budwiel is lost.”

“We could salvage the day,” another voice said.

Tamas ground his teeth. He agreed with them. By god, he agreed with them. “Perhaps,” he said. “Maybe we would be able to rout the tail end of the Kez army. We could destroy the reserves and set fire to the Kez camp. But then we’d be caught out on the empty plain, easily surrounded, and cut off from reinforcement.”

Silence. These officers were brave, but they weren’t fools. They could see he was right.

“Then what do we do?”

Tamas heard a boom echo out from Budwiel. Smoke and dust erupted from the base of the West Pillar. He yelled for a scout to check the tunnels, but already knew what had happened. The catacombs. Someone had set off an explosion inside of them, cutting off Tamas’s entry back into Budwiel.

“I’ve been betrayed again,” he whispered. More loudly, “We keep our backs to the mountain.” He tried to think of the closest Mountainwatch pass into Adro. It would be a nightmare to move ten thousand men over any of the passes. “We march toward the pass at Alvation. Tell your men.”

General Cethal of the Ninth Brigade caught Tamas’s arm.

“Alvation?” he asked. “That will take over a month of hard marching.”

“Maybe two,” Tamas said. “And we’ll be pursued.” He eyed Budwiel. Smoke rose from the city. “We have no choice.”

His stomach turned. Many of his men had family in the city, camp followers of the army. The Kez would put the city to the torch. The same fear techniques they’d used in Gurla. His men would hate him for marching away while the city burned, but it was their only hope for survival. He swore to get them back to Adro – to deliver them their vengeance.

CHAPTER

8

Adamat waited just a few shops down from the tailor’s. He sat on a stoop, a newspaper in his hands. His disguise today was younger, with black hair neatly greased to one side of his head in the latest style of coffee shop owners. He wore pressed brown trousers and a dress shirt with cuffs rolled up to his elbows. A matching brown jacket lay across his knee. Before he’d left that morning a quick application of Dortmoth whale ointment had given his skin a youthful glow. A false black mustache and tinted spectacles hid his face.

Adamat watched over the top of his newspaper as traffic moved through the street between shops and cafés. For two days he’d watched Haime’s shop. It was nearly three o’clock on the third day and he had yet to lay eyes on Lord Vetas.

His position gave him the perfect view of Haime’s shop. He could see not only the exit and approach clearly but through the front window and nearly everything that went on inside as well. Men came and went from the shop. There were very few women. At around two thirty a trio of big, hard-looking men entered the shop. Adamat was sure they were Vetas’s goons, but when they exited just a few minutes later, he could still see Vetas’s jacket still hanging on the mannequin.

Adamat half read the articles in the newspaper. The standoff in Budwiel continued, though since the news was three or four days old, anything could have happened.

The paper reported that a sudden loss of income had caused Lady Winceslav to disband two of the eight brigades of the Wings of Adom. That could only bode ill for the war effort. Four more brigades held position north of Budwiel, while the last two stood guard at the smoldering remains of South Pike, should the Kez army try a crossing of the volcanic wasteland.

As Adamat began to read through a story on the effect of the war on Adran economics, the movement of Haime’s door across the street caught his eye. He looked up in time to see a dress disappear through the door. A moment later a woman appeared in the window and began to speak with Haime.

She was a young woman with auburn curls. She couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen and, though young, she wouldn’t be mistaken for a mere girl. She had a confident bearing with a straight back and raised chin, and the red evening dress she wore looked tailored for her figure.

Haime turned to Vetas’s jacket and gestured. He waved his hand up and down the jacket and then motioned to the bottom corner, where Adamat had noticed the repaired rip. The woman nodded and Haime took the jacket down and wrapped it carefully in tissue paper.

The woman emerged a moment later with a brown box under her arm. She looked both ways, and Adamat resisted the urge to duck behind his newspaper.
Look casual
, he reminded himself. He didn’t know her face. She most certainly did not know his.

She headed west down the street. Adamat climbed to his feet, folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm, and picking up his cane.

He followed her at a respectable distance. The key to trailing someone was to stay far enough back not to be noticed but close enough that he wouldn’t lose her if she deviated from her course suddenly. It helped to know whether she suspected that she was being followed. Adamat thought not, but one could never be too careful.

Adamat expected her to take a carriage within a block or two. She was dressed like a lady in that evening dress, and her heeled boots were not meant for long walks. But she stayed in the street and veered northwest, picking her way along slowly. She stopped by a street vendor’s stall once to purchase a fruit tart, then continued on her way.

She turned down a quiet street in the Routs. It was a wealthy part of town, predominantly known for the banking district at its center. The street itself had less foot traffic, which worried Adamat. At some point he would become noticeable, and that would be the last thing he wanted.

He fell back another forty feet before turning onto the same street. He was just in time to see the woman disappear into a large three-story townhouse.