The Crimson Campaign (31 page)

Tamas’s heart leapt, and he said a silent prayer of thanks that he didn’t jump two feet in the air. He quickly grew conscious of his voyeurism. He could feel his face growing red, so he strode to the waterfall, stripping off his uniform.

Vlora left the water and gathered her knapsack, dressing quickly. A minute later and Tamas was alone with Gavril and Olem.

“You know,” Gavril said to Olem, tossing his uniform on the rocks beside the stream, “you’re supposed to take your pants off when you shower.”

Olem cleared his throat and gave an uncomfortable laugh. He glanced in the direction Vlora had gone.

Gavril gave a belly-shaking laugh. “That is a good-looking woman. I can see why you left ’em on.” He elbowed Olem in the ribs, nearly knocking him over. Olem gave him a lopsided grin. A glance at Tamas and his grin disappeared.

“Vlora was engaged to Taniel,” Tamas said. “Up until the beginning of this summer.” He stared at Olem. What had he walked in upon? Had this been going on long, or was it a chance thing?

If Gavril noticed the tension, he ignored it. “Not engaged to him anymore, is she?” He shrugged his big shoulders. “Fine-looking woman is a fine-looking woman. Her being unpromised is only a bonus.”

“I sometimes forget your… habits… with women.”

Gavril squared his body to Tamas, unashamed of his nudity. “You also forgot about that string of seventeen-year-old noble daughters trying to bag the most eligible bachelor in the Nine the year after Erika died… before we went to Kez. How many of those did you bed?”

Tamas had forgotten all about bathing. He clutched his jacket in one hand, jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth, Jakola.”

At some point Olem had left the waterfall and gathered his shirt, jacket, and pistol from the ground. He began to slink downstream.

“We’re going to have a talk, Olem,” Tamas said.

Olem froze. Drops of water hung in his sandy beard.

Gavril’s thick finger prodded Tamas in the chest. “You’ve had your share of women, Tamas. Including my sister. That means I can say what I want.”

Tamas looked down at Gavril’s finger, seriously considering snapping it off. Who the pit did he think he was, speaking to Tamas like that? If they’d been in public, Tamas would have had no choice but to call him out. As it were, he wanted to punch him in the nose. In a fight, Gavril had the strength and weight. Tamas had the speed, and if he had powder, it was no contest. He could…

He stopped himself. Here he was, deep in Kez territory, pursued by an army four times the size of his, and all he wanted was to feel clean again before the next battle. What was he doing? Gavril wasn’t his enemy.

A glance over his shoulder told him Olem had gone.

“You’re too much of a hard-ass, Tamas,” Gavril said.

Tamas hung his uniform on the protruding root of a tree and stepped under the waterfall. The initial shock struck him to the core. The water was cold as ice, runoff from the mountain peaks towering over them to the east.

“Sweet Kresimir!” He felt his leg stiffen with the cold.

“I’ve taken colder baths at the Mountainwatch,” Gavril said.

Tamas looked downstream, the way Olem had gone. “Vlora was engaged to my Taniel. He could be dead now, for all I know. I’ll not have —”

“The engagement was broken off,” Gavril cut him off. “You told me so yourself. Let it go. How many times did you fool around behind Erika’s back?”

“None,” Tamas said. His voice came out colder than the stream.

Gavril made a face like he didn’t believe a word of it. He opened his mouth, but Tamas spoke first.

“Question my honor,” Tamas said. “Just try it.”

“Won’t say another word about it.”

“Good. Now give me your damned report.”

“The Kez have fallen back almost eight miles. Some of your roadblocks have worked, some haven’t. The cavalry can’t be more than two abreast on these roads, so their own column is miles long. They’ve got scouts ranging everywhere they can through the woods to try to find shortcuts. I have my rangers keeping an eye out for small companies that try to flank us, but so far our worst enemy is the lack of food.”

“How long until we reach the Fingers of Kresimir?” Tamas scrubbed his fingers through his mustache. He needed a shave, badly.

“Six days.”

“Good.”

“About that, I have bad news.”

Tamas sighed. “Just what I was hoping to hear.”

“The Kez have sent their cuirassiers around to the west to cut across the plains. That’s fifty-five hundred heavy cavalry. What they lose in going around Hune Dora they’ll gain by having flat ground. If my guess is right, they’ll reach the Fingers right about the time we do.

“Last time I went through the Fingers,” Gavril continued, “the forest ended about a mile from the first river. Open, flat plain all the way to the water, then a narrow wooden bridge.”

“A perfect place for the Kez to trap us.”

“Exactly.”

Tamas closed his eyes, trying to see the space in his mind. It had been thirteen years since he last passed through the area. “I need to break the Kez.”

“What?”

“Break them. I can’t have the cavalry dogging us all the way to Deliv. Even if we lose them for a time crossing the Fingers, they’ll be there waiting for us in the Northern Expanse, and on the open plateau we won’t stand a chance against three brigades of cavalry.”

“How are you going to break that many cavalry? You’ve only got eleven thousand men, Tamas. I’ve seen you work miracles before, but this is out of your league.”

Tamas stepped out from under the cold water and snatched his uniform from the roots. He pulled his pants on over his wet body.

“We’re going to march double-time. We can make it in four days. That’ll give us preparation time.”

“You can’t march double for four days on empty stomachs.”

Tamas ignored him. “Take twenty of your fastest riders. Take extra horses – some of those we captured from the Kez. Go ahead to the Fingers.”

“I thought we were going to slaughter the horses so the men could eat.”

“Slaughter them when you get there. I want you to destroy the bridge.”

Gavril stepped out of the water and shook his great head, spraying water everywhere. It reminded Tamas of watching a bear fishing in a river. “Are you mad?” Gavril asked.

“Do you trust me?”

Gavril hesitated a few seconds too long. “Yes?”

“Destroy the bridge, slaughter the horses, and start making rafts. Swear your men to silence about the bridge. Once we catch up to you, the story is that the bridge was washed out and you were sent on ahead to build rafts.”

“You better have a damned good reason for destroying that bridge before we cross it,” Gavril said. “Otherwise my men will string me up for trying to get our whole army killed.”

Tamas pulled his jacket on. “Do it. Only take men you trust.”

He began walking down the stream as Gavril began to dress. He paused when Gavril called out behind him.

“Tamas,” his brother-in-law said. “Try not to get us all slaughtered.”

CHAPTER

19

“Have you wondered,” Taniel said, “why they always sound the retreat?”

He sat at Colonel Etan’s bedside in a small inn off the main road in the town of Rue, about two miles behind the front line. It was a quiet town, though the echo of distant artillery still reminded Taniel that there was a war carrying on without them.

Etan was propped up in his bed by a pile of feather pillows. A nurse was stationed just outside the door to see to his needs, while a steady stream of Etan’s grenadiers had been coming and going all day, wishing him well and taking orders to the front.

Only a wounded colonel would get this kind of treatment, Taniel knew. He’d heard of a few infantrymen who’d broken their backs. Most died from neglect within a few months.

Taniel watched his friend out of the corner of his eye and made a few marks in his sketchbook, outlining Etan’s strong jaw in charcoal. Etan had refused the offer to step down from his post. Said he could – and would – still command the Twelfth Grenadiers, even if he had to do it from a chair. Rumors were that General Hilanska was going to force Etan’s resignation.

Taniel hoped not. Retaining command of his grenadiers was the only thing keeping Etan from surrendering to despair.

“We retreat,” Etan said, “because we’re always overwhelmed.” He dipped a feather pen in an inkwell and finished a sentence on the paper in his lap. He’d cursed and shouted when Taniel had first pulled out his sketchbook. Now he seemed to be doing his best to ignore the fact that Taniel was sketching him.

Taniel studied Etan’s face, his mind elsewhere. Something seemed wrong about the trumpets. The retreats. Every damned time. “You know Tamas’s campaign history as well as any historian. How many times has he sounded a retreat?”

“Seven, if memory serves.”

“Out of how many battles?”

“Hundreds.”

“And the last few weeks how many times have we fallen back before the Kez?”

Etan sighed, setting down his feather pen and rubbing his eyes. “Taniel, what does it matter? The generals don’t have a choice. It’s either fall back with heavy losses or suffer the deaths of every man on the front.”

“What if one of the generals is in league with the Kez?” Taniel mused aloud. “Ordering the retreat early each time?”

“Those are dangerous accusations.”

“Tamas believed there was a traitor —”

Etan cut him off. “And he was right. He caught the bastard. Charlemund won’t see the light of day again, no matter what threats the Church makes.”

“Tamas might not have caught all the traitors,” Taniel said quietly.

“These generals were handpicked by Tamas. Every one of them has supported him for years, even through the coup – where the risks of failure were high, and they’d all be labeled traitors. They are capable and loyal.”

Taniel took a small pinch of powder and snorted it off the back of his hand. He fought to clear his mind. There was a time when the tiniest bit of powder would allow him to focus and think, but it seemed harder and harder to do so.

Powder. That was the other thing bothering him.

“Do you have access to quartermaster reports?” Taniel asked.

Etan finished writing another missive and set it on the table beside his bed. “For my regiment, certainly.”

“I don’t need them for your regiment. I need them for the entire army. Can you get them?”

“I’d need to pull some strings…”

“Do it.”

Etan’s mouth hardened into a flat line. “Because I’m so disposed to doing you favors right now.”

“Please?” Taniel said, sketching Etan’s shoulders.

“Why?”

“Something that’s been niggling in the back of my mind. I just want to see how much black powder the army has been using.”

“All right,” Etan agreed with a sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.” He fell silent and for several minutes there was nothing but the sound of Etan’s feather pen scratching away at the paper. Etan seemed enthralled by his work. Since his paralysis, Etan had rushed headlong into the administrative duties of his rank. He’d spent the last three days checking on supply reports, reading recruitment numbers, and leafing through dossiers of men who might be considered for rank advancement.

Taniel was glad Etan had something to do to keep his mind off his injury.

The sound of Etan’s pen suddenly stopped. “How do the Kez have so many bloody Black Wardens?” he asked. “Didn’t – doesn’t – your father have a hard time finding them as it is?”

“Can’t say for sure,” Taniel said as he gave a little more shape to Etan’s chin in his drawing. He’d wondered the same thing himself. “The Kez purge their countryside of powder mages every two years and make regular sweeps in the meantime. Tamas always assumed the mages they rounded up were executed. His spies never reported anything else.”

Etan tapped the feather pen on the paper. “You think that maybe the Kez have been imprisoning them?”

“That’s my thought,” Taniel said. “Kez has a much greater population than Adro, which could partly account for their numbers. And I think Kresimir is the one turning them into Powder Wardens. It can’t be coincidence that these new bastards appeared at the same time as Kresimir.”

Etan began to write again, only to stop a moment later. “Oh,” he said. “I got something for you.”

“Eh?”

Etan produced a silver snuffbox and handed it to Taniel. “I heard you lost your old one on South Pike. Thought you’d like it.”

Taniel flipped open the lid. Inside, it was engraved with the words “Taniel Two-Shot, the Unkillable.”

“The Unkillable?” Taniel scoffed.

“That’s what the boys have taken to calling you.”

“That’s absurd. Anyone can be killed.” He held out the snuffbox. “I can’t take this.”

Etan began to cough. He fell back with a grimace, clutching his side. “Take it, you stubborn bastard, or I’ll start screaming at you for being a coward again. You and that girl of yours saved our asses out there.”

“She’s not my girl.”

Etan snorted. “Oh, really? Rumors are getting around, Taniel.” Etan looked down at his hands. “I shouldn’t tell you this, but the General Staff wants you two separated. Says it’s bad for morale, having a war hero gallivanting around with a savage.”