"I'll be sure the mages get what they need." His powder mages were still each worth more than a dozen men.
Vlora nodded. "I'll check with the quartermaster." She stood and abruptly headed off into the camp.
Tamas watched her go, and felt himself an old man, burdened with regret.
The camp grew louder over the next few minutes as the last of the soldiers were roused from their beds. A few cheers went up, and Tamas guessed Olem must have distributed the elk meat. It wasn't much, not when spread so thinly, but it was a bite more than they'd had.
Tamas broke down and stowed his own tent. He'd just finished tying his bedroll when Olem returned with a bundle of bloody canvas.
"I would have done that, sir," Olem said.
Tamas eyed the bloody canvas and felt his mouth watering. "I have you doing more important things. I was a soldier once, Olem. I can break camp as well as any man."
"If you insist, sir." Olem knelt beside the coals and produced a skewer, then unwrapped the bloody canvas to reveal a hunk of elk meat.
Tamas stood and looked to the south. Somewhere out there, the Kez cavalry were breaking their camp, probably hoping to overtake the Adran brigades before they were able to reach the relative safety of the forest.
Tamas heard, more than saw, a horse galloping through the camp. A few moments later and Gavril emerged from the still-dark morning on a shuddering charger.
Tamas grabbed the horse by the bridle as his brother-in-law swung down. The horse's sides were lathered, its eyes wild. Gavril had been riding hard.
"Sixteen thousand," Gavril said. "Ten and a half thousand dragoons and another five and a half of cuirassiers. Three full brigades of cavalry."
Kresimir. How could they possibly fight that many cavalry? "How far?"
"We can beat them to the forest if we leave now. I've not spoken with my northern outriders."
"Vlora just came from the north. We're sixteen miles from Hune Dora."
Gavril accepted an offered canteen from Olem and took a swig, then poured the rest over his head. His body steamed. "We won't have time to sack the city."
"She says it's abandoned. I'll have some men take a look, but we'll probably head right past it."
"Abandoned, eh?" Gavril scratched his bearded chin. "We could make a stand there."
Tamas cast an anxious glance to the south. He couldn't see the Kez cavalry, but it seemed to him he could sense them. "Maybe."
Olem stood and held out a pewter plate. On it was a steaming cut of elk.
"Burned on the edges and raw in the middle, but it's delicious," Olem said with a grin.
Tamas heard his stomach growl. There must have been two pounds of meat on that plate.
"Share it with Gavril," Tamas said. "I'm not hungry."
Olem cocked an eyebrow. "I can hear your stomach making bear calls from here, sir. You have to keep up your strength."
"Really, I'm fine."
Gavril grabbed the meat with his bare hands. "Suit yourself." He tore it in half and plopped one half back on the plate. He began to cram the rest into his mouth. Around bites, he yelled out to another rider who'd just come into camp.
"Sir," Olem said as Gavril strode off, "you need to eat."
"Get the men on their feet," Tamas said. A sudden urgency rose within him as a gust of wind nearly tore off his hat. "Have the advance column marching out of the camp in twenty minutes." He stared south until Olem was gone.
Sixteen thousand Kez cavalry. His two brigades of infantry would be ridden down. They'd die hungry, exhausted, and in a foreign land while the Kez burned their homes.
He couldn't let that happen.
He wouldn't let that happen.
Tamas strode toward the nearest tents. "Companies," he shouted. "Prepare for march!"
Sergeant Oldrich and his squad of Riflejacks were staying at a retired barracks on the southeast side of the Ad River, not far from the Lighthouse of Gostaun. The barracks was a big building, abandoned and empty but for the odd feral dog. The front doors were barred and chained, but one of the many side entries had been left unlocked.
Adamat entered the barracks through that door and crossed two empty parade grounds before he found the small mess hall where the captain and his squad were watching Adamat's four youngest children put on a play in the center of the mess.
Adamat stood in the door quietly, unable to keep the smile from his face as Astrit absently played with her black curls while she tried to remember the lines of the princess trapped in a tall tower by the evil Privileged who, judging by the costumes composed of robes and bedsheets, was being played by one of the twins.
"Daddy!" Astrit cried, catching sight of him.
He was mobbed by all the children crowding around him with hugs and kisses. He made sure to give each one a kiss, saying each of their names – except for the twins. He could never tell them apart, and he wasn't about to admit it.
Adamat wrestled on the floor with his children for several minutes before he was able to extract himself. He bid them return to their play, and joined Sergeant Oldrich at the table in the corner of the room.
"Coffee?" the sergeant offered, chewing absently at the tobacco tucked in his cheek.
"Tea, if you have it."
Oldrich called over to one of his men. "Tea!" He fixed Adamat with a frown. "You look awful. You got rolled, didn't you?"
"Yeah." Adamat found himself watching his children. They were beautiful kids. They really were. The thought of anything happening to them made his blood begin to boil and he forced himself to look away. "Got out of it fine, and I've found Vetas's headquarters."
"I didn't think you could." Oldrich lifted his coffee cup in a salute. "I figured the bastard would be in the wind after what you did to his boys in Offendale."
Adamat sniffed. "He's not afraid of me," Adamat said. "I don't think he's afraid of anything. You ever seen a machine powered by steam? They've got looms, hammers, printing presses … " Adamat was briefly reminded of his own failed foray into publishing but managed to push the thought away.
"Yeah," Oldrich said. "They have them in ships now, too."
"Exactly. He's like a steam engine. Just keeps going. No feeling, no thought. Just a task to do and he's going to do it."
Oldrich sipped his coffee. "Damn. Almost makes you feel bad for him."
"No," Adamat said. "I'll still rip his heart out when I find him."
"And I hope you get your chance. Shall we go get him?"
"How many men do you have again?" Adamat asked, though he knew well enough.
"Fifteen," Oldrich said. "Two to guard the children … "
"Five."
"Five to guard the children, that leaves us with twelve, counting you and me."
"Not enough."
"He's got enough goons to take on a squad of the field marshal's best?"
"He's got at least sixty enforcers and a Privileged."
Oldrich whistled. "Ah. I don't think there's anything we can do about that."
"Pit. Thank you," Adamat said as a cup of tea was set in front of him. He added two lumps of sugar and stirred it to cool. "Have you seen the morning paper?"
"No. You want one? Oi! Someone get the investigator a paper!"
Adamat cringed inwardly. He was hoping to find out that Oldrich hadn't seen a paper today. Not draw attention to one. Oh well. "Do you remember a Privileged by the name of Borbador?" Adamat changed the subject.
"I do," Oldrich said. His normally pleasant face was suddenly guarded.
"I think he'd do it for us. Borbador was one of the cabal's best and brightest. He held Shouldercrown against the Kez Cabal virtually by himself. I know Tamas left him alive and has him stashed in the city. If we could -"
"No," Oldrich said.
"‘No' what?"
"Privileged Borbador has a gaes to compel him to kill the field marshal."
"I know. I'm the one who told Tamas about the gaes."
"Then why would you ask me that? Releasing him would endanger Tamas and I won't do it."
Adamat held his head in his hands. He felt like he was doing that a lot lately. "It's our only chance against a Privileged under Lord Vetas."
"You could ask Taniel Two-Shot," Oldrich said. "He kills Privilegeds as a hobby, and rumor has it he's in the city."
"Newspaper said this morning he left for the front." Adamat realized his mistake as the words left his mouth.
"So you have seen a paper?" Oldrich nudged a spittoon from beneath the table with one toe, leaning over to spit into it. "Was there something in it you wanted me to see?"
"Sir," one of Oldrich's men called from the doorway. He was a young man, probably not much older than Adamat's son Josep. "Sir, you should see this." He rushed over to Oldrich and dropped a paper into his lap.
Oldrich lifted the paper. The headline read, "Budwiel Sacked, Field Marshal Tamas Dead." Oldrich was silent for several minutes as he read the article. The young soldier stayed by his side the whole time. When Oldrich finished, he handed the newspaper back to the soldier.
"You weren't going to tell me?"
Adamat felt like a child who'd been caught robbing the pantry. "I was," Adamat said. "After I figured out how to convince you to stay and help me." Adamat swallowed hard. He was about to lose the last bit of help he had to get Faye back. Once Oldrich was gone, it would be just Adamat with eight children to look after, and a wife and son still in his enemy's hands.