The Crimson Campaign(The Powder Mage Trilogy)(52)

A man with a long mustache and burly shoulders stood next to the kitchen table, frowning at Bo. The woman sat at the table, busy with her knitting.

"Just ten minutes of your time," Bo was saying. He drew a stack of banknotes from his pocket and tossed it on the table.

The woman dropped her knitting needles and held a hand to her mouth. The man sputtered over the amount. Bo drew another stack and added it to the first.

"Whatever you say," the man said. "Just let me get my coat."

The door opened, and Adamat was forced to press himself against the wall, hoping the darkness would conceal him from Bo's eyes.

Bo followed the man out into the alleyway and gestured for him to come down farther. They weren't ten feet from Adamat when they stopped.

"Now what's this all about?" the man asked.

Bo lifted his gloved fingers in the air and snapped them.

The man's head twisted around a hundred and eighty degrees. Bo deftly stepped out of the way as the body staggered and fell. He seemed to regard the dead man for a few moments before he turned and headed back toward the carriage.

Adamat couldn't help himself. He'd seen gruesome murders in his time, and bad men do terrible things, but the abruptness …  He stepped from the darkness. "What the pit is the meaning of this?" he hissed.

"Keep walking." Bo grabbed him by the arm in a surprisingly firm grip and spun him about, pushing him toward the carriage.

Adamat had no choice but to allow himself to be dragged along. The carriage was soon heading down the street, and Adamat struggled to find a voice to express what he'd just seen. The murder had been quick and cold. A trained assassin couldn't have done it better.
 
 

 

"Here," Bo said. He grasped something beneath his shirt and yanked, then tossed it into Adamat's lap. "Take this. I don't want the bloody thing anymore."

Adamat stared down at the ruby-red jewel sitting in his lap. "Is that the demon's carbuncle?" He wasn't sure if he wanted to touch it.

"It is," Bo said.

"I thought you had to kill Tamas," Adamat said. "How did … ?"

Bo looked rather pleased with himself. Not at all like someone who'd just snapped a man's neck not two dozen paces from his wife and children. "I had to avenge the king. That man there was the headsman who loaded Manhouch into the guillotine."

Adamat finally drew a handkerchief from his pocket and lifted the jewel to see it better by the light of the streetlamps outside the carriage. It was warm  –  no, hot  –  to the touch and seemed to throb with its own inner light. He wondered how much a jeweler would pay for a sorcerous piece of art like this.

"Gorgeous, isn't it?" Bo said.

"It can't have been that simple. A god made the precedence for the gaes. You can't just kill the executioner and have it be all. Can you?"

"Kresimir was just a man," Bo said. His eyes narrowed as if at something that made him angry. "Just a damned man with a bloody huge amount of power. He may be smarter than most, and have more time to think and plan, but even the so-called gods make mistakes."

"Is this thing …  safe?" Adamat asked.

"Quite."

Adamat wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. "Why didn't you just tell Tamas?"

"I wasn't sure," Bo said. "I only had the thought recently, and I would have looked a damn fool if his soldiers had killed an innocent man only for the carbuncle not to come off."

"You weren't sure? What the bloody pit kind of man  –  ?"

Bo held up his hand and gave Adamat a cold, long stare. "At what point have you ever gotten the impression that there are good people in the royal cabal?"

"You've given me that impression," Adamat said. He swallowed hard. "Yes. You have."

"Well, get past it." Bo turned toward the carriage window. "Because I'm not a good man. Not in the slightest. I just pay my debts."

Adamat watched the Privileged for several minutes. Was that regret in his voice? A frown at the edges of his mouth? It was impossible to tell. Members of the royal cabal were dangerous men, he reminded himself, and were not to be trusted.

He just hoped that Bo really was on his side.





CHAPTER




22




Tamas judged he had two hours before night fell and the Kez dragoons would be close enough to scout his position.

The sound of his soldiers chopping great trees on the edge of the Hune Dora Forest echoed across the floodplains, and teams of men dragged the trees by hand across the dusty grassland to where Tamas had decided to make his stand. Closer, the scrape of a thousand shovels on sandy dirt made Tamas's skin crawl. He hated that sound. It felt like someone scraping a nail across his molars.

He found Andriya cleaning his rifle down near the river. The Marked's belt had become decorated with squirrel tails over the last few days. He didn't have the same look as the rest of the soldiers. His cheeks were slightly rounded from eating well and his face lacked the lines of exhaustion.

His eyes, though, betrayed him. They were wide and bright, shifting constantly. Like the rest of Tamas's mages, Andriya had been floating in a powder trance for weeks running. It was a terribly dangerous thing to do. Going powder blind could see any of the mages dizzy, disoriented, unconscious, or even dead.

"I'd back off on the powder, soldier," Tamas said gently.

Andriya looked him up and down. His lips twisted, and for a moment Tamas thought Andriya would snap at him.

"Right, sir," Andriya said. "Probably should."

"Where is Vlora?"

Andriya shrugged. Tamas couldn't help but wonder where the discipline was going in his army.

"What was that?"

"Don't know, sir."

"Find her."

"She won't talk to you, sir."

"Come again, soldier?"

"She said  –  and of course, I'm only quoting  –  that you could go to the pit."

Tamas inhaled sharply. This wouldn't do. This wouldn't do at all. He quickly thought over his options. He could have her flogged. Had a regular soldier said something like that to him, he wouldn't have hesitated. Vlora was …  was what? Another time, he might have thought she was kin. But she'd made it clear that was no longer the case.

Besides, a public flogging on the eve of a major battle? He rolled his eyes to himself. That would help morale.

He could give her a public reprimand. What if she defied him? He'd have no choice but to impose more severe punishment. With her temper, he might have to have her hanged.

"Get the powder cabal together," Tamas said. "I've got assignments for you. Tell Vlora to be there."

Andriya saluted and went about cleaning his rifle. Tamas headed toward the bonfires to find something to eat.

The soldiers had been organized into lines. Olem stood at the head of the lines along with the better part of his Riflejacks  –  all trusted men that could keep the infantry in line. The last of the horsemeat was distributed quickly as soldiers approached with their pewter dishes.

The camp was coming together even as work continued on Tamas's preparations. Tents were pitched, small fires made. Parties were sent out to forage the woods or fish the river. Fights broke out and were quickly put down, only to start up again somewhere else. Food seemed to be the main instigator as soldiers tried to get in line for seconds. The meat might keep them going through the night, but morale was low, and the food wouldn't last through tomorrow.

"Sir."

Andriya's voice broke through Tamas's thoughts. Nineteen men and women stood assembled before him: the entirety of his powder cabal, including the recruits Sabon had managed to gather before his death.

"We're running low on powder and bullets," Tamas said without preamble. He caught sight of Vlora at the back of the group, but did not wait to hold her eye. "Tomorrow we'll be fighting almost sixteen thousand cavalry. I'm setting a trap that should even the odds, but it's going to be a brutal battle."

Tamas looked around, suddenly feeling weary. His leg ached. He thought to take some powder, but stopped himself. Save it for the soldiers. He walked to a large rock and sat down, gesturing for the powder mages to be at ease. Most of them sat on the sandy ground. Vlora remained standing, her arms crossed. Tamas ignored her.

"I'm going to redistribute bullets and powder among the men so that you have enough for the next twenty-four hours. Your first job: Do not let Kez scouts get within a half mile of us. Do not let them take the high ground along the mountain." He pointed east to the slope of the Adran Mountains. "Do not let them see what we're up to. The life of every soldier depends on this.

"However," he went on, "I want them to see we're doing something. A little digging. Preparations and rafts. Perhaps trying to rebuild the bridge. Every so often, let one of their scouts get closer, and then let him get away with a bullet in the arm, or something equally convincing."
 
 

 

"Tomorrow should be much of the same. I expect Beon to attack as soon as his cuirassiers arrive. He knows an opportunity when he sees one, and he never hesitates to take it."

"And if he senses the trap?" Andriya asked.

"Then we cross the river tomorrow night, and deal with Beon on the other side of the Fingers." Tamas had a very good feeling that would not be the case. Beon needed to stop them now. The farther north they got, the better chance they had of finding succor in Deliv and crossing back into Adro. Tamas prayed that would spur on Beon. He dreaded the idea of facing the Kez on the open plains of the Northern Expanse.