The Crimson Campaign(The Powder Mage Trilogy)(55)

The wind was blowing westerly, and Tamas could see a low cloud cover inching its way off the Adran Mountains. If rain was coming, it would make this a miserable fight. Beon might even delay his attack, making all of Tamas's preparations be for nothing.

He wondered idly if Mihali had heard his prayer last night.

"What are you up to, Tamas?" Gavril asked.

"Kind of obvious from this end, isn't it?"

"I've been ranging since you arrived yesterday. To me, it looks like a half-finished defense."

"Perfect." Tamas climbed to his feet. The camp was shaped in a square. To the north, the Big Finger raged along its banks. To the east, a scree slope leading up to the mountain prevented a flanking maneuver by Kez cavalry. To the west and south, a mound of earth about three feet tall had been piled all around the camp. It was a standard short defense, from behind which infantry could take easy cover.

It would barely slow a cavalry charge.

To the west, the mound had been topped with tree trunks, propped together to form giant Xs. Between them, sharpened stakes had been driven into the ground. It was a thick, deadly defense against cavalry. A few hundred men worked hard at adding to those stakes as the mound of dirt swung around to defend the south. It wasn't nearly enough men. There would be a gap in their defenses about an eighth of a mile long. A gap through which ten thousand dragoons would charge.

"Sir."

Tamas broke away from his examination of the camp. Andriya and Vlora stood at attention. Neither looked like they'd slept all night. Damned fools.

"Gather the powder mages," Tamas said. "I'm sending you across the river."

They stared back at him blankly. "Sir?" Andriya said. His hands twitched on his rifle. "You promised we'd be killing Kez."

"You can do that from the other side of the river. I'm not risking any of my mages in the melee. I want you where you can shoot without being shot  –  or stabbed."

"You want us to cross in shifts to keep the Kez scouts at bay?" Vlora asked.

Tamas hesitated. A chill wind cut through the camp and he noticed a low fog creeping its way down from the mountains and across the floodplain.

"No. I want the Kez scouts getting a good look at the camp now. They're welcome to get as close as they dare."

"Sir, I'd rather be on this side of the river," Andriya said.

Tamas sighed. "Not today, Andriya."

Andriya gripped his rifle. "Please, sir." He bared his teeth. "You promised I would get to kill Kez."
 
 

 

"From a distance." Tamas clipped the words off firmly. "Besides, they'll be watching for the Marked. They'll feel more confident with you on the other side of the river."

"You're coming with us, then?" Vlora said.

Tamas frowned. "No. Why would I?"

"You're one of the powder mages, sir."

"No. I have to remain in close in order to command."

"That's not fair." Andriya was livid. He stared toward the forest, straining like a hound that could smell its quarry. "I've got every right to put my bayonet through a Kez noble's eye. I want blood on my hands."

"‘Blood on my hands, sir,'" Tamas corrected. He didn't need this. He had fifteen thousand cavalry about to rain down on him, and just when he thought he might have sorted things out with Vlora, Andriya was becoming insubordinate. "Cross the river. That's an order, soldier."

He turned away from Andriya to make it clear that the conversation was over. The two powder mages left him alone with Gavril. Tamas and Gavril remained silent for a few minutes, watching the organized chaos evolve in the camp. Men shouted. Tamas thought he saw a punch thrown. A little while later, the first raft was launched. It got away from the handlers and was pulled downstream with no one on it. A cry of dismay went up from the brigades, and Tamas didn't think it was feigned.

"Where do you want me?" Gavril asked.

"On your horse," Tamas said. "You and your rangers should take the eastern flank, in case some of Beon's dragoons attempt the scree."

"All right," Gavril said.

"Here." Tamas unhooked the cavalry saber from his belt and handed it to Gavril. "Better to swing from horseback."

"You're not going to be mounted?"

Tamas smiled, though he didn't feel any mirth behind it. "I'm taking the center. If I'm not mounted, the men won't see when I fall."

Gavril seemed to think on the gravity behind those words before accepting the cavalry saber.

Tamas took the small sword from his saddle and hooked it to his belt.

"I'll see you after the battle," Gavril said.

Tamas clasped hands, then was surprised when Gavril pulled him into an embrace. Gavril held him for a moment, then headed off to join his rangers.

Olem returned an hour later.

"Any of the men eat this morning?" Tamas asked.

"Caught a lot of fish in the river, actually. Andriya bagged a pair of goats on the mountainside. There was a little leftover horse. Every man had a bite of something."

"Let's hope it's enough," Tamas said.

Olem looked up. "At least the buzzards will eat well."

Tamas watched as the fog he'd seen earlier moving in slowly enveloped the entire camp. It wasn't thick  –  barely two feet deep. Enough to obscure the ground but not the camp itself. The clouds had moved in from above. They threatened rain, but Tamas had seen this kind of weather before. There'd be nothing more than a light mist.

Strange weather for a summer day.

At eleven thirty, Tamas caught sight of a pair of horsemen to the west, nearly a mile away at the bend in the river. He sprinkled some black powder on his tongue, and the men came into sharp relief. Tan-and-green uniforms under shining breastplates, and wearing plumed helmets.

The cuirassiers had arrived.



Adamat stood on the sixth floor of the Dwightwich bell tower with a looking glass at his eye. He was examining a fellow with shifty eyes who was wearing a faded red waistcoat and knee-length trousers and sitting on the stoop about a hundred paces from Lord Vetas's headquarters.

"They have another lookout on the corner of Seventh and Mayflew Avenue," Adamat said. He could hear the scratching of a pen behind him. He scanned the streets once more with the looking glass and then handed it to a young woman by the name of Riplas  –  the eunuch's second-in-command. She took his spot at the window while he turned to the assembled group in the cramped bell tower room.

"You're sure you have everyone?" the eunuch asked Adamat.

Adamat looked at the eunuch out of the corner of his eye. If he had any idea Adamat was blackmailing his master, he'd given no indication when he showed up the day before with forty of the meanest street scum Adamat had ever seen: boxers, gang members, dockworkers, pimps, and bodyguards.

"I've been watching them on and off for almost two weeks," Adamat said. "They change their posts, but between your reports and mine I think we have everyone."

He guessed that Vetas was employing over a hundred heads, based on the comings and goings from his headquarters. That was no small operation, and any thirty of them could be in the headquarters at any given time. The Proprietor had said Vetas had sixty enforcers.

Adamat looked over at Bo. The Privileged was down on his haunches in one corner of the room, his eyes closed, hands folded inside the sleeves of his jacket. He opened his eyes, as if he'd felt Adamat's gaze upon him. Adamat shuddered. He was still unnerved by the casual murder of Manhouch's headsman the day before.

"Vetas's pet Privileged is there," Bo said. "Right now. She's not some hired fool, either. She's got cabal-level stuff at her beck and call."

A bird burst from the bells above their heads, causing Adamat to jump. He noticed that he was the only one to do so and smoothed the front of his coat. A powerful Privileged? That wasn't good. Not at all. He was depending on Bo to be able to neutralize Vetas's Privileged even as Adamat's men seized the place.

Bo must have sensed the unasked question. "I'll kill her. Don't worry about that."

"If it turns into any kind of a fight between you two, we're all dead men," the eunuch said.

"Well, you're not exactly a man," Bo said with a smirk. He nodded to Riplas. "And she's not." His smirk suddenly turned to a frown. "And she's definitely not."

Adamat turned to see Fell standing on the bell tower stairs. The Fontain Academy graduate wore a fitted waistcoat, sans tails, and a pair of tight men's pants tucked into her boots.

"Ricard can't spare any men right now," Fell said, "but he sent me."

The eunuch turned toward her with a look of disgust. "Does he know the resources the Proprietor is shifting for this operation?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact," Fell said, cocking her eyebrow, "he doesn't. I'm sure he'll be interested to know."

Adamat stepped between them. "It's more help than you realize," he said to the eunuch. For Ricard to send his ten-million-krana servant into harm's way meant a great deal.

"Bah," the eunuch sneered. His fingers tapped rapidly against the side of his leg. He seemed on edge  –  not the quiet, thoughtful killer Adamat had met months ago.

Adamat stepped back to the window and took the looking glass from Riplas. "Any more lookouts?" he asked.

"None."