His men were hungry. Tamas knew it, and it pained him.
“I put a stop to it, sir,” Olem said.
“Good.”
Tamas heard soft footfalls on the dirt. Olem shifted, and his hand emerged just a little from his coat. He had a pistol.
A carcass thumped to the ground beside Tamas. He started.
“Elk, sir,” Vlora said as she squatted down next to him.
Tamas felt a little spell of relief. Meat.
“Any more?” he asked, his voice a little too hopeful.
“Andriya bagged one, too. He’s portioning it out to the powder mages. This one’s for the officers.”
Tamas chewed on the inside of his lip. “Olem. Have it butchered and distributed to the men. A small, raw piece for each. Let them cook it themselves. We break camp in two hours.”
Olem climbed to his feet and stretched. He returned his pistol to his belt and headed off, calling a few names.
“We’ll reach Hune Dora tomorrow by midday, sir,” Vlora said. Her shoulders were stained with blood from the elk. She had to have been burning a powder trance, otherwise there was no way a girl of her size could have carried an entire elk over her shoulders.
“How far?”
“About sixteen miles. Went up that way while hunting.”
“And?”
“A small town, just like Gavril said.”
“Walled?”
“The wall is an old ruin. Eight feet high, maybe. I wouldn’t worry about it, though, sir. The city looks abandoned.”
Abandoned? Tamas had hoped there would be some population, just so he could loot their stores of powder and food.
“Anything else up that direction?
“The terrain turns steep. The road seems to follow the contours of the mountain ridges. Lots of bridges, from what I could see. Once we’re in the forest, the dragoons will have a hard time encircling us.”
“As I’d hoped.”
“The bad news is, the road narrows considerably. We’ll be able to march maybe just three or four men abreast.”
That would require Tamas’s column to extend to almost four miles long. Not conducive to an army being dogged by dragoons. Tamas swore under his breath.
He watched the sky for a moment. There wouldn’t be rain today, he decided.
“I lied, before,” Tamas said.
Vlora frowned at the embers of the fire. “Sir?”
“Back in Budwiel you asked me if there was any news about Taniel. I lied.”
Vlora opened her mouth, but Tamas went on before she could say anything.
“A few days before we went through the caves, I received a message from Adopest. Taniel’s savage was awake.”
“And Taniel?”
“Nothing. But if one of them can come out of it, presumably the other. And I wouldn’t think that little savage girl is stronger than my boy. He’ll…” He heard his voice crack. “He’ll make it.”
He examined Vlora out of the corner of his eye. He thought he saw a tear on her face.
“How is your leg, sir?” she asked.
Tamas looked down at his leg. Mihali had healed it. He could walk. He could ride. Pit, he could dance if he wanted to. But deep inside the calf, it still hurt. The pain throbbed, right where they’d taken that blasted star of gold out of his flesh. Despite the healing powers of a god, there was still something wrong with it.
“It’s fine,” he said. “Good as new.”
“You still walk with a limp,” Vlora said.
“Do I? Just habit.”
Vlora leaned back on her haunches. “I’ve heard that healed tissue has a problem readjusting itself. It needs help. Plenty of exercise and massage. If you’d like…”
“I don’t think I need the gossip that would come out of you rubbing my leg,” Tamas said. He chuckled, and was relieved when Vlora laughed as well.
“I was going to say have Olem do it, sir.”
“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Tamas watched Vlora a little longer. She glanced up at him, then back at the fire. She still wouldn’t meet his eyes.
He found he missed their old familiarity. If things had gone better, she might be his daughter-in-law by now. Back before she went off to the university, she’d been the one soldier with the gall to call him Tamas. She’d hung on his arm, even hugged him in public.
Before she slept with that fop in Jileman and Taniel broke off their engagement.
Tamas climbed to his feet. “I want you and Andriya to keep on hunting. We need as much meat as we can get.”
“We’re going to run out of powder eventually, sir,” she said.
“Get some from the Seventh’s quartermaster.”
“I meant the whole army.”
Tamas drummed his fingers on his belt. An army on the march, without resupply or even wagons and camp followers. They would run out of everything. Sooner, rather than later. Their only advantage was a swift march, and that was lost with having to forage and the exhaustion brought on by hunger.
“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.”
&n
bsp; “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.
“There’s no convincing,” Oldrich said. “I was given an order. Tamas is my commanding officer and an old friend. He told me to see this thing through to the end regardless of whether he lived through the war.”
“And you will?”
“Yes.”
Adamat couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. He dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief, realizing that he’d been sweating. “Thank you.” He paused. “You seem to be taking this awfully well.”
“The headline is sensational,” Oldrich said, pointing to the paper. “It’s actually ‘presumed dead.’ Tamas went behind enemy lines with the Seventh and Ninth and hasn’t been seen since. Those are the two hard-as-nails brigades in the Adran army. Until I see a body, I’m going to believe that Tamas is in Kez, chewing up their army and spitting them out like toothpicks.”
“So I won’t be able to convince you to release Privileged Borbador with Tamas dead?”
“Sorry. You’ll have to think of something else. And do it quick, because I can only help you take down Vetas until there’s an army knocking on Adopest’s front door.”
Adamat stood. “I’ll think of something.”
“Also,” Oldrich said, “
with Tamas presumed dead, that means the clerks will tighten the noose on the checkbook he gave you. We’ll need money for bribes or supplies sooner rather than later. If you’ve got some money stashed away…”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Adamat said. He reluctantly said good-bye to his children and headed for the door, only to have Oldrich join him in the hallway. “Sergeant?”
“I wanted to tell you something,” Oldrich said in a hushed voice. He glanced into the mess. “If only to make you feel a little reassured. I don’t want you to worry about your children. The boys have taken a real shine to them. Anyone finds us, comes in here looking for those kids, my boys’ll scramble ’em good, and they won’t be kind about it.”
Adamat fought back the sudden tears in the corners of his eyes. “Thank you,” he managed. “It does… it does mean a lot. Thank you.”
Adamat got to his safe house by about one in the morning. He wearily climbed the stairs to the apartment above the landlady’s, listening to the creak of his boots on the old wooden steps. Had it really been five days since he’d been here? He’d slept on a park bench, a hospice bunk, and a chair in a bar over the days since his meeting with the Proprietor as he planned his next move on Lord Vetas.
He needed a bath.
SouSmith sat next to a low-burning lamp on the sofa. The boxer looked up from a game of cards laid out in front of him, his brow furrowed.
“Bloody worried,” SouSmith said.
Adamat closed the door with a sigh. He was hoping he’d have a good night’s sleep before having to face SouSmith. He felt like the pit. His body hurt, he’d had little sleep in ten days, and he needed a good meal. He’d felt like this only once or twice before in his life, back when Manhouch succeeded his father and the commoners were restless and all police officers were working eighteen-hour days.
He never thought he’d feel like that again. He thought he’d left it all behind.
“Sorry,” Adamat said.
SouSmith looked back at his game. He moved one card on top of another and pulled two off the table, setting them beside him on the sofa.
“Look like pit,” SouSmith said.
“Feel like it, too.”
“Where you been?” His beady eyes searched Adamat’s face.
“The Proprietor reeled me in.” Adamat limped over to a chair by the sofa and collapsed into it. “His boys worked me over all night before I got to see him. Turns out the whole thing was a big bloody mistake. Tossed me back out on the cobbles with ‘sorry.’ ”
The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic Page 67