The passageway opened up into a wide cavern. The torchlight no longer danced on the ceiling and far walls, but disappeared into the darkness above. They stood on the edge of a pool of still water blacker than a moonless night. Their voices echoed in the great hollow space.
Tamas came to a stop beside the waiting artillery men. He cracked a powder charge in between his fingers and sprinkled it on his tongue. The trance swept through him, bringing dizziness and clarity all at once. The ache of his leg disappeared and the tendrils of light caused by the torches were suddenly more than enough for him to examine the cavern in its entirety.
The walls were lined with stone sarcophagi, stacked almost haphazardly upon one another thirty, maybe forty feet into the air. A dripping sound echoed through the chamber: the source of the underground lake. Tamas could see no exit but the one through which they’d come.
“Sir?” one of the artillerymen said. His name was Ludik, and he held his torch over the pool, trying to gauge the depths.
“We’re thousands of feet beneath the West Pillar,” Tamas said. “And no closer to Kez. I don’t like being led into strange places.”
The cock of Olem’s pistol stirred the silence of the cave. Behind Tamas, Vlora and Andriya stood with their rifles at the ready. Ludik exchanged a nervous glance with his comrade and swallowed hard.
“It looks like the cave system ends,” Ludik said, pointing with his torch across the pond. “But it doesn’t. It keeps going, and goes straight toward Kez.”
“How do you know?” Tamas asked.
Ludik hesitated, expecting reproach. “Because, sir, we followed it through.”
“Show me.”
They passed behind a pair of sarcophagi on the other side of the pond and ducked beneath a ledge that proved deeper than it looked. A moment later, and Tamas was standing on the other side. The cavern opened up again and led down into the dark.
Tamas turned to the bodyguard at his shoulder. “Try not to shoot anyone unless I say so.”
Olem stroked his neatly trimmed beard, eyeing the artillerymen. “Of course, sir.” His hand didn’t leave the butt of his pistol. Olem wasn’t the trusting sort these days.
An hour later, Tamas left the cavern and climbed up through brush and scree into daylight. The sun had passed over the mountains to the east and the valley was in shadow.
“All clear, sir,” Olem said, helping him up to steady footing.
Tamas checked his pistol, then absently thumbed the contents of another powder charge onto his tongue. They stood in a steep valley on the southern slope of the Adran Mountains. By his guess, they were less than two miles from Budwiel. If that was correct, they now flanked the Kez army perfectly.
“An old riverbed, sir,” Vlora said, picking her way among the small boulders. “It points to the west, then cuts south. The base of the valley is obscured by a hillock. We’re not more than a half mile from the Kez right now, but there’s no sign they’ve even bothered scouting this valley.”
“Sir!” a voice called from within the cave.
Tamas whirled. Vlora, Olem, and Andriya all raised their rifles, pointing into the darkness.
An Adran soldier emerged. His shoulder sported a chevron with a powder horn beneath it. The man was a lance corporal, one of Olem’s new company of elite soldiers, the Riflejacks.
“Quiet, fool,” Olem hissed. “You want all of Kez to hear?”
The messenger wiped the sweat from his brow, blinking up at the brightness of day. “Sorry, sir,” he said to Tamas. “I got lost in the mountain. General Hilanska sent me after you not more than a moment after you left.”
“What is it, man?” Tamas demanded. Gasping messengers were never a good sign. They never hurried unless it was of utmost importance.
“The Kez, sir,” the messenger said. “Our spies report they will attack en masse the day after tomorrow. General Hilanska requests you back at the wall immediately.”
Tamas ran his eyes across the steep valley in which they stood. “How many men do you think we could bring through here in two days?”
“Thousands,” Vlora said.
“Ten thousand,” Olem added.
“A hammer of two brigades,” Tamas said. “And Budwiel will be the anvil.”
Vlora seemed doubtful. “That’s a small hammer, sir, compared with that monstrous force out there.”
“Then we’ll have to strike hard and fast.” Tamas examined the valley one more time. “Let’s head back. Have the engineers start widening the tunnel. Get some men up here to shore up this scree so our passage won’t cause a ruckus. When the Kez attack, we’ll smash them against the gates of Budwiel.”
CHAPTER
4
There were few things in the world more tedious, Nila reflected as she sat on the kitchen floor and watched flames curl around the base of the immense iron pot hanging over the fire, than waiting for water to boil.
Most manor houses would be silent at this hour. She’d always relished the quiet – the still night air that insulated her from the chaos of a servant’s life when the master and mistress were at home and the house bustled with movement. There was a night not more than a few months past, though it felt like years, that Nila had known no life but the one in which she boiled water and did the laundry every week for Duke Eldaminse’s family and the serving staff.
Lord Eldaminse was dead now, his servants scattered and his home burned. Everything Nila had ever known was gone.
Here in Lord Vetas’s city manor on a side street in the middle of Adopest, the household never slept.
Somewhere in the enormous house a man was shouting. Nila couldn’t make out the words, but they were spoken in anger. Probably Dourford, the Privileged. He was one of Lord Vetas’s lieutenants, and he had a temper like Nila had never seen. He had a habit of beating the cooks. Everyone in the house feared him, even the hulking bodyguards who accompanied Lord Vetas on his errands.
Everyone feared Dourford except, of course, for Vetas.
As far as Nila could tell, Lord Vetas feared nothing.
“Jakob,” Nila said, speaking to the six-year-old boy sitting beside her on the kitchen floor, “hand me the lye.”
Jakob got to his feet and paused, frowning at her. “Where?” he asked.
“Under the washbasin,” Nila said. “The glass jar.”
Jakob rummaged around beneath the washbasin before finding the jar. He grabbed it by the lid and pulled.
“Careful!” Nila said. She was on her feet and beside him in a moment, and caught him by the shoulders as the jar came loose and he stumbled backward. She put a hand beneath the jar. “Got you,” she said, and took the jar. It wasn’t very heavy, but Jakob had never been the strongest child.
She unscrewed the lid and doled out a measure for the laundry with a spoon.
“No,” she said when Jakob reached for the open jar. “You don’t want to touch that. It’s very poisonous. It’ll eat right through your pink fingers.” She snatched him by the hand and playfully bit at his fingers. “Like an angry dog!”
Jakob giggled and retreated across the room. Nila put the lye away on a high shelf. They shouldn’t keep materials like this within reach of children. Even if Jakob was the only child in the house.
Nila wondered what life would be like if she was still in the Eldaminse manor. There would have been a party for Jakob’s sixth birthday two weeks ago. The house staff would have been given a stipend and an extra afternoon off. Duke Eldaminse would have likely made another pass at Nila – or two, or three – and Lady Eldaminse would have considered putting her out on the street.
Nila missed the quiet of the nights doing laundry for the Eldaminse house. She didn’t miss backbiting and jealousy among the serving staff, or Lord Eldaminse’s groping hands. But she’d exchanged it for something worse.
Lord Vetas’s manor.
There was a scream from somewhere in the basement, where Lord Vetas kept his… room.
“Pit,” Nila said softly to herself, ey
es back on the flame of the kitchen fire.
“A lady doesn’t curse.”
Nila felt her spine stiffen. The voice was quiet, calm. Deceptively placid, like the surface of the ocean undisturbed by the sharks circling beneath.
“Lord Vetas.” She turned and curtsied to the man standing in the kitchen door.
Vetas was a Rosvelean with dusty-yellow skin. His back was straight, one hand tucked into his vest pocket and the other holding his evening glass of red wine with casual familiarity. Seen on the street, he might be mistaken for a well-dressed clerk or merchant with his white shirt, dark-blue vest, and black pants that she’d neatly pressed herself.
Nila knew that to assume anything about Vetas was a deadly mistake. He was a killer. She’d felt his hands on her throat. She’d looked into his eyes – eyes that seemed to see everything at once – and seen the dispassion with which he regarded living things.
“I’m not a lady, my lord,” Nila said.
Vetas’s eyes examined her clinically. Nila felt stripped beneath that gaze. She felt like a piece of meat on the butcher’s block. It frightened her.
And it made her angry. She wondered for a moment if Lord Vetas would look that calm and collected in his casket.
“Do you know why you’re here?” Vetas said.
“To watch over Jakob.” She cast a glance at the boy. Jakob watched Vetas curiously.
“That’s right.” A smile suddenly split Vetas’s face, warmth flooding his expression without touching his eyes. “Come here, boy,” Vetas said, kneeling. “It’s all right, Jakob. Don’t be afraid.”
Jakob’s training as a noble’s son left him no choice but to obey. He started toward Vetas, looking back to Nila for direction.
Nila felt her chest go cold. She wanted to throw herself between them, to take a hot iron from the fire and beat Vetas back. The false smile on his face was far more frightening to her than his customary stoic gaze.
“Go ahead,” she heard herself say in a small voice.
“I brought you a candy.” Vetas handed Jakob a treat wrapped in colored paper.
“Jakob, don’t…” Nila started.
Vetas fixed her with his eyes. There was no threat behind them, no emotion. Just a cold glance.
“You can have it,” Nila said, “but you should save it for tomorrow, after breakfast.”
Vetas gave Jakob the candy and tousled his hair.
Don’t touch him, Nila screamed inside. She forced herself to smile at Vetas.
“Why is Jakob here, my lord?” Nila said, pushing the question through her fear.
Vetas got to his feet. “That’s no concern of yours. Do you know how to behave like a lady, Nila?” he asked.
“I… I suppose. I’m just a laundress.”
“I think you’re more than that,” Vetas said. “Everyone has the ability to rise above their station. You survived the royalist barricades, then infiltrated Field Marshal Tamas’s headquarters with the aim of rescuing young Jakob here. And you’re pretty. No one ever looks past beauty, if it’s dressed right.”
Nila wondered how Vetas could possibly have known about the royalist barricades. She’d told him about Tamas’s headquarters, but… what exactly did he mean about beauty?
“I may have further use for you than just” – he made a gesture toward Jakob and the laundry – “this.”
Jakob was too busy trying to nibble at his candy as discreetly as possible to notice the disdain in Vetas’s voice. Nila wasn’t. And she feared what he meant by “further use.”
“My lord.” She curtsied again, and tried not to let her hatred show on her face. She might be able to kill him in the bath. Like she’d read in those mystery novels she’d borrowed from the butler’s son at the Eldaminse house.
“In the meantime,” Vetas said. He stepped into the hall outside the kitchen, keeping the door open with one foot. “Bring her in here,” he called.
Someone cursed. A woman screamed in anger – an angry-wildcat yell. There was a struggle in the hall and two of Vetas’s bodyguards dragged a woman into the kitchen. She was in her forties perhaps, her body sagging in all the wrong places from having had too many children, her skin wrinkled from work but unweathered by the sun. Her curly black hair was tucked back behind her head in a bun and the bags beneath her eyes spoke of little sleep.
The woman stopped when she caught sight of Nila and Jakob.
“Where is my son?” she spat at Vetas.
“In the basement,” Vetas said, “and he won’t be harmed as long as you cooperate.”
“Liar!”
A patronizing smile touched Vetas’s lips. “Nila, Jakob. This is Faye. She is unwell and must be watched at all times, lest she hurt herself. She’s going to share your room, Jakob. Can you help watch her, my boy?”
Jakob nodded solemnly.
“Good lad.”
“I’ll kill you,” Faye said to Vetas.
Vetas stepped to Faye and whispered something in her ear. She stiffened, the color draining from her face.
“Now,” Vetas said, “Faye is going to take over your responsibilities, Nila. She’ll do the laundry, and help with Jakob.”
Nila exchanged a glance with the woman. She felt the knot of fear in her belly reflected on Faye’s face.
“And me?” Nila knew what Vetas would do with someone who didn’t have a use. She still remembered Jakob’s dead nurse – the one who’d refused to go along with Vetas’s schemes.
Vetas suddenly crossed the room. He took Nila by the chin, turning her face one way and then another. He forced his thumb into her mouth and she had to keep herself from biting down as he examined her teeth. He stepped away suddenly, and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel as if he’d just handled an animal.
“Your hands show very little wear from the laundering. Remarkably little, to be honest. I’ll give you some lotion in the morning and you’ll apply it every hour. We’ll have those hands looking soft, like a noblewoman’s, in no time.” He patted her on the cheek.
Nila resisted the urge to spit in his eye.
Vetas leaned forward and spoke quietly so that Jakob could not hear. “This woman,” Vetas said, pointing to Faye, “is your responsibility, Nila. If she displeases me, you’ll suffer for it. Jakob will suffer for it. And believe me, I know how to make people suffer.”
Vetas stepped away, throwing a smile toward Jakob. More loudly he said, “I think you need some new clothes, Jakob. Would you like that?”
“Very much, sir,” Jakob said.
“We’ll do that tomorrow. Some toys, too.”
Vetas glanced at Nila, his eyes holding a silent warning, and he left the room with his bodyguards.
Faye adjusted her dress and took a deep breath. Her eyes traveled around the room. A mix of emotions ranged across her face: anger, panic, and fear. For a moment Nila thought she might snatch up a frying pan and attack her.
Nila wondered who she was. Why was she here? Obviously another prisoner. Another player in Vetas’s schemes. Could Nila trust her?
“I’m Nila,” she said. “And this is Jakob.”
Faye’s eyes settled on Nila and she nodded with a frown. “I’m Faye. And I’m going to kill that bastard.”
CHAPTER
5
Adamat slipped through the side door of one of the dilapidated buildings in Adopest’s dock district. He moved down hallways, brushing past secretaries and bookkeepers, always looking straight ahead. In his experience, no one questioned a man who knew where he was going.
Adamat knew that Lord Vetas was looking for him.
It wasn’t hard to surmise. Vetas still had Faye. He still had leverage, and no doubt he wanted Adamat dead or under his thumb.
So Adamat stayed low. Field Marshal Tamas’s soldiers were protecting his family – part of the bargain Adamat had struck with the field marshal in order to keep his neck from the guillotine. Adamat had to work from the shadows now, finding Lord Vetas and discovering his plans, and freeing Faye before any more
harm could come to her. If she was even still alive.
He couldn’t do it alone.
The headquarters for the Noble Warriors of Labor was a squat, ugly brick building not far from the Adopest docks. It didn’t look like much, but it housed the offices of the biggest union in all the Nine. Every subdivision of the Warriors moved through this hub: bankers, steelworkers, miners, bakers, millers, and more.
But Adamat only needed to speak with one man, and he didn’t want to be noticed on his way in. He went down a low-ceilinged hallway on the third floor and paused outside an office door. He could hear voices inside.
“I don’t care what you think of the idea,” came the voice of Ricard Tumblar, head of the entire union. “I’m going to find him and persuade him. He’s the best man for the job.”
“Man?” a woman’s voice returned. “You don’t think a woman can do it?”
“Don’t start with me, Cheris,” Ricard said. “It was a turn of phrase. And don’t make this about men or women. You don’t like it because he’s a soldier.”
“And you bloody well know why.”
Ricard’s retort was lost as Adamat heard the creak of the floorboards behind him. He turned to find a woman standing behind him.
She looked to be in her midthirties, with straight blond hair tied back in a ponytail behind her head. She wore a dress uniform with loose pants and a white frilled shirt of the type that might be worn by a footman. Her hands were clasped behind her back.
A secretary. The last thing Adamat needed.
“Can I help you, sir?” she said. Her tone was brusque, and her eyes never left Adamat’s face.
“Oh, my,” Adamat said. “This must look terrible. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, I just needed to speak with Ricard.”
She didn’t sound at all like she believed him. “The secretary should have kept you in the waiting room.”
“I came in the side door,” Adamat admitted. So she wasn’t the secretary?
The woman said, “Come with me to the lobby and we’ll make you an appointment. Mr. Tumblar is terribly busy.”
The Crimson Campaign Page 3