The Crimson Campaign by Brian McClellan
“Even heroes can go mad! Provosts! Get him out of here! This meeting is no place for a captain.”
Taniel was shoved to the side by someone, and he heard another voice say, “Kresimir isn’t here! What kind of poppycock is that?”
“I’ve seen him.”
Everything went still. Taniel recognized that voice. General Hilanska.
Hilanska was still seated while everyone else stood. He wore his dress uniform, decked out in dozens of medals, the collar freshly starched, his empty left sleeve pinned to his chest. The general looked tired, his immense weight sagging over the edge of the chair, his face pulled down from weariness.
Hilanska went on, his voice deep and level. “You’ve all seen him! At the parley this morning. He was there, you bloody fools, and you ignored him. The man at the back, who didn’t speak. He wore a gold mask with only one eyehole. If any of you had bothered to listen, the Wings Privileged said he reeked of sorcery, more powerful than any they’d ever witnessed.”
“That was only a Privileged,” Ket said. “Not a god.”
Hilanska struggled to his feet. “Call me mad, Ket. I dare you. Tamas believed Kresimir had returned. He believed Two-Shot here had shot him. But the bullets weren’t fatal. Kresimir is, after all, a god.”
Ket regarded Hilanska warily. “And yet Tamas still led the Seventh and Ninth behind the Kez lines to their deaths.”
“He’s not dead,” Taniel said, feeling his blood rise.
Ket turned on him. “Says our dead field marshal’s whelp.”
“Whelp?” Taniel’s vision went blurry. “I’ve killed hundreds of men. I’ve nearly held that damned line out there by myself the last two days. I feel like I’m the only one who wants to win this war, and you call me a whelp?”
Ket spat at his feet. “You’ll take all the credit yourself? What an ego! Just because you sprang from Tamas’s loins doesn’t mean you have his skill, boy.”
Taniel could barely think. He’d been on the front line every day fighting for this? Rage took control of him. “I’ll kill you, you stupid bitch!”
Taniel felt his muscles tense to leap at General Ket, when something struck him in the side of the head. He staggered and tried to run at Ket. Hands grabbed him, arms pulled him away. He was hit again in the head. Thrashing and yelling, he was forced out of the command tent.
“Taniel,” he heard Colonel Etan say in his ear, “calm down, Taniel, please!”
It took the sight of a half-dozen sharpened pikes leveled at his face to bring Taniel back from the brink of rage. The provosts – Adran military police – behind those pikes wore expressions that said they’d poke him full of holes in an instant.
“That’s enough of that,” Etan said, pushing away a pike. He was able to get the provosts to back off a few steps.
Now that the rage had passed, Taniel felt cold, weak. His whole body began to shake. Had he really just called Ket a bitch in front of the entire General Staff? What had come over him?
“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” Etan demanded. “I’ve heard rumors that there was a powder mage out on the front each of the last few days, throwing himself into the teeth of the enemy like he wanted to die. I’d never imagined it was you. You’ll be lucky to get off with a flogging for this. Attacking General Ket! I can’t believe it.”
Taniel pulled his knees to his chest and tried to get his body to stop shaking. “Are you done?” Why was he shaking so much? It scared him worse than looking down the wrong end of a Warden’s sword. Was it the mala withdrawal? His powder?
“Taniel…” Etan stared at him, and Taniel could tell there was genuine concern in his eyes. “Taniel, you dragged me five feet before I managed to clock you in the side of the head. I’ve dropped men twice your size with that punch, and I had to do it three times to even faze you. Pit, I’m twice your size! I know that powder mages are strong, but…”
“I’ll take full responsibility,” Taniel said. “Hopefully you’ll not be reprimanded.”
“I’m not worried about me.”
“Captain?”
They both looked up. General Hilanska stood over them. The provosts were gone.
“Colonel, I’d like a word with the captain in private, please.”
Etan left them, and Taniel slowly climbed to his feet, unsure as to whether he’d be able to stand but certain that General Hilanska might be his only ally left in this camp. “Sir?” He swayed to the side and stumbled. Hilanska caught him with his one good arm.
“Ket wants your head,” Hilanska said.
“I’d imagine.”
“You know,” the old general said, “with Tamas gone, powder mages don’t have any pull anymore. Some of the ranking officers seem to want to pretend you never existed.”
Taniel leaned his head back and looked up at the darkening sky. Some stars were beginning to show, and the moon glowed bright on the eastern horizon. “Do you believe he’s dead?”
Hilanska began to walk, forcing Taniel to follow him on wobbly legs. Taniel’s hands were shaking a little less, now.
“I don’t want to believe it,” Hilanska said. “None of us do, despite how the others are acting. We all loved your father. He was a brilliant strategist. But all contact was lost. We haven’t heard from any of our spies in the Kez army for three weeks now. We have to face the facts. Tamas is likely dead.”
If Tamas was dead, so were Vlora and Sabon and the rest of the powder cabal and the Seventh and Ninth. Taniel felt his chest tighten. No tears. There wouldn’t be any of those. Not for Tamas. But for him to be gone forever…“And Kresimir?”
“Whatever you did to him, he survived it.”
“What of this Mihali? This god-chef?”
Hilanska shrugged. “Your father seemed to think he was Adom reborn.”
“And you?”
“I don’t have any evidence either way. His cooking is amazing. Supposedly, he and Kresimir have some kind of a truce. Something about letting the mortals fight it out.” Hilanska spit out of the corner of his mouth. “I don’t like the idea that we’re being used in some kind of cosmic battle.”
“No,” Taniel said. “Neither do I.” His head was starting to clear. Things weren’t spinning anymore. “What can Ket do to me?”
“She’s a general. You’re a captain. A roomful of people just watched you try to kill her.”
“I wouldn’t have killed her. And I’m not just a captain. I’m a powder mage.”
Hilanska said, “I know. Tamas kept you outside the rank system. If he was still here, you would have gotten away with it. Ket is a good general, but she has a narrow vision of things. Tamas knew that. You’re just a captain now, though.”
“Who has been ordering the retreats along the front?”
Hilanska stopped and turned toward Taniel. “I have.”
“You?” Taniel had to keep himself from stepping back.
Hilanska set his hand on Taniel’s shoulder, as a father might to his son. “We can’t hold them,” Hilanska said. “Up until you arrived, we had no answer to those Black Wardens. They just cut right through the infantry like nothing I’ve ever seen. They’re faster and stronger than regular Wardens, and powder won’t ignite near them. Even with you here, we can’t hold the line.”
“What about sorcery? The Wings have Privileged.”
“Sorcery doesn’t do a thing to the new Wardens. It’s baffling, really. I can’t imagine that the Kez Cabal would create something they might not be able to control.”
Taniel mulled over that for a moment. His brain was starting to work again. That seemed a good sign. The rage was becoming a distant memory. “Maybe they didn’t create them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, we’ve never seen a Warden created out of a powder mage before. Maybe Kresimir did that. Maybe the remnants of the Kez Cabal have no say.”
“It makes sense.” Hilanska watched him for a few moments. “Where are you sleeping?”
Taniel looked up to the side of t
“I’ll get you a real room,” Hilanska said. “You need some sleep. Come find me in an hour, and I’ll have something arranged. Now, though, I need to try to convince Ket not to have you hanged.”
Taniel’s heart had finally stopped pounding. He felt deflated, ill. “Thank you. General?”
Hilanska paused and looked back.
“I’ve been turned down for more powder by a dozen different quartermasters. They claim we don’t have enough black powder and the General Staff is rationing it. Is there really a shortage?” Taniel thought back to Ricard Tumblar. The union boss had mentioned something about the supply demands from the front being unusually high.
“It’s not as bad as all that,” Hilanska said quietly. “I’ll make sure you get what you need. Anything else?”
“Yes.” Taniel hesitated, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to his next question. “Are there any powder mages left in Adopest? I know Tamas was training some new ones.”
“They all went with him. Even the trainees.”
“Pit. I’d hoped that Sabon was still here somewhere.”
Hilanska’s face fell and he let out a soft sigh. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Sabon’s dead, my boy. Took a bullet from an air rifle to the side of the head over a month ago.”
Hilanska patted Taniel on the shoulder and headed off into the night.
It was several moments before Taniel could manage to take another deep, shaky breath. He looked at the sky again. The daylight was only a sliver on the western mountains now; the sky above, a blanket of brilliant stars on dark blue.
Sabon, dead. His mentor. His teacher.
That had to have shaken Tamas. Perhaps enough that Tamas had made mistakes.
If Sabon was dead, then maybe Tamas was as well.
Was Taniel the last powder mage left in Adro? It seemed that way. The army retreated more every day. Kresimir was alive, and demanding their surrender. What could he do?
Fight.
The only answer.
CHAPTER
15
Tamas stood in the stirrups, watching through a looking glass as Kez scouts crested the last hilltop between the Kez cavalry and Tamas’s two ragged brigades of infantry.
After a few more moments of examining the enemy scouts he sat down and handed the looking glass to Olem.
“We’ll have about two-thirds of our men inside the forest by the time they reach us.”
Behind him, the Hune Dora Forest rose above the plains. The prairie up to the forest had been logged to the twig a century ago, but Hune Dora itself was a barricade of trees, protected by royal decree and declared a national property of Kez. The terrain changed drastically here, as the rolling foothills of the prairie gave way to sharp mountain ridges that crept like mighty old roots toward the Amber Expanse.
Tamas suspected the difficulty in logging Hune Dora had as much to do with the forest being protected as the king’s hunting practices.
He spurred his mount around and rode to catch up with the rear of the column. The men marched at half-time as the elements of the column ahead of them adjusted from six abreast to four abreast in order to smoothly transition to the forest roadway.
“Colonel Arbor,” Tamas said as he joined the rear guard.
Colonel Arbor was ancient as army standards went. He was ten years older than Tamas, and had long since lost most of his hearing and all of his teeth. Despite his age he could march, fight, and drink like a man of thirty, a fact he attributed to a glass of wine and fine cigar before bed every night. The colonel walked beside the very last men of the rear guard, rifle slung over his shoulder like a common soldier, cavalry saber at his side. The First Battalion of the Seventh Brigade was Tamas’s very best. It was no accident they carried the rear.
“Eh?” the colonel said.
“I wish you’d ride.” Tamas nearly had to shout, just to be sure the colonel would hear him.
The colonel flexed his jaw and popped out his false teeth into one hand. “Won’t do it,” he said. “My old bollocks hurt like the pit in a saddle. Besides, sir, we need horses for scouting.” He eyed Tamas and Olem’s mounts as if he thought they’d find better use with the rangers.
“We’re going to have company in about fifteen minutes,” Tamas said. “You’ve the rear guard. I want a walking retreat. Steady and brave.”
Arbor cleared his throat and spit out a wad of phlegm. “Battalion!” he screamed. Farther up the line, a captain jumped half a foot in surprise. “Fix sword bayonets! Interlocking windmill. Livers in ten!”
The orders were passed up the column by sergeants, though half the brigade had probably already heard them. Arbor brushed his false teeth off on his uniform jacket and then slipped them into his back pocket. “Wouldn’t want them to get damaged in the coming melee.” He winked at Tamas.
“Right.” Tamas urged his mount forward to join his powder mages farther up the column. Behind him, Arbor’s battalion fanned out across the prairie, forming a half-moon shield around the rear of the column.
“Sir!” Andriya turned to Tamas with a salute as Tamas rode up to the group. Five powder mages gathered around Andriya. They’d all spent the night hunting and scouting, and looked like the pit, with bags beneath their eyes. Tamas could smell the black powder hanging around them like a cloud.
Tamas reined in. “The Kez van is just over that hill. About twelve hundred dragoons coming on hard.”
“We going to stay and fight?” Andriya asked. He had the same hungry look he always did when it came time to shed Kez blood.
“No,” Tamas said. “The van will be here about an hour before the rest. I want us to be well into the forest by that time. Don’t worry,” he added upon seeing the disappointment on Andriya’s face. “We’ll have plenty to kill.”
He looked over the field of battle – for it was that. No doubt now that blood would be shed within the hour. He examined the tree line and the contour of the land, then the old stone walls of the abandoned city of Hune Dora. With more time to plan – a day, or even a few hours – he’d have been able to set up a trap and exterminate the Kez vanguard. As it was, he needed his men off the plains.
He pointed to where the forest rose sharply from the prairie. “Andriya, I want your team a few hundred yards out from the tree line. Vlora, put yours on those rocks over there.” He pointed to the north. “As soon as they’re within range, take horses off the front. Try to stumble the whole column. When they spread for a charge, kill their officers. Dismissed.”
The powder mages scattered at a run. They’d be in place and begin firing within a few minutes. It might buy his brigades a little extra time to get into the forest.
He’d placed his powder mages at high points to be able to make long shots, but the road itself fell into a wide, flat gully before rising once more into the trees. The Kez vanguard would have an easy charge.
Just inside the forest, the Seventh’s Fourth Battalion had taken up firing positions. They’d give the First Battalion some cover if it came to a sprint into the woods.
Tamas whirled his horse to face northwest, toward the forest, then dismounted. He cracked a powder charge between his fingers and sprinkled some on his tongue. He felt the powder trance take hold.
“Carbine,” he ordered.
Olem, who had been shadowing him silently this whole time, handed him a loaded carbine. Tamas lowered himself to one knee. The carbine was a shortened rifle, able to be fired and be reloaded on horseback easier than a long rifle, but it was still best to fire dismounted. Instead of an elongated stock to hold it steady, it had a steel handle attached to the barrel.
Tamas gripped the carbine tightly and lined up his shot on the horizon. He watched as the dragoon scouts drew closer.
A Kez dragoon was typically armed with a carbine, one pistol, and a straight sword. The older Kez commanders treated them as mounted infantry – that is, they rode horses but fough
The current scenario would see them firing carbine, then pistol, and then making an open charge with the hope of breaking Tamas’s rear guard. Tamas was willing to bet his horse on the tactic.
It wasn’t long until the main company of the Kez vanguard breached the far hill. Tamas breathed out gently, sighting down his carbine. The dragoons were a little over a mile away and still in formation at four abreast. The horsehair on their spiked cavalry helmets waved in the wind, jostling as they rode.
Tamas heard the crack of a rifle come from his left and knew Andriya had taken the first shot. Several long seconds passed, filled with the reports of rifle fire.
The first dragoon stumbled. The horse fell, twisting as it went down. Another, then another fell. They slammed into the road in a cloud of dust. The horses immediately behind the front line became entangled and many of them went down, tumbling and thrashing beneath the hooves of their own allies.
Tamas didn’t have to hear the screams of the horses for them to echo in his head.
They had to have known Tamas had his powder mages, yet they’d kept close formation. Tamas wanted to shake his head at the mistake. The dragoons should have been ready for it.
But then again, who is ready for a bullet to take them when the enemy is only a dot on the horizon?
He pulled his trigger.
A few seconds later his bullet entered a horse’s eye. The beast jerked and fell. The rider went up and over his horse, hitting the ground hard enough to break his neck.
Tamas handed Olem his carbine and took a loaded one in its place.
The Kez column spread out from the road, widening their formation. More came over the hilltop. Tamas’s initial elation at seeing a dozen brought down so quickly disappeared. He had twelve hundred more to deal with. Tripping up a few at the head of the column was hardly a victory.
He searched the breadth of the dragoons for an officer’s epaulets. He found them quickly and rested his carbine against his shoulder. A deep breath. Let it out. Squeeze the trigger.
The bullet caught the young officer in the throat. He was thrown from the saddle, and Tamas was instantly on to the next target.