The Crimson Campaign (53 page)
He rode at the head of the column, eyes on the northern horizon. It would be several days before they crossed the Deliv border and could see the city of Alvation, but he couldn’t help that his heart beat faster with every step. Soon, they’d find relief. Soon, they’d cross the Charwood Pile Mountains and descend into Adro, taking the fight back to the Kez.
Gavril rode up beside Tamas. He and his horse were coated in dust from coming up behind the column. Not far behind him, an old man rode a pack mule. He had a hard time keeping up with Gavril’s charger. Tamas reined in his mount. Olem stopped too, his eyes vigilant despite the plateau being empty but for their army.
“Who is this?” Tamas said, nodding at the old man, who was still fifty paces off.
“A Kez bean farmer.”
“Why is he here?”
“Wanted to talk to you.”
Tamas cocked an eyebrow at Gavril. This was the last thing he needed. Why on earth would Gavril bring him here? “Does he know who I am?”
“Yes, and he has some interesting things to say.”
What could an old bean farmer on the Northern Expanse have to say of interest?
The old man brought his burro up beside their horses.
“Are you the field marshal?” the old man said in Adran. The Kez accent was so thick that the words were barely distinguishable. His face was wrinkled, his skin brown from the hot sun of the plateau and perhaps a mix of Deliv blood. Labor and trade went on freely between the Deliv to the north and Kez farmers on the plateau.
The old bean farmer was emaciated. He might have been plump at one point, but the skin now sagged from his cheeks and sickly splotches on his face spoke to malnutrition.
The man’s eyes held a smoldering anger that surprised Tamas.
“I speak Kez,” Tamas said in Kez.
“Are you the field marshal?” the bean farmer said again in Kez.
“I am. Good afternoon.”
The bean farmer spit at the feet of Tamas’s charger. He bared his teeth and glared, as if daring Tamas to do anything about it.
Tamas looked at Gavril. His brother-in-law, still bruised from their fight last week, just shrugged his shoulders.
“Something wrong?” Tamas asked.
“You tell me.”
Tamas shot another glance at Gavril. What was this all about?
“I can’t imagine.”
“You took my crop,” the old man said. “It was a good one this year, considering the drought. You took my wife and daughters. Your blasted men broke my son’s legs when he refused to serve them!”
Tamas scowled. Damned infantry. Even the best couldn’t keep themselves under control. He’d ordered that women be left alone under penalty of death. The food, they needed, but Tamas didn’t need his soldiers raping and killing their way across the Kez countryside.
“What company did this?” he asked Gavril.
“None of ours. The man and his son were alone in his hut when the forage teams found him. The place had been stripped bare, all the furniture broken. The boy’s legs were broken, like he says. The lad will be a cripple for life. Looks like it happened weeks ago.”
“I’m sorry about your wife and daughters,” Tamas said, “but it wasn’t my men.”
“Are you calling me a liar?” The bean farmer edged his mule closer to Tamas.
Tamas took a deep breath and reminded himself that striking an old man wasn’t the best way to end a conversation. “When did this happen?”
“Eighteen days ago,” the bean farmer said.
“It couldn’t have been us. We just arrived.”
“Then who was it? I know Adran troops when I see them.” The bean farmer leaned over to pluck at Tamas’s jacket. “Adran blues, with silver trim. I’m not a fool!”
“How many men?”
“Thousands of ya!” The bean farmer spit again.
“Gavril, any sign an army came through here recently?”
Gavril rode off a few feet to confer with one of his scouts. He came back a moment later. “Foraging teams are all reporting the same thing – the land’s been stripped clean. All the crops were harvested early, or burned, and the men have come across dozens of empty farmsteads.”
Tamas drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. The forage he’d been expecting on the Northern Expanse – gone. All of it. Nothing for his men to eat on the way to Alvation.
“Well?” the bean farmer demanded. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“Which way were they headed?” Tamas asked.
The bean farmer seemed taken aback. “North.”
“Olem, give this man enough food for him and his son and send him back to his home. Let him keep the mule.” Tamas flicked the reins. “Gavril.”
Tamas left the cursing old bean farmer in Olem’s hands and rode back to the head of the column. Gavril came up beside him, letting his charger keep pace with Tamas’s.
“This doesn’t make sense,” Tamas said. “We don’t have any troops in northern Kez.”
“I’d say the old man isn’t right in the head, but the place has been swept clean. It would have taken a great number of men to come through and strip the plateau like this.”
Tamas gripped his saddle horn. How was he going to feed his men with no forage?
“How many?” Tamas asked.
Gavril scratched the stubble on his chin. “At least a brigade or two.”
“Wearing Adran blue, but not Adran.” Tamas mused it over in his head. “Shit! They’re trying to slip into Adro.”
“The Kez?”
“It must be. They come through here, acting like an invading army – bluff their way through Alvation and then take an unsuspecting Mountainwatch. They might be in Adro already.”
“What should we do?” Gavril asked.
Tamas let his fingers play upon the butt of one of the saw-handled dueling pistols stuck in his belt. A gift from his son. “We keep going. We catch up to them and take them from behind.”
Ricard Tumblar’s carriage jolted along the winding highway at the base of the Charwood Pile Mountain Range, headed north toward the Pan-Deliv Canal. Mountains rose above them immediately to the west, and there were more in the distance to the north, their white tops looking like frosting on peaked cakes. The carriage thumped, then clattered over a stone bridge crossing a tributary of the Ad River and then it was back to the pitted dirt road.
Adamat stared out the window and tried not to think of the jarring of the ground. The last thing he needed was to throw up all over the velvet interior.
Five days in a carriage was no pleasant prospect, even one as fancy as Ricard’s. The undercarriage employed the very newest leaf-spring suspension and the thick, padded seats helped absorb some rocking of the road, but nothing prevented Adamat’s head from hitting the roof when they hit a particularly deep hole in the road.
Damn these northern roads.
At least Faye seemed to be enjoying herself, as much as she could under the circumstance. She had become even more withdrawn after her decision not to go after Josep. Her weeping had stopped, though, and she seemed more resolved to put on a good face for the other children.
“We’ll have these roads fixed up better once the canal comes into more use,” Ricard was saying, his head craned out the window. “I’d like to see the whole thing cobbled, with a full-time union crew to tend to maintenance year-round.”
Adamat longed to reach their destination. Just a couple hours away, or so Ricard had said. They’d be staying at the finest hotel in northern Adro. Room service, massages, hot running water. The hotel was brand-new, built to accommodate dignitaries and businessmen taking the canal over the Charwood Pile.
“Couldn’t you just leave it to the Mountainwatch?” Adamat asked. “The maintenance, I mean. We’re in the foothills. That counts as their territory.”
Ricard wagged a finger under his nose. “No! No, no, no. I fought tooth and nail for the canal to be a union project. The Mountainwatch wanted in on it. Claimed it was their jurisdiction, or some such tripe, but this is a union job! The union employs good, hardworking Adrans. Not the convicts and malcontents of forced labor like the Mountainwatch.”
“Surely they’re guarding the pass,” Adamat said.
“No,” Ricard said proudly. “Purely union, even down to the lock guards.”
That surprised Adamat. The Mountainwatch was more than just a forced-labor institution. It had a long tradition of guarding the high places – they were the gatekeepers of Adro, and they’d proved that again in the recent defense of Shouldercrown Fortress.
Adamat understood that Ricard was proud of his unions, but unionizing the defense of the country seemed strange.
They stopped for a midday meal several miles south of the canal. Adamat and Faye dined with their children and their hired nannies while Ricard met with Fell about plans for the mountain. When lunch was over, Adamat wandered outside to stretch his legs.
The inn sat next to a small stream – runoff from the mountains. Adamat listened to the bubbling sound it made as it meandered under the road and down toward the river, then looked north.
Adamat could see the locks of the canal from where he stood. They worked their way up the side of the mountain like steps, the road zigzagging its way up beside them. The whole setup looked like a model at this distance, and even seeing it with his own eyes, he scarcely believed it to be real. A canal going over an entire mountain range!
The locks themselves were a feat of engineering never before seen in this world. They were built purely by the labor of men, no sorcery at all, unless you count the few Knacked that the union no doubt employed for their various skills. Despite the rigors of the journey, Adamat knew that touring the locks prior to the grand opening was going to be worth the whole trip.
Josep would have loved to have seen the canal.
Ricard and Fell came outside, studying a map together and pointing at the road. He could hear them discussing the benefits of cobbles versus brick or poured concrete.
Something on the mountainside caught Adamat’s eye. At this distance, he couldn’t be sure, but…
“Ricard,” he said, interrupting the two, “do you have a looking glass?”
Fell said, “I do.” She went back to the carriage and returned a moment later, handing Adamat a looking glass.
“I thought you said that the grand opening wasn’t until tomorrow,” Adamat said to Ricard.
Ricard squinted toward the canal. “It’s not.”
“You’re not supposed to have any traffic on the canal?”
“Not yet. I mean, they’ve been tested, but no commercial traffic until after the grand opening. Why, what do you see?”
Adamat put the looking glass to his eye and found the locks. They came into focus, and then he saw what had caught his eye.
Each of those locks held a ship – and not just any ships, but oceangoing merchantmen with rows of cannon and tall masts. There had to be dozens of them, and he could see the tiny figures of men working the locks as the entire row of ships slowly descended the side of the mountain.
The ships bore green-and-white-striped flags, marked in the center with a laurel wreath. Adamat felt his legs grow weak and a growing dread in the pit of his stomach.
He thrust the looking glass into Fell’s hands. “Get the children back in the carriages. We’re going back to Adopest. Now!”
“What?” Ricard demanded, snatching the looking glass. “What is wrong with you? The grand opening is tomorrow, we’re…” He fell silent as he put the looking glass to his eye.
“It’s a good thing you didn’t let the Mountainwatch guard your canal,” Adamat shouted over his shoulder as he ran toward the inn. “Otherwise it would have been harder for the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company to bring their whole damn fleet across it.”
“They’re going to send me to Adopest,” Taniel said.
One of Ka-poel’s eyes opened. The one that wasn’t swollen shut.
Taniel went on. “General Ket says this is a civil matter because I’m no longer in the Adran army and I’m not officially in the Wings of Adom yet. I’m to be sent back to Adopest under house arrest to await trial.” Taniel paced the short length of the tent. He held in his hand a note from Brigadier Abrax telling him the conditions of his house arrest. “That could take months. The war might be over by then, and we’ll have lost.”
Taniel stopped pacing and dropped onto his cot. What could he do? He’d spent the last hour arguing with Abrax. The brigadier claimed her hands were tied, that she could do nothing but provide Taniel with a small house in Adopest. The Wings of Adom’s charter did not allow them to admit anyone awaiting trial.
“I’m going to kill her,” Taniel said.
Ka-poel struggled to sit up in her cot. They’d been given a tent in the corner of the Wings’ camp at the farthest point from the Adran army. Her green eyes were wet. Taniel suspected she’d cried during the night.
He thought that perhaps his rage would fade as the days passed and Ka-poel was sitting up and able to move. If anything, seeing her wounds heal slowly made him even angrier. Her lips were swollen and cracked, her face still bruised.
She spread her hands, awkwardly because her arm was in a sling.
Who?
“General Ket. She must have ordered what they… what they did to you. She must have known she wouldn’t be able to send me to the noose so easily. Those men had you for hours.”