The Crimson Campaign

Taniel clenched his fists. How could they not believe him? How could they not know what happened up there? Hadn’t Tamas told the newspapers? Did even Tamas not believe what had happened? Taniel didn’t know where Tamas was. Budwiel, according to the soldiers who had been watching him when he awoke. Was Tamas even still there?

“Do you know where Bo is?” Taniel asked.

“Bo?”

“Privileged Borbador. Is he still alive?”

Ricard spread his hands. “I can’t help you.”

“You’re not much good, Tumblar, are you?” Taniel wanted to punch something. He leapt to his feet and stalked back and forth the length of the room. No friends. No family. What could he do now? “Who was that woman?” he asked.

“Cheris? The head of the bankers’ union.”

“I thought you were the head of the union.”

“The Noble Warriors of Labor has many subdivisions. I speak for the group as a whole, but each trade has their own union boss.”

“You said I was more important than her.”

Ricard nodded. “I did.”

“How so?”

“How much do you know about politics in Adro?” Ricard countered with his own question.

“The power used to be with the king. Now?” Taniel shrugged. “No idea.”

“No one knows where the power is now,” Ricard said. “The people assume it’s with Tamas. Tamas thinks it’s with his council when in fact the council is all but fractured. Lady Winceslav is in seclusion after her scandal with a traitorous brigadier, the Arch Diocel has been arrested, and Prime Lektor is in the east, studying the remains of South Pike for some sign of the god Kresimir.”

“So who is running Adro?”

Ricard chuckled. “That leaves myself, the Proprietor, and Ondraus the Reeve. Not exactly a noble group. The truth is, Adro is doing fine for now. Tamas and his men keep the peace. But that will only last so long. We need to continue with our plans. Since the beginning of all this, the council decided that as soon as Manhouch was out of the way, we’d set up a democracy: a system of government that was voted upon by the people. The country would be divided into principalities, each with its own elected governor, and those men would meet in Adro and vote upon policy for the country.”

“Much like a ministry without the king at the head.”

“Indeed,” Ricard said. “Of course there must be someone to stand as the king.”

Taniel narrowed his eyes. “I can’t imagine Tamas taking that well.”

“We won’t call him a king, of course. And he would have little real power. He would serve as a figurehead. A single man the country can look to for leadership and guidance, even if the policy is determined by the governors — we are going to call him the First Minister of the People.”

“I remember Tamas striking down an idea just like this that the royalists presented him with.”

“Tamas approved this,” Ricard said. “Believe me. None of us on the council has any interest in crossing him, especially not in such a public way. The key is that, like the governors, this new First Minister of the People will be replaced every three years. We’ve set the mechanism in place. It just needs to be carried out.”

Taniel could easily tell where this was going. “And you intend to put yourself forward as a candidate.”

“Of course.”

“Why?”

Ricard sucked hard on his cigar and let the smoke curl out through his nostrils. It reminded Taniel of the smoke of his mala pipe. He could feel the lure of that blissful smoke pulling at him.

“The First Minister of the People will have little power of his own, but he’ll have the eyes of all the Nine directed at him. His name will go down in the history books forever.” Ricard sighed. “I don’t have any children. I’ve been left by” — he stopped to count — “six wives, and deserved it every time. All I have left is my name. And I want it taught to every Adran schoolchild for the rest of time.”

Taniel drained the last of his ale. The dregs of the hops at the bottom of the glass were bitter. It reminded him of Fatrasta, of hunting down Kez Privileged in the wilds. “Where do I fit into all of this? I’m just a soldier who killed a god that no one believes even returned.”

“You?” Ricard threw his head back and laughed. Taniel didn’t see what was so funny.

“I’m sorry,” Ricard said as he wiped his eyes. “You’re Taniel Two-Shot! You’re the hero of two continents. A soldier who’s killed more Privileged than any man in the history of the Nine. The way the newspapers tell it, you held Shouldercrown Fortress against half a million Kez all by yourself.”

“Wasn’t just me,” Taniel muttered, thinking of the men and women he’d watched die on that mountain.

“But the common people think so. They adore you. They love you more than they love Tamas, and he’s been the darling of Adro since he single-handedly saved the Gurlish Campaign decades ago.”

“So what do you want from me? A sponsorship?”

“Pit, no,” Ricard said, passing his empty ale mug to the barkeep. “I want you to be my Second Minister. You’ll be one of the most famous men in the world.”

CHAPTER 7