The Crimson Campaign

Margy put the fibers under her microscope and spent a moment adjusting knobs on the side. “Vanduvian wool,” she said.

“High grade?”

“The finest. Whoever owns this rug is very, very rich.”

“Any chance of tracing the rug?”

Margy stepped away from her microscope. “I’d say so. Only a few rug dealers sell Vanduvians. I’ll ask around. Stop by in a couple weeks and maybe I’ll have something for you.”

“That long?” Adamat said.

“You need it sooner?”

“If at all possible. It’s a rather urgent matter.”

Margy sighed. “It’ll cost you.”

“I don’t have much money on me.”

“I don’t want money,” Margy said. “You tell Faye that she’s taking me out for dinner at the Café Palms sometime before the leaves turn, and we’ll call it square.”

Adamat swallowed and forced a smile on his face. “I’ll do that.”

Margy turned back to her microscope. “Come by in a week and I’ll know where the rug is from.”

CHAPTER 12

As Taniel drew closer to the front, he realized that the Privileged sorcery he saw from afar was in fact coming from the Wings of Adom mercenaries.

The Wings of Adom held the western edge of the front, sandwiched between the rising mountains and the Adran army. They had four brigades on the front, their uniforms brilliant in red, gold, and white.

The Privileged sorcery from both sides was weak at best. Fire splashed against shields of hardened air, and lightning sprang from the sky to strike among the ranks, but the blasts of power seemed halfhearted. Even a mercenary army as prestigious as the Wings couldn’t pay as well as a royal cabal, and it seemed the Kez were making use of the weakest and the youngest sorcerers. After the carnage at Kresim Kurga, who did they have left?

Taniel swung his kit over one shoulder and frowned at the west side of the Addown. The hillock on which he stood would make a good marksman’s spot — high above and several hundred paces behind the fighting. But from what he could tell, the Kez had been pushing back the Adran army every day.

The front was about five miles north of Budwiel. The city smoked, flames visible over the poorest quarters of the city. Taniel wondered what the Kez had done with all those people. Many, certainly, had fled north when the city fell, but not all of them could have gotten out. Now they were slaves, or dead.

The Kez had a reputation for brutality toward the people they conquered.

Ka-poel sat down on the hillock and opened her satchel in her lap. She removed a stick of wax and began to shape it slowly with her fingers. Taniel wondered who she was making this time.

“Can you do sorcery without those?” Taniel lowered himself cross-legged beside her. “Without the dolls, I mean. And some bit of a person?”

She raised her chin and looked down her nose at him for a moment before returning to her work.

“And where the pit do you get the wax? I never see you buy anything. Do you even have any money?”

Ka-poel reached inside her shirt and withdrew a roll of banknotes. She shook it under Taniel’s nose before putting it back.

“Where did you get that?”

She flicked him on the nose. Hard.

“Ow. Hey. Answer me, girl.”

She raised her fingers, ready to flick again.

“OK, OK. Kresimir, I’m just asking a question.” Taniel pulled his rifle into his lap and ran his fingers along the stock. No notches. A clean barrel. Brand-new, this was. Test-fired, according to the soldier who’d given it to him. Never take a rifle you didn’t fire yourself into battle. It was Tamas who’d told him that. Tamas, who was most likely dead and buried in a mass grave along with the rest of the Seventh and Ninth.

Where did that leave the Adran army? Where did that leave Taniel? He wondered briefly if Tamas had left behind a will of some kind. Taniel had never thought about that before. Since he was a boy he’d always thought Tamas would live forever.

The fighting below consisted of nothing but an exchange of artillery. Some of the shells hit the soft ground, skipping through the Adran ranks, while others smacked into unseen sorcery and split apart, falling harmlessly to the ground.

The exchange seemed almost like a formality. Neither side was losing more than a few men, and none of the artillery pieces were being hit.

“Do you have any redstripes?” Taniel asked.

Ka-poel shook her head.

“Can you make me more?”

She scowled at him and pointed at the wax in her hand as if to say, Can’t you see I’m working on something?

“I need my powder now,” Taniel said.

Ka-poel stopped shaping the wax and looked at him for several moments, her green eyes unreadable. She nodded suddenly and pulled his powder horn from her pack.

Taniel’s hands were shaking when he poured the first bit of powder into the paper to make a powder charge. The black grit between his fingers felt good. Almost too good. It felt like… power. He licked his lips and poured a line out on the back of his hand, lifting it to his face.

He stopped. Ka-poel was watching him.