The Crimson Campaign

He looked toward the southern horizon. Soon enough, fifteen thousand cavalry would breach that hill.

It took four whole days of searching and over a thousand krana in bribes before Adamat found where Field Marshal Tamas had stashed Borbador, the last living Privileged from Manhouch’s royal cabal.

It was funny, Adamat decided, that he was using the field marshal’s own money to try to undo his orders.

Colonel Verundish stood beside him. She was a smart-looking Deliv woman in her fifties, her ebony skin a complement to the dark blue of her Adran uniform, with straight black hair tied back.

“He’s here?” Adamat asked.

“He is,” she confirmed.

They stood on a bluff at the very northernmost district of Adopest, where the rows of houses abruptly gave way to farmland. Here, the streets didn’t smell so much like shit and soot. Here, there were fewer factories and people.

Not a bad place to live. If Adamat survived long enough to retire, maybe he could move his family out here.

Verundish nodded down to the manor below them. The grounds were overgrown, most of the windows broken, the walls vandalized. Like so many other manors belonging to the nobility, it had been gutted by Tamas’s troops of anything of value and then opened to the public after the execution of its former owner.

Adamat followed Verundish down from the bluff and entered the manor grounds by a back gate. The sorry state of the place made Adamat sad. He had no love of the nobility, not by any stretch, but many of these manors had been architectural works of art. Some had been burned to the ground, some crushed to rubble for their stone. This one had got off lightly with mere vandalism.

They entered through the servants’ quarters and made their way to the second floor. Adamat counted two dozen men and women, all soldiers by their look. They wore greatcoats over their uniforms, despite the summer heat, and each one gave Adamat a cursory glance as he went by.

A glimpse of a chevron over a powder horn told Adamat that these were Riflejacks — more of Tamas’s best soldiers.

Verundish stopped outside the last room toward the rear of the servants’ quarters. “You’ve got five minutes,” she said.

“What will you do with him?” Adamat asked. “Now that Tamas is dead?”

The colonel’s lips curled into a scowl. “If Tamas is dead — we’ll wait for his generals to return to Adopest and hand him over to them. They’ll decide his fate.”

“Tamas isn’t in danger from him anymore.”

“I don’t care what you think you know, Inspector,” Verundish said. “The field marshal slaughtered the cabal for a reason, and this man is its last living member. Now go on.” Verundish lifted a pocket watch in one hand and looked down at it. “Your five minutes is ticking.”

Adamat opened the door and slipped inside.

Privileged Borbador sat tied to a chair in the corner of the room. His feet were bound tight against the posts of the chair, his hands locked in stiff iron gloves that would prevent his fingers from moving. He looked comfortable, for all the tightness of the ropes. He was thinner than the last time Adamat had seen him, and his chin sported a full-grown beard. In front of him was a stand, like the kind that musicians used to hold their music. Bo looked up from it.

“Bo,” Adamat said, taking his hat in his hands.

Bo cleared his throat. “Yes?”

“My name is Adamat. We met a few months ago at Shouldercrown.”

“Inspector. Yes. I remember you. You’re the one who brought my gaes to Tamas’s attention.”

Adamat grimaced. “I’m sorry. I was working for him.”

“You’re not anymore?”

“Well, the rumors are that he’s dead.”

Bo stretched his neck out and tilted his head from side to side. It was about the only part of him he could move. He didn’t respond.

“Bo,” Adamat said. “Has the necklace around your neck — the one supporting the gaes — loosened since his reported death?”

Bo’s eyes narrowed. Not much, but just enough to give Adamat his answer. The gaes was still in place. Tamas was alive. And Bo hadn’t told the soldiers guarding him.

“Interesting,” Adamat said aloud.

“Think you could turn the page for me?” Bo nodded at the stand in front of him.

Adamat moved around to see a book propped on the stand. He obliged by turning it to the next page and then smoothing the page out with one hand.

“Many thanks. I’ve been staring at that one page for about half an hour now.”

Adamat asked, “How strong is the compulsion to kill Tamas?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Could you resist it? He’s quite far from here. Could you resist the compulsion to go looking for him?”

“For a time,” Bo said. “Yes. It’s only six months since Manhouch’s death. I think I have a year until the gaes kills me.”

“Two minutes!” Verundish called from the hallway.

Adamat lowered his voice. “If I get you out, will you help me?”

“Help you do what?”

“I need to rescue my wife and kill a man who is a threat to this entire country.” Adamat had no idea if Bo was a patriot of any kind, but the addendum sounded good.

“What is this, some kind of pulp novel?” Bo smirked at him.

“It’s very serious, actually.”