The Crimson Campaign

Bo’s smirk dissolved. “Why do you need my help?”

“The man I need to kill has over sixty men guarding him — one of them is a Privileged.”

“Really, now? You work for Field Marshal Tamas — who is reported as dead — and you’re going after a man who’s kidnapped your wife and has the kind of resources to have sixty enforcers and a Privileged at his disposal?” Adamat could practically sense Bo’s desire to flex his fingers. “Have you ever thought of getting out of the investigating business?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Adamat said.

“Get me out of here and I’ll spend a week as a mime in the King’s Garden,” Bo said, “whatever you want.”

Adamat regarded the Privileged for a moment. Was he in any shape to fight another sorcerer? Adamat knew a Privileged needed gloves to do his magic, to protect his hands from being burned by the Else, but there was no sign of Bo’s. Could a Privileged even be trusted?

“All right,” Adamat said. “I’ll do what I can.”

Verundish opened the door. “Time is up, Inspector.”

Adamat followed Verundish back out of the servants’ quarters. She stopped him once they’d reached the edge of the manor grounds. “You can find your own way back?” she asked.

“Yes.” Adamat examined her for a long moment. She watched him, her brown eyes unreadable. He would have guessed her as the military type even without the uniform — her back was straight, her hands clasped behind her like a soldier at ease.

This was a great risk he was taking, but he had no other choice if he wanted to free Borbador — and then Faye.

“I need Privileged Borbador,” Adamat said.

“Pardon?” Verundish was just turning to go. She stopped and looked back at him.

“I need you to free him.”

Verundish cleared her throat. “That’s not happening, Inspector.”

“Name your price. Field Marshal Tamas is dead. Let Bo go and you and your men can join the defensive at Surkov’s Alley. Or leave the country. That might be the best idea, with what I’ve heard from the front.”

“That” — her words were angry, clipped — “is treason.”

“Please,” Adamat said. “Privileged Borbador is my only chance to save my wife — maybe even to save this country. Free, he’s of value. Under guard, he just ties up you and your men.”

“You should go now, Inspector,” Verundish said.

Adamat let out a small sigh. He’d half expected her to arrest him right then and there. He should be glad she was letting him go.

“Inspector.”

He paused. “Yes?”

“Seventy-five thousand krana. Banknotes. You have a week.”

CHAPTER 16

Taniel walked among the corpses on the battlefield and wondered how many had died that day.

A few hundred? A few thousand?

Surgeons, thieves, the families of soldiers — they all picked their way among the bodies, finding the wounded first and getting them back to their respective armies before bothering to stack the dead into carts like so much firewood, then taking them to be buried in mass graves.

There were always far more wounded than dead. That’s how it always was, even when sorcery was involved. At least, that’s how it was immediately after a battle. Over the next week well over half of the wounded would die. Even more would end up crippled for life.

He’d picked a horrid profession, Taniel reflected.

Well. Not so much “picked.” There’s no picking your profession when Tamas is your father. Taniel couldn’t think of a time when he didn’t want to be a soldier. Vlora, the girl he’d thought was the love of his life, wanted to be a soldier, too. So Taniel had gone along with his father’s wishes and trained to be a powder mage. It was the only life he’d ever known.

And now Tamas, Vlora, Sabon, and everyone else who’d ever influenced Taniel in his youth were all dead and gone.

Taniel tried to shake the weight of that thought from his shoulders and kept walking.

Soldiers weren’t supposed to come onto the battlefield after a skirmish like this. The temporary truce after each battle that allowed either side to collect their own dead and wounded was tentative enough without armed, hot-tempered men taking to the field.

That didn’t stop some of them from coming. Taniel watched a fistfight break out between a sobbing Kez soldier and a wounded Adran sergeant. It was put down quickly by both Kez and Adran provosts, and the offending parties hauled off.

“How long do you usually stay out here?” Taniel asked.

Ka-poel knelt beside the dead body of an Adran soldier. She looked up at him briefly before lifting the dead man’s left hand and using her long needle to pick something out of the man’s chewed fingernails. What was it? Hair from a Kez officer? Blood of someone still alive? Only she knew.

Taniel didn’t really expect an answer. She’d been less than communicative lately, even for her.

She moved to the next body. Taniel followed, watching as she cut a bit of bloody shirt off a dead Kez officer.

Taniel had left his jacket and weapons back at camp. No need for anyone to know he was out here. Regardless, some of the Adran surgeons gave him respectful nods. Others a respectful distance.