The Crimson Campaign

Adamat spent another several hours cleaning the house of all traces of blood and then gathered a travel case full of children’s clothes, the strongbox, and his cane and pistol before he headed out into the street to look for a hackney cab.

Taniel lay against the earthen battlements and glanced up at the overcast sky.

Mountainous white clouds moved ponderously through the sky, rolling like foam on top of a wave as it crashed upon the beach. Bits of gray mixed into the clouds, here and there. Rain, maybe? He hoped not. The earthworks would turn to mud and the rain would foul powder on both sides.

Taniel could hear the distant drumming of the Kez. It seemed far away, from where he lay against the cool, hard earth. The shouts of the Adran commanders — those were closer. He wanted to tell them to stuff it. Every man on the line knew they’d likely die today. Every man on the line knew that the Kez would succeed in their attack, taking the earthworks again like they did yesterday, and the day before that.

Morale wasn’t just dead; it had been hanged, shot, then drawn and quartered and buried in a rocky grave.

“Well?” Taniel said.

Colonel Etan stood a few feet back from the edge of the earthworks, waving his sword and lending his own reassurances to the meaningless chatter of the officers. He wore a bearskin hat with a purple plume, befitting an officer of the Twelfth Grenadiers. His eyes were fixed on the approaching Kez infantry, still well beyond the earthworks.

“Coming,” Etan said.

Taniel scanned the clouds. “Wake me when they get here.” He closed his eyes.

Some of Etan’s grenadiers chuckled at that. Taniel opened his eyes to see who’d laughed, and flashed them a grin. He surprised himself at how easily he smiled. Just a few days ago the very act had seemed foreign. Now…

He caught sight of Ka-poel back behind Etan. She sat on the earthworks, her knee raised up, chin in her hand. She was watching the Kez advance. Even the grenadiers — the strongest, bravest men in the Adran army — had a wild, nervous look in their eyes. They knew what it meant to be on the front. But Ka-poel’s eyes were thoughtful, piercing. Not a hint of fear. She looked as deadly as a Fatrastan wildcat.

Taniel wondered what she saw that the others didn’t.

“Getting close,” Etan said. His body was tense and he kept a white-knuckle grip on his sword.

Taniel wondered where Kresimir was. Why hadn’t the god shown himself? Why hadn’t he killed them all, scattering them with sorcery, instead of letting his army chip away slowly at the Adran defenses day after day?

“Here they come!”

Taniel gripped his rifle in both hands. The timing for this had to be perfect. No hesitation. He had to -

“Now!”

There was just a hint of a shadow in the corner of Taniel’s eyes. Taniel thrust his rifle upward, ramming two and a half spans of steel straight up between the legs of a leaping Warden.

Taniel felt the rifle stock twist in his hands. He gave a shout and pushed up harder, lifting the Warden like some kind of macabre trophy and then slamming him onto the earthwork floor.

Even a Warden could be taken by surprise, it seemed. The creature lay still in utter shock for several moments, eyes wide, a look of panic on his face. Then it began to thrash, trying to pull off the bayonet that Taniel had rammed up its ass.

A dozen grenadiers fell on the Warden with bayonets and swords. It only took a few moments before all that remained of the Warden was a bloody mess of meat. Taniel pulled his bayonet out of the dead creature just as the Adran line opened fire.

“Get rid of it,” Etan said. He and a pair of his men grabbed the dead Warden and hefted it over the earthworks, letting it roll down to the field below.

The advancing Kez wavered in the onslaught of musket fire. Hundreds dropped to the ground, but the Kez war machine marched right over them. They dropped their bayoneted muskets into a ready position and charged at a run.

Taniel got up on the earthworks and fired his rifle, dropping a Kez major from the back of his horse.

Etan stepped up beside Taniel. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, my friend,” he said, eyes on the charging Kez.

“We’re not losing today.” Taniel rammed a cotton-wrapped bullet down his rifle, then cracked open a powder charge with his thumb. He snorted the charge in one long drag and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Not today,” he said. Then, louder, “We’re not losing today.”

Taniel felt a rising wave of anger. Why should they lose? Why should they turn and run? They were better than the Kez. The Adran army was feared all over the Nine.

He turned toward the grenadiers. “Are you Field Marshal Tamas’s men? Are you?”

“The field marshal is dead,” someone said.

Taniel felt the spittle fly out of his mouth. “Are you?”

“I’m the field marshal’s man!” Etan lifted his sword. “Dead or alive, I’ll always be!”

“Are you?” Taniel screamed at the grenadiers.

“Yes!” They answered with one voice, muskets raised.