The Crimson Campaign

“An old riverbed, sir,” Vlora said, picking her way among the small boulders. “It points to the west, then cuts south. The base of the valley is obscured by a hillock. We’re not more than a half mile from the Kez right now, but there’s no sign they’ve even bothered scouting this valley.”

“Sir!” a voice called from within the cave.

Tamas whirled. Vlora, Olem, and Andriya all raised their rifles, pointing into the darkness.

An Adran soldier emerged. His shoulder sported a chevron with a powder horn beneath it. The man was a lance corporal, one of Olem’s new company of elite soldiers, the Riflejacks.

“Quiet, fool,” Olem hissed. “You want all of Kez to hear?”

The messenger wiped the sweat from his brow, blinking up at the brightness of day. “Sorry, sir,” he said to Tamas. “I got lost in the mountain. General Hilanska sent me after you not more than a moment after you left.”

“What is it, man?” Tamas demanded. Gasping messengers were never a good sign. They never hurried unless it was of utmost importance.

“The Kez, sir,” the messenger said. “Our spies report they will attack en masse the day after tomorrow. General Hilanska requests you back at the wall immediately.”

Tamas ran his eyes across the steep valley in which they stood. “How many men do you think we could bring through here in two days?”

“Thousands,” Vlora said.

“Ten thousand,” Olem added.

“A hammer of two brigades,” Tamas said. “And Budwiel will be the anvil.”

Vlora seemed doubtful. “That’s a small hammer, sir, compared with that monstrous force out there.”

“Then we’ll have to strike hard and fast.” Tamas examined the valley one more time. “Let’s head back. Have the engineers start widening the tunnel. Get some men up here to shore up this scree so our passage won’t cause a ruckus. When the Kez attack, we’ll smash them against the gates of Budwiel.”

CHAPTER 4

There were few things in the world more tedious, Nila reflected as she sat on the kitchen floor and watched flames curl around the base of the immense iron pot hanging over the fire, than waiting for water to boil.

Most manor houses would be silent at this hour. She’d always relished the quiet — the still night air that insulated her from the chaos of a servant’s life when the master and mistress were at home and the house bustled with movement. There was a night not more than a few months past, though it felt like years, that Nila had known no life but the one in which she boiled water and did the laundry every week for Duke Eldaminse’s family and the serving staff.

Lord Eldaminse was dead now, his servants scattered and his home burned. Everything Nila had ever known was gone.

Here in Lord Vetas’s city manor on a side street in the middle of Adopest, the household never slept.

Somewhere in the enormous house a man was shouting. Nila couldn’t make out the words, but they were spoken in anger. Probably Dourford, the Privileged. He was one of Lord Vetas’s lieutenants, and he had a temper like Nila had never seen. He had a habit of beating the cooks. Everyone in the house feared him, even the hulking bodyguards who accompanied Lord Vetas on his errands.

Everyone feared Dourford except, of course, for Vetas.

As far as Nila could tell, Lord Vetas feared nothing.

“Jakob,” Nila said, speaking to the six-year-old boy sitting beside her on the kitchen floor, “hand me the lye.”

Jakob got to his feet and paused, frowning at her. “Where?” he asked.

“Under the washbasin,” Nila said. “The glass jar.”

Jakob rummaged around beneath the washbasin before finding the jar. He grabbed it by the lid and pulled.

“Careful!” Nila said. She was on her feet and beside him in a moment, and caught him by the shoulders as the jar came loose and he stumbled backward. She put a hand beneath the jar. “Got you,” she said, and took the jar. It wasn’t very heavy, but Jakob had never been the strongest child.

She unscrewed the lid and doled out a measure for the laundry with a spoon.

“No,” she said when Jakob reached for the open jar. “You don’t want to touch that. It’s very poisonous. It’ll eat right through your pink fingers.” She snatched him by the hand and playfully bit at his fingers. “Like an angry dog!”

Jakob giggled and retreated across the room. Nila put the lye away on a high shelf. They shouldn’t keep materials like this within reach of children. Even if Jakob was the only child in the house.

Nila wondered what life would be like if she was still in the Eldaminse manor. There would have been a party for Jakob’s sixth birthday two weeks ago. The house staff would have been given a stipend and an extra afternoon off. Duke Eldaminse would have likely made another pass at Nila — or two, or three — and Lady Eldaminse would have considered putting her out on the street.

Nila missed the quiet of the nights doing laundry for the Eldaminse house. She didn’t miss backbiting and jealousy among the serving staff, or Lord Eldaminse’s groping hands. But she’d exchanged it for something worse.

Lord Vetas’s manor.