Chapter
27
“You have to hold still, sir.”
Tamas resisted the urge to twitch away from Olem’s needle. Olem had shaved the side of Tamas’s head and cleaned the bullet gash with frigid mountain water and now he made tight stitches with catgut. The wound ran almost the entire length of the side of Tamas’s head. It was an eerie feeling, knowing that had the path of the bullet been an inch to one side, it would have turned Tamas’s head into a canoe.
“Sorry,” Tamas muttered.
The air reeked of death as the corpses of thousands of men and horses stank in the midmorning sun. His soldiers had labored the entire rest of the day after the battle and all this morning in an effort to dig all the bodies from the trench. The men had been laid out, their kits and supplies stripped from them, while the horses were prepared for eating.
War may need decorum, but his army needed food and supplies.
The moans and cries of the wounded reached him. Both Kez and Adran were being treated to field surgery in an impromptu hospital. Neither army had a proper team of doctors beyond the rudimentary skills of soldiers who’d seen countless wounds.
Tamas watched as Gavril picked his way through the camp toward him.
All signs of the chaos and disorganization they’d used to lure in the Kez cavalry were gone. A team of engineers was hard at work making a proper bridge over the Big Finger. Cook fires everywhere smoked with horsemeat. Quartermasters took stock of supplies they’d stripped from both Kez and Adran dead. There were piles of boots, kits, blankets, and tents, along with rifles, ammunition, even powder horns and charges.
Gavril reached Tamas and sat down on the ground beside him. “General Cethal is dead.”
Tamas bowed his head for a moment of silence, further frustrating Olem’s attempts at stitching.
“I’m surprised he lasted this long,” Tamas said. “Tough old dog. What reports?”
“Based on the bodies so far, we’re guessing about two thousand dead on our side. Another three thousand wounded. About a quarter of those will join the dead within a week. Half our wounded are incapacitated.”
Thirty-five hundred casualties to this battle. Over a fourth of Tamas’s fighting force. It was a heavy blow.
“And the Kez?”
“Based on bodies alone, we can guess that only twenty-five hundred of them got away. The rest are either dead or captured.”
Tamas let out a long breath. A decisive victory in anyone’s book. Most of the enemy, including all of their high officers, either killed or captured.
“Give our boys a rest,” Tamas said. “Any Kez who can stand, put him to work burying the bodies.”
“What are we going to do with all these captives?” Gavril asked. “We can’t take them with us. Pit, we can’t even carry our own wounded – don’t forget that Beon’s brother is still coming on hard with thirty thousand infantry.”
“When will he reach us?”
“Our prisoners are being sketchy about time frames, but piecing things together, I’d guess they are about a week behind us.”
Close enough that if Tamas allowed himself to be slowed by wounded and prisoners, the Kez infantry would catch him before he could get to Deliv.
“How is Beon?”
“Asked to see you,” Gavril said.
“Right. Olem?”
Olem wiped the needle off on his jacket. “All done, sir. Doesn’t look pretty, but the stitches are tight. Try not to do any strenuous thinking in the near future.”
Tamas held up a field mirror. “I look like a bloody invalid. Bring me my hat.”
“It’ll rub against the stitches.”
“Wrap it in a handkerchief. I’m not going to parley with the enemy looking like this.”
Olem wrapped Tamas’s head, and Tamas gingerly sat his bicorne hat on top of it.
“How does it feel, sir?”
“Hurts like the bloody pit. Let’s go see Beon.”
Tamas let Gavril and Olem walk out in front of him as they crossed the camp. Gavril had come through the battle with little more than a black eye, while Olem had a tendency to ignore his own wounds. His left hand was wrapped tightly, and fresh blood soaked through his white shirt at the shoulder. “Olem, see to yourself,” Tamas said as they neared the prisoners.
“I’m all right, sir,” Olem said.
“That’s an order.”
Olem relented and limped back to camp. Tamas was sorry to see him go, but Olem needed rest and medical attention.
The prisoners had been put in a makeshift stockade overnight. They were bound hand and foot and watched over by the Seventh Brigade. The Ninth couldn’t be trusted with prisoners right now – they’d taken the worst of it in the cuirassier charge, and most of them still wanted blood.
“Field Marshal to see General Beon,” Gavril said to one of the guards. The man headed into the stockade. He emerged a few minutes later with Beon in tow.
The Kez general didn’t look so well. His left arm was in a sling. Stitches on his forehead and the back of his right hand looked crooked and painful. He walked with a pronounced limp.
“General,” Tamas said.
Beon gave him a weary nod. “Field Marshal. I should thank you for saving my life from your men yesterday.”
“You are most welcome.”
“Ah,” Beon said. “I should thank you. But I won’t.” He let his head sag. “I don’t know if I can live with the shame of such a defeat.”
Gavril leaned against one of the wooden stakes that made the stockade. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Gavril said. “It’s Tamas, after all.”
Tamas suppressed his annoyance to keep it from reaching his face. “Deceit may not be a gentleman’s tool, but in the end, victory is all that matters on the field of battle.”
“Too true,” Beon said. “The trench. It was well done. Dug and concealed, all in one afternoon. My scouts kept at bay, and that bit of fog concealed it completely. You played me, Field Marshal. You knew I’d order the charge when I saw you trying to cross the river.”
Tamas allowed himself a small nod.
“Bravo,” Beon said with a sigh. “What now? As you can see, you’ve taken thousands of us hostage. We’re hundreds of miles from the nearest city that might afford ransom. Thousands of both sides will die of improper treatment and disease within the next couple of weeks.”
“I’ve sent a man to your camp and called for a parley,” Tamas said. “I intend to ransom all of your soldiers and and most of your officers in exchange for food, supplies, and a promise of parole.”
“Parole?” Beon seemed surprised. “As a man of honor, I must tell you that a great number of my officers will not adhere to the conditions of parole. The moment your prisoners are free of your hands, they will be set back to fighting you.”
“As a man of honor, I expect you to tell me which of your highest officers are, in fact, men of honor.”
Beon chuckled. “Ah. And those are the ones you will ransom back to the remnants of my army? I see. You realize, of course, that the honor will only stand until my brother catches up with his infantry, and relieves me and my officers of our command?”
“I do. And I never said I would ransom you.”
Beon tilted his head to one side. “I can’t imagine any use you would have for me. My presence will not prevent my brother from launching an attack when he catches you.”
“Still. I’d rather you not be on the other side for the time being.”
“You don’t trust me not to break my parole?”
“It’s not that, either. By the way, General Cethal sends his regards.”
“He mounted a valiant defense. I’ve broken greater numbers of infantry with fewer cuirassiers. Tell him it was a fine stand.”
“He’s dead,” Tamas said.
Beon lowered his head.
Someone cleared his throat. Tamas turned to find a messenger at his shoulder.
“Sir, the Kez are here for the parley.”
“Of course. General Beon, if you will?”
The Kez had sent what remained of their officer corps. A colonel, five majors, and six captains. Tamas ran his eyes over them. The Kez retreat had been last-minute. Only two of the majors had wounds on them. That meant the rest had fled before even entering the melee.
The parley proceeded much as he expected. The Kez rattled their sabers and made demands, but in the end, they knew they were beaten. They traded powder and ammunition in exchange for having their surviving officers returned to them – with a few notable exceptions. Food, and information regarding how things went back in Adro, were exchanged in return for their soldiers.
“You cannot possibly think we will allow you to keep Beon je Ipille,” the Kez colonel said. “He is third in line for the crown!”
“‘Allow’ me?” Tamas said. “It is I who am allowing you to leave with your lives. Almost four thousand men in exchange for road rations, information, and a shaky promise of parole? I’m the one being robbed. I’ll keep General Beon until his father offers to trade safe passage back to Adro for his son’s life. We will make the exchange of prisoners at first light tomorrow.”
They exchanged information about the landscape in northern Kez and the position of the infantry brigades under Beon’s brother. The Kez returned to their camp, noses raised, proud even in defeat.
“My father hates you,” Beon said as they walked back to the Adran camp. “There isn’t a chance in the pit he’d trade my life for those of your army. Especially after my failure here.”
“I know.” Tamas stopped and turned to Beon. “You will be accorded every respect due to a prisoner of your status. I expect your word of honor that you will not attempt to escape my camp and that you will not attempt to transfer information about the disposition of my army to your own. In exchange, you will be given a tent, full freedom of the camp, and the choice of any two menservants from your own army.”
“I give my word of honor,” Beon said.
“Very good.”
Beon was escorted to the stockade to select his menservants, leaving Tamas alone with Gavril.
“You really trust him?” Gavril asked.
“Yes.”
“Then why are you keeping him here?”
Tamas removed his hat and gingerly touched at the fresh stitches on his scalp. It would be months before the hair grew back properly to conceal the wound. In the meantime, he would look like some half-mad fool.
“He’s the only one of Ipille’s sons worth anything as a human being. I intend to return to Adro and throw back Ipille’s army. According to them” – he jerked his head in the direction of the retreating Kez officers – ”Ipille is personally in Adro. If I can manage to kill him and his two oldest sons, Beon will be king of Kez and he might actually listen to reason and help me end this war.”
“Ah.” Gavril scratched at his beard. “What else did you find out about Adro?”
“Last the Kez cavalry heard, Ipille had burned Budwiel and was slowly but steadily advancing up Surkov’s Alley. Hilanska and the rest of the generals are holding fast with the help of the Wings of Adom. Supposedly, Kresimir himself is there, but he’s not using his powers to aid the Kez army.”
“I thought Kresimir was dead.”
“That’s not what the Kez think. After South Pike collapsed, Privileged Borbador told me that you can’t kill a god.”
“If he’s alive,” Gavril reasoned, “he probably wants whoever shot him in the face.”
“I know,” Tamas said. “We march tomorrow afternoon. I need to get back to Adro and put myself between the Kez army and my son. If Kresimir is alive, I’ll make him wish he had been destroyed at South Pike.”
Adamat stopped with his hand on the door to a decommissioned grain mill in the factory district of Adopest. He looked over his shoulder and tried to tell himself he was no longer at risk of being followed. Lord Vetas was captured, his men taken or scattered, Adamat’s family now safe. He was being paranoid, he reasoned, and pushed the door in.
Or was he? He made his way past a secretary’s desk, long empty and half-rotted, and past the millworkers’ bunk rooms, which smelled like an animal had made a nest in them and then died.
Adamat had successfully blackmailed the Proprietor. Lord Vetas’s master, Lord Claremonte, might have other spies in the city. And there was still the Kez army pushing its way north through Surkov’s Alley.
Would Adamat and his family ever really be safe again?
He went through another door that led to the mill’s main workroom. The room was several hundred feet long with over a dozen millstones placed at intervals along one wall. Most of them were either broken or missing completely, the machinery left to rot when the mill was abandoned. The sound of the river, over which this portion of the mill was suspended, filled the room.
Bo sat with his chair tilted back on two legs, leaning against the wall next to the door. Beside him, Fell held a pipe between her lips and stared at something in the distance. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up, and there were flecks of blood on her arms.
“You missed the morning’s festivities,” Bo said to Adamat.
“You call torturing a man ‘festivities’?” Adamat asked.
“I’m not a good person,” Bo said.
Adamat cast a glance over Bo’s clothes. “You’ve blood on your shoes.”
Bo swore, then licked his thumb and ran it over the top of one of his shoes.
“How is your wife?” Fell asked, taking the pipe from her mouth.
Adamat hesitated. “She has… had a rough time of things.” That was as much of an understatement as Adamat had ever made. Faye had been beaten and abused. She’d cried for two days straight and wouldn’t allow any of the children out of her sight for more than a few minutes. She grew from melancholy to cheerful and back again in seconds, but Adamat wouldn’t expect anything different from someone who’d been through what she had. “She’s strong,” Adamat said. “She’ll be fine.”
Bo let his chair thump down onto four legs and stood up, stretching. “I’m happy to hear that.”
Strangely enough, Bo sounded sincere. Privilegeds weren’t known for their empathy.
“Hit me,” Bo said to Fell.
A smile flickered across Fell’s face. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a cashew, then tossed it in the air. Bo caught it in his mouth.
“I need to get back to Ricard,” Fell said, gathering her bag of cashews and a leather satchel at her feet.
“Go on,” Bo said. “We’ll take it from here. It was good working with you this morning.”
Adamat held up a hand. “A question.”
“Yes?” Fell asked.
“Did either of you see a young woman or a boy after we vacated Vetas’s manor?”
“The girl in the red dress?” Fell asked.
The one she’d let escape, along with Vetas, very nearly getting Faye killed? “Yes. Her.”
Fell shook her head.
Bo hesitated a moment. “Maybe… no. No, I don’t think I saw them.”
“Pity,” Adamat said. “Faye asked me to look for her. She was another prisoner of Vetas, and the boy may be a royal heir.”
“I’ll put my ear to the ground,” Fell said. She gave them each a nod, her glance lingering on Bo, and then made her exit.
“How was the ‘work’ this morning?” Adamat asked after Fell had left.
“She’s very good at putting a man to the question,” Bo said, either missing or ignoring the innuendo in Adamat’s tone. He cracked his knuckles and headed down the long line of millstones. “Not as good as I am, but then, I am a cabal Privileged.” Bo glanced over his shoulder as if to be sure Fell was gone, then said, “Don’t trust that woman.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good. She’s loyal to Ricard and to her precious Academy. Nothing else. And I’m not even sure if she’s more loyal to Ricard than she is to the Academy.”
“I imagine she’d say the same thing to me about you,” Adamat said.
“Oh,” Bo said, “I don’t think you should trust me, either. But you only have to deal with me for another couple of days. As soon as this Vetas business is cleaned up and I think your family is safe, I’m in the wind.”
Bo led Adamat down the stairs at the end of the room and into the wheel room beneath the mill. For each of the millstones above them, there was a wheel down here with one end dipped in the water. Or at least, there used to be. Most of them were missing, leaving an empty channel of water flowing through one side of the floor.
Lord Vetas was strapped to an upright gurney in one corner. His arms were missing – of course, Bo had taken those off two days ago. A bloody blanket covered his body; likely more for Adamat’s sake than for Vetas’s. His eyes were closed, his breathing shallow.
Bo kicked the gurney and Vetas’s eyes shot open. He immediately tried to recoil from Bo, but his bonds kept that from happening.
“You remember our friend Adamat?” Bo asked.
“Yes,” Vetas whispered, not taking his eyes from Bo.
“He has a few questions. Answer them.”
Adamat centered himself before his former tormentor and tried to force himself to remember what Vetas had done to his family. This pitiful creature before him didn’t deserve pity or compassion.
“Where is my son?” Adamat asked.
“I don’t know.”
“What happened to him?”
“Sold him.”
Adamat rocked back on his heels. “Sold him? What do you mean?”
“Slavers.”
“There are no slavers in Adopest!”
A hideous giggle wormed its way up through Vetas’s throat, only for him to swallow it when Bo took a step forward. “Kez smugglers,” Vetas said, his voice still quiet. “Used to take powder mages out from under Tamas’s nose and send them in to Kez.”
“My boy is not a powder mage,” Adamat said.
Vetas blinked back at him. His eyes, once serpentine and unfeeling, were now just… dead, was the only way to describe them. They showed fear when they glanced toward Bo, but other than that, nothing.
“Why would you sell him to the Kez?”
“My Privileged said he was a powder mage.”
Adamat began to pace. Josep, a Marked? That seemed impossible. “How long ago?”
“A week.”
“Have they taken him from the country?” Adamat felt his chest tighten as he began to panic. Smugglers dealing in human beings – especially powder mages – wouldn’t wait to get their cargo out of the country. In all likelihood, Josep was gone already, far beyond Adamat’s reach.
“I’d imagine,” Vetas said.
“What do they want them for?” Adamat said. “The Kez don’t want powder mages alive. They’ve no need for smugglers. They use assassins.”
“Experimentation,” Vetas said.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. Just a guess.”
“Where can I find them?”
Vetas looked away for a moment. Adamat stepped forward menacingly. There was no fear in Vetas’s eyes. Not until Bo began to rub his thumb and forefinger together.
“A pub near the waterfront,” Vetas said, his eyes twitching toward the water flowing through the mill trough.
A pub, eh? Probably not more than half a mile from this very place. “Tell me everything,” Adamat said.
He questioned Vetas for half an hour, getting the names of contacts, locations, and passwords. He had to be thorough. Slavers in a place as civilized as Adopest tended to operate in utmost secrecy, and would have taken dozens of precautions.
Adamat finished his questions and headed immediately toward the door. He couldn’t get away from Vetas fast enough. The man revolted him. He’d taken Adamat’s wife and children and put them through unspeakable trials. He’d plotted against Adro, and he’d dealt with the lowliest of scum.
Bo jogged to catch up with Adamat as he climbed the stairs back to the mill’s main floor.
“You didn’t ask him anything else,” Bo said.
“I don’t need to know anything else.”
“Claremonte’s plans? His designs on Adro? You don’t want to know all that?”
Adamat stopped and turned to the Privileged. “Later. I have to get my son back.”
“It’s too late. If slavers have him, he’ll be out of the country by now.”
“How would you know?” Adamat demanded.
“Common sense,” Bo said. “And remember. The royal cabal was a dark place. Dealing with slaves was one of many things they did.”
“Bah!” Adamat strode toward the front of the mill.
Bo kept up, much to his annoyance. “We’ve been questioning Vetas for two days. Claremonte is planning something big. Not even Vetas knows it all, but Claremonte might even have plans of invasion!”
“And I suppose you’re going to help stop him?”
Bo’s silence made Adamat sigh. The Privileged had no interest in helping. He’d probably leave the country now that his debt to Adamat was paid. It seemed that Bo had just enough civic sense of duty to try to convince Adamat to help stop Claremonte.
“Even Vetas said that your son would be gone by now,” Bo said.
“And you trust him? That’s awfully na?ve for a cabal Privileged.”
Bo leaned in toward Adamat. “I broke him,” he said in words that were nearly a growl. “He wouldn’t dare lie to me.”
“It was too easy,” Adamat said. “I know what type of man Vetas is. He’s keeping something back.”
Doubt flickered across Bo’s face, then resolved itself in a scowl. “No. He won’t. He can’t. Like I said, I broke him.”
“You should keep at it.” Adamat’s stomach twisted at the words. This kind of torture made him sick. Even when applied to Lord Vetas. “There’s no telling what else he has in that head of his.”
“He’ll be dead within hours,” Bo said.
“Ricard’s orders?” Perhaps Ricard thought Vetas was too much of a liability to keep alive for long. If Claremonte managed to find and rescue him, the following wrath would be terrible indeed.
“I don’t take orders from Ricard. No, nature will finish what I started. It’s taken what little knowledge I have of healing to keep him alive. I tore his arms off, and then spent the last two days questioning him. You think he’ll live long? No. By nightfall I’m throwing his corpse into the Adsea and getting the pit out of this country.”
“Well, then.” Adamat took a deep breath and smoothed the front of his coat. Here he was, back to square one. All his allies were gone. The Proprietor had cut off contact. Ricard was busy dealing with the fallout of Vetas’s capture, and Bo was leaving the country. Adamat was alone again. “I guess this is good-bye.”
Bo tugged at the fingers of his right glove and pulled it off. He extended his hand. “Thank you.”
“No,” Adamat said, clasping the hand. He felt his heart skip a beat. Privileged did not shake hands with anyone. Not ever. “Thank you.”
Bo headed back toward the mill basement. Adamat watched him go, hoping that perhaps he’d change his mind and stay in the country. Maybe he’d even help Adamat rescue Josep. But after a moment Bo disappeared downstairs.
Adamat headed into the street. This would be difficult. Maybe, just maybe, he had one friend left in Adopest.
Adamat paused on his doorstep and looked through the front window.
The blinds were drawn, but through the cracks he could see the twins playing on the rug in the living room. One of them had a wooden boat. The other one wanted it, and pushed the first over, snatching for the toy.
Adamat felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. They’d been through so much, but they still played and argued like regular children. He’d expected them to be worse for the wear after their ordeals. Fanish, his oldest daughter, shouted from the back room, and a moment later she entered and separated the two, then berated them soundly.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside. It didn’t take long for all the children to mob him as they all sought for a hug or a kiss. He knelt and let them fawn over him. Felt the relief to have them back home. He never would have thought he’d welcome the shouting and shoving after a long day of walking the street… but he finally had his family back.
The smile slid from his face. No sign of Faye.
“Where’s your mother?” Adamat asked Fanish, gently prying Astrit off his leg.
“She’s in bed, Papa.”
“Has she been down today?” Fanish looked at the younger children and shook her head. She was old enough to know her mother had been through a lot, and to notice readily that she was acting strange. She was also smart enough to want to keep the other children from worrying.
Adamat took his daughter aside. “Has she eaten?”
“No.”
“What did you have for dinner?”
“Soup. It’s still over the fire.”
“Where’d it come from?”
“Ricard’s assistant brought it by. Enough for three days for the whole family.”
“Fell?”
“Her. Yes.”
Adamat’s fists tightened. The woman who almost cost Adamat his wife by letting Vetas escape. He’d never forget that. He stopped himself from getting worked up. This was no time to hold a grudge. “Get me a bowl of soup.”
He set his cane next to the front door and hung up his hat, then took the soup from his daughter and headed upstairs. In their bedroom, Faye was lying with her back to the door, blankets pulled up around her shoulders even though it was summer and the house was quite warm.
“Faye,” he said gently.
No response.
He went around to her side of the bed and sat gently on the edge. He could see the rise and fall of her shoulders as she breathed softly. Her eyes were closed, but long intimacy told him she was still awake.
“Love,” he said, “you need to eat something.”
Again, no response.
“Sit up,” he said. “You need to eat.”
“You didn’t take your boots off.” Her voice was quiet and timid. Not at all the scolding brashness that he was used to, and that worried him.
“I’m sorry, I’ll sweep up. You need to eat now.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten all day.”
“I did.”
“I talked to Fanish.”
She was lying to him, and now she knew that he knew. “Oh.”
“You have to keep up your strength.”
“Why?” She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“For the children. For me. For yourself.”
Faye didn’t say anything. Adamat could see tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes squeezed closed. He put a hand gently on her arm. Didn’t she know she was safe now? Couldn’t she tell that the children needed her more than ever? That he needed her?
“I’m going to find Josep,” he said.
Her eyes opened. “You know where he is?”
“I have a lead.”
“What is it?”
Adamat patted her arm and stood. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be back late tonight, though.”
There was a knock on the door downstairs, and Faye shifted around in the bed, her movements jerking, her eyes wide and wild.
“It’s just SouSmith,” Adamat said, trying to calm her. “He’s going with me.”
“What is this lead? Where is my boy?” Faye demanded.
“It’s nothing to —”
She grabbed him by the arm, her grip vice-like. “Tell me.”
Adamat sank back onto the bed. He didn’t want to worry her, but it seemed it couldn’t be helped. “Vetas sold him to Kez slavers. Supposedly, Josep is a powder mage. I’m going to go meet with the slavers and try to get him back.”
“No,” Faye said, surprising Adamat with the force of the word. “You’ll do no such thing. You’ve already scraped through so much danger. I’ll not wait here for word of your death.”
“I’ve dealt with worse than slavers,” Adamat said.
“I know the type of men Vetas did… business with.” Faye spat the word. There was panic in her eyes. Adamat could see that her desire to get her son back was warring with the need to protect her husband and her remaining children.
“I have to get Josep back. I won’t leave him to the Kez.”
Faye squeezed his arm tighter. “Be careful.”
“I will.” Adamat extricated himself from Faye’s grip as gently as he could. Tears were streaming down her face as he left the room and headed down the stairs. SouSmith stood in the front hall, coat buttoned tight, smiling at the children playing in the living room.
The boxer nodded to Adamat. “Ready?”
“Yes.” Adamat glanced up the stairs to his bedroom and took his cane from beside the door. “Fanish, check on your mother in a half hour or so.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Good girl. SouSmith, let’s go.”