The Crimson Campaign

“Who is this?” His gaze cut through Tamas, his eyes narrowed. Tamas was able to see him better now. Demasolin was in his thirties, perhaps, with a clean-shaven face and strong jawline. He had the bearing of a duke, Tamas decided.

“An old… friend,” Hailona said. “Did you catch the intruder?”

Demasolin continued to stare at Tamas. “Apparently not.” His nose twitched as he sniffed. “She got away,” he said. “Leapt the garden wall like it was nothing. A powder mage. I’d bet my life on it.” Another sniff. “As is this one.”

In one quick motion Demasolin discarded his pistol and a belt of powder charges, throwing them away from Tamas. He drew his sword. “Powder mage or not, I will gut you. Remove your weapons.”

“You think you can?” Tamas asked quietly.

Tamas was tired. He’d made this entire trek north just to reach Alvation, where he thought he’d find succor, only to find the city held by the enemy and the very people that he’d looked to for help now suspicious of him.

He knew he should disarm. Let them see he wasn’t a threat. Take the time to explain himself.

But if what Ruper said was true, more soldiers would arrive any minute. Tamas would not disarm for one man with a sword.

Tamas laid a hand gently on the hilt of his sword.

Demasolin darted forward.

Tamas drew his sword and set his back foot in less time than it took to blink. Demasolin came on quickly.

“Stop! He’ll kill you!”

Demasolin slowed. Tamas relaxed, suddenly wary. Was Hailona talking to him? She knew who he was. What he was capable of.

“Demasolin,” Hailona said. “Please, wait. He’ll kill you.”

“I’ve killed powder mages before,” Demasolin said between gritted teeth. “I’ve killed a Privileged. I am the duke of Vindren!” He said it like the name would mean something to Tamas.

It did, finally. A tickle in the back of his memory. Vindren. A man with a Knack for smells. Nose like a bloodhound. Quick as a powder mage in full trance.

Tamas lowered his sword.

“You surrender?” Demasolin said.

“No.”

Demasolin took another step forward.

“I feel like this is a waste of our time,” Tamas said.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” Hailona suddenly said. “Outside in the street. Who killed all of those soldiers. I told you it was a powder mage,” she said to her brother-in-law.

“I only saw a shadow,” Demasolin said. The tip of his sword wavered.

“It was I,” Tamas said. “Do you want a demonstration?”

“I don’t take well to threats, old man.”

Tamas examined Demasolin. Muscles taut, ready to lunge. His bearing, confidence, and stance all said that he was a gifted swordsman.

A young woman suddenly burst through the door. She wore her hair up, a greatcoat over her shoulders, and Tamas could sense two pistols under the coat. “Ma’am,” she said, with only one quick glance at the two men pointing their swords at each other, “there are soldiers in the street.”

“Put your swords up!” Hailona hissed at Tamas and Demasolin. To the young woman, she said, “How many?”

“Eight, ma’am, but…”

“What is it?”

“They’re all dead, ma’am. Freshly dead.”

Hailona looked at Tamas.

Tamas shrugged. “I only killed the ones chasing you.”

There was a low knock on the glass door to the portico. Everyone looked that way. From Tamas’s position he could see Vlora. She was carrying something large. He gestured her in.

She kicked the door open and swung through, tossing a body to the observatory floor with a thump. “This might answer your questions,” she said.

“One of my captains,” Tamas said by way of introduction. “Vlora, meet Lady Hailona, former governor of Alvation.”

Vlora spared Hailona a look. “Taniel told me about her. One of your past lovers. She was pretty back then, wasn’t she?”

Hailona gasped. Tamas groaned. Demasolin spun toward Tamas.

“Field Marshal Tamas,” Demasolin roared. “On guard, you dog!”

He leapt at Tamas with startling speed. Tamas was barely able to bring the point of his sword up in time. Immediately on the retreat, he parried twice and danced backward. He could feel his leg protest in sudden agony when he twisted away from a particularly savage thrust.

Tamas was suddenly falling. He landed on his ass, crashing into a potted plant and knocking it over. He kept his sword up in a defensive position as Demasolin pressed forward.

A pistol fired, bringing Demasolin up short. Tamas stared at the tip of Demasolin’s sword, barely able to register how fast the man moved. It was like fighting a Warden, with all their speed and none of their clumsiness.

Vlora held a smoking pistol pointed at the ceiling in one hand. In the other, a loaded pistol aimed at Demasolin. Plaster drifted down from the ceiling. “Stop,” she said. “Drop the sword. I won’t miss.”

Demasolin looked once at Vlora, then once at Tamas, lying as he was at a disadvantage on the ground. Tamas tried not to let his pain reach his eyes.

Show no weakness.

Demasolin threw his sword to the floor with a snort of disgust.