The Crimson Campaign

Tamas heard several sets of footsteps in the hallway outside. Faces appeared at the door. Swords and pistols were drawn. Vlora kept her pistol trained on Demasolin.

Hailona made a calming gesture with both hands. To the people at the door, she said, “Everything is fine here. Prepare to leave. We have to get out of the manor.”

Vlora nudged the body at her feet with one toe. It was a man in an Adran coat, with brown hair and a mustache. He was alive, his eyes wide, looking at Vlora in fear. “This one can answer some questions,” Vlora said.

Demasolin crossed the room and grabbed the front of the man’s coat with both hands, pulling him into a sitting position on the floor. The soldier’s hands had been tied with his own belt.

“Why are his boots missing?” Demasolin said.

Vlora lowered her pistol. “Less willing to run if he doesn’t have boots.”

Tamas slowly climbed to his feet while the attention was away from him. He couldn’t tell which hurt more — his leg or his pride. Too old for this. He tested the leg gently. It seemed to take weight. A momentary bout of weakness? He better not risk it.

He sheathed his sword and limped to the large desk in the middle of the room so he’d have something to lean on. Hailona watching him. Her eyes held something between suspicion and fear.

“Who,” Demasolin demanded of the prisoner, “are you?”

The man’s eyes remained wide as they flitted between the unfriendly faces in the room. He remained silent.

Demasolin shook him by the front of his coat and switched from Deliv to Adran. “Who are you? Speak, now!”

Nothing.

Demasolin slapped the soldier, openhanded. The soldier suddenly struggled, grappling with Demasolin, trying to throw him off, only to stop immediately when Vlora set the barrel of her pistol against his neck.

Vlora leaned over the soldier. In Kez, she said, “Do you understand me?” It was a soft tone, almost seductive, and Tamas wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t in a powder trance still.

The soldier nodded.

“Do you value your life?”

He nodded emphatically.

“Darling, if you want to live through the night, you’ll answer the good man’s questions. If not…” She gently rubbed the end of the pistol barrel against the soldier’s neck.

Again with the tone, almost seductive. It was a side of Vlora Tamas had not seen before.

“I… I am Galhof of Adopest. Adran soldier,” the man said in Adran. His accent was thick, the words broken.

“Try again,” Vlora said in Kez. She hadn’t stopped caressing the soldier’s neck with her pistol. “You’ll either have to get a better Adran accent or develop a sudden immunity to bullets.”

The soldier’s eyes almost seemed to bulge out of his head as he tried to look at the pistol touching his neck without turning his head. He cleared his throat. “My name is Galhof,” he said in Kez, “but… I am a Kez soldier.”

“What are you doing in Alvation?” Demasolin asked. “What are your orders?”

“We’re to take the Mountainwatch above the city.”

“Why the ruse, then? Why the Adran coats?”

“Don’t know, sir,” Galhof said. “I’m just a soldier.”

Tamas didn’t have time for this. “Guess,” he growled.

“So that Deliv blames Adro for the attack.”

“But,” Hailona spoke up suddenly, “how did they expect the ruse to hold? There are already suspicions.” She shot a glance at Demasolin. “I’ve been saying for a week I thought you were Kez.”

The soldier looked around the room again as if seeking allies. He said nothing.

Tamas felt a sudden dread in the pit of his stomach. It grew heavier as certainty within him grew. When he spoke, it came out a croak. “They plan on putting Alvation to the torch. Oh, pit. All of it. They’re going to burn it all, kill every man, woman, and child. They’ll leave behind just enough evidence to condemn Adro. By the time anyone has stopped to think about it, Deliv will already be at war with Adro.”

“Not even the Kez would stoop to that,” Demasolin said.

Tamas was certain now. “The man in command of this army is a monster.”

“Who?”

“Duke Nikslaus. The king’s favorite Privileged. He’ll stop at nothing to win this war.”

“I know that name,” Hailona said softly.

Tamas shot her a warning glance. Now was not the time to bring up his history with Nikslaus.

Ruper suddenly appeared in the doorway again. “Ma’am,” he said, “we have to go. The lookout has spotted soldiers coming down the main street. Over a hundred of them. We have to go now.”

“The wounded?” Hailona asked.

“We’ll have to carry them, or leave them for the Adrans.”

“They’re not Adrans,” Hailona said. “They are Kez. Quickly now. Get everyone to the cellar. We’ll take the old passage across the street to Wyn Manor and go to Millertown.”

The butler didn’t even blink at the correction. “Very good, ma’am.” Ruper disappeared again.

Demasolin retrieved his sword from the floor and stopped beside Tamas. “We’re not done, old man,” he said, sliding it into its sheath with a click. “They call you a savior in the Adran papers. I name you a butcher and a traitor to your own crown.”

“I’m all of them,” Tamas said with a shrug.