The Crimson Campaign

An air rifle popped, and then another. Bullets ricocheted off the courtyard cobbles. Taniel sprinted toward the closest Prielight. Keep moving, he told himself. Make a harder target. And get among the guards so that, at the very least, some might get hit by friendly fire in the confusion.

“Stop.”

Taniel staggered, almost dropping the pike. He suddenly felt woozy and out of breath. Again, the word tolled like a giant bell.

Prielight Guards threw down their weapons and shrank to their knees, clutching at their ears.

Taniel forced himself to keep going. Every step was like slogging through a bog.

“I said stop.” Kresimir appeared at one of the courtyard doors. The water of the Addown he’d dumped in the courtyard seemed to shrink beneath his feet and dry up, so that when he stepped it was on parched cobbles.

Taniel kept moving. His body wanted to stop, but he knew he couldn’t. He had to press on. To get away from the god.

“Why do you not obey my orders?” Kresimir’s voice was the deepest bass Taniel had ever heard. It rang within his ears. The god tilted his head to one side, as if curious. He pointed at the cobbles. “Kneel.”

“Go to the pit,” Taniel spat. His whole body shook from the effort of moving.

“Kneel!”

The keep quaked. One of the Prielight Guards screamed. Taniel could feel Kresimir’s confusion behind the mask.

“Take him,” Kresimir whispered.

Prielight Guards surged to their feet. It was a struggle for Taniel just to move as he tried to react to their advance.

Fighting was out of the question.

Taniel’s pike was taken from him. Someone slammed the butt of an air rifle into his back, dropping him to his knees.

“A spy, my lord,” the guard captain said. “Another assassin.”

“From who?”

Fingers curled into Taniel’s hair and his head was wrenched back so that he looked up at Kresimir. “Answer your god, cur,” the guard captain said.

Taniel cleared his throat and spit the contents at Kresimir’s feet.

The butt of a rifle smacked across his face.

“Amateurs,” Taniel said. General Ket’s provosts had hit him harder than that.

“Adran, my lord,” the guard captain said.

Kresimir took a small step back. “Who ordered you here?” He paused a moment, and then, “Why does he not answer? His god compels him.”

The next blow was a pike handle to Taniel’s chin that he feared had dislocated his jaw. Something hit him in the stomach. He was dragged up by the hair and hit again, then again. Amateurs these were not. Compared with these, the first blow had been gentle.

“Answer your god,” the guard captain said.

Taniel remained silent.

“Break his arm.”

One Prielight took ahold of Taniel’s wrist, bending it painfully back, and then brought a knee up against his elbow as one might break a branch for the fire. Taniel gritted his teeth, trying not to scream. Once. Twice. Three times.

“Break it,” the guard captain said again.

“I can’t. It’s like trying to break a cannon barrel.” The Prielight rubbed at his knee.

“Get a hammer.”

“Fools.” Kresimir’s voice made the Prielights cower. He stepped up and looked down on Taniel.

Taniel felt the warmth of sorcery like the slow approach of a flame.

“Beg,” Kresimir said.

Taniel shook his head.

“Beg!” Kresimir’s jaw twisted with sudden strain, and Taniel felt the heat come on quickly. He drew back involuntarily, ready for the worst kind of pain.

Kresimir suddenly threw himself backward, a wail escaping his lips. It grew louder and louder, and might have shattered the stones of the keep had it been longer. As it was, Taniel thought that for a moment it would drive him mad. The god fell to the ground, swatting at invisible flames, whimpering.

Taniel felt the chuckle rise within him. It burst forth from his mouth like a funny thought at an inopportune moment.

Ka-poel’s wards. It had to be.

Kresimir couldn’t break them.

Kresimir cowered on the cobbles. His mask had fallen off. He stared at Taniel through one eye of fear. The other eye was pus-filled, oozing black liquid over a swollen, purple cheek. “What did you do to me?” Kresimir asked.

Taniel couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh,” he said. “That wasn’t me. You met Pole.”

Taniel tried to move. He still couldn’t.

Kresimir groped blindly for his mask. He returned it to his face and climbed to his feet, but did not approach Taniel again.

“Fetch the Adran traitor,” Kresimir said. There was fear in his voice. “Have him identify this spy.”

Taniel waited on his hands and knees, head sagged from exhaustion. Kresimir had sent his men out just thirty minutes ago.

“A traitor,” Kresimir had said. Who was it? Taniel had suspected all along that it might be Ket. She’d been too enthusiastic about ordering the retreats. Maybe Doravir.

Of course, it might be someone lower. A general’s aid, or even courier. Plenty of people had access to the kind of sensitive information that would give the Kez the edge.