The Crimson Campaign

Adamat descended the old city wall and fought his way through the throng to cross the bridge and head toward the Kresim Cathedral. He cast his gaze toward the ships every so often, but nothing had changed. Still a flurry of activity on board. Still no sign of lowering the longboats or firing the cannons.

Between the Kresim Cathedral and the Ad River was an amphitheater where the Diocels of the Church could address significant crowds. By the time Adamat reached it, the amphitheater was overflowing with people trying to get a better look at the tall ships.

It was a death trap. Adamat cursed everyone inside that amphitheater for their stupidity. Hundreds would die if Claremonte opened up with a single salvo.

Adamat thought he spied a familiar face nearby, and muscled his way toward the river. There was Ricard, surrounded by his assistants and the other union bosses, Fell at his side.

“Ricard, what the pit is going on?” Adamat demanded.

“No idea,” Ricard said. He seemed just as confused as the rest of the crowd, and regarded the ship with caution. “I’ve got my boys out in force, armed to the teeth with whatever they could find, but if Claremonte opens fire, there’s not a damn thing we can do about it. We can only stop him if he tries to come ashore.”

“And who would be stupid enough to do that?” Adamat asked.

“Look,” one of the union bosses said, “they’re lowering a longboat.”

Adamat peered toward the ship. Sailors scurried about the deck, and suddenly a longboat swung out and was lowered into the river. A rope ladder was dropped, and men began to descend onto it.

“Give me a looking glass,” Adamat said. Fell handed him hers.

He found the longboat and examined it for a few moments. There were a half-dozen Brudanian soldiers. Some rowers. A few men in top hats.

Adamat stopped and focused on one face in particular.

“He’s here,” Adamat said. “In the longboat.”

“Who?”

“Claremonte.”

“How the pit would you know?”

“I saw his likeness once. A small portrait at a Trading Company stock house, back before he rose to be head of the company.”

“Let him come, the bastard,” Ricard said. “We’ll be ready for him.”

Claremonte looked anything but worried. He laughed at something one of the rowers said, then clapped a soldier on the back. He was a striking man, with high cheekbones that contrasted with a body grown soft with age and wealth. His eyes were alive and happy, nothing like his late lackey, Lord Vetas.

The longboat rowed away from the ship, Lord Claremonte standing in the bow like a commander leading the invasion of a foreign land.

Which, unless Adamat was completely wrong, was what he was.

But where were his men? Why would he come to land practically alone, into the teeth of a waiting mob who’d been told he was coming to take their homes from them?

The longboat stopped about some distance from the shore and threw down an anchor. Lord Claremonte stood up straight, facing the amphitheater, and spread his hands.

“Citizens of Adopest,” he began, a smile on his face, the words booming inhumanly across the river.

CHAPTER 41

Tamas watched from the vantage of an old church tower as rain fell in thick sheets across Alvation.

The early morning was dim and cloudy, and Tamas didn’t think that it would get much lighter outside as the day went on. Tamas couldn’t even see the Charwood Mountains, though they rose less than a mile from his current position.

An excellent day for his army to sneak up on the city.

A terrible day for a battle.

Powder would be wet, the ground muddy, and with the Kez wearing Adran uniforms, neither side would be able to tell friend from foe.

The street below was full of Kez soldiers moving supplies.

He watched them work with no small amount of trepidation. If he was right, and he feared he was, Nikslaus’s last act when he pulled out of the city would be to put it to the torch, slaughtering civilians and leaving enough chaos behind that no one would bother to question who was behind the attack.

The Mountainwatch above Alvation was about twenty-five miles away. Early this morning, Tamas had heard the faint report of cannon fire from that direction. Nikslaus had the Mountainwatch under siege.

It wasn’t a strong Mountainwatch. Not a bastion like South Pike; more of a fortified toll road. It wouldn’t hold long against two brigades of Kez soldiers.

Tamas had sent Vlora back to the Seventh and Ninth hours ago.

He missed her now. No one to watch his back. The Deliv partisans didn’t trust him, so he spent most of his time watching the Kez soldiers — watching for patterns, waiting for Nikslaus to make his move. One eye always on the road, on the chance Tamas would see Gavril among the prisoners being forced to do hard labor for the Kez.