The Crimson Campaign

“I see” — Tamas glanced over his shoulder at the baggage train — ”that you’ve supplied us for our journey. For that, I am grateful.”

There was a twinkle in Sulem’s eye, and for the first time since the carriage, a smile crept onto the old king’s face. “Supplies and more,” he said.

“More?”

“Field Marshal,” Sulem said, “this is the vanguard. We’re coming over the mountains with fifty thousand men. There would be more if I hadn’t sent the better part of my army down the Great Northern Road into Kez. You have my soldiers at your service, and I intend to see you through this war. The kind of treachery plotted by Nikslaus and Ipille does not befit a brother king.” Sulem’s smile disappeared, his voice gaining a dangerous edge. “You may have sent Manhouch to the guillotine, and I do not approve, but Ipille made an attack upon my people.”

Fifty thousand Deliv troops! That, Tamas knew, could send the Kez reeling. Tamas felt his heart soar. This would turn the tide of the war. Adro had more than just a chance now, they had an ally.

For the first time in weeks his step was light. He neared the Alvation Mountainwatch feeling as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

There was a clamor on the walls of the Mountainwatch fortress, and a horseman suddenly burst through the gate at a reckless speed. The messenger saw Tamas and sawed at the reins, bringing his mount to a stop in a spray of gravel. The man leapt from horseback.

“Sir,” he said. His cheeks were red, frost-burned from navigating the cold heights at great speeds, and his hand trembled as he saluted.

“Breathe, soldier,” Tamas said.

“Sir,” the messenger gasped, “we have word from one of our posts on the eastern side of the mountains. Adopest, sir. It’s burning.”

EPILOGUE

Privileged Borbador stood on the front step of a medium-sized house in the Adran suburbs and wondered when the last time was that he’d asked someone for help. It wasn’t something most Privileged were accustomed to doing. They either did everything themselves or they gave orders.

An explosion rocked the evening air, causing Bo to flinch. Another church. Those Brudanian bastards had been demolishing religious buildings all over the city. They’d dragged priests out into the street and beat them to death in public, and the Adran people had just stood by and watched it all happen. They were too shell-shocked by the war, too relieved that the Brudanians hadn’t sacked the city, to do anything to stop it.

Some had even joined in.

Bo didn’t like the Kresim Church very much, but he hated the idea of standing by and watching while a foreign army destroyed the cultural icons of the city. He’d been in the crowd, watching while they tore down the Kresim Cathedral. He’d listened to Claremonte’s speech and seen the Trading Company army come onshore, unopposed by people who should have been defending their city.

It made Bo nervous for the Trading Company Privileged to be in the city. He’d spent every day since their arrival going to great lengths to avoid them. At best, they’d try to press him into service, thinking he had no allegiances left to Adro. At worse, they’d see him as a loose end and do their best to kill him.

Bo might have thrown his all at them the day they arrived, sinking several of the ships — maybe even killing Claremonte — before being put down by the Brudanian Privileged. But he was finished with other people’s crusades. He had his own problems to worry about now.

A friend and brother to save.

The sound of children’s laughter reached him from inside the house. It almost made him pause. Almost.

Bo rapped on the door. The laughter stopped.

“Stay here, children,” a nervous voice commanded. Floorboards creaked as someone came down the front hall of the house. Bo’s third eye told him it was the very Knacked he was coming to see. He could sense someone peering through the eyehole at him, and then a deadbolt was turned. The door opened a crack.

“Privileged Borbador,” Adamat said.

Bo bowed his head. “Inspector Adamat.”

Adamat’s eyes searched the street, slightly wild, as if looking for a trap. “To what do I owe the pleasure? I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

“I brought gifts,” Bo said, indicating the paper-wrapped packages beneath his arms. “May I come in?”

Adamat scanned the street once more. Conflict raged across his face. He was a nervous man these days, it seemed. Bo could relate.

And nobody wanted to invite a Privileged into their home.

“Love,” a woman’s voice came, “who is it?”

“Privileged Borbador.”

The door opened the rest of the way and Bo saw Faye standing in the hallway. She looked somewhat better than that day in Vetas’s manor. She’d gotten some sleep, and though Bo guessed from the red in the corner of her eyes that she’d been crying recently, she hid it well.

“Privileged,” Faye said, “please come in.”

Bo brought his bundle of packages inside with him and deposited them in the living room. “Call me Bo,” he said. “I brought gifts for your family.”