The Crimson Campaign

Every so often the soldiers would glance back at Tamas’s charger with hungry eyes. They watched with the same looks every scout and officer who was still riding. It was unsettling.

They’d slaughtered the last of the Kez horses two days ago and distributed the meat. Tamas heard rumor that some of the company quartermasters were holding back and selling the last precious pounds. He’d tried to get to the bottom of it, but no one would confess. Every stream they passed saw a dozen men leave the line, throwing themselves into the mud in search of tiny fish and crawdads. Their sergeants had to beat them back into the column.

“They think they’re going to get a meal soon,” Olem said.

Tamas shook himself from his reverie. He felt light-headed, weak. He’d not eaten in four days. The men on their feet needed it more than he did. At least there was some periodic grazing for the horses.

Olem pointed up to a pair of buzzards circling high above the treetops.

“Ah,” Tamas said.

“They’ve been following us for fifty miles,” Olem said.

“You can’t be sure it’s the same vultures.”

“One of ’em has red on the tips of his feathers.”

Tamas grunted. Words were coming slow out of his mouth. The heat didn’t make him feel much like talking.

“That red-tipped buzzard kept on when most of the others stayed behind at the camp two mornings ago, when we slaughtered the horses.” Olem pursed his lips. “I think he’s hoping for the big payday.”

Tamas looked up at the buzzards. He didn’t want to talk about them. He’d seen far too many on far too many battlefields. “I haven’t seen you smoke for a week,” he said.

“Too bloody hot, pardon the language, sir.” Olem patted his breast pocket. “Besides. I’m saving my last one.”

“A special occasion of some kind?”

Olem continued to watch the buzzards. “Gavril told me we might be making a stand at the Fingers. I figure it’ll be nice to die with a cigarette between my lips.”

Tamas couldn’t help but scowl. “Have you told anyone? About the stand, I mean.”

“No, sir.”

“Damned Gavril. Needs to keep his mouth shut.”

“So it’s true, then?”

“I don’t intend to make a last stand, Olem. I intend to break the Kez. Last stands are for men who plan on losing.”

“Quite right, sir.”

Tamas sighed inwardly. Soldiers had a strange sense of fatalism. Most of them didn’t realize that any odds could be beaten with the right maneuvering.

“Olem…” Tamas began.

“Sir?”

“About what I saw the other day…”

A muscle jumped in Olem’s jaw. “What do you mean, sir?”

“I think you know what I mean. Vlora. If I’d come a few minutes later, I think I would have found the two of you in a much more compromising position.”

“That was the hope, sir.”

Tamas blinked. He’d not expected that kind of bluntness. “Can’t hold your tongue to save face, can you?”

“Not to save my life, sir.”

“I won’t have that kind of fraternization, Olem.”

“What kind, sir?” The corners of Olem’s eyes tightened.

“You and Vlora. She is a captain, you are — ”

“A captain,” Olem said. “You made me one yourself.” He touched the gold pins on his lapels helpfully.

Tamas cleared his throat and looked up. Those damned buzzards were still there. “I mean that she is a powder mage. You know my mages are a different contingent of the army. I won’t have you crossing that line.”

Olem looked like he wanted to say something. He worked his jaw around, chewing on a phantom cigarette. “Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir.”

The sarcasm in Olem’s tone leaked through like water through paper. It nearly shocked Tamas. Olem was normally so loyal, so quick to obey. He opened his mouth, a rebuke on his tongue.

The soldier with a ponytail staggered and fell out of line, hitting the ground hard. Two of his companions stopped to help him.

“Head up the line,” Tamas said. “Call for rest. The men need a sit-down.”

Only too grateful to get away, Olem spurred his mount on, calling out, “Field Marshal orders the column to halt! Fall out!”

Tamas could hear the order repeated farther up the column. Slowly, the line of soldiers came to a stop. Some men went looking for the closest stream, some men relieved themselves in the woods, and others slumped to the ground where they were, too exhausted to move.

Tamas opened his canteen and drained the last few drops. The water was hot and tasted of the metal. “Soldier,” Tamas said, pointing to a man who looked the least worse for the wear. “Find me some clean, cold water and fill this, then tell your sergeant you’re off latrine duty tonight.”

The soldier took the canteen. “Aye, sir.”

Tamas climbed down from his charger and hung the reins from a tree limb. He paced the width of the road, trying to work some feeling back into his legs after riding half the day. He stopped once and looked south. No sign of the Kez. The woods were too thick. According to the latest reports, the head of the Kez column was ten miles back. They had dragoons ranging in the area in between, trying to catch Adran stragglers and harass the end of the Adran column, but what mattered to Tamas was where the bulk of the cavalry were.