The Autumn Republic (14 page)

The entire brigade of Kez auxiliaries broke into a charge, trampling blackened skeletons to dust beneath their feet as they leveled their bayonets.

Adamat felt a pang of pity for those poor bastards who would be caught in that stampede.

The first line of Wings infantry opened fire, dropping several of the Wardens and wounding a dozen more. The creatures kept their advance even through the second volley, and then they were over the earthen fortifications and among the Wings troops. They were followed less than a dozen heartbeats later by over four thousand auxiliaries. The wave of tan uniforms scaled the earthworks and slammed into the barricade of red and white.

The entire scene devolved into chaos.

The Wings’ soldiers had managed to hold against the initial charge, but already their officers were falling to the Wardens. Cracks formed in their defenses and they would be overwhelmed within minutes.

The Adran reinforcements were coming on quick from the south, but there clearly weren’t enough of them, and they wouldn’t be here in time to make a difference.

He found a nearby wagon whose driver had fled, and wrapped Nila firmly in several blankets and shoved her beneath the wagon bed, then stacked two empty rifle crates beside it to conceal her presence. He hoped nobody lit the wagon on fire. It wasn’t much, but the best he could do on these godforsaken plains.

The Wings’ rearguard had held together longer than Adamat expected, but by the time the Adran reinforcements arrived, they were all but spent. The Kez auxiliaries faltered at the initial impact, but their apparent numbers gave them courage and, somewhat chaotically, they wheeled to meet the new threat.

Adamat watched the battle from behind the wagon – no need for heroics from an old investigator – sparing a glance at Nila every so often with the hope that she would regain consciousness.

The battle turned brutal. The Wings’ rearguard had been brave but overly young and they had managed to absorb the shock of the initial Kez charge. The Adran reinforcements, while heavily outnumbered, were seasoned veterans. They tore into the Kez auxiliaries without mercy, working in groups to bring down Wardens with their bayonets and keeping their lines firm despite the confusion of the camp tents.

The sky turned dark with clouds of powder smoke, and the air smelled of sulfur, stamped mud, blood, and shit. War cries gave way to wails of the wounded, and the sound made Adamat want to crawl under the wagon with Nila.

The fighting turned desperate as the Adran companies slaughtered auxiliaries by the dozens and Wardens managed to break the Adran lines. The whole affair seemed to be getting dangerously close to Adamat’s hiding spot, and then it was suddenly upon him.

An Adran soldier retreated past Adamat’s wagon beneath the advancing bayonets of three Kez auxiliaries. The poor soul tripped on a tent line and sprawled on his back, and the three pressed their advantage. They would be on him in a moment’s time.

Adamat swore at length as he twisted the head of his cane and drew out the short sword within. He managed to cross the fifteen paces to the nearest of the three Kez without tripping himself and put the blade between the shoulders of the middle one, then turned and stabbed the neck of the second.

The third had already finished scrambling the bowels of the Adran infantryman by the time Adamat finished backstabbing the first two. He turned to Adamat, a look of surprise on his face, and then charged with a wordless scream, his bayonet dripping gore.

It was Adamat’s turn to retreat. He scrambled backward as quick as he dared, trying not to end up like the infantryman he’d failed to save. He stumbled once and then turned and full-out ran, hoping that not a soul had seen him do so.

He’d be buggered before he tried to fight a bayonet-armed soldier with nothing more than a cane sword.

The soldier chased him around the wagon twice before he was scared off by a squad of Adran infantry moving in a tight square.

“Old man!” one of the infantrymen yelled. “Get out of the fight!”

What a stupid thing to say. The fight was everywhere. Adamat opened his mouth for a retort but found himself screaming a warning.

A Warden slammed into the squad with the force of a cannonball. Five of the men were knocked off their feet and the rest wheeled to face the creature, jabbing with bayonets that the creature ignored as if they were mere pins. It snatched a rifle from the closest soldier and slammed the butt across another’s face with enough force to send teeth and blood flying. It grabbed another of the soldiers by the throat, crushing his windpipe with a casual squeeze and leaving the man to die of suffocation.

It had killed almost half the squad by the time they managed to put the creature down.

Adamat watched as two of the infantrymen put a bayonet through each of the creature’s eyes and pinned it to the ground until it stopped struggling. He realized he’d never actually seen one of these creatures before. Even after it should have been long dead its muscles still moved unnaturally beneath its skin and the mouth opened and closed on its own, swollen black tongue lolling out the side of its mouth.

Adamat felt his heart pumping hard after watching the fight, despite not having even engaged the creature. Such strength! Such power! He couldn’t imagine the twisted sorcery it took to make one of these things.

His contemplation of the corpse was cut short as a spine-numbing screech cut through the air. Adamat whirled just in time to see a black-clad Warden bound over the wagon, clearing it by a good two feet, and land amid the already reeling squad of Adran soldiers.

It snatched up one man by the ankle and swung him like a club, bashing him into two of the others, then slinging him over one shoulder and through the air.

The lifeless body might have crushed Adamat had he not dove out of the way. He struggled to his feet, one hand searching for his cane sword while the other held the wagon lip to steady himself. He regained his composure in time to witness the Warden slaughter the rest of the squad with a broken bayonet.

The creature turned toward Adamat, giving him his first clear look at it. Once, years ago, Adamat had seen a hairless bear in a traveling circus. This beast more closely resembled that bear than it did a human. It had short black hair and a nasty cut on its cheek, lifting one corner of its mouth into a sneer. It pounded its gnarled fists on the ground like a gorilla and advanced on Adamat.

Adamat grasped desperately for his cane sword or for anything he could use as a weapon.

Not that it would help.

It moved forward slowly, as if suddenly hesitant, squinting at Adamat with brutish suspicion, thick brow furrowed. What the pit was taking so long? Adamat couldn’t find a weapon. His hands were shaking so hard he likely couldn’t have held one.

End it already, you foul creature
.
 

The beast reached for Adamat’s throat and Adamat’s eyes fell on its thick, twisted hand. Its right ring finger was missing. A strange detail for Adamat to focus on. But then, men did strange things when they looked death in the eye. Adamat felt his hand touch something – the handle of his cane sword. It had fallen on the wagon. He grasped it and prepared to ram the thing as hard as he could into the Warden’s face. It was his only chance.

He tensed, ready to swing.

And felt his heart drop into his stomach. Those dull eyes and the sorcery-twisted skin suddenly looked all too familiar.

“Josep?” Adamat heard himself croak.

The creature leapt back as if it had been burned. It slammed at the ground with both hands, baring its teeth at Adamat.

“Josep, is that you?”

Adamat didn’t have a chance to hear if the creature answered. Three Adran soldiers appeared around the edge of the wagon, their bayonets leveled, and charged at the Warden with screams of defiance. It whirled on them, then looked at Adamat, the confusion plain on its face. It took two great bounds toward the soldiers and leapt, clearing all three of them and landing on the other side to break into a sprint toward the Kez lines.

The soldiers hollered their challenges after the Warden, but Adamat could see the relief in their eyes. That was not a fight they would have won.

Adamat heard a thump, then a decidedly unfeminine curse from beneath the wagon. He tore his gaze away from the fleeing Warden and bent over the wagon. “Nila? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.” She lay on her back, rubbing her forehead. “Where am I?”

“I hid you while you were out.”

“Oh. Sorry, I fainted. I don’t know what came over me.”

“You may have saved the entire bloody battle,” Adamat said.

There was a pause for a few moments. “Did I kill people?”

“You saved a lot of lives,” Adamat said. There was no good response to this. The girl
had
saved a lot of lives. But violence like that always took its toll, both physically and emotionally. It was likely a blessing that she had passed out before the screaming started.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “And now?”

Adamat stood up, surveying the scene. The camp was in shambles. The Warden was nowhere to be seen. Yet the fighting had died down and the only men he saw standing wore Adran blues. “Looks like we’ve driven them off.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Yes,” Adamat said, sinking against the edge of the wagon. “Yes, it is.”

What had he just witnessed? That creature might have – should have – killed him without hesitation. And it hadn’t. Could it be mere coincidence? The missing finger, the familiar lines of the face, the shape of the jaw that came from Faye’s father. Adamat closed his eyes and saw the beast’s face in his perfect memory.

Josep.

N
ila’s entire body tingled.

It felt like stepping out of a springless carriage after going down a particularly long and bumpy road. Her legs were weak and her abdomen warm, and everything she touched seemed to crackle slightly. Her mind was muddled, as if her head were jammed full of wool.

Adamat helped her out from beneath the wagon and she shook her arms, trying to get rid of the tingle.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Adamat asked.

“My body feels like it’s been stuffed with bees. Is that normal?”

“No… no, I think not.” Adamat’s reply was wooden. He watched the retreating Kez auxiliaries, his face slack.

“We won?”

Adamat nodded, but then stopped, as if thinking better of it. “We won that engagement. Barely.” He pointed to the south, where dark clouds of powder smoke hung over the battlefield and the thunder of artillery fire continued almost without interruption. “If not for your sorcery, we would have lost the camp. I imagine Bo will be proud.”

Distantly, Nila could sense something wrong with Adamat. But she felt a thrill go through her at that, and a cold knot settled in her stomach.
Would
Bo be proud? She could have killed herself. She
should
have killed herself, pulling that kind of stunt. Bo would be furious.
Live to fight another day,
he would have said.
Don’t take such risks.

But did it really matter what he thought? Did she fear some kind of punishment? Or did she fear his disapproval?

None of that mattered now. She could already hear the eerie moans of the wounded as the adrenaline of the battle wore off and men risked calling for aid. “Adamat, we should help.”

“Hmm?”

Nila took a hard look at the old investigator. He’d saved her life, carrying her off the battlefield, but he hadn’t asked for thanks. He seemed far away, stunned even.

“Were you hit on the head?” she asked.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“You’re sure? We could get a surgeon to look at you.”

Adamat patted his chest and arms. “I’m fine. I don’t think I was wounded at all, actually.”

“Just rest here,” Nila said. “I’m going to try to help.”

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” Adamat shook himself and seemed to come out of his daze.

“There are wounded everywhere,” Nila said. “They’ll need as much help as can be had.” She looked around the camp. Several tents had been set alight to the west and Adran soldiers were doing their best to put out the fires before they spread. Wagoners tried to wrangle their horses and oxen, while surgeons rounded up everyone without a weapon to begin moving bodies.

Nila headed toward where the Wings’ Fifth Brigade had met the Kez auxiliaries for the battle. The chaos and clamor only increased as she neared the battle site. When she passed the tents and approached the earthen fortifications, the bodies of wounded and dead of both sides covered the ground like a carpet. The sight of it all nearly made her sick, but the smell was the worst of it. Blood, sulfur, shit, and gore. She’d visited a slaughterhouse once when a cook at the Eldaminse house had been ill. At the time, she’d thought it the most horrific stench she would ever encounter.

This was worse.

The terrible medley of smells was punctuated by the distinct odor of charred flesh. It clung to her nostrils, permeating the silk handkerchief she pressed to her face.

Adamat joined her. He’d lost some of that dazed look in his eyes, and gave her a worried glance.

“It’s hard to comprehend, isn’t it?” he said.

“Where are all the survivors? Where is the rest of the Wings’ Fifth?” Nila hurried over to a man calling out for help, but by the time she reached him, his last breath had rattled from his throat. She backed away from the body.

“Over there,” Adamat said, pointing to a small knot of soldiers, many of whom were leaning on their comrades for support. Officers circled the men, separating out the wounded, trying to get the healthy back into columns. Adamat pointed to another group, this one looking even more ragged and disorganized. “And over there. The Kez overwhelmed the entire Fifth before Adran reinforcements arrived. They’ll be lucky if more than a thousand are able to still fight.”

Three thousand wounded and dead. And that was just among the Wings. The number staggered Nila. That was the entire staff of the Eldaminse household a hundred times over.

Nila caught sight of the colonel of the Wings’ Fifth and found herself glad that the woman had survived the battle. She still held her saber in one hand but had lost her hat, and she clutched her other hand to her thigh as she called out orders. Soldiers began to respond to their officers, and gradually the column began to re-form.

“What are they doing?” Nila asked. “Shouldn’t they be helping the wounded?”

Adamat leaned wearily on his cane. “They’ll round up any Kez prisoners and place a few guards, but everyone else needs to be ready in case of another attack. The battle is still far from decided.” He peered toward the smoky southern horizon. “I think.”

The idea of having all this slaughter and destruction happen again made Nila’s stomach churn – and she’d been unconscious for most of the first fight. She struggled to keep down her breakfast. “What in Kresimir’s name is that smell?”

“War,” Adamat said.

“But… it’s like cooked meat!”

Adamat raised his eyebrows at her. “I don’t think you…”

Nila’s gaze rested on the blackened ground off to the southwest. It was an enormous swath, with little more than ash and dirt, and – was that bone? She blinked slowly at the view, remembering her legs pumping beneath her as she ran toward the Kez troops. She recalled the heat of the fire, and the pain and pleasure of the power that had coursed through her before her world had gone dark.

The realization nearly knocked Nila off her feet. That smell of burned flesh had been caused by
her
. She grabbed Adamat by the elbow. “How many did I kill?”

“Nila, you saved many…”

“How many did I kill, Inspector?” she demanded. “How many?”

Adamat looked at her with pity, which somehow made it all the worse. “I can’t be sure.”

“Guess.”

“You should let go, Nila,” he said, his voice strained.

Nila looked down to find her knuckles white from squeezing Adamat’s arm. She snatched her hand back. “I’m sorry. Please, tell me how many I killed.”

“Thirty-five hundred. Maybe more. Maybe less. It looked like you torched the better part of a brigade.”

Nila bent over and heaved, emptying the contents of her stomach in one long retch. She heaved once more when she realized she had just vomited all over a dead man’s legs. She felt Adamat’s hand on her shoulder and let him help her up.

“I can’t… I don’t even…”

“Stay quiet for now,” Adamat said. They started walking, and Nila had no sense of time or space until she looked up to realize they’d left the battlefield and even the Wings’ camp behind and were about a third of the way toward the Adran camp.

She dragged a sleeve across her face. “Where are we going?” she sniffed.

Adamat’s eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as he walked, and it was several moments before he responded. “To see Field Marshal Tamas.”

“We should go back and help.”

“You don’t need to see that right now,” he said sternly.

She wanted to fight him. To pull away and run back to the Wings’ camp to help with the dead and the wounded. She deserved to see and smell the results of her power. Was she a coward for not doing so?

“Why the field marshal?” Nila asked.

“Because I need to report to him, regardless of whether or not we win this battle.”

“You could have left me behind. I’m not a child. I could help.”

Adamat stopped and turned to her. She felt him grab her by the shoulders, and he waited until she finally looked up into his eyes. There was a sort of fatherly, stern caring there. It was painful. Couldn’t he see what she was capable of? Didn’t that terrify him?

It damn well terrified her.

“Nila, once there’s any sort of organization in the Wings’ camp, they’ll come looking for you. They’ll either want you to get to the front and fight for them or they’ll realize that you’re not in full command of your powers and they’ll try to control you. Either way, I couldn’t leave you alone back there.” Taking her by the arm, Adamat continued walking toward the Adran army.

Nila let herself be dragged along. She breathed in deep – the air was clearer here, between the armies, and the scent of sulfur was almost gone with a northerly wind. But that smell of charred flesh still hung in her nostrils, as if it had been painted on her upper lip.

Adamat produced papers from his jacket to show the Adran pickets, and they soon went around two companies of irregulars waiting for orders and climbed a steep hill to the command tent. Adamat showed his papers once more and asked to see Field Marshal Tamas. One of the guards ducked inside and returned a moment later, nodding them forward.

“Go on in, Inspector. Ma’am.”

Nila followed Adamat inside, only just realizing what she was doing. This was Field Marshal Tamas! She had been his personal laundress for months, and even been courted by his bodyguard.
She had seriously considered murdering the field marshal
. There was no way they could know that, could they? What if Olem was here? How would she explain her presence?

She scrambled for some excuse to remain outside, but was ushered in before she could voice any.

It was with some relief that she found the tent devoid of both Field Marshal Tamas and Captain Olem. There were a half-dozen messengers standing at attention along one wall, and a large table laid out with maps, papers, and notes. The biggest map was covered with hundreds of small military models of fifty different sizes and shapes. A young woman in an Adran-blue uniform with black hair and a powder keg pinned to her breast stood over the table – a powder mage and, from the stripes on her shoulder, a captain.

A messenger pushed past Nila and saluted the powder mage. “Two companies of Kez cavalry have broken around the Seventeenth and are pushing toward the Hundred and Second Artillery!”

The woman moved one of the models on the map and then scrambled through piles of notes on the table in front of her for several moments before finding one to her satisfaction. “Send the Seventy-Eighth Irregulars to shore up our eastern flank, and tell General Fylo to throw everything he has at the enemy’s left. Those cavalry were the only thing keeping us from taking command of that hill.”

The messenger was off like a shot. The woman shuffled several of the notes and then dropped into her seat with a shaky sigh. Her face was drawn and pale, and Nila thought she heard a few quiet curses.

“Captain Vlora, was it?” Adamat asked.

The powder mage gave a curt nod. “Inspector Adamat? The field marshal was hoping you’d turn up sometime today.”

“I’m here to report,” Adamat said. “Where is the field marshal?”

“He’s not here,” she responded rather crossly.

The prospect cheered Nila slightly, until she realized the implication. “Where is he?” she asked before she could stop herself.

Vlora peered at her. “You’re Bo’s apprentice? I take it we have you to thank for torching the Kez auxiliaries?”

“Yes.” Nila tried to force a smile, but it felt as limp and cold as a dead fish. She let it slide off.

Vlora was already looking back at Adamat. “The field marshal is gone. He’ll be back in a couple of days, if all goes well.”

“But we were told…” Adamat started, looking somewhat confused. “I thought he was here.”

“He
was
.”

“But he’s not now.”

“Correct.”

“But the battle. It looks like we’re winning.”

“I think we are,” Vlora conceded, albeit hesitantly.

“If Field Marshal Tamas isn’t here, who is in command? Who is giving orders?”

“Tamas
is
in command,” Vlora said, gesturing at the table full of maps and notes. “He fought the entire battle yesterday, on paper, and then headed toward the mountains on personal business.”

“You’re joking,” Adamat said.

“Not at all. And the field marshal was hoping you – both of you – would wait for his return.”