The Autumn Republic (4 page)

“Some time. I am in his confidence, sir.”

The colonel’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed? Then what’s the Privileged up to?”

Nila forced herself not to bolt for the tent flap. “I don’t know what —”

“Stop,” the man said. “I’ve known Taniel Two-shot since he was a boy. You think I wouldn’t recognize his best friend?”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Nila said. “I don’t know your name.”

“Colonel Etan.”

“Colonel Etan. If you think you know someone, shouldn’t you invite them to your tent directly?”

The shadow of a smile touched Etan’s face. “Is Borbador here looking for Taniel?”

Nila couldn’t avoid a direct question like that. This man claimed to know Taniel. This may be the best way to get information out of him. Or it could all be a trap. “Yes,” she said.

Etan gave a soft sigh, closing his eyes. “Thank Adom.”

“I’m sorry?”

Etan opened his eyes again. “I’ve spent the last several weeks trying to find out what happened to Taniel. Nobody has seen him since he was raised up like a trophy above the Kez camp. Hilanska has refused to ask any questions. He won’t even request Taniel’s body back from the Kez.”

Nila’s throat felt dry. “So Taniel
is
dead?”

“I don’t know,” Etan said. “He was alive when he was raised up on that beam. He was alive the last time anyone saw him up there, and then when Kresimir killed Adom, he —”

“Wait, what?” Nila couldn’t help herself. She leaned forward in her chair. “Kresimir killed Adom? What are you talking about?” Was this man mad?

Etan waved his hand. “It’s a very long story. One that hasn’t gotten back to Adopest, it seems. Pit, Hilanska is keeping a tight lid around here. To answer your earlier question, I deemed it unwise to bring Borbador here. I’m hoping that you are being watched less closely than the supposed ‘lawyer’ is.”

“You want me to pass him a message?”

“Yes. Don’t trust Hilanska.”

“I don’t think Bo trusts anyone.”

Etan scowled at his legs. He didn’t seem to hear her. “Hilanska is a superior officer and I do him a disservice, but he’s been acting very strangely lately. As I said before, he won’t look into Taniel’s whereabouts. He adamantly refuses to believe that Tamas might still be alive. What’s more, he’s been putting all of Tamas’s most loyal men into their own companies and promoting his own longest-serving soldiers. And he’s been raving about a Kez pincer movement that could come over the southern mountains – he sent two whole companies into the valleys in the southwest, where they won’t be able to do a damned thing when the Kez do attack.”

Nila couldn’t pretend to understand the inner politics of the army, but she imagined it not unlike anywhere else that people were constantly jockeying for rank or status – even like the noble household where she had been employed before the coup. She
did
know that Bo wouldn’t care one whit for the army politics. But Etan was clearly distraught, and she didn’t think it would help to tell him that.

“Are you able to help us find Taniel?” she asked gently.

Etan glanced at the attaché case in her hands. “I’ve gone through all of Taniel’s requisition forms. I was there when he made some of them. I don’t think they’ll help you, but I suppose another set of eyes wouldn’t hurt. I’ve done everything within my power to discover his fate – I’ve been watching for anyone who might come asking, as well. Bo might have to go to the Kez to get any more information.”

“That would be suicide,” Nila said. Not that it would stop Bo.

“It might. I’m sorry that I could not be more help. I’m leaving for Adopest in the morning. If there’s anything I can do to aid your search, contact me through one of the grenadiers of the Twelfth.”

“Thank you,” Nila said.

She left the colonel and headed back across the camp toward where they had left their carriage. What else could she do now but wait for Bo and tell him about Etan? Etan’s advice had been unhelpful, but she hoped it would make Bo more optimistic to know they had a friend in the camp and that Taniel had last been seen alive.

Their carriage had been moved off the road and down into a gully and the horses unharnessed. She sat in the carriage to read through the reports, going through every page one by one, carefully examining each line to be sure she didn’t miss any of Taniel’s requisitions. The column that interested her the most was the one where the quartermasters entered their own notes about the requisition. Up to a certain point in time, each of Taniel’s requests for black powder had been denied “by order of the General Staff.”

Until about a month previous. He was given powder, and the note column said, “Special permission, General Hilanska.” Nila set that page aside to show to Bo.

It grew dark, and Nila finally had to set aside her work. It seemed strange to her that neither Bo nor Adamat had returned yet. In fact, she hadn’t seen Sergeant Oldrich or his men either. She leaned her head against the wall of the carriage, wondering if she should go look for them or just rest here until they returned.

Nila thought she heard a soft click from the opposite door of the carriage. She turned, but the carriage door was still closed.

“Hello?” she asked. When there was no response, she put her hand to her door latch and it occurred to her that in a camp of many tens of thousands, there didn’t seem to be anyone close to her carriage.

The opposite door suddenly swung open. Nila glimpsed a dark coat, a covered face, and the dull glint of steel in the moonlight. The carriage rocked as someone dove inside. A hand darted toward her.

Nila threw herself across the carriage, felt a knife catch in her skirts. She twisted away and heard a low curse in a man’s voice as her attacker tried to drag his blade from the cloth. She rolled onto the flat of the blade and kicked out at the man’s shoulder.

He pulled back with a grunt, the knife no longer in his hand, only to leap bodily upon her.

She caught him under the shoulders. He batted at her arms, pushing them down, one hand snaking around her neck. She felt his fingers close about her throat and remembered Lord Vetas’s hot breath upon her shoulder when he had done the same.

The man hissed suddenly, jumping away from her, his jacket on fire. Nila felt the pressure leave her throat, saw the flame dancing on her fingertips, and she leapt on top of the man, fueled by the coals of her rage. He tried to grapple with her, his attention taken by his burning coat, but Nila forced herself inside his guard.

Her hand still aflame, she grasped the man’s face and pushed.

Skin and bone seemed to give way beneath her fingers. The man’s scream died in his throat and his body stopped moving. The cushion and the man’s clothes were still on fire and she beat at the flames with her skirt until they were gone.

The body, most of its head melted into a sickening black goop on the carriage bench, lay still beneath her. Nila slowly backed away. Her head hit the roof of the carriage and she ducked down, unable to pull her eyes away from the corpse lying in the smoldering remains of its own clothing.

She looked down at her hand. It was covered in cooked bits of bone and flesh.

“Nila, are you —”

Bo jerked open the door she had been resting against just a few moments before and stared down at the body. His face was unreadable in the darkness.

“Come here,” he said gently, taking her by the wrist and pulling her outside. She only noticed the acrid smell of smoke and burned flesh, hair, and wool as Bo led her away. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gently cleaned her hand, emptying some of his canteen onto her fingers. He went back to the carriage and fetched her attaché case.

“I…” She seemed barely able to take a breath. Her heart thundered and her hands shook.

She’d just killed a man by burning through his entire head.
With her hand
.

“We’ll leave the luggage. I’d set fire to the carriage, but it would just attract attention all the sooner. They’ve arrested Oldrich and his men. We have to go find Adamat.”

Nila looked at her hand, clean now of the charred gore. The phantom stickiness of the blood clung between her fingers. She forced herself to look up into Bo’s eyes. She had to be strong. “And if he’s captured as well?”

“We’ll save him if we can. If not, he’s on his own.”

“And all of Oldrich’s soldiers?”

Bo looked about them furtively. “Not even I can get fifteen men out of an army encampment. They’ll have to face the firing squad for us. Now, let’s go.” He pulled at her arm.

“No,” Nila said.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“You – we – brought them into this. We’ll get them out.”

“Damn it, Nila,” Bo hissed. “We’d have to have help, and we simply don’t have it.”

Nila tilted her head to one side. “Yes we do,” she said.

A
damat was only able to spend about three hours asking questions before the provosts came for him.

He was in the middle of speaking with a young sergeant about her cousin in the Third Brigade under General Ket’s command when he felt a hand at his elbow. He turned, expecting to find Nila or Bo there with some kind of news, but instead looked over and up – and up some more – at the military police officer standing beside him. The man had a barrel chest, and when he spoke, his voice sounded like an echo.

“Inspector Adamat?”

“Yes.”

“You’re to come with me.”

Adamat grasped the head of his cane tightly and raised his eyebrows. “I’m sorry, I’m just in the middle of an interview. You’ll have to wait.” He turned back to the sergeant, hoping that was enough to put off the provost.

“
Now
,” the man’s voice rang out.

The sergeant leaned over to Adamat. “Inspector, you better go with him.”

Adamat let out a small sigh, gathered his hat in his hands, and faced the provost. “What’s this about?”

“You’re to come with me.”

“Yes, I gathered that much. I’m an Adran citizen and I have the right to ask why I’m being gathered by an officer of the peace.”

The provost tilted his head to one side. “This is a military jurisdiction and you have no such rights as would be afforded to you by an Adran provost. Now, will you come along or shall I drag you?”

Not as daft as he looked, unfortunately. Adamat gave him a firm nod. “I’ll come along, but under protest.”

“Protest all you like. This way.”

Adamat made sure to grumble loudly in an inconvenienced sort of way as they headed through the camp. Inside, though, his heart was hammering. He had expected the provosts to come after him sooner or later. After all, if Hilanska was indeed keeping secrets, he wouldn’t want someone snooping around. Adamat hadn’t expected them to be so quick about it.

Had Hilanska questioned Oldrich? Or perhaps one of his soldiers had recognized Bo? There were too many things that could go wrong, it was impossible to plan for them all. Perhaps the girl had lost her nerve and run to Hilanska herself.

Adamat dismissed the last option. That laundress, whoever she was, had steel in her eyes.

The camp stockade was nothing more than a trio of prison wagons near where the brigade’s cavalry hitched their horses for the night. Adamat was led over to the closest and one of the guards unlocked the door.

The big provost took Adamat by the shoulder and pushed him toward the wagon. Adamat gritted his teeth, wanting to reprimand the man, but knew this was no time to be making enemies. All three wagons were already full – of Oldrich and his men.

Adamat’s cane was taken away and he stepped inside.

Oldrich regarded him sourly. “I see the Privileged’s plan is off to a wonderful start,” he said when the guards had gone on to do their rounds.

“When did they come for you?” Adamat asked.

“Not more than half an hour ago.”

“Did they say why?”

Oldrich shook his head. “They got us while we were split up. Some of the boys were at the mess, two others at the latrine. It was all done very quiet, and they were sure to outnumber us by three to one.” He leaned over to the bars of the prison wagon and spit. “It’s bad when they come quietly. The provosts love to flaunt their power.”

“They’re acting like we’re enemies of the state,” one of the other soldiers said. There was a round of nods, and he added, “We wouldn’t get treated like this by the field marshal.”

Oldrich looked over his shoulder. “The field marshal isn’t here,” he said. “You boys just remember – you were following orders. If anyone’s going to take the fall it’ll be me.” He examined Adamat, as if wondering if it was worth getting court-martialed or worse on his behalf.

By the sullen silence among the men, Adamat guessed that they’d had this conversation already.

“When are they going to question us?” Adamat asked. He had little experience with provosts, but he could only imagine the worst: Hilanska wanted to cover something up. He’d torture them all to find out what they knew, and then have them executed quietly.

“Depends on how big of a hurry they’re in. And how big of a hornet’s nest you kicked by asking questions. Could be they’ll just hold us a couple of days and then let us go.” Oldrich didn’t sound optimistic about that outcome.

The night drew on and Adamat watched the tents, waiting to see Hilanska’s provosts return to collect them for questioning. The hours passed. The more he thought about it, the more he realized Oldrich was probably right: Hilanska just wanted to keep them from complicating things. He needed them out of the way and that was it. They were still in a tight place, but the belief helped Adamat to relax.

He was just beginning to doze, his shoulders up against the cold steel of the prison wagon walls, when he heard a hiss behind his ear.

He turned to find Bo right behind him. “How long have you been here?” Bo asked through the bars.

Adamat shook away the sleep. “A few hours, I think.”

“The sentries are unconscious. We have a few minutes until the guard makes their rounds. We have to go. Now.”

Adamat hesitated. If Hilanska only wanted to hold them for a time, an escape attempt would only make things worse. Bo moved around to the front of the prison wagon and licked the end of his gloved finger. He twitched his fingers twice and then set it against the steel of the lock.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Adamat asked.

“They tried to kill Nila,” Bo said. “They don’t want us quiet – they want us dead. Nila! Get the other wagon.”

Adamat turned to see Nila rush over to one of the other prison wagons. She glanced around, as if self-conscious, then held one hand out in front of her, palm up as if holding a fruit. Adamat frowned at the gesture. What was she doing?

A cold blue flame danced over the palm of her hand. She reached out and grabbed the lock. Steel melted in her hand, dripping to the ground with a sizzle. One of the soldiers swore under his breath.

This girl was a Privileged? No wonder Bo had insisted on bringing her along! But where were her gloves? Adamat didn’t have time to think about it as he was pushed out the front of the prison wagon by whispering soldiers.

“How the pit are we all getting out of the camp?” Adamat hissed to Bo.

“With help,” Bo said. He gave a low whistle, and two men suddenly emerged from the blackness near the hitching posts. They both stood well over six feet tall and each carried a bundle of blue-and-crimson uniforms in their arms. “Oldrich,” Bo said. “Get your men dressed. They’ve just joined the grenadiers of the Twelfth Brigade. You too, Adamat. Over your clothes, boys. We can’t leave them any sign of how we escaped.”

Adamat snatched one of the uniforms and pulled it on over his suit. It was an awkward fit, the uniform was made for someone far larger. The jacket followed, and he was handed a bearskin hat.

Nila went down the line, straightening uniforms and tugging them to fit here and there. She joined Adamat and Bo and gestured over the two grenadiers. “You’re part of Colonel Etan’s honor guard,” she said to Adamat, “escorting him up to Adopest. He was going to leave in the morning, but word of a sickness in his family has him riding out tonight.”

“And we can trust this Colonel Etan?”

Bo hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. “One of Taniel’s friends.”

Adamat looked between Bo and Nila. Neither was wearing a uniform. “And what about you?”

“We’re making our own way out,” Bo said. He didn’t elaborate further.

“And this civil war?” Adamat asked.

“Not my problem.”

Nila gave Adamat an apologetic look.

“Get a move on,” Bo said. “The guard changes in an hour. We’ll wait here to make sure your disappearance isn’t noticed before the colonel can get you out, then I’ll make a false trail running for the Adsea. They’ll assume you’ve escaped by boat.”

Adamat suppressed the urge to thank him. After all, he wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Bo’s urging. “And my boy?” He needed to get his son back, and Bo was the only one who could help him do it.

“I’m going to find Taniel, and then I’ll come get you in Adopest. You have my word.”

Adamat gave the Privileged a tight nod and followed Oldrich and his men after the two grenadiers. They were led through the camp at a double march and Adamat struggled to keep up. Oldrich’s men were Adran soldiers. They might not have been as big as grenadiers, but they could play the part without too much of a stretch. Adamat was older than most of these men by ten years, softened by his own age and family life. He was used to riding in carriages, not marching.

He remembered a time in the academy when Tamas, then a colonel, had first begun to pave the way for the rise of commoners among the ranks. Adamat had considered joining as a career.

Three minutes into the march and Adamat said a grateful prayer that he had not done so.

They soon arrived in the section of the camp occupied by the grenadiers of the Twelfth Brigade. Adamat recognized their standard, two hawks over the Adran Mountains, and tried to recollect what he knew about Colonel Etan.

Etan was a career military man. Just over thirty, he had risen through the ranks by distinguishing himself in battle during one of the many small wars in Gurla after the Gurlish campaigns had supposedly ended. His rise might have seemed swift, but was less strange when Adamat considered how short an average grenadier’s career normally was. Shock troops didn’t often last long, and few enough of the big men were known for their intelligence.

Adamat also remembered reading in the papers just a couple of weeks back that Etan had been wounded in battle. Paralyzed, the article had said.

His breath sounding ragged in his ears, he caught sight of a waiting carriage near the edge of the camp, surrounded by an honor guard of some fifty grenadiers. Several grenadiers stood by with rifles and kits. Adamat, Oldrich, and the rest were hastily outfitted.

“Fall in, men!” a captain called. “Damned dogs, arriving late! You’re not worthy to carry the colonel on your backs! Not worthy to bathe his feet. It’ll be latrine duty for all of you when you get back!” He ran up and down the line, slapping at their knees with his riding crop. Adamat felt the sting across his calf and bit back a curse. He was playing a character now. He dared not drop it.

“Yes sir!” he said with the others.

The captain stopped beside him and leaned forward, speaking low. “If you cause trouble for my colonel, I’ll kill you myself.” He moved on before Adamat could reply.

A hand reached out of the carriage and thumped the side. Adamat had barely begun to catch his breath before they were marching double-time again.

Sweat was already pouring down his face when the carriage trundled off the hard-packed dirt of the camp thoroughfare and onto the cobbles of the main highway to Adopest. They came to a slow stop beside the northernmost checkpoint. Two sentries approached the carriage.

Adamat wasn’t close enough to hear the ensuing conversation. He stood with rifle shouldered, the pack on his back pressing against his spine, and hoped that they wouldn’t notice how short he was for a grenadier – or that his uniform was already soaked with sweat and they hadn’t even begun their march.

One of the sentries shrugged and they both stepped back, waving Etan’s carriage on. Adamat wasn’t even given a second glance as he trotted past them.

His legs burned as they continued on into the night, and his lungs felt on fire. Every wound from the last six months seemed to flare up – his nose ached, cuts on his stomach and shoulder itched, and bruises he’d not even known existed began to throb. He felt himself lagging behind the other grenadiers – both Oldrich’s men and Etan’s real soldiers – and struggled to push himself harder.

What a miserable existence. Who could stomach putting their body through this kind of abuse? Adamat used his indignation to propel himself forward. This whole trip had been a waste. Taniel was likely dead, and it could be weeks or months until Bo returned to help Adamat look for Josep. If he returned at all. Why had he ever agreed to this in the first place?

And this whole affair between Hilanska and Ket. It would prove Adro’s undoing, he had no doubt. The more he thought over the map he’d seen in Hilanska’s command post, the more he was convinced that the general wasn’t just preparing for a fight – he was looking for one.

Would Ket really accuse Hilanska of being a traitor just to cover her own tracks? Perhaps she’d thought more of the General Staff would side with her? Or perhaps she’d thought to sway the Wings of Adom. Regardless, she would be crushed between Hilanska and the Kez.

Did she know that three brigades of Adran infantry would die because of her? Was she that selfish?

Adamat didn’t realize he’d stopped marching until he noticed the carriage and its escort some forty paces ahead of him. He ran to catch up, forcing himself to ignore the pain in his knees, and arrived at the back of the line just as the captain called for a stop.