Brian McCLELLAN - The Autumn Republic

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.