Brian McCLELLAN - The Autumn Republic

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.

Adamat shouldered his way through the soldiers, heading toward Etan’s carriage, and felt a hand on his chest.

“I didn’t say to fall out,” the captain said to him. “Back into line before I give you a beating.”

“I have to speak with the colonel,” Adamat said.

“You’ll do no such thing. Back in line!”

Adamat didn’t have time for this. His heart beat with a sudden urgency that had nothing to do with this quick march. “I’m not one of your damned soldiers and you know it,” Adamat said. “I appreciate your help, but get out of my damned face. I’m on assignment from Field Marshal Tamas himself.”

“Field Marshal Tamas is–” the captain started, drawing himself up.

“Captain,” a voice called from the carriage. “Settle down. Let the inspector ride with me.”

Adamat suppressed a triumphant grin. No need to antagonize the man further. He pushed past the captain and opened the door to the carriage, stepping inside.

In the darkness it was difficult to see any of Etan’s features. Adamat was certain he was a large man. He was propped in his seat – probably strapped in place, due to his condition – and leaned on a cane.

“You can get rid of the uniform now,” Etan said. “If someone comes after us now, it won’t be much of a disguise.”

Adamat removed the bearskin hat and the crimson jacket and breathed a sigh of relief. He immediately regretted it as the cold night air reached his soaked suit underneath, chilling him to the bone. “Thank you for this help, Colonel,” Adamat said.

“It’s the least I could do.” Etan thumped on the side of the carriage and they began to move again. “Taniel saved my life. He was a good friend. I know that you are trying to help him. I just wish we could all have done more.”

“There may be more we can do yet,” Adamat said, and quickly added, “for the army, that is.”

Etan made a noncommittal grunt.

“This affair between Ket and Hilanska could be the end of Adro,” Adamat said.

“I’ve washed my hands of the whole thing. I’m returning to the north, quietly going into retirement. No one has use for a crippled grenadier, whether or not we win the war.”

“But…”

“No ‘buts,’ Inspector. I’m glad to help you escape Hilanska’s machinations, but this is the end of it for me.”

“I understand.” Adamat smacked his fist into his palm in frustration.

Etan’s next words were hesitant. “If there’s anything I can do to speed you on your way, I’ll do it.”

“There is,” Adamat said, feeling a surge of renewed hope. “I could use a letter of introduction.”

“To whom?”

“Brigadier Abrax of the Wings of Adom. I think I know how to save General Ket’s troops.”

Taniel watched the squad of Adran soldiers as they searched the canyon floor far beneath him.

He had been trailing them since they left the Veridi Valley, breaking off from the main company two days before. There were twelve of them in all, dressed in Adran blues and carrying a full kit on their backs and rifles under their arms. They proceeded warily up the valley, covering less than a mile a day and searching every deer trail and crevice along the way.