Brian McCLELLAN - The Crimson Campaign

“We have.”

Tamas bit his tongue. How long had Demasolin been sitting on that information, too?

“Can you provide a distraction?” Tamas asked.

“No,” Demasolin said. “You have one man in there,” he said. “I have dozens. Including my brother. I’ll be going after them, and it’ll be you who provides a distraction.”

“Where are they being held?”

“I don’t think you need to know that.”

Tamas wanted to reach across the table and strangle Demasolin. Even so, he wasn’t sure if that was a fight he wanted to start, and he wasn’t keen on risking his leg going out again. He had better people to strangle.

Demasolin produced a map of the city and spread it out across the table. “The main city barracks is here. There are about two hundred men stationed there. Get close enough to detonate their powder reserves and it’ll bring every soldier within a half mile running.”

Tamas spun the map around so the south end was facing him. He ran his eyes around the marks, then spaced his fingers and did some math.

“No,” Tamas said. “You’ve tried this already. Your failed attack last night. Someone is feeding the Kez information. They’ll be ready for your attack on the prison and for mine on the barracks.”

“What else can we do?” Demasolin said. “I don’t know who the damned traitor is.”

“You want a distraction? I’ll give you a distraction. This General Saulkin. He’s staying at the governor’s manor, correct?”

Demasolin answered hesitantly. “Yes.”

“Is he still there?”

“As of an hour ago, yes.”

“Tell your spies that Field Marshal Tamas is going to kill Saulkin.”

“And how will that help?”

“Because Saulkin is Duke Nikslaus, and I cut his bloody hands off. If he knows I’m in the city, he’ll forget about everything else.”

“Then you’ll walk into a trap.” Demasolin held up one hand. “Don’t get me wrong. The world will be a better place if you die today. But if he kills you right away, this city may die with you.”

Tamas ran his fingers along the map, memorizing the streets of the city. “I walked into one of his traps twice now. I don’t intend to do it again. Do me a favor, though… don’t give this information to your men until about six o’clock.”

“Are you going to tell me how you plan on avoiding a trap?” Demasolin asked.

Tamas tapped the map absently. “I don’t think you need to know that. Remember. Six o’clock. I’m going to kill this bastard once and for all.”

The beatings lasted through the night.

They pummeled Taniel with cudgels and fists. He faded in and out of consciousness but was, mercifully, out for most of it. He could feel the cold air on his skin when they finally took him outside. Through bloody eyes he could tell that the sun barely touched the tips of the eastern mountains.

Dawn was here.

Ka-poel might already be dead.

Taniel’s feet dragged behind him as the Prielight Guards carried him through the Kez camp. A thousand voices reached his ears along with the sounds of an army preparing breakfast. Taniel wondered if any of them knew – or cared – who he was.

He was dropped unceremoniously on the ground. Taniel lay facedown, groaning into the dirt. His whole body felt numb and destroyed, smashed to a pulp by Prielight Guards. His body would be one giant bruise in a day or two. If he lived that long.

He felt along the inside of his mouth and wondered at the resiliency of his teeth. Was that Ka-poel’s sorcery at work? Keeping him from breaking bones? His ribs felt broken, though Taniel didn’t think he had the strength in him to check.

Did he?

Taniel opened his eyes. Men moved and worked all around him. A sea of legs and feet.

“One, two, pull! One, two, pull!”

The mantra was repeated again and again. What could they be doing?

He dragged his hand along through the dirt until he could see it. Moved a finger, then another. They were all still working. That was something, wasn’t it? Those cuts on his knuckles. Where had they come from?

Oh. Right.

Those were from Kresimir’s teeth.

Strong hands lifted Taniel to his feet. He swayed back, nearly falling. His arms were lifted, wrists bound together by strong cord.

“Make it tight,” someone said. “He’ll be up there a while.”

Up where?

Taniel’s arms were lifted above his head. He felt the rope between his wrists snag on something and the guards stepped away. Taniel’s legs gave out beneath him, but he didn’t fall.

“One, two, pull!”

Taniel’s whole body jerked as he was lifted from the ground by his wrists.

“One, two, pull!”

Panic caused Taniel to flail about with his legs, but there was nothing beneath him but air. He looked up.

He hung from a hook fastened to an immense beam being lifted perpendicular to the ground. Teams of men pulled on ropes to raise the beam until it pointed at the sky.

The vision of Julene, nailed to a beam in the middle of the Kez camp, her hands gone at the wrists, haunted his memory.

He vomited down the front of himself.

“One, two, pull!”

It took the workers some time to get the beam in place. Taniel’s back finally hit the wood and his feet scrambled for purchase on the beam. There was none to be had.

He was facing the Adran camp. In the early dawn light he could see soldiers gathering on the front lines, pointing and talking. A few officers were examining him through looking glasses. He closed his eyes, unable to bear looking back. Those men he’d thought to lead to victory would see him here now.

He had to warn them. What had Kresimir said last night? He planned to burn the army, and Mihali with it.

A rasping noise reached him. It was guttural and base, but it had a pattern to it. Slowly, Taniel realized someone was laughing.

“Two-Shot,” the voice said.

Taniel craned his neck.

There, not much farther than spitting distance to his left, was another immense beam. They must have moved it up closer to the lines during the night. And still hanging there, the seared stumps of her wrists crossed in some kind of sick entreaty, was Julene.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Two-Shot,” she said.

Taniel looked away from the Predeii.

“Sorry, is it my voice? They haven’t given me water in two months.” She stopped and cleared her throat. Another long, raspy laugh. “The problem with not being able to die is just that.” A cough, and then another laugh.

Taniel closed his eyes, hoping she would stop talking.

“You look good, Two-Shot,” Julene said. “I mean it. Look at me. Kresimir tortured me for weeks before he hung me up here. I’m curious why he didn’t do the same to you. Don’t worry. A couple of weeks and you’ll be good as new. Me, though. I’ll never heal. Kresimir made sure of that. I haven’t seen a mirror lately, but tell me, can you still see that charming scar on my face?”

Had she gone mad from hanging from the beam for so long, unable to die? Taniel’s arms were beginning to ache from the strain of holding his weight. They could only get worse as long as he was up here. He finally turned to look at Julene.

She was hideous. Most of her hair was gone. Her skin, which once looked young and supple, was now cracked like old leather. Her face had been particularly savaged – the tip of her nose cut off, most of her teeth gone. She grinned at Taniel, as if she knew what must be going through his mind.

There was madness in her eyes.