Nila came to a stop. She was about fifty yards in front of the Wings’ lines and the enemy advanced toward her, churning forward like a machine. She could hear the calls of their sergeants and the thump-thump of their march in time with the drums.
“Nila!” Adamat snatched her by the arm and pulled her back toward the Wings’ lines. “We have to go.”
She shook him off, a terrible weight settling in her stomach. It was too late. The Kez were less than a hundred yards off. The Wings would open fire soon, regardless of her presence. She and Adamat would be cut down by the barrage. She’d gotten both of them killed.
“Step back, Inspector,” she said. She dropped her skirt and moved forward a couple of paces. She tried to open her body to the Else, the way Bo had showed her, to make the flow of the sorcery come smoothly. Her hands trembled fiercely as she raised them both, with her left hand pointed toward the Kez brigade and her right hand raised above her head. It struck her how theatrical the pose was, and that it was completely unnecessary.
Bo would have approved.
She brushed her thumb across her forefinger and willed the Else to flood the world at her command.
Nothing happened.
She had done it wrong. Her hands shook uncontrollably now. It would be impossible to make the proper connection. Her body had betrayed her, and now she and Adamat would die for it.
Her breath was suddenly squeezed from her, as if she’d been stuck through the stomach and lungs with a lance. A gasp tore itself from her lips and she fought against the dizziness that followed, and when she thought the pain had become unbearable, fire suddenly showered the world.
It spread out from her in a cone like a wave of pestilence, leaving nothing but cinders in its wake. She watched it spread toward the enemy lines and suddenly, without warning, blackness claimed her.
Adamat dashed forward just in time to catch Nila as she fell.
He watched, stunned, as the wall of flame rolled toward, and then over, the Kez brigade. The screams reached him a moment later, but by the time the flame had washed over the advance elements of the Kez infantry, they had already been silenced. Charred skeletons decorated the landscape, twisted horribly from the heat. When the flames finally died, over three-quarters of the brigade had been reduced to ash.
Adamat pulled his gaze away from the spectacle and lifted Nila in both arms. She was a small woman, and were he ten years younger, it would have been easy enough to hurry back to the Wings’ lines. As it was, he struggled to trudge back with his burden, feeling every old ache and wound as he did.
Several infantry dashed out to help him get over the earthen barricades. One of them took Nila from him.
“Get her as far away from the fighting as you can,” Adamat said, following the soldier back into the camp. They hurried through the tents until they reached the eastern edge of the camp, closest to the Adran lines, and the soldier lay Nila on the ground and sprinted back for the front.
Adamat held a hand over the girl’s mouth, and then put a finger to her neck. It took him a few moments, but he was able to find a pulse—albeit a weak one.
He ransacked a nearby soldier’s tent for a sleeping pad and blankets and made the girl comfortable. He didn’t want to smother her, but it might be a good idea to conceal her, just in case the Kez broke through the enemy lines. Once he’d finished with that, he stole an officer’s chair and climbed on top of it to try to get a view of the battle.
A perpetual cloud of powder smoke made it impossible to see anything in the field to the south. The Adran artillery thumped away without rest, and their irregulars were moving into position. It couldn’t be going all that well if they needed their irregulars already. It looked as though several companies of Adran infantry had broken away from the front closest to the Wings and were marching double-time to reinforce the Wings’ camp.
Adamat was considering Nila’s unconscious body, wondering whether he’d have the strength to carry her all the way to the Adran lines and—hopefully—safety, when he turned to the west where Nila had scorched the earth with her sorcery.
The remnants of the brigade she had burned had turned tail and fled without hesitation. From where he was, he could still see them running, and it looked like their own officers were shooting them to try to turn them back.
Good for morale, Adamat imagined.
The Second Brigade was certainly wavering. Their advance had slowed to a crawl and they seemed hesitant to move across the roasted remains of their comrades.
Immense figures—twisted hulks of muscle swathed in black—burst from the Kez lines and raced across the charred plains toward the Wings’ infantry. They brandished pistols and forearm-sized knives and they beckoned to the auxiliaries behind them to follow. Wardens, at least twenty of them. They’d tear apart the green Wings infantry all by themselves.
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.
CHAPTER
16
Nila’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 co
uld 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.