Part 5 (1/2)

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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 a.s.sume 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 distinguis.h.i.+ng 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. ”d.a.m.ned 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 d.a.m.ned soldiers and you know it,” Adamat said. ”I appreciate your help, but get out of my d.a.m.ned face. I'm on a.s.signment from Field Marshal Tamas himself.”

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