“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.
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.