“It’s only a boy!” Nila said before she could stop herself. Could they have caught the wrong person? Just some innocent messenger, or maybe even a drummer boy who’d decided to run away from the camp?
Bo gave her a dirty look and flipped the boy onto his back. Hands and legs bound by invisible sorcery, the boy thrashed on the ground like an earthbound fish. He couldn’t have been more than twelve, with a narrow nose and long brown hair tied back behind his head. He wore a plain black uniform with matching kneesocks, boots, and jacket.
Bo stood up, one finger pointed at the boy as if he were pinning a fly to the ground beneath him, and seemed content to let the boy tire himself out for several minutes.
Nila stepped up beside Bo. “He’s just a boy,” she whispered in his ear.
“I know that.”
“Are you going to torture him?”
“If I must.”
“You were a boy once too.”
“And I had to learn when to grow up.”
The coldness in his words shocked her. “Let me at him first.”
He blinked at her several times before gesturing to the boy magnanimously. “Be my guest.”
“Give me an extra pair of gloves.”
Pulling on the gloves, she knelt next to the boy and held them up to Bo’s light. “Do you know what these are?”
The boy nodded fearfully.
“You’ve the unfortunate luck to fall into the hands of two Privileged. Answer our questions truthfully and we’ll let you go. Lie to us, and we’ll take turns scouring the flesh from your bones so that there is nothing left of you but a charred shell come morning. I can make certain that no one will hear your screams.” She leaned in close to his face. “And no one will help you. Do you understand?”
The boy’s mouth worked, but no sound came forth.
Nila glanced over her shoulder at Bo. “Sorry,” Bo muttered. One finger twitched.
“Let’s try that again,” Nila said. “Do you understand?”
“Yes!” the boy gasped. “I do!”
“Good. What is your name?”
“Folkrot.”
“Unfortunate name,” Bo muttered just loud enough for Nila to hear.
She compressed her lips in a hard line to stifle a laugh. “What are you doing out here?”
“I’ve run off from my unit.” The words had barely left his mouth when Bo’s fingers twitched and Folkrot gave a terrified squeal. “I’m sorry! I mean, I’m delivering a message.”
Nila tried to keep her composure. Could Bo really sense if he was lying? Or was he testing the boy? “For whom?” she asked.
“General Hilanska.”
“Where were you taking it?”
“To the Kez lines. I’m meant to be there by morning.”
“And what kind of message are you delivering?”
“I don’t know! It’s a sealed letter. I’m not allowed to open it.” Another squeal, and Folkrot writhed from some unseen twisting of sorcery. “I swear to you it’s true!”
Nila slapped Bo’s leg and the boy instantly stopped moving. “Where is the letter?”
“Under my shirt.”
Nila bent forward and undid the front of the boy’s jacket, then lifted his shirt. Strapped to his white belly just below his ribs was a leather satchel. She removed it and handed it to Bo.
Bo stepped away from her and the boy and opened the letter. He stared at it for several minutes before beckoning Nila over.
“It’s coded,” Bo said. “Damn it. It doesn’t help us.” He walked around in a circle for a moment before stopping. “The Wings of Adom employ several code breakers. They’ve fought in just about every country in the world. Their camp isn’t far. We can get there by late morning if we walk all night.”
Nila didn’t like the idea at all. She was already wet, tired, dirty, and she’d twisted her ankle. A seven-mile walk in the dark sounded horrible. “And the boy?”
“I have to kill him,” Bo said.
“No!”
“We have no choice. We can’t let him go. He’ll run back to Hilanska and tell him the letter was taken. I’ll make it quick.”
“You bloody animal! I will not let you do that.”
“And how will you stop me?” There was a challenge in Bo’s voice.
Nila felt her hands stiffen and thought of the blue flame that had danced over her fingers. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t use sorcery against Bo. He would toss her aside like garbage. “He’s an innocent. I’ll make you kill me first.”
A sour look crossed Bo’s face and he looked from her to the boy as if considering how best to move her out of the way.
“We can take him with us to the Wings’ camp and hand him over to them,” Nila said. “We won’t have to kill him and he won’t be reporting to anyone.”
“I don’t like having a tagalong.”
“You let me bring Jakob.”
“Not here, I didn’t. We left him with Adamat’s family so he wouldn’t be a burden.”
“And we’ll only have this boy until we reach the Wings’ camp. Do you want more blood on your hands?”
Bo stared at his gloves for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Bring him. But we lose him at the Wings’ camp.”
Chapter 8
It was around seven o’clock in the morning, the tall grass still bathed in dew, when Adamat, Oldrich, and their fifteen soldiers trekked into the Wings of Adom mercenary camp.
The mercenaries were camped around a town called Billishire, not more than thirty miles from the edge of the Black Tar Forest. Their standard of a saint’s halo with gold wings on a red backdrop waved from the steeple of the town’s only church, and the entire camp had been fortified by a hastily built palisade wall and a ditch six feet deep.
Adamat forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, exhaustion weighing him down as the night retreated. He went straight for the first sentry he saw and came up short, letting the man eye him suspiciously for several moments before speaking.
“Inspector Adamat here to see Brigadier Abrax,” he said.
The sentry was a middle-aged man with a fixed bayonet. His red-and-white uniform was clean and pressed, and the gold trim glittered in the early light.
“I’ve no orders regarding you,” the sentry said. He eyed the small troop of soldiers and their trail through the grass that led off into the distance as if not quite sure what to make of them.
“I’m here on behalf of Field Marshal Tamas.”
The sentry’s skepticism deepened. “The field marshal is dead.”
“Is he now?” Adamat asked, giving the man his very best deadpan expression of annoyance. He imagined that it looked like a tired squint. “We’ve walked all night and I have urgent news for the brigadier. I have a letter of introduction from Colonel Etan of the Twelfth Grenadiers of the Adran army.”
The sentry regarded Adamat another moment before looking over Oldrich and his men. The soldiers had shed their grenadier disguises but kept the rifles, and despite not having slept for twenty-four hours, they looked sharp enough to play the part.
“I better escort you in, then,” the sentry said.
For the second time in as many days, Adamat was led into the heart of a military camp. They were handed off to another sentry, and then to a major’s adjutant – a young woman with blond hair and an easy smile – who took them to the church that Adamat had spotted earlier in the center of the town.
The camp was just beginning to stir, cookpots going over the fires and camp laundresses finishing their night’s work. The stillness gradually gave way to the bustle of camp life as the men crawled from their beds.
Adamat caught the sleeve of the adjutant just before they reached the church. “I’m the only one who needs to see the brigadier,” he said. “Is there any chance you could show some hospitality to my escort?”
The adjutant gave a quick nod and beckoned to Oldrich. “Take your men over to the Willow Inn, just past that house there. It serves as the officers’ mess in the evenings, but they’ll be happy to give you breakfast. Tell them that Brigadier Abrax will cover the tab.”