Powder Mage: The Autumn Republic Part 17

16.

Nila's entire body tingled.

It felt like stepping out of a springless carriage after going down a particularly long and b.u.mpy 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 could 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 pa.s.sed 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, s.h.i.+t, 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.

"Where are all the survivors? Where is the rest of the Wings' Fifth?" Nila hurried over to a man calling out for help, but by the time she reached him, his last breath had rattled from his throat. She backed away from the body.

"Over there," Adamat said, pointing to a small knot of soldiers, many of whom were leaning on their comrades for support. Officers circled the men, separating out the wounded, trying to get the healthy back into columns. Adamat pointed to another group, this one looking even more ragged and disorganized. "And over there. The Kez overwhelmed the entire Fifth before Adran reinforcements arrived. They'll be lucky if more than a thousand are able to still fight."

Three thousand wounded and dead. And that was just among the Wings. The number staggered Nila. That was the entire staff of the Eldaminse household a hundred times over.

Nila caught sight of the colonel of the Wings' Fifth and found herself glad that the woman had survived the battle. She still held her saber in one hand but had lost her hat, and she clutched her other hand to her thigh as she called out orders. Soldiers began to respond to their officers, and gradually the column began to re-form.

"What are they doing?" Nila asked. "Shouldn't they be helping the wounded?"

Adamat leaned wearily on his cane. "They'll round up any Kez prisoners and place a few guards, but everyone else needs to be ready in case of another attack. The battle is still far from decided." He peered toward the smoky southern horizon. "I think."

The idea of having all this slaughter and destruction happen again made Nila's stomach churn-and she'd been unconscious for most of the first fight. She struggled to keep down her breakfast. "What in Kresimir's name is that smell?"

"War," Adamat said.

"But... it's like cooked meat!"

Adamat raised his eyebrows at her. "I don't think you..."

Nila's gaze rested on the blackened ground off to the southwest. It was an enormous swath, with little more than ash and dirt, and-was that bone? She blinked slowly at the view, remembering her legs pumping beneath her as she ran toward the Kez troops. She recalled the heat of the fire, and the pain and pleasure of the power that had coursed through her before her world had gone dark.

The realization nearly knocked Nila off her feet. That smell of burned flesh had been caused by her. She grabbed Adamat by the elbow. "How many did I kill?"

"Nila, you saved many..."

"How many did I kill, Inspector?" she demanded. "How many?"

Adamat looked at her with pity, which somehow made it all the worse. "I can't be sure."

"Guess."

"You should let go, Nila," he said, his voice strained.

Nila looked down to find her knuckles white from squeezing Adamat's arm. She s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand back. "I'm sorry. Please, tell me how many I killed."

"Thirty-five hundred. Maybe more. Maybe less. It looked like you torched the better part of a brigade."

Nila bent over and heaved, emptying the contents of her stomach in one long retch. She heaved once more when she realized she had just vomited all over a dead man's legs. She felt Adamat's hand on her shoulder and let him help her up.

"I can't... I don't even..."

"Stay quiet for now," Adamat said. They started walking, and Nila had no sense of time or s.p.a.ce until she looked up to realize they'd left the battlefield and even the Wings' camp behind and were about a third of the way toward the Adran camp.

She dragged a sleeve across her face. "Where are we going?" she sniffed.

Adamat's eyes were fixed firmly on the ground as he walked, and it was several moments before he responded. "To see Field Marshal Tamas."

"We should go back and help."

"You don't need to see that right now," he said sternly.

She wanted to fight him. To pull away and run back to the Wings' camp to help with the dead and the wounded. She deserved to see and smell the results of her power. Was she a coward for not doing so?

"Why the field marshal?" Nila asked.

"Because I need to report to him, regardless of whether or not we win this battle."

"You could have left me behind. I'm not a child. I could help."

Adamat stopped and turned to her. She felt him grab her by the shoulders, and he waited until she finally looked up into his eyes. There was a sort of fatherly, stern caring there. It was painful. Couldn't he see what she was capable of? Didn't that terrify him?

It d.a.m.n well terrified her.

"Nila, once there's any sort of organization in the Wings' camp, they'll come looking for you. They'll either want you to get to the front and fight for them or they'll realize that you're not in full command of your powers and they'll try to control you. Either way, I couldn't leave you alone back there." Taking her by the arm, Adamat continued walking toward the Adran army.

Nila let herself be dragged along. She breathed in deep-the air was clearer here, between the armies, and the scent of sulfur was almost gone with a northerly wind. But that smell of charred flesh still hung in her nostrils, as if it had been painted on her upper lip.

Adamat produced papers from his jacket to show the Adran pickets, and they soon went around two companies of irregulars waiting for orders and climbed a steep hill to the command tent. Adamat showed his papers once more and asked to see Field Marshal Tamas. One of the guards ducked inside and returned a moment later, nodding them forward.

"Go on in, Inspector. Ma'am."

Nila followed Adamat inside, only just realizing what she was doing. This was Field Marshal Tamas! She had been his personal laundress for months, and even been courted by his bodyguard. She had seriously considered murdering the field marshal. There was no way they could know that, could they? What if Olem was here? How would she explain her presence?

She scrambled for some excuse to remain outside, but was ushered in before she could voice any.

It was with some relief that she found the tent devoid of both Field Marshal Tamas and Captain Olem. There were a half-dozen messengers standing at attention along one wall, and a large table laid out with maps, papers, and notes. The biggest map was covered with hundreds of small military models of fifty different sizes and shapes. A young woman in an Adran-blue uniform with black hair and a powder keg pinned to her breast stood over the table-a powder mage and, from the stripes on her shoulder, a captain.

A messenger pushed past Nila and saluted the powder mage. "Two companies of Kez cavalry have broken around the Seventeenth and are pus.h.i.+ng toward the Hundred and Second Artillery!"

The woman moved one of the models on the map and then scrambled through piles of notes on the table in front of her for several moments before finding one to her satisfaction. "Send the Seventy-Eighth Irregulars to sh.o.r.e up our eastern flank, and tell General Fylo to throw everything he has at the enemy's left. Those cavalry were the only thing keeping us from taking command of that hill."

The messenger was off like a shot. The woman shuffled several of the notes and then dropped into her seat with a shaky sigh. Her face was drawn and pale, and Nila thought she heard a few quiet curses.

"Captain Vlora, was it?" Adamat asked.

The powder mage gave a curt nod. "Inspector Adamat? The field marshal was hoping you'd turn up sometime today."

"I'm here to report," Adamat said. "Where is the field marshal?"

"He's not here," she responded rather crossly.

The prospect cheered Nila slightly, until she realized the implication. "Where is he?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Vlora peered at her. "You're Bo's apprentice? I take it we have you to thank for torching the Kez auxiliaries?"

"Yes." Nila tried to force a smile, but it felt as limp and cold as a dead fish. She let it slide off.

Vlora was already looking back at Adamat. "The field marshal is gone. He'll be back in a couple of days, if all goes well."

"But we were told..." Adamat started, looking somewhat confused. "I thought he was here."

"He was."

"But he's not now."

"Correct."

"But the battle. It looks like we're winning."

"I think we are," Vlora conceded, albeit hesitantly.

"If Field Marshal Tamas isn't here, who is in command? Who is giving orders?"

"Tamas is in command," Vlora said, gesturing at the table full of maps and notes. "He fought the entire battle yesterday, on paper, and then headed toward the mountains on personal business."

"You're joking," Adamat said.

"Not at all. And the field marshal was hoping you-both of you-would wait for his return."

CHAPTER.

17.

Taniel was more than a little surprised to find that Bo had not killed the rest of the Adran infantry.

Thirty-seven soldiers worked to free the rest of their dead and wounded from the results of the rockslide. A rather conspicuous pile of gleaming slag lay a few dozen feet from the bodies that had already been pulled from the rubble. Taniel thought he recognized air rifles, bayonets, and knives, all melted together by preternatural forces.

"You went easy on them," Taniel said.

"I asked very nicely," Bo responded.