The Crimson Campaign полностью

Controlling individuals, Mihali had said. Did Ka-poel control Taniel? He knew that she had protected him before, and he’d seen what she could do with those dolls of hers.

“And if he’s healed?” Taniel asked. “Will he end this war? Leave Adro alone?”

“I believe so. He’s not been well.”

“You believe so? Or you know so? He made a promise to destroy Adro.”

“A promise that will not be kept. I’ll see to it.” Mihali spread his pudgy hands, looking from Ka-poel to Taniel. “Please. Help me. Help my brother.”

Ka-poel pointed to her broken arm, and then to Mihali.

Mihali’s eyebrows went up. “Of course. I’ve been remiss.” He closed his eyes, and Ka-poel suddenly gasped.

Taniel lurched forward, putting his arm behind her back so that she wouldn’t fall. “What did you do to her?”

Ka-poel shrugged Taniel away from her and undid the sling around her arm. She flexed and moved it, nodding to herself. He looked at her face. The bruises were gone.

“I can heal your wounds as well,” Mihali said.

Taniel flinched away. “I’ll keep them, thank you.” Silently, Taniel called himself a fool. Why refuse the healing powers of a god? Was he afraid of Mihali’s sorcery? Or perhaps afraid of owing someone else? Abrax and Ricard has already done Taniel favors that would require years to pay off.

Taniel touched his fingers to the tender swelling on his face from the beatings given to him by Ket’s gendarmes. “I’ll keep it as a reminder.”

“I ask,” Mihali said, standing up, “that you consider my request. In exchange, I have a gift — freely given.”

Taniel was wary of any gift given by a god. After all, nothing was free. “What?”

Mihali removed a handkerchief and a knife from his pocket. He pressed one thumb against his knife, then into the handkerchief for a moment, and then handed it to Ka-poel.

His blood. The blood of a god. Taniel felt his heart beat a little faster. What could Ka-poel do with this? Could she control Mihali? Kill him?

Ka-poel tucked the handkerchief silently into her satchel, her face unreadable.

Mihali stepped away from them both and busied himself putting the remaining cornbread and eggs on a tin plate, which he handed to Ka-poel. He lifted his empty platter and gave a bow. “Please,” he said, “consider my request — my plea — for help.” He bowed low and then left.

Taniel took a shaky breath and looked down, only just realizing that he still held the letter regarding his house arrest. He was to be escorted to Adopest early in the morning. They’d assigned him eight provosts — four from the Wings of Adom, four from the Adran army.

There would be no fighting the Kez or killing their gods for Taniel.

Ka-poel reached out and touched Taniel’s chest. She thumped him several times above the heart.

“What?”

She pointed to him and then spread her hands, questioning. Then back at him.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at, girl,” he said, trying to quell his frustration.

She indicated his heart again and pointed emphatically.

“What do I want?”

A nod.

Taniel took a deep breath. “I want to kill something right now. I’m furious. I should be out there fighting. I was born to fight — born to protect Adro.”

She pointed at him again, then at the floor. What do you want now?

“I want to protect you.”

Ka-poel smiled then, and Taniel felt his heart jump. She leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his.

“I’m going after Kresimir’s blood,” Taniel said.

Mihali paused over an immense pot of soup, the ladle halfway to his lips.

“I see.”

“Ka-poel has agreed to subdue him, but she needs his blood. I’ll need help getting into the Kez camp.”

Mihali considered this for a few moments before taking a sip of his soup. “Mmm. That’s good. Needs a little more pepper, though.” He brought a jar of whole peppercorns from his apron and poured a measure into the palm of his hand. He ground his hands together, watching the pepper fall into the pot. He stirred the soup, then took another sip. “Perfect.”

“It can be hard to take you seriously sometimes,” Taniel said. “No. I misspoke. All of the time.”

Mihali chuckled, but Taniel hadn’t been making a joke.

“The Kez camp,” Taniel urged.

“I can conceal you so that you walk right through the Kez sentries,” Mihali said, moving to a wide iron grill in the middle of the cooking yard. He began flipping turkey legs with practiced speed.

Taniel ducked as he heard the sound of a shout behind him. A glance over his shoulder told him it wasn’t directed at him. Walking through the Adran camp was dangerous, even in civilian clothes with a tricorn hat pulled down to conceal his face. He was supposed to be under guard by the provosts right now.

“They won’t notice you here, either. Have a turkey leg.” Mihali picked up a leg with his tongs and handed it to Taniel.

“That looks hot.”

“Nonsense. A chef would never give a guest something that would burn them.”