The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic

by McClellan, Brian

  Taniel took off after her, jamming the pistol into his belt and drawing his spare. She rounded the edge of the library, and Taniel skidded to a halt. She could be waiting just around the corner. Her sorcery would tear him apart before he could fire a shot. Taniel looked around. His eyes fell on the tower back behind the administration building.

  The bell tower was the highest point on the campus. He backtracked, heading through the administration building and across a botanical garden. The garden was enclosed, giant sheets of glass held together in a latticework of iron above. He nearly fell into the pond trying to leap it, regained his footing, and headed for the door to the bell tower.

  He took the stairs of the tower two at a time. He paused in a window about halfway up and surveyed the quad. He guessed he was five stories above the ground. No sign of the Privileged. He went up to the next window and looked. There. She was heading across the quad between the museum and a great galleried building with large letters proclaiming it to be Banasher’s Hall.

  Taniel swung his rifle from his shoulder. He closed his eyes, breathing the calm of a powder trance, and refocused. When he opened them again, he could see her as if she were standing five paces away. She was a handsome woman, with sharp features and a mole above one brow. She walked briskly, still wearing her academic gown. She’d put on her Privileged’s gloves. She glanced over her shoulder once.

  “Rozalia!” The call echoed across the quad.

  Taniel started. The Privileged jumped too, a wild look in her eyes. Taniel settled his finger on the trigger.

  Sorcery ripped across his vision. Chunks of sod flew in the air, followed by lines of fire erupting from the ground all around the Privileged. Taniel blinked spots from his eyes.

  Dirt rained down, obscuring half the quad. Julene walked toward the area, gloved hands held high. She shrieked laughter.

  Taniel caught a glimpse of an academic robe. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and snapped off a shot. The bullet ricocheted inches from the Privileged’s head, cracking against an invisible shield with a sound like a spoon tapping glass. Taniel swore.

  A lightning bolt slammed into Julene. She slid backward, her feet dragging turf. She somehow kept upright, hands raised above her head. A crackle of energy, and the lightning bolt returned to the Privileged. The thunder knocked Taniel backward.

  Taniel rolled a few steps before arresting his fall. He retrieved his rifle and dropped a bullet down the barrel, then drew a powder charge from his pack and crushed it between his fingers. He returned to the window, leveled his rifle, and fired.

  The Privileged spun about, blood spurting from her shoulder. She caught herself on knees and one hand and looked up toward Taniel’s bell tower.

  “Oh, pit.”

  She made an angled chopping motion with one hand.

  Taniel squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing. He cracked one eyelid. The world was moving. From beneath him, he heard the terrible grinding sound of stone on stone.

  Taniel’s heart leapt into his throat. The tower was falling. Clutching his rifle, he leapt from the window.

  He opened his mouth, but found he had no breath to scream. The glass panels of the botanical garden rushed to meet him. His feet hit first, legs crumpling beneath him, and then the glass shattered. He fell the last twenty feet and landed on his shoulder. He rolled onto his back and gasped. Shards of glass as big as a man lay everywhere around him. He was lucky none had landed on him.

  Powder mages were stronger in a trance. They could withstand far more damage than a regular person, and ignore far more pain. Yet a fall like that should have killed him, or at least broken bones.

  The ground rumbled. Taniel felt himself rolled by the shock wave as the entire top half of the bell tower slammed into the building beneath it. Stone ground together, wood splintered. Taniel threw his hands over his head.

  When he looked up, the dust was settling. He slowly climbed to his feet.

  His rifle lay twenty feet away. He stumbled toward it, stepping over rubble and broken glass. His body ached, but nothing was broken. He checked his kit for his sketchbook. It was still there. He retrieved his rifle. “You and I are surviving far too much these days.”

  Another thunderclap made him stagger. He limped out of the garden and into an adjoining building, avoiding the debris from the tower. He found a hall where he could look out onto the quad. The end of the hall had been destroyed—the tower had landed on the administrator’s office. He hoped no one had been inside.

  He threw his back to the wall just beneath the window and listened. Another thunderclap. Someone was laughing. Julene. He gritted his teeth at the eerie sound, reloaded his rifle, and stood up.

  The quad had been destroyed. Ground was torn up everywhere, more dirt than a hundred men could move with shovels in a day, piled up as if scooped from the ground by a god’s hand and then patted into hills. As he watched, a thin line of fire sprayed from beyond one of the mounds and tore through Banasher’s Hall across the way. Taniel saw faces watching the battle from windows. They were gone in an instant, their final looks of horror frozen in Taniel’s mind as the entire façade of the building crumbled.

  Taniel dropped back down behind the wall and took a deep breath. This was no normal fight. No, he’d seen Privileged fight before, on the battlefields in Fatrasta. They tossed fireballs and ice and lightning. But nothing like this. Both Julene and this other Privileged were using forces far beyond Taniel’s comprehension. By the power they showed, they both should have been heads of a royal cabal.

  Taniel wondered where Ka-poel was. His head rang after another thunderclap, and his thoughts seemed distant. Hadn’t he sent her off after the Privileged? He hoped she hadn’t done anything stupid. He hoped she was safe.

  He peeked out once more. He could see the Privileged. She stood on the top steps of a building kitty-corner to his own. The museum, he thought. He slowly lifted his rifle.

  The Privileged’s fingers danced. She thrust one hand outward, fingers splayed, toward the center of the quad. That thin fire erupted from her palm. Julene was lifted up from behind the newly formed hills and thrown bodily into the remnants of Banasher’s Hall. Stone folded around her as she hit, the rest of the building crumpling like a house of paper.

  The Privileged wiped her hands on her academic gown and went inside the museum.

  Taniel leapt to his feet. He was halfway down the hall before he bothered to question himself. What was he doing? These were forces above his ability to fight. No sense in going after her. What could he possibly do?

  He thought of the destruction on the quad. Privileged got tired. Privileged couldn’t go on forever. She couldn’t have much left in her.

  The building he had taken shelter in was attached to the museum by a narrow, raised stone walkway. Taniel stole a glance, then dashed down the walkway and leapt through a door. He was in a short hall, practically a custodian’s closet with mops and brooms. Another door, this one open, led to the main hall. He caught sight of galleries filled with ancient relics: mummified corpses, the bones of ancient beasts, pottery from some prehistoric civilization, and stones sparkling with gems. He heard the brisk sound of footsteps on marble.

  The Privileged marched through the main gallery. Her shoulder still bled from Taniel’s only solid shot. She glanced to either side. She didn’t seem to see Taniel. She definitely didn’t see the movement of the magebreaker above her.

  Gothen leapt the banister of a gallery above and landed on the marble not five feet from her. He came up, face alight with victory, a small sword in his hand.

  Taniel gave a yell. Yes! He jumped from cover. They had her now. She couldn’t…

  The Privileged threw her arms wide. The academic gown fluttered, then began to glow. Gothen’s eyes grew wide.

  Taniel halted. He took one step back as Gothen began to shimmer. Taniel tried to yell for the man to finish the job.

  The magebreaker fell to his knees. He opened his mouth in a scream. No sound came out, and his mou
th kept opening farther. His jaw fell, and then the rest of him began to drop like a wax figure melting before a blazing fire. His clothes burned off, his sword dripping to the floor as molten steel. His body dissolved into a puddle at the Privileged’s feet.

  Taniel leapt behind a pillar. He wondered what good he could possibly do, even as he felt for more powder. He spilled powder all over his hand, brought it up to his nose and snorted. He looked down. There was blood on his hand. It was dripping from his nose. He felt the calm of the powder trance steady his hands.

  He gritted his teeth and slid the ring bayonet from his belt. He fitted it over the end of his rifle. His hands began to shake again almost immediately. He double-checked his pistols to be sure they were loaded, and prepared to leap to his feet.

  Taniel felt something brush his head.

  The Privileged stood beside him. She had one finger pressed against his head.

  He let out a trembling sigh. “Do it,” he said.

  This close, he saw that she was tired. Her hair was soaked with perspiration. The crow’s-feet in the corners of her bloodshot eyes were deep, lines of exhaustion tugging at her face.

  “I want you to stop following me,” she said.

  “You killed my friends.”

  “The powder mages at Skyline? That was a mistake. No. Not a mistake. I’d have killed them all if I’d have arrived in time to stop Tamas and his foolish coup. I was only there to warn the royal cabal, but I was too late. When I saw that it was finished, I just wanted to be gone.”

  “Who the pit are you?”

  “My name is Rozalia.”

  “What are you?”

  She let out a long sigh. “I’m one of the few remaining Predeii. Or I used to be. I’m not in very good shape these days.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  “You’re just a foolish boy. You’re all just foolish boys. Privileged and powder mages. None of you know a thing.”

  “Then kill me.”

  “If I do that, your father will turn out every one of his powder mages. I’ll never be able to rest again.”

  Taniel snorted. So she knew who he was.

  Rozalia said, “Tell your savage sorceress to stand down. I don’t want to fight her.”

  “Pole?” Taniel looked around. No sign of her. “Get out of here,” he called. He thought he caught a glimpse of red hair behind one of the display cases.

  “Let me leave in peace,” Rozalia said, “and I’ll leave the country tonight. I swear it. I’m done here.”

  “As easy as that?” Taniel’s mind raced. Julene had to be dead after being thrown through an entire building. Gothen was a puddle on the floor. What threat could he possibly be to her? Was she that scared of his father?

  Taniel caught Rozalia’s nervous glance toward Ka-poel.

  She was scared of Ka-poel? Pole was only a girl.

  “Simple as that,” Rozalia said. “I’m leaving this place. Your father has kicked a hornet’s nest and I intend to be gone before the hornets arrive.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Rozalia shook her head. “You really don’t know, do you? You’re playing with something dangerous—no, more than dangerous. Reckless. But it’s too late now. There’s no chance to restore the monarchy, to undo the damage. Westeven understood, but you others are blind.”

  “You’re mad.”

  “Ask Privileged Borbador, if you don’t believe me. He’s the last of the royal cabal. He’ll tell you the truth.”

  “I will.”

  Rozalia lowered her hand. Taniel got to his feet.

  “I can’t guarantee that Tamas won’t send someone else after you. But to the pit with this. I’m done.”

  “I’ll be on a ship to somewhere far from the Nine within a week,” Rozalia said. “Beyond his reach. Besides, I’ll be the least of his worries.” She turned away.

  Taniel kept a wary eye on her as she headed toward the front door of the museum.

  “Wait!” He hurried to her side and opened the door. He tried to avoid looking at what was left of Gothen as he passed it.

  There were a dozen soldiers within sight. Their rifles were bayoneted and aimed.

  “Stand down,” Taniel said. They stared at him. “Stand down, damn it, or we’re all dead men!”

  Rifles slowly lowered. Rozalia walked down the steps as if she were a queen with an honor guard. She passed them all and headed toward the front gate of the university. She paused twenty or thirty feet from Taniel and turned back toward him. “Beware Julene,” she said before continuing on.

  It was at least an hour later when Taniel caught sight of Julene heading toward him across the quad. This was a different quad, undisturbed, in a quiet corner of the campus. Ka-poel sat cross-legged beside him. He rested with his head against the wall, his hand on his sketchbook. He’d begun drawing Gothen. The man had been brave, and mercenary or not, he deserved to be remembered by someone. Taniel’s head hurt. His body hurt. And the person coming toward him shouldn’t be alive.

  Julene looked like she’s been trampled by a herd of warhorses. Her clothing was burned and torn, indecent parts of her bared to the world, though she didn’t seem to care a wit. She strode up to Taniel and paused above him, hands on her hips.

  “Where is Gothen?”

  “Melted.”

  She blanched at this, but recovered quickly enough. “Captain Ajucare said you let her go.”

  Taniel nodded. “She’s leaving the country.”

  Julene bent over, her face not a hand’s distance from Taniel’s.

  “You let that bitch go!” She raised one gloved hand.

  Taniel didn’t even remember drawing his pistol. One second his hands were in his lap, folded, the next he held a pistol, the end of the barrel pressing into the soft spot where Julene’s jaw and neck met. Her eyes went wide.

  “Go away,” he said.

  CHAPTER

  14

  The Lighthouse of Gostaun had been dated by most historians back to the Time of Kresimir. Some claimed that it was older still, and Tamas wouldn’t have been surprised. It was certainly the oldest building in Adopest. The stone was carved by the wind, its granite blocks pitted and scored by centuries of exposure to the elements, mercilessly whipped by every type of foul weather to come off the Adsea.

  Tamas stood on the balcony of the lantern room, his hands clutching the stone railing. Something was wrong. The royalists were scattered, the granaries opened to the public. Already they had begun reconstruction efforts in the city, employing thousands to clear rubble from the streets and rebuild tenements. He should be concentrating completely on the approaching Kez ambassadors, yet he could not keep from looking to the southwest.

  South Pike Mountain smoked. It began as a black sliver on the horizon the day of the earthquake two weeks ago. Since then it had grown tenfold. Great billowing clouds of gray and ebony rose from the mountaintop, spreading as they gained height and blowing off over the Adsea. Historians said that the last time South Pike had erupted had been when Kresimir first set foot upon the holy mountain. They said that all of Kez had been covered in ash, that lava had destroyed hundreds of villages in Adro.

  Words like “omen” and “bad tidings” were being spoken by men far too educated to take such things seriously.

  He turned away from the distant mountain and looked south. The lighthouse itself was no more than four stories, but it stood on a bluff that put it well above most other buildings in Adopest. A side of the hill had given way during the earthquake, revealing the foundation of the lighthouse but sparing the structure itself. Beneath him, artillery batteries flanked the docks. Tamas didn’t think those cannons had ever been fired. They were mostly for show, a remnant of older traditions, not unlike the Mountainwatch itself. In its long history, the Nine had come close to war countless times, but not since the Bleakening had there been actual bloodshed. Off in the distance a Kez galley floated at anchor, flags flying high.

  “Have those batteries tested tomorr
ow,” Tamas said. “We might have need of them soon.”

  “Yes, sir,” Olem said. Olem and Sabon stood at his shoulders, bearing his quiet reflection with patience. A full honor guard waited down on the beach for the Kez delegation. Servants rushed around the beach, making last-minute preparations to a welcoming repast for the visiting dignitaries. Food was brought out, parasols and open tents staked in the sand, liveried men trying to keep them from blowing away with the wind coming in off the Adsea.

  Andriya and Vlora were hidden at either end of the beach, eyes sharp for Privileged, rifles loaded. Tamas was taking no chances with this delegation, and the wrenching feeling deep in his gut told him he was right. There were Privileged with them, his third eye had revealed as much—though at this distance it was impossible to sense how many or how strong.

  A longboat was making its way from the galley to the shore. Tamas put a looking glass to his eye and counted two dozen men. There were Wardens among them, easy to pick out for their size and their hunched, misshaped shoulders and arms.

  “Ipille dares to send Wardens,” Tamas growled. “I’m tempted to blow that boat out of the water right now.”

  “Of course he dares,” Sabon said. “He’s bloody king of the Kez.” Sabon coughed into his hand. “The Privileged with them likely feels the same way about you as you do of him. He knows you’ll have powder mages on the beach.”

  “My Marked aren’t godless, sorcery-spawned killers.” Only the Kez had figured out how to break a man’s spirit and twist his body to create a Warden. Every other royal cabal in the Nine blanched at experimenting with human beings.

  Sabon seemed amused by this. “What scares you more: a man who’s next to impossible to kill, or a man who can kill you at a league’s distance with a rifle?”

  “A Warden or a powder mage? I’m not frightened of either. Wardens disgust me.” He spit on the lighthouse stones. “What’s gotten into you today? You’ve been philosophical enough lately to drive a man to tears.”