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

by McClellan, Brian

“We’ll do our best.”

  Tamas caught sight of a dark shape in the street. He tapped Sabon and guided his gaze in that direction. Several more shapes joined the first.

  “I’ll be back in a while,” Fingers said. The spy left the room without a sound, and a moment later joined the dark shapes in the street. Tamas thought he could make out the familiar apron uniforms of barbers. He shook his head.

  “I think I’m going to shave myself from now on,” he said quietly.

  “You and me alike,” Sabon said.

  “The local police?” Tamas asked.

  “They’ve been warned off tonight. They’ll leave us be, because they know they’ll have one less problem to deal with in the morning.”

  Tamas opened his third eye. In that vision, Fingers was a dim glow of color, standing out even through the walls of the house. He followed Fingers as he made his way into the front door of the house across the street and then up the stairs to the bedrooms.

  “Wait,” Tamas said. “That other spy, the one they’re going after. He’s a sorcerer. Stronger than a Knacked. A Privileged.”

  Sabon was silent for a moment. “Shit. Here, watch the windows.” He moved from his chair, feeling around for a moment, then pushed a rifle into Tamas’s hands.

  Tamas adjusted the rifle by feel alone. “Loaded and primed?”

  “Yes,” Sabon said.

  “It’ll make a hell of a racket,” Tamas said. “There won’t be any question of what happened here, not for anyone on these streets.”

  “Just in case,” Sabon said.

  Tamas sighted down his rifle, watching the windows of the front bedroom. He could see the glow of the Kez Privileged, lying there in bed, and he could sense Fingers standing in the door to the room. He thought he caught a glimpse of shadows moving in the darkness.

  Tamas ducked instinctively as a flash of sorcery lit up the window in his sights. The flash was followed by a muffled thump, barely audible, and then there was silence. Tamas peered out the window, rifle at the ready. He could see the Knacked and the Privileged by their glows. Fingers was in the staircase, flat on his belly, while the Kez Privileged knelt on the ground in the bedroom. Tamas could only guess there had been a razor to his throat—otherwise more sorcery would have followed. Fingers slowly climbed to his feet and entered the bedroom. Tamas lowered his rifle.

  A few minutes passed before dark figures emerged from the other house: the Barbers and their prisoners. They crossed the street, and Tamas heard the door downstairs open. He remained in his seat, watching the street for any sign of interested neighbors or overly curious passersby, while Sabon went to check on things. There were no such signs.

  Fingers returned a moment later. He held a candle in one hand. He didn’t look happy. “You didn’t warn us he was a Privileged.”

  “You should have seen for yourself,” Tamas said. “If you really have the Knack, you’d have the third sight as well. Damned sloppy.”

  “I can’t open it,” Fingers mumbled. “Leaves me with the runs for a week.”

  “That Privileged could have left you without a head,” Tamas said.

  Fingers harrumphed. “It was all show. Light and sound. Nothing real, though for a moment I thought the flesh was going to melt from my bones.”

  “Fright keeps you honest.” Tamas uncocked his rifle and leaned it against the wall. “You brought over the wife,” he said.

  “She woke up when he made the flash. He must have warded the room. Was awake the moment the Barbers were at his bedside.” He shook his head. “I’ve seen these fellows kill a man with his wife in his arms and take away his body, leaving her sleeping like a babe. If it wasn’t for the wards, it would have gone more smoothly.”

  Fingers was nervous that Tamas thought he’d botched the job, Tamas realized. “Well done,” Tamas said. “Let me know what your interrogation finds.”

  “You’re not coming?” Fingers looked surprised.

  “Despite what you may have heard, I don’t have a bloodlust for Privileged,” Tamas said.

  Fingers sniffed, as if disappointed. “I don’t think he’s going to say much. He looks like a tough one.”

  “Tell him he loses a hand in five minutes if he doesn’t talk. Tell him the other one in ten.”

  Fingers’s eyes grew wide. “That’s…”

  Tamas gave him a shallow smile. “OK, so maybe I have a slight bloodlust for sorcerers. I also know how to deal with them.”

  Fingers left the room. Tamas listened for screams, yet there were none. Wherever they were, they’d muffled the room well. Sabon came up after a minute.

  “Fingers looks ill,” he said.

  “I told him to take the hands of the Privileged if need be.”

  Sabon snorted. “That’s a dangerous precedent. Is that the policy we’re going to take with noncabal Privileged in Adro?”

  “Pit, no,” Tamas said. “This bastard is a Kez spy, though, and we need to work quickly.”

  Fingers came into the room not long after. His face was pale in the candlelight, his hands shaking a little. “He’s given up three names already.”

  Tamas felt a bit of trepidation. “Anyone on my council?”

  “No. He claims he never had direct dealings with anyone higher than himself. Just coded messages and intermediaries. He did give up the name of his wife.” He paused. “Push a man too hard, Field Marshal, and he’ll give up his own mother. There’s a reason we keep a limit on torture. They’ll say anything for the pain to end.”

  “It’s purely psychological,” Tamas said. “You didn’t actually cut off a hand, did you?” He smothered his disappointment at not having any clue to the traitor on his council.

  “No…”

  “Interrogate the wife. Find out what she knows. Hand them both over to my soldiers when you’re finished and they’ll deal with the executions. Any children?”

  “One,” Fingers said. “She’s at a girls’ boarding school in Novi.”

  “A neutral country,” Tamas mused. “They were prepared for this eventuality. Send a missive to her school mistress. Tell her to keep her at the school, indefinitely.”

  Fingers nodded shakily.

  “What word do we have about these spies?” Tamas asked. “These plants, like this one. How many do you think they are?”

  Fingers chewed on his pipe stem furiously. “You won’t like it.”

  “I don’t have to like it,” Tamas said. “I just need to know.”

  “Hundreds,” Fingers said. “Just from our first handful of encounters we’ve gotten dozens of names—good names, too, and not just ones spouted off under torture. People who check out as Kez spies, and hundreds more with a big question with their names. The Kez are in here deep. They’ve been planning this for decades.”

  Tamas closed his eyes. Not what he wanted to hear. There could be spies in his army, spies in the city and the countryside, in every building in Adopest. He already knew one of his council had betrayed him. How many more would? “Well done, Fingers,” Tamas said quietly. The spy waited a moment before he left, one eye fixed on Tamas the whole time.

  “I’ll have to double what I’m paying the Barbers,” Tamas said. “They have the manpower, if I have the money.”

  Sabon said, “It’s dangerous, depending too much on them.”

  “A risk I have to take. These spies. They could bring down everything we’ve worked for. We’ll double patrols and give the local police more authority. Kresimir, we might have to push back plans for the new government.”

  “We’ve always known it was a dodgy road we would have to walk. Just don’t forget about the people.”

  “Of course not. How goes the training?” he asked Sabon. “Pray, tell me some good news.”

  A weary smile crossed Sabon’s face. “Better than I expected. Andriya may be crazy, but the younger recruits like him. Vidaslav, as it turns out, has some talent for teaching. We’ve shown the ones with the least amount of talent how to find a powder mage and turned them around,
sending them out recruiting. There are already more candidates than I thought possible.”

  “How many?”

  “Thirteen so far with a decent amount of talent. Two of those with the capabilities to rival me. Unfortunately none on your level, or Taniel’s.”

  “Thirteen?” Tamas said. “You’re joking. It took me years to gather the powder cabal we have now.”

  “I wouldn’t believe it unless I saw it myself,” Sabon said. “Remember, there was a powder-mage cull less than a hundred and fifty years ago in Adro. Every man, woman, and child checked for any strength with powder and executed if discovered. Nowadays people hide it if they find themselves with the affinity. At least, they did. We’re trying to work out a system to seek out powder mages directly.”

  “You mean like the Privileged Dowsers?”

  Sabon nodded. “The royal cabal had more potent sorcery at their call than we do. And greater numbers. I’m sure we’ll work out something, though.”

  Tamas slapped him on the shoulder. “Good work, my friend. Keep me informed. I know you’re not happy about the assignment.”

  “There is one other thing I should ask you.” Sabon seemed to hesitate for a moment.

  “What is it?”

  Sabon spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “Until recently, Taniel and Vlora were meant to wed. I must ask you, did you put them together purposefully?”

  “What do you mean?” Tamas asked, though he had a pretty good idea where Sabon was heading.

  “Did you pair them in order for their children to be powder mages?”

  Tamas considered his response. It was opportune, certainly, and his encouraging them to be together was definitely not without ulterior motive. “The thought had crossed my mind.”

  “Not even the royal cabals resorted to such breeding,” Sabon said. It was obvious he disapproved.

  “They didn’t? Why do you think the king provided each male sorcerer with his own harem? Benevolence? No, Sabon, they most definitely bred for Privileged. It’s not common knowledge, but the Beadle alone had over a thousand children.”

  “Any Privileged?”

  “One,” Tamas said. “A younger member of the royal cabal. Didn’t even know who his father was.”

  Sabon’s mouth hung open in horror. “What happened to all those other children?”

  “Work camps, orphanages, the Mountainwatch.” Tamas shrugged. “Some were even slaughtered as babes. The royal cabal has never been a pleasant place. I will not let my powder cabal become like that, but yes, I intended for their children to be Marked. In my own studies, powder mages inherit hereditarily far more often than Privileged.”

  “How long have you been studying this?” Sabon asked.

  “Since long before we met.”

  Sabon regarded him with dark eyes. “Erika was a powder mage.”

  Tamas fought the snarl that crept onto his face. It was a fair enough assumption on Sabon’s part. “Don’t even think it,” Tamas said. His voice came out an angry growl despite his effort. “I loved my wife. I’d give anything to have her back.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “Taniel was not an experiment.”

  “Good.” He seemed satisfied with the answer. After a brief pause, “I was hoping after your recent adventure you’d recall me.”

  Tamas shook his head. “I’m sorry. I need you teaching new powder mages. I can take care of myself.”

  Tamas could hear Sabon grinding his teeth. “You’re a stubborn bastard, and it’s going to get you killed,” Sabon said. “They’ll send more than one Warden next time.”

  “Likely, but not yet. I’m going to get some sleep. Before you head back to your school, let someone know I want that spy beheaded and his hands sent back to Kez with his widow. I want Ipille to know his spies will start coming back in progressively smaller boxes unless he recalls them.”

  CHAPTER

  19

  They buried what they could gather of Darden beneath a small barrow of rock and ice. There were more buried, Gavril told them, farther up the trail: pilgrims who did not survive the journey to the summit, and monks who had fallen prey to winter or to sickness or to predators upon the mountain. He assured them Darden would be in good company.

  Taniel clenched a nub of charcoal between his fingers and began sketching Darden’s face in his book. The memory of how the man looked was already beginning to fade. Taniel just hadn’t known him long enough. He closed his eyes, trying to remember.

  The vision of Julene—Taniel knew for certain it was her now—bouncing and screaming her way down the rock face and out of sight haunted Taniel throughout the night. He couldn’t sleep, for each time he managed to fall asleep, he saw Julene’s body, or that of the cave lion, thrashing and angry before his mind’s eye, mocking him. How could he not have seen it? Her anger, her recklessness. At the very least he should have been watching for a double cross. He ended up sitting in the cave entrance, watching the sky above begin to lighten as the sun rose in the east, on the other side of the mountain.

  He’d disobeyed a direct order. What would Tamas do about it? What good could come of it? Tamas would just send another powder mage. Maybe he’d even come himself. He’d have Taniel court-martialed. Could Tamas have him executed? Taniel didn’t think even a man like Tamas could execute his own son. He hoped not, anyway.

  How would Taniel explain this to Tamas? What would they do when another powder mage came for them? Taniel kicked a piece of ice over the ledge. They’d deal with those problems when they came up.

  He heard ice crunch underfoot as Bo joined him. Taniel gave his friend a long look. Bo seemed as if he hadn’t slept well for weeks. His eyes were red, his face sunburned. He seemed to be constantly sweating, and he fingered the lapel of his coat nervously as he took a seat next to Taniel.

  Bo watched the stars fade as Taniel sketched a likeness of Darden, until Taniel heard the first cries of birds looking for a morning meal.

  “You’re getting quite good,” Bo said. “Looks just like him.”

  “I’m glad you think so,” Taniel said. “I was having trouble picturing him.” He tucked the bit of charcoal into a pouch and folded his sketchbook.

  “Tamas has a lot of gall sending you up here to kill me,” Bo said. His voice was pleasant, quiet. A feature many of his women found soothing, no doubt. “Don’t get me wrong,” he added. “I’m glad he did. Somebody else may have taken that shot. You could have chosen a better time, though.”

  “You were expecting me,” Taniel said. He found he wasn’t surprised. Bo tended to know a lot of things, even when he shouldn’t. Taniel blew on his hands to warm them.

  “A powder mage, eventually,” Bo said. “Actually, I expected Julene first. She’s the one I was preparing for.” He pointed down the trail, along the ledge of the mountain and the monastery far below. “I’ve been warding this whole trail for two weeks now. Ever since that inspector visited and gave me the message that she would try to summon Kresimir.” He fingered his lapel again, running a finger along the collar.

  “ ‘She’?”

  “Julene. That Predeii bitch.”

  “Predeii,” Taniel said. “That Privileged I tracked in Adopest said she was a Predeii.”

  Bo swallowed hard. “Two of ’em? Pit.”

  “What’s a Predeii?” Taniel said.

  “You don’t know?”

  “Would I ask if I did?”

  Bo frowned. “There’s a lot you find out in a royal cabal. Things only scholars remember. Secrets a thousand years old or more. I, uh… you said Tamas slaughtered the royal cabal, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  Bo looked up at the fading stars. “I suppose no one will come after me for spilling secrets, then.” He took a deep breath. “Kresimir didn’t come here on his own.”

  Taniel gave his friend a skeptical look. “I haven’t attended a sermon since I was a boy. Only peasants listen to that stuff these days.”

  “Peasants aren’t as dim as you think,” Bo said.
“All superstition has basis in fact.”

  “And you believe this superstition?” Taniel asked, looking down his nose at Bo.

  Bo took a deep breath. “There’s a difference between having faith in something you’ve never seen or experienced and knowing firsthand that it’s true.”

  “You’re saying you met Kresimir?”

  “No, I didn’t meet…” Bo sighed. “Just shut up and listen. They show you things in the royal cabal that have been passed on through the minds of sorcerers for millennia.”

  Taniel snorted. “Kresimir. All right. Assuming he is real, that was thousands of years ago.”

  “Oh, Kresimir was real. Whether you call him a god or a mighty sorcerer, every history from that time agrees that he was real. And it was fourteen hundred years ago, give or take. The exact timeline was lost in the Bleakening,” Bo said. “He was summoned. Brought here, maybe even forced into this world by the Predeii. Some think that he was even bent to their will.”

  “God or sorcerer, how could anyone force him to come to this world?”

  Bo fiddled with his collar. “Predeii are the predecessors of the Privileged. Powerful sorcerers that make today’s Privileged look like schoolchildren playing with fire. They were rulers in the days before Kresimir, and they sought a way to expand their power. They summoned Kresimir from”—he made a mystical gesture with one hand and shrugged—“and they bid him use his power to bring order to the Nine.”

  “The saints?” Taniel said.

  Bo gave a shake of his head. “No. Good thought, though. The saints—Adom, Novi, and the rest—they came later, when Kresimir was not up to the task anymore and needed to summon brothers and sisters to help him. Their shared his power and his wisdom, and when he left, so did they.”

  “But the Predeii remained?” Taniel asked. “They’d be thousands of years old.”

  “Or more,” Bo said. He shrugged again. “They discovered a way to keep from dying from age or disease, even before they summoned Kresimir. Sorcery was more potent back then. I don’t even know if anyone has the power to kill a Predeii now.”

  Taniel swallowed. He looked over the edge of the cliff, into the swirling clouds of nothingness below. “You mean she’s not dead?”