“Are we being followed?” Tamas asked, his voice as casual as he could make it.
“You know,” Nikslaus said, ignoring Tamas’s question and glancing out the window again, “many in the royal court are happy about your coup.”
“I’m sure,” Tamas said. “If you take Adro, you’ll split the land we confiscated from the nobility.”
“Confiscated?” Nikslaus said. “Stole. Land and possessions will return to any living relations of the nobility. Titles will be restored. There will be a tax, but a hand of brotherhood must be extended to the ravished nobility.”
“So Ipille is not as big a fool as I thought,” Tamas said. “Nor greedy.”
Nikslaus looked for a moment as if he’d strike Tamas. He seemed to think better of it, simply raising his nose. “What mistake of breeding gave you such disrespect for your betters? Such disdain for the God-chosen king?”
“A god didn’t choose Ipille,” Tamas snorted. “Or that god is a fool.”
“I draw the line at blasphemy,” Nikslaus said. “This conversation is over.”
The day drew on, morning giving way to afternoon and the carriage grew very warm. Tamas loosened the collar on his sweat-stained riding shirt. His riding coat had been discarded for an inconspicuous brown overcoat. It was hot and close in the tight quarters, and he wished Nikslaus would open the window. The Privileged and the Warden alike seemed unaffected.
He could tell when they crossed the canal. The bridge was stone on steel over a long, tall span, and the wagon wheels rolled over easily. They were getting close to the harbor. He could smell it.
Nikslaus kept glancing out the window. Tamas wondered what Nikslaus sensed with his sorcery. Was Sabon on their trail? Or was Nikslaus simply nervous about their proximity to the city garrison? Tamas took a deep breath and studied Nikslaus. Nervous? Yes. Near to panic? No, not even close. And panic he would, if he thought any of the powder cabal were getting close.
Tamas listened to the sounds outside the carriage, trying to place their location. Somewhere near the docks and the canal. If they had taken the Roan Bridge, they were very close indeed. They could take a smuggler boat out of any of the pier warehouses. Nikslaus wouldn’t wait for anything fancy. He’d want to be off with his prize as quickly as possible.
The carriage rolled to a stop. Nikslaus lifted the curtain and smiled at what he saw. Tamas’s heart fell. They were here.
Tamas didn’t know which startled him more: the explosion, or the screaming horses that followed it. The whole carriage rocked, slamming Tamas against his chains. He bit his tongue against a scream as his weight—and the weight of the Warden—threw his bad leg against the side of the carriage.
Nikslaus kicked open the door. “Kill him if they take me,” he told the Warden as he leapt from the carriage. The echo of sorcery clapped the side of the carriage, shaking it more than the explosion had.
Tamas shared a glance with the Warden. The Warden positioned himself in Nikslaus’s seat, drawing a knife.
More explosions followed. People screamed. Women and children’s voices were mixed in. Tamas felt ill. People were dying out there. Bystanders, caught out on their weekend errands by a crossfire made in the pit. A volley of gunfire erupted, followed by the nearly inaudible pops of the Wardens returning fire with air rifles. A bullet shattered the window and left a hole in the other side of the carriage, passing right between Tamas and the Warden. The Warden’s eyes grew just a little bit wider.
“Clear the way!” Tamas heard the driver yell. “We’ll make a run for it.”
Tamas gritted his teeth. He wanted to strike, to reach out and wrestle the knife from the Warden’s hands. He’d have lost without powder, but at least he’d have done something. With both hands and legs chained and his magery gone, he could do nothing but sit and listen, grimacing when sorcery or explosions rocked the carriage.
They began to move suddenly. Whatever obstacle had obstructed the road—probably a burning carriage, one filled with Wardens—was now gone. The driver whipped the horses into a frenzy, galloping down the street to the sound of yells. Gunfire and sorcery fell away behind them. The carriage rocked violently. The Warden held on to the sides with both hands, steadying himself without expression. Tamas jolted back and forth, unable to do the same in his chains, and listened to his own whimpers every time his leg jolted.
The Warden watched out the window. “Almost there,” he said. He produced a key, and despite the violent thrashing of the carriage, managed to unlock Tamas’s chains. He left the wrist and leg irons on. He brandished the knife, and said in heavily accented Adran, “You give me any trouble and I’ll bury this in your chest.”
The carriage rolled to a stop. The driver leapt from his post, thumping to the ground outside, and pulled the door open. The Warden turned to get out and froze.
It took just a split second for the Warden to turn on Tamas, knife at the ready. Tamas caught the thrust between his wrists and used the leverage of his irons to twist the blade away. Then he was on his back on the carriage bench, lights swimming before his eyes, his ears ringing. He barely even registered the pain in his leg.
It took him a moment to climb to a sitting position. Every inch was an eternity of agony. His leg screamed. He felt blood on the side of his face; he’d not avoided the knife altogether after all. He braced himself against the side of the carriage, the smell of gunpowder in his nostrils.
The Warden was gone. There was a Warden-sized hole in the carriage, opposite the door. His body was on the ground outside, one leg still up on the edge of the carriage, caught by a splinter of wood.
Tamas looked down as Olem deposited a hand cannon on the floor of the carriage. He grunted from the weight, then looked up at Tamas. There was relief in his eyes. “So I stole the right carriage,” he said.
Olem helped Tamas out of the carriage. They were in an alleyway between two brick buildings. The strong smell of the sea and the sound of waves said they were very close to the water. Adran soldiers filed into the alley within seconds. One tried to take Tamas’s weight from Olem. Olem waved him off.
“Where’s Sabon?” Tamas asked.
“Chasing the Privileged, with Vlora,” Olem said. He sounded tired. Could he get tired? “The bastard cut and run when he saw how many of us there were.”
Tamas’s eyes grew wide as more soldiers filed into the alley. There were more in the streets. “You brought the whole garrison?”
“As many as were close by,” Olem said.
“How the pit did you find me?”
Olem smiled. He glanced down, and for the first time Tamas noticed the hound sitting at his feet, eyes bigger than teacups looking up at him. His tail wagged. Tamas found he couldn’t speak. He leaned over, despite the pain, and patted Hrusch on the head.
“That’s impossible,” he managed after a moment.
“Sabon trained Hrusch to find you under any circumstances. Trained him from birth, the damned pup. Had the help of an old farm witch north of the university, a Knacked who can train animals. Hrusch can pick up your scent anywhere, even if you are in a sealed box in the middle of the sea.”
“I never knew,” Tamas said.
“It was his little secret. A backup plan,” Olem said. “I wish we’d never had to use it.”
Tamas felt two days’ worth of fear, anger, and anticipation melt under Olem’s gaze. The bodyguard looked at him as a parent might at a child who’d gone missing. Anger warred with relief in his eyes. Soldiers crowded around with words of concern. Tamas gave them all a grateful smile. After a moment, he collapsed.
CHAPTER
27
The office on the top floor of the House of Nobles seemed old and familiar to Tamas, though he’d occupied it for only a couple of months. It seemed like home, and he ran his fingers over the braided tassels at the edge of the sofa. His hands shook and he leaned heavily on a crutch. The room smelled of lemons. He wondered if it always had.
Olem watched him from the doorway. Knacked o
r not, it turned out Olem did need rest. His eyes fluttered like one who longs for sleep, and purple bruises had formed under them. His normally neatly trimmed beard was unruly, his hair a mess. On a regular day, Tamas might have chided him for lax regulation.
This was not a regular day.
I should tell him to get some rest. What was it Father used to tell me? “Rest is for the dead.”
“Yes, sir,” Olem said.
Tamas glanced at him. “Hmm?”
“You said, ‘Rest is for the dead,’ ” Olem said.
“You look like the dead.”
“Don’t look so good yourself, sir.” Olem struggled to put a smile on his face. Tamas could see worry in his eyes. “You should rest, sir,” Olem said. “It almost killed you getting up all those stairs.”
Olem had insisted on helping Tamas up every step, half carrying him at times.
“I don’t need a nurse,” Tamas said. “There’s work to be done.” He hobbled toward his desk, but halfway there he nearly fell.
Olem was at his side in a moment, a hand under his elbow. “Sit down, sir,” he said. “Doctor Petrik will be here any minute.” Olem helped Tamas onto the sofa.
“Bah,” Tamas said. He motioned to a chair. “Have a seat.”
“I think I’ll stand, sir.”
“Suit yourself.” Tamas couldn’t let Olem rest yet. He couldn’t let himself rest yet. “I need to know how things went in my absence. How many people know of my capture?”
“Word spread quickly,” Olem said. “I’m afraid I had other things on my mind. I sent for Sabon as soon as I got back to the hunt, and grabbed Hrusch.” He nodded to the hound, fast asleep in the corner. “Charlemund did his best to keep things quiet. I wouldn’t be surprised if his priestesses talked. I know Brigadier Sabastenien didn’t.”
“So everyone made it away from Nikslaus safely?”
Olem nodded. “I almost turned back when I heard the sorcery, sir,” he said. He refused to look Tamas in the eye. “If you need my stripes…”
“Shut up,” Tamas said. “I won’t take your stripes.”
“You gave me an order to see the others back to the hunt.”
“I thought you had.”
“Not quite, sir. I went on ahead, left the others to find their way back. I wouldn’t wait.”
“Had I been in your position, I wouldn’t have followed that order. I can’t fault a man for his instincts. Besides, you did your job. You did not turn back. Go on.” Tamas swallowed. He wanted nothing more than to lay his head back and fall asleep, but things needed to be done first. He fought back exhaustion, pain, and nausea.
“Word has spread of Ryze’s betrayal,” Olem said. “Lady Winceslav wants answers. Rumors are flying.”
“Put a stop to them,” he said.
“What?” Olem looked startled.
“It’s not true.” Tamas struggled to get to his feet. Ryze was a good man. Tamas wouldn’t let him take the blame for this. Olem put a hand on Tamas’s shoulder, gently restraining him.
Olem said, “I watched him take you off.”
“You found the bodies, didn’t you?” Tamas asked.
Olem slowly shook his head. “Blood, yes, but no bodies.”
“That sorcery you heard as you left—that wasn’t me fighting back. That was Ryze’s men holding off Duke Nikslaus so Ryze could warn me. Ryze was cooked alive.”
“Are you sure…?”
“Go to the pit,” Tamas growled. “Don’t patronize me. I haven’t gone mad in an afternoon.”
“If Ryze wanted to warn you, why did he go to all the trouble?” Olem said. “He could have just sent you a note or come to see you in person.”
Tamas rubbed his temples. “I don’t remember. I remember he was scared. Angry. Barat had something on him to keep him silent.”
“Brigadier Barat? You hit your head pretty hard, from the look of that bump.” Olem gave him a weak smile.
“Don’t be a fool.” Tamas struggled to get up again. His leg burned and he broke into a hot sweat. He gave up. “Send a missive to Lady Winceslav. Tell her Ryze is innocent of all accusations.” He paused. “Bring me Brigadiers Barat and Sabastenien.”
“I’ll send a man,” Olem said, heading for the door.
“No,” Tamas grunted. “Get them yourself. I don’t want either of them slipping away. Take a squad with you. And on second thought, don’t tell anyone about Ryze.”
“But if he’s innocent…”
Tamas closed his eyes. He’d need strength for what lay ahead. “I’ll deal with that later. Dismissed.”
“Right away, sir.”
As soon as Olem was out the door, Tamas let out a gasp of pain. His leg had stiffened up in just a few minutes. It throbbed when it didn’t hurt, and when the lances of pain worked their way up his leg each time he moved it, he wished he’d let it throb. He ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
Tamas forced himself to think. Why had Ryze faked his kidnapping just to tell him about Barat? Tamas wished he had Adamat’s gift.
His son!
“Olem!” he yelled. He waited a few moments. Olem didn’t return. He yelled again. A guard poked his head through the door. “What is it, sir?”
“Kema, is Olem gone?”
The soldier nodded. “Took off just a minute ago. Looked like he was going to give someone the pit of a time.”
“Hand me a pen and paper.”
Kema fetched a fountain pen and some stationery from Tamas’s desk and brought it over. Tamas sketched out a quick note. “Catch up with Olem. Have him do this before the other task.”
“Yes, sir.”
Kema was gone again in a moment, leaving Tamas alone, when his leg began to throb again. A finger of black powder and he’d feel no pain… if he could use it. He couldn’t even enter a powder trance with the gold star in his leg.
“Where’s Petrik, damn him?”
“Right here.” The doctor closed the door quietly behind him. He carried his medical bag in one hand, his coat over the other. He examined Tamas through a pair of spectacles.
“Pulled me away from a rather good game of bridge,” he said. He looked peeved, but he usually did. The man had been drummed out of most of his postings as a public and private doctor because he completely lacked a bedside manner. What he lacked, however, he made up for in brevity and skill.
“My apologies,” Tamas said. “I’ll just suffer more, if you’d like to return to it.”
Dr. Petrik paused. He shrugged, and turned back to the door.
“Have you no concept of sarcasm, you ancient bastard?”
Petrik gave Tamas a long, annoyed look and came to his side. He waddled like a man of twenty-five stone, though he was as thin as a rail. He sat down next to Tamas and removed his glasses. He examined Tamas’s face and head through a monocle.
“Some light scratches,” he said after a moment. “Nothing to be concerned about. Looks like you had a concussion.” He snapped his fingers in front of Tamas’s face, looked into each of his eyes. “You’re fine.” He took Tamas’s leg—none too gently—and lifted it into his lap. He removed the linen wrappings and gave it a clinical look.
“You’ve seen a doctor already,” he said. There was an edge to his voice.
“Yes,” Tamas said. “It was the physician with my captors. He’s the one who put the leg back together.”
“What did it look like before?”
“I don’t know. I was out for the whole thing.”
“Lucky. Looks like you shattered the whole leg. He did a good job, whoever he was,” he said grudgingly.
“I want you to take it apart.”
Petrik blinked up at him. “Say that again?”
“My leg. You need to take it apart.”
Petrik set the leg down gently. “You hit your head harder than I thought.”
Was that a hint of concern in Petrik’s voice? No, Tamas must have imagined it. “The surgeon inserted a gold sliver before he closed the wound.” Tamas paused, s
wallowed. Even saying it made him nauseous. “I can’t use my magery.”
Dr. Petrik returned his spectacles to his face. He took them off, then put them on again. He tucked one fist up under his chin, glaring at the leg. “You’re mad,” he said. “I won’t do it. If you leave it, a cyst will form. That should close the gold away from your bloodstream and let you use your powers again.”
“Do it,” Tamas said. “That’s an order.”
“You think that’ll help? If the shock doesn’t kill you, you’ll lose your leg. Which might kill you anyway. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“Nikslaus said the sliver was in the form of a star. Any time I move, it will tear the tissue, letting the gold touch my blood again. I can feel it in there, working its way around.”
Petrik hesitated.
“I appreciate your concern,” Tamas said.
“Concern?” Petrik said. “Yes, for myself. You know what your lackeys will do to me if you die during the procedure? I saw Olem on his way out of here. I’m not an idiot. You sent him away so he couldn’t protest, and Sabon isn’t back yet. They’d tear me apart.”
“Who’d tear you apart?”
Sabon stood in the doorway, paused in the midst of unbuttoning his jacket. The jacket was covered in powder stains, dirt, and burns. It looked like he’d been in a coal mine. He hung it on a peg in the corner. A single cut ran the length of his cheek, the blood already dry, and his hands were dirty and smudged.
“Did you catch him?” Tamas said.
Sabon shook his head. “I’m sorry.”
Tamas bit back a rebuke. Shit. “How’d he get away?”
“A well-rehearsed route,” Sabon said. “Into a warehouse with a false floor, and down into the sewers. Our men are scouring sewer exits, but I’ll be surprised if they find him. Vlora is still tracking him, but he could come out anywhere in Adopest. It’s as if he expected us to catch up with them.” Sabon made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He stepped over and gave Tamas’s leg a look-over. “You’ve had better days,” he said.
The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic Page 36