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

by McClellan, Brian

  The square began to empty. Mihali was left alone, standing upon his table, arms folded. He looked sternly out across the paving stones as the last of the fleeing crowd took off down the avenues. Food was strewn about the ground; tables and chairs overturned; plates, bowls, and cups abandoned. There a pot had been overturned, porridge slowly spreading along the ground, and here the bodies of bystanders lay unmoving. A woman groaned in pain.

  “Help her,” Tamas told a soldier, pointing.

  Behind him, the doors of the House of Nobles swung open. Soldiers poured out.

  “What happened, sir?” Vlora asked, rushing to his side.

  “The Black Street Barbers,” Tamas spat. “Adamat and Sabon didn’t do their job.”

  “Where the pit are they?”

  “I shot a couple. They’re…” Tamas stopped. The wounded Barbers were gone. He blinked. Was that a red mist where they’d been? “I saw more. They must have fled with the crowd.” He brushed past Olem and hobbled down the stairs. He paused next to the vice-chancellor. Prime stood with his hands in his jacket pockets, surveying the empty square with a firm look of consternation.

  “Who the pit are you?” Tamas said. His hands trembled. The sorcery that had washed over him minutes before was gone, hidden again. It had clearly come from Mihali, but then what of the vice-chancellor? A Privileged this whole time? Tamas would have seen it.

  Prime removed his hand from his pocket and drummed his fingers on his belly. He’d taken off his Privileged gloves.

  “You’re one of them,” Tamas said when it became clear Prime would not answer his question. “One of the Predeii. Like Julene.” It was true. All of it was true. Tamas felt dread settle in his stomach. “Don’t go anywhere.” Tamas headed out toward Mihali.

  The big chef had climbed down from his table and was righting chairs. He paused next to a spilled cauldron of porridge, placing his hand gently on the rim. He frowned.

  Tamas paused a dozen paces from Mihali. The porridge faded before his eyes, like rain drying on sun-warmed bricks. Mihali bent over the cauldron and gripped the sides with both arms. He lifted it easily, though it must have weighed twenty stone, and returned it to an iron tripod.

  Tamas opened his third eye and fought off the dizziness. The world glowed. The paving stones where the porridge had been were smudged pink to Tamas’s inner sight. The colors swirled around Mihali like some kind of festival streamers, though they never once touched the chef himself.

  Mihali dropped into a chair and rested his elbow on his knee with his chin in the palm of his hand. He caught sight of Tamas.

  “Thank you for looking out for me,” Mihali said.

  “I was too far to do much good,” Tamas said.

  Mihali gave him a weak smile. “Still. I am vulnerable in this body.”

  “They’ve ruined your feast,” Tamas said.

  “The people will be back.” Mihali brushed a hand across his brow. One of his assistants approached him, put a hand on his back gently. He pulled her close with one big arm and kissed her on the forehead. “And there will be more,” he said with a sigh. “My own work was not ruined. Delayed a little, but not ruined.”

  “Prime says you were channeling a spell,” Tamas said.

  Mihali looked past Tamas’s shoulder toward the vice-chancellor. “Very perceptive.” He gripped his assistant’s arm for a moment and shooed her away. “I remember you now,” he said as Prime approached. “It’s been a very long time.”

  “Fourteen centuries or so,” Prime said. “So it really is you? I didn’t believe it… I didn’t want to believe it.” He took a shaky breath. “I believed it had been long enough that Kresimir would never return. I believed it was time for change. I thought all of Rozalia’s concerns were foolish, and that Julene was living in the past. I believed we were alone.”

  “My people have never been alone,” Mihali said. “The others may have left. I did not.”

  “What did you do to those Barbers?” Tamas asked.

  Mihali didn’t look happy. “They no longer exist,” he said. His voice was glum, in the manner of a man who’d done something he didn’t want to. “I lost my temper,” he said. “I don’t like…” He paused, his voice cracked. “They felt no pain. I don’t like to harm people.”

  Tamas watched the chef for a few moments, a thousand questions flooding his mind. Something stilled his tongue.

  “Sir,” Olem said, coming to his side. “We can’t find any of the Barbers. Not one.”

  Tamas said, “You won’t.” He took a deep breath. “He’s a god, Olem. A real, live god in the flesh.” The newfound conviction was not a happy one. His head ached. His stomach reeled. “This is not good.”

  Olem was staring at Mihali as if trying to make up his own mind. “Why not? I mean, if he’s a god, isn’t that good?”

  Tamas looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful day, warm without being hot, breezy without a strong wind, the sun pleasant on the face. “Because,” Tamas said, “Mihali is not the only god. There’s Kresimir. And this means Kresimir can be summoned back. It means Kresimir will come for me. It means Bo’s warnings were not rubbish. And that’s not good.” He felt a presence at his side, a big hand on his shoulder. Mihali had joined him.

  “It’s worse than that,” Mihali said. “If it was just you, I’d be sorry, but…”

  Tamas felt ill. His leg had begun to throb again. He shifted and felt a stab of pain. He choked back vomit. “What do you mean?”

  “He’ll destroy the whole country,” Mihali said. “Every man, woman, and child. Every plant and animal. He’ll raze it to the ground.”

  “Why?”

  “My brother is not a… kind god,” Mihali said. “He’ll find it easier to start over.”

  Tamas clenched his fists. Gods. How could he deal with that? What could he do? “Why hasn’t he done it yet?”

  Mihali regarded South Pike Mountain. “He has been on a long journey, my brother. I don’t think he actually ever intended to return. But he will be summoned. There are those who seek to accomplish that, those who seek to prevent its happening.” Mihali turned to Tamas. “It’s too late for you to influence that battle. I will try to protect Adro from his power, but you need to clean your house.”

  “The traitor,” Tamas whispered.

  “If there are more interruptions like this”—he gestured around them—“if there are more distractions…”

  “But I don’t know who it is,” Tamas said.

  “He might,” Olem said, pointing across the square. Tamas turned to see Sabon and Adamat rushing toward them.

  CHAPTER

  37

  Elections Square was in shambles. Soldiers wandered about the clutter of fallen chairs and spilled food and overturned tables as if after a battle, dolefully picking among the debris. A few townsfolk were being taken away on stretchers as Adamat arrived, and a knot of men had gathered beneath the steps of the House of Nobles.

  Adamat watched Sabon reach the knot ahead of him. He slowed to a walk, casting about for signs of what had happened. Were they too late? People had fled in chaos, that much was clear. But what had happened? Adamat didn’t see any of the Barbers or any fallen soldiers. Those on the ground weren’t in uniforms of any kind, only townsfolk caught by some kind of crossfire. He saw slashed throats, blood spilled on the cobbles, even a few gunshot wounds. Families gathered around their fallen members. Women wailed.

  Adamat reached the knot of soldiers and let out a sigh of relief. Tamas was there, along with the vice-chancellor and Mihali, the master chef. Tamas’s bodyguard hovered nearby, a frown on his face as he studied the chef. Lady Winceslav stood nearby, and both Ricard Tumblar and Ondraus the Reeve approached from across the square as Tamas’s troops fanned out to help the wounded.

  Sabon shook his head to something Tamas asked him. They both turned expectantly to Adamat.

  Tamas opened his mouth to speak.

  “Charlemund,” Adamat said. “The arch-diocel.”

  Rage da
nced across Tamas’s face. He warred with his emotions a moment before gaining his composure. Through clenched teeth he said, “How do you know?”

  Adamat explained quickly about Siemone the priest and Teef’s confession. “It has to be Charlemund,” Adamat said. “The priest Teef described matched Siemone too well to be coincidence.”

  “This priest,” Tamas said. “It’s not possible he’s working for someone else?”

  “No.” Yes, of course it was possible. There was never absolute certainty. But it was very unlikely, and Adamat had to be firm in his decision.

  Tamas’s bodyguard drew near. “Let’s tear him down,” Olem said. “We have the name. We have a witness. We can’t hesitate.”

  “Agreed,” Sabon said.

  Tamas closed his eyes.

  “It must be done,” Sabon said.

  Adamat watched the field marshal. Tamas was scared, he realized. Charlemund was the only member of his council with the power to crush him outright. Tamas could leave him be, and wait for the next assassin, or he could attack and risk the wrath of the Church. Adamat did not envy Tamas that decision.

  Tamas slowly studied the faces of those around him. His gaze came to rest on the chef. Mihali gave Tamas a brief nod. There was something here that Adamat had missed. “Why did he come after you?” Tamas asked the chef.

  Mihali stared at nothing for a moment, a scowl on his face. “That is cloudy,” he said. “Julene is a Predeii. She knows I inhabit a mortal body. Perhaps she warned him. Or perhaps others have entered the fray.”

  Tamas waited for Ricard Tumblar and Ondraus. When they’d arrived, he said, “Charlemund has betrayed our cause. I will not suffer that. I do not know if his treachery has the blessing of the Church. I do not care. Who stands with me?”

  “I,” Ricard said, stepping forward.

  “I do,” Lady Winceslav said.

  Prime Lektor nodded.

  “Of course,” Ondraus said with a snort.

  Tamas said, “Prepare the horses and carriages. Get me whatever troops we have on hand. I’m going to arrest the arch-diocel.”

  “Go to him?” Sabon asked. “Why can’t we just call a meeting? When he comes, we will take him.”

  “We have to force him to play his hand,” Tamas said. “His spies will tell him the attack on Mihali failed and that he has been exposed. If he flees, we confirm his guilt. If he stays, we will confront him. Either way, I will not let him escape. Get moving.”

  Adamat felt himself swept aside as the soldiers rushed into action. Tamas paused beside him, leaning heavily on his cane, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good work,” he said. “Go home. Pack up.” His voice dropped. “Get your family out of the country. If everything goes well, I will have use for you and your skills in the future.”

  Did he joke? Adamat searched Tamas’s face. No. He was serious. Too serious. Tamas moved away, jerking like a marionette as he walked, his crutch clicking against the paving stones.

  Signs of cave lions only increased as Taniel’s company approached the summit. The dogs pulled at their harnesses despite Rina’s rebukes. Half the time they wanted to give chase. Half the time they whimpered, tugging Rina back down the slope.

  Taniel felt his own nerves begin to fray. In his mind the cave lions were beyond each slight rise, or waiting to pounce from every boulder. The wild eyes of his companions said they were thinking the same thing. Yet they weren’t being tracked. All signs said the creatures were ahead of them, following the Kez in force. By their tracks there were at least seventy of the creatures, and growing more numerous by the mile.

  They found the first body partially devoured and dragged to the side of the trail. It was torn and mangled, blood soaking the white snow, but easy enough to tell it had been a cave lion. Ka-poel squatted beside it, her fingers searching through the snow. Taniel thought he saw her put something in her pack. He came up beside her.

  “What killed it?” he asked. He already had a pretty good idea.

  Ka-poel mimed firing a rifle.

  He nodded. “So the Kez know they’re being followed. And these creatures. They feast on their own kind. How far from the top?” he asked when saw Bo had joined them.

  “Not far, I think,” Bo said. “I’ve only come this high once before.” He turned to the monk. “Del?”

  Their guide had paled at the sight of the cave lion carcass. Slowly, his hands shaking, he lifted one arm to point ahead. “There,” he managed.

  Taniel followed his gaze toward an outcropping where the trail disappeared. “That close?” Taniel frowned. “Where’s the city?”

  “There,” Del said again.

  “You’ll see what he means,” Bo said.

  It took less than half an hour to reach the height Del had indicated. They climbed a steep knoll in the road. Taniel paused to catch his breath, only to find it whisked from him at the sight below.

  He stood on the lip of a vast crater. It had to be tens of miles across and it was hundreds of feet deep. Taniel wobbled, then regained his footing.

  There were trees below, species that could never have survived at this altitude. They ringed the inner edge of the crater, towering in the air. He could almost reach out and touch the tops of the closest ones. Yet these trees were long dead. Their sides were scorched black, their branches naked and twisted. Once, they were a mighty grove. Now they looked like the boneyard of someplace long cursed.

  Past the trees were the ruins of a vast city. Buildings filled the greater part of the crater—more buildings than there were in all of Adopest, and many taller too. They were little more than stone husks now. Their sides were blackened like the trees, shutterless windows staring out like the empty sockets of thousand-eyed skulls. The sight made Taniel shiver.

  “The Kresim Caldera,” Del said. His voice quaked.

  Bo’s face was grim. “Kresimir’s protection has faded over the centuries. The volcano’s acid and heat have killed the trees and burned out the buildings. Nothing lives up here.”

  “Except the cave lions,” Taniel said. “I don’t know how they can.”

  “Something keeps them alive,” Bo said.

  Taniel could see a lake in the middle of the caldera. There were plots of trees as well, and ponds, and clear knolls that had once been parks where children played in the Time of Kresimir. Taniel imagined that the waters within the caldera had once run clean and beautiful. From his vantage point he could see that the lake was foul and brown. It bubbled and belched, and a thick cloud of steam and smoke rose from its center.

  In the distance Taniel heard the scream of a cave lion.

  “Fix bayonets,” he said. He heard the clatter of weapons as the Watchers behind him readied themselves.

  Spreading out, they proceeded into the crater.

  Taniel positioned himself between Del and Bo. “Where is the coliseum?” he asked.

  Del didn’t respond. Taniel thought he heard a whimper come from the man. Then again, it could have been the dogs. They’d fallen deathly silent since entering the caldera.

  “South Pike had a proper peak when Kresimir was summoned,” Bo said. His brow furrowed. “It’s said that when he touched the ground, the very earth dropped out from beneath him and the mountain erupted, spewing soot and acid into the air, enough to coat all of Adro. The Predeii barely survived. When all had settled, the caldera had formed and Kresimir stood on the shore of Pike Lake.” He pointed toward the center of the caldera.

  “That’s where the coliseum is?”

  Del nodded.

  “I’ll need someplace to line up a shot into the coliseum. The farther away, the better, but it needs a clear view.”

  Del seemed to consider this for a few moments. “Kresimir’s palace. Follow me. I can get us there.”

  They fell silent as they passed through the deepest part of the dead forest. Their footsteps echoed on the hard-packed cobblestone road, and Taniel realized suddenly that there was no snow. The ground was bare, with even the hardiest forest scrubs and b
ushes long dead. The air, he also noted, was growing warmer. Some remnant from Kresimir’s protection of the Holy City? Or heat from the heart of the volcano? Would they even be able to approach Pike Lake? Unbearable heat and poisonous gases might drive them away. They didn’t have the sorcerous protection of Julene and the Kez Cabal. Taniel gave Bo a glance. He was looking less and less well. Taniel doubted he could protect a fly, let alone the rest of them.

  They found the next bodies at the edge of the forest on the near side of a small hill. These, Taniel noted as he got closer, were not just cave lions.

  A Warden lay torn to shreds among the remains of at least six or seven cave lions. His hand, the flesh stripped from the bones, still remained around the throat of a dead cave lion. Taniel held a handkerchief over his nose against the smell. The bodies hadn’t been around long enough to begin to rot, but the lions were putrid, and their stink was far more pronounced here where the cold had begun to fade and the wind did not carry it away.

  Ka-poel went on ahead again. She paused just on the other side of the hill, still in sight, and waved her arms at them. Taniel was glad to leave the bodies behind.

  Not for long. He came to a stop beside Ka-poel and choked down bile. He heard someone spilling their breakfast noisily behind him. A quick glance told him it was Bo.

  There’d been a pitched battle here. Wardens had made their stand in the center of a small park—presumably while Julene and the Kez Privileged escaped into the heart of the city. A dozen of them had died, and three times their number in cave lions. Their remains lay scattered across the onetime park. Nearby, a Warden lay with one arm up on a stone bench, his entrails spread about the ground before him. He’d been feasted upon in great haste.