“These things are hungry,” Rina said. Her dogs crouched at her feet, unwilling to leave their master’s side. “They run as if they are hunting, as if they have a purpose to attack and kill, yet whenever there is a death, they stop for the meat. They’re starving.”
Taniel swallowed. “They’re hungry? Is that why they’re chasing the Kez?” It was much easier to handle, though no less dangerous, than the thought of the lions being guided by some supernatural force or intelligence.
Rina shrugged. “It’s possible. But cave lions don’t hunt in packs, even in the worst of times. They are solitary creatures.”
“How could there be so many on the mountain?” Bo said. “There’s nothing to eat up here. I’ve never heard of more than one or two cave lions on an entire mountainside.”
No one seemed to have an answer.
Taniel checked each of his pistols and his rifle to make sure they were loaded, then snorted a pinch of powder. His hands shook. His body told him to take more powder. He’d need it. He fought the impulse. He’d be powder blind with much more. Then again, he’d be dead without the strength. He took another snort.
The trail of carnage led through the park and onto a boulevard that seemed to head into the center of the city. Blood and bits of Warden and cave lion had been dragged along as the cave lions chased the Kez Privileged.
As they entered the city, Taniel kept his eyes on the buildings. Not a sound issued from within any of them, though the wind should have howled, or tiny animals should have moved about. Nothing. The city was completely dead, even the elements, and it chilled Taniel’s soul.
A hand on his shoulder made Taniel spin, rifle in hand, and almost gut Del with his bayonet. Taniel stilled his beating heart. “Sorry,” he said.
“The palace,” Del said, “is that way.” He pointed into the heart of the city.
They altered course according to Del’s instructions. Though the city spooked the pit out of him, Taniel was grateful to be away from the trail of the cave lions and Privileged. He’d find Kresimir’s palace and pick away at the Privilegeds’ numbers from a safe distance, and they wouldn’t have enough power to summon Kresimir.
Adamat heard rumors all the way home about the massacre in Elections Square. Most traffic headed away from the square. Word was spreading fast and there were signs of the Rope everywhere he went as people warded against bad luck and ill omens. A massacre during the Festival of St. Adom was bad enough to keep many people home.
He hoped he’d be able to hire a carriage immediately for Offendale. He’d get his family and get out of the country and then…
“SouSmith!” Adamat called as he hung his coat on the rack. He stopped. There were three coats too many hanging there. He closed his eyes. Not again.
“Can’t you let me be…?” Adamat walked into the sitting room and froze.
Lord Vetas and his two goons stood on the far side of the room. Astrit stood between them, Lord Vetas’s thin hands on her shoulders. She looked like a helpless fly caught in a spider’s web. The sight of his little girl nearly stopped Adamat’s heart. It was one thing to know she was in danger. It was another to see her here in Lord Vetas’s grip.
SouSmith sat on the sofa. He had returned here immediately after their visit to the Barbers. His face was pale, and sweat ran down his cheeks. His breath labored unsteadily, a hand clutched over his wound.
“Sorry,” SouSmith said weakly. “Here before me.”
“SouSmith told me of your visit to the Barbers,” Lord Vetas said. There was no emotion in his voice, no hint of compassion or pity. “To survive three assassins. Bravo.”
“Let her go,” Adamat said tiredly. The weight of the last two days suddenly pressed upon him horribly. He wanted nothing more than to drop into his favorite chair and nap the rest of the day. It looked like that wasn’t an option anymore.
“Catch me up,” Lord Vetas said. “How is Teef?”
“Rotting in Sabletooth,” Adamat snapped. “How is Lord Claremonte?”
The look of surprise on Lord Vetas’s face vanished so quickly it might not have been there at all.
Adamat said quietly, “Astrit, are you all right?”
The little girl nodded. Her face was smudged with dirt, her sundress rumpled from having been slept in, but she looked unharmed. “I’m OK, Papa,” she said.
“Are you scared?”
She clenched her teeth and shook her head.
“That’s my girl. Did they hurt you?”
Another head shake.
“Why is Teef in Sabletooth?” Lord Vetas said.
“Because he’d had a deal with Tamas. He broke it trying to kill me.”
Lord Vetas frowned. “Why didn’t you tell me he’d had a deal with Tamas?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Really?” Lord Vetas squeezed Astrit’s shoulders. She tried to wiggle away, but he had her firmly.
“Yes, damn you. I didn’t know, I swear.”
Lord Vetas loosened his grip. “I trust you discovered the traitor? Tamas is on his way to arrest Ricard Tumblar?”
Lord Vetas had little reason to think the traitor was Ricard unless he’d been helping frame him all along. “What interest does Lord Claremonte have in all this?” Adamat said. “Why care at all about the politics here? He’s not even Adran.”
“Lord Claremonte’s interests are those of the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company,” Lord Vetas said. “And they rest upon the fortunes of the Nine.”
“Where does he stand?”
“Neutral,” Lord Vetas said. “A nudge here. A push there. That is all you need know. Now, when will Tamas arrest Ricard Tumblar?”
“Never.”
“Why not?”
“He’s on his way to arrest Charlemund, the real traitor.”
Astrit cried out as Lord Vetas twisted her shoulders viciously. “All the evidence points to Ricard,” Vetas said. “Why do you think it’s Charlemund?”
“He was named in front of Tamas’s powder mage. What could I have done?” Adamat stepped forward.
“Back!” Lord Vetas snapped. His goons came alert and shot menacing looks toward Adamat.
“Harm her and you’re a dead man.”
“Along with the rest of your family,” Lord Vetas said.
“Vetas,” Adamat said. “I swear on all the Nine that I will destroy you and your house if you harm my daughter. I will bring down Lord Claremonte as if he were a dog for me to kick in the street.” He felt something cold quiver in his bowels.
Lord Vetas inhaled sharply. His grip on Astrit’s shoulders loosened, and the girl pulled away. Adamat caught her with one hand, pushing her behind him.
The coal-shoveler goon produced a knife, the other goon a pistol. Lord Vetas stayed them with a warning hand. “This can still be salvaged. You’re too good to lose, Adamat. We won’t kill you… yet. When will the arrest take place?”
“As soon as Tamas gathers his men.” Did Vetas mean to warn Charlemund?
“Where?”
“His villa,” Adamat said.
“You’d better be telling the truth,” Lord Vetas said. “Kale,” he said.
The coal shoveler turned his head.
“Go to the villa. Warn the arch-diocel. Tell him you were sent by the Madman. If the good duke is still there, they should be able to construct an easy trap for Tamas.”
The coal shoveler nodded his head once. He gave Adamat a warning look and then pushed past him and was out the front door at a run.
“Why is Claremonte working with the arch-diocel?” Adamat asked. “And if he is, why did Charlemund try to kill me? I’m supposed to be working for Claremonte as well.”
Vetas regarded him coldly. “One hand does not know what the other is doing—such a strategy has its price, which you almost paid. Charlemund’s task was simply to kill the imposter god, Mihali. He became too zealous. And know this: Charlemund is nothing more than a hand. Claremonte uses people like him to his own ends.”
“No one uses an arch-diocel.�
��
“Claremonte does.”
“To what purpose?”
“Beyond your comprehension,” Lord Vetas said. “You’ve disappointed me, Adamat. The girl was going to be a show of good faith, a gift to you for doing what you’re bidden. Now, though, I think she’ll come back with me. I’ve got men who enjoy that sort of thing.” He stepped forward, gesturing to his man with the pistol.
Adamat squeezed his hands into fists. “All right!” he said.
Lord Vetas paused.
“They’re not going to arrest him at his villa. He’s at the cathedral, leading an afternoon prayer service. Please, just leave my daughter here.”
Lord Vetas’s eyes flashed. “You lied to me?”
“That’s the truth of it, I swear it!”
“Pit! You”—he gestured at the other goon—“stay here. If they try to leave, kill Adamat, and then the boxer and the girl.”
Lord Vetas swept out of the room, shouldering Adamat hard as he passed. Adamat grunted. Lord Vetas reached the street and broke into a run, coattails flailing behind him. Adamat watched him disappear from view through the window. He let out a long breath.
“Are you OK, Papa?” Astrit said.
“Yes. I’m glad you’re safe. How’s your mother?”
“Worried. She screamed when they took me away.”
“Did they hurt her? Your brother, is he OK?”
“They took Josep’s finger. He didn’t even cry out.”
“He’s a very brave boy.”
“What happens now, Papa?”
“I don’t know,” he said.
Adamat couldn’t be there when Vetas returned. It would mean death for them all. SouSmith looked like he could barely walk, and Astrit was just a girl, but Adamat had to warn Tamas.
“Stay here,” he whispered to Astrit.
“Hey!” the other goon said as Adamat headed toward the other side of the room.
Adamat stopped, raising his hands. The goon waved his pistol between SouSmith and Adamat. SouSmith’s eyes were closed, his hands held over his wounds. He was breathing shallowly. Judging SouSmith to be less of a threat, the goon pointed his pistol at Adamat.
“I just want a drink,” Adamat said.
The goon narrowed his eyes.
“Please,” Adamat said. He held out his hands to show they were shaking.
“Right,” the goon said. “I’ll just be watching to make sure you ain’t got a weapon stashed here.”
“What?” Adamat said. “A loaded pistol in the liquor cabinet? You’re mad. If you think I’m going to pull a knife, stand over there.” He gestured to the sofa.
The goon shuffled away from Adamat until he was near the sofa. “I’m watching you.”
Good. Adamat removed a bottle from the cabinet. “Wine?”
The goon shook his head.
Adamat pulled the cork with a corkscrew and took a moment to unwind the cork, tossing it down on a shelf. He poured two glasses, the neck of the bottle clinking against the rim of the cup as his hands shook. He stepped toward the goon. “You sure you don’t want some?”
“I’ll let you drink first,” the goon said. “I know the tricks.”
“No tricks,” Adamat said, shaking his head. “You think I’d poison a two-hundred-krana bottle of wine? Besides, poison doesn’t work fast enough. You’d still have time to shoot me while you died. SouSmith? Wine?”
The boxer nodded weakly.
“Pardon,” Adamat said, lifting the two glasses to show he meant no harm as he stepped by the goon.
He dropped both glasses at the same time. One hand diverted the pistol, the other jabbed the goon’s neck with the corkscrew. The pistol went off, deafening Adamat. A window shattered, and Astrit screamed. Adamat grappled with the goon with one hand, shoving with the other. They both landed on top of SouSmith.
The boxer gave a loud grunt. He snaked a ham-sized forearm over the goon’s head, holding him in place. Adamat remained on top of the goon until long after he’d stopped struggling. He grabbed the lapels of his jacket and lifted the goon off SouSmith and dropped him on the floor. SouSmith moaned, writhing on the sofa.
“Coulda given me warning,” he said, feeling his wound. “I’m bleeding again.”
“You big baby,” Adamat said. He made sure the goon was dead, and looked up. Astrit was watching from the hallway. He said, “Go to your room.”
Astrit stood there, shaking.
Adamat climbed to his feet and stripped his bloody jacket off, tossing it on the floor. He lifted Astrit into his arms. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he said. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Papa.” Her voice quavered.
“Good girl. I need you to be strong, love. I need you to go with SouSmith. You have to hide with him.”
SouSmith pulled himself off the sofa slowly, grimacing with pain. “No wet nurse,” he said. “Where you going?”
“I have to go warn Tamas.”
“Like shit,” SouSmith grunted. “I’ll go…” He stumbled, catching himself on the sofa arm.
“Take Astrit,” Tamas said. He led the little girl over to SouSmith and put her hand in his. “Hide. Protect her. Please.” He took a deep breath. “You’ll know soon enough if I fail. Just… keep her away from Lord Vetas.”
SouSmith considered Adamat a moment, then gave a brief nod.
“Thank you, my friend.”
“You don’t pay me enough,” SouSmith grunted.
“Tales will be told of your sacrifice,” Adamat said. He went to his office and opened a long, nondescript chest in the corner. He removed his smallsword from its sheath and checked the blade and hilt. The sword was nothing special—it had been issued to him in the army, before he’d become an inspector. It was undecorated, with an oval shell of a guard over the hilt. It was in good condition. He heard footsteps behind him.
“I haven’t touched this for a decade,” he said. “It looks to be in good shape.”
“Better hope,” SouSmith said.
Adamat turned around.
SouSmith held out a pistol, along with extra shot and charges. “Luck to you.”
They clasped hands, and Adamat was out the door.
CHAPTER
38
How are you going to explain this to the Church?” Olem asked.
“Easy,” Tamas said with a conviction he didn’t feel. “The Church doesn’t like to be played any more than we do. Charlemund will provide us with what we need to oust him in their eyes. He’s pomp and bravado. He’ll not stand up to more than a few hours with our questioners.”
The carriage rocked heavily as they approached Charlemund’s vineyard. Tamas eyed Olem. He was a soldier, through and through. He would carry out Tamas’s orders. Yet he was no fool. Olem wanted to be certain he wasn’t charging blindly to his death.
“Torture an arch-diocel?” Olem asked. He finished cleaning and loading Tamas’s long-barreled pistol. Tamas was grateful he didn’t smoke around gunpowder. Olem handed the weapon to Tamas and started on his own. “You really think he’ll tell us what we need to know?”
“Yes,” Tamas said, hoping that there was enough confidence in his voice. Arresting the arch-diocel was insanely risky. If Adamat didn’t really have enough evidence; if the Church decided to ignore the evidence; pit, if the Church didn’t care, Tamas’s world would come crashing down around him. No one, not even Kez’s immense armies of spies and assassins, could destroy someone’s life as thoroughly as the Church.
The carriage came to a jolting stop. Tamas glanced out the window. A dragoon rode by, then another. Sabon came to the carriage window.
“We’ve taken the gatehouse. No sign of movement inside the villa.”
“Very good,” Tamas said. He lifted his pistol and saluted Sabon with the barrel. “Let’s go in.”
The carriage rocked forward and through the villa’s front gate. A pair of guards in purple-and-gold Church doublets stood between two of Tamas’s soldiers, hands on their heads, glaring at the c
arriages as they went by.
“I hope you’ll have the good sense to let us go in first, sir,” Olem said.
“And miss the look on Charlemund’s face when you tell him the charges? Bloody pit, no. I’ll hobble my ass up those front steps with the rest of you.”
“He may put up a fight,” Olem said.
Tamas fingered his pistol. “I hope so.”
“You’re willing to risk his bodyguard having a few air rifles?” Olem said. “It only takes one.”
“You ruin my fun, Olem. You really do.”
The carriage stopped again after a few minutes. Sabon opened the carriage door. “The house and yards are surrounded. Our men checked the chapel and most of the outlying buildings. His carriage is in the carriage house. He is likely inside.”
Sabon did not look happy.
“And?” Tamas said.
“No sign of workers anywhere. It’s a nice day. They should be in the vineyards working the fields, exercising the horses. The place is like a ghost town. I—”
Sabon’s next words were cut off by a bullet as it entered his left temple. He fell without a sound, blood spraying across the inside of the carriage.
The popping sound of air rifles was followed by the shouts of ambushed soldiers. A bullet ripped through the carriage over Tamas’s head. A horse screamed. He struggled toward the door.
“Oh no, sir,” Olem said, grabbing his coat.
Tamas pushed Olem away and leaned over the edge of the carriage. Sabon lay in the mud, dead eyes staring up blankly.
“Bugger that,” Tamas said. He swung out the door, analyzing the villa in a second. It sprawled across his view. The whitewashed stucco front was immaculate and the high, narrow windows and thick brick of the ancient style gave the defenders the advantage. There were at least fifty windows on the front of the building. The air rifles could have been firing from any—or all—of them. Tamas caught sight of the barrel of an air rifle and fired his weapon at that window. He pulled himself in, the sound of bullet impacts and ricochets too loud for comfort. He began to reload. “What the pit…?”
Olem leapt from the carriage. He turned around and grabbed Tamas by the coat, pulling him after, onto his shoulder, and ran toward the vineyards.
The Powder Mage Trilogy: Promise of Blood, The Crimson Campaign, The Autumn Republic Page 48