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

by McClellan, Brian

  “Are you threatening me, Miss…?”

  “Fell.”

  “Fell.” Ket rounded the table and crossed the room, gesturing to the provosts. “Are you threatening this war effort?”

  Fell put a hand to her chest in shock. “Me? Threaten you? By Kresimir, General Ket, I would never think to threaten you. After all, I can see Taniel’s face right there, tenderized like a side of beef by your provosts. I wouldn’t want to end up like that. No, I am merely providing context for the consequences of the decision of this court.”

  “Your master controls the unions. Therefore, you’re threatening me.”

  “No.” Fell waggled her finger like a parent scolding a child. “My master heads the unions. The unions have the power to strike, and Mr. Tumblar cannot stop them if they so desire. Do you want that to happen?”

  Ket leaned in toward Fell. To her credit, the undersecretary did not so much as flinch.

  “This court is in recess for one hour!” Ket whirled and stormed out of the tent, followed by the other generals.

  Fell dragged a chair up to the middle of the room. She waved her hand at the provosts flanking Taniel, and they hesitantly took a step back. Fell deposited the chair beside Taniel and sat down.

  Taniel studied Fell for a moment. She was dressed sharply, looking far more a businesswoman than an undersecretary or personal assistant. Her eyes, though, were tired, and Taniel could see a recent scar on her cheek covered by a layer of face powder. She reached into her pocket and removed a brown bag. “Cashew?”

  Taniel didn’t know what to make of the woman. She, and her master, could have very well just saved Taniel’s life… but a man like Ricard always had his price.

  “You’re going to owe Ricard a great deal if you live through this,” Fell said in a low voice.

  And there it was. “I didn’t ask for his help.”

  “No, but he gave it. You’re an honorable man, aren’t you, Taniel?”

  The idea of owing Ricard Tumblar anything made Taniel’s stomach turn.

  “What’s Ricard’s price?”

  “Three years,” Fell said. “As a politician. You’ll be expected to attend galas and address the public. Everything will be scheduled for you. When you’re not in the public eye, you can do anything you want—bed whomever, smoke all the mala in the world. Not a hard life at all.” Fell shrugged. “But if Ricard happens to die or be killed, you’ll have to step up as prime minister of Adro.”

  “I don’t want that.”

  Fell gave him a tight smile. “Then you’re more qualified for the job than Ricard is.”

  Taniel wondered if that was something that Ricard himself would have said, or if the undersecretary had just made a jab at her master.

  “I thought that Hrusch Avenue hadn’t unionized.” Taniel glanced meaningfully toward the tent flap where the generals had exited.

  “They don’t know that.”

  “Is Ricard serious about those threats?”

  “I’d rather not find out.”

  A bluff, then. Taniel had to give credit to Ricard. Bluffing the senior staff of the Adran army took courage. “Has Ricard ever tried blackmailing Tamas?”

  “Oh, pit no. Tamas would have strung Ricard up like a marionette.”

  “I’m glad to hear he has limits.”

  The hour-long recess for the court stretched into two hours, and then into three. Mihali served coffee and another round of cake.

  Taniel couldn’t help wondering where the pit the generals had gotten to. What could be taking them so long?

  “This is a good thing, you know,” Fell said between bites of cake.

  Colonel Etan, his chair wheeled up beside Taniel, agreed. “At this point, the sentencing requires a four-out-of-five vote. If they’d returned at the hour, or earlier, it would not have looked good for you. They’ve been arguing this whole time, which means that more generals than just General Hilanska are trying to save your skin.”

  The tent flap was swept aside, and the generals reentered the room. Fell and Etan both retreated to the back, and the generals took their chairs.

  Ket examined Taniel for several moments before speaking. The anger had left her eyes. Steely determination replaced it. “This court,” she said, “has found the defendant guilty of treason. We have decided to drop the remainder of the charges and commute upon the guilty one sentence, to be carried out immediately:

  “Captain Taniel is hereby stripped of his rank in the Adran army and dishonorably discharged. As this is a closed court, the verdict is private—however much I’d like to announce to the world that Taniel is no longer one of us, he will be allowed twelve hours to gather his things and quietly leave the camp. Any failure to do so will be met with swift reprisal. Court is adjourned.”

  Taniel could hear Doravir protesting from the back that the sentence was too light. Etan loudly argued that the sentence was too harsh. The provosts released Taniel from the irons and stripped him out of his uniform jacket.

  He didn’t argue. He couldn’t argue. He barely noticed when the generals had left.

  How could they do this to him? After all he’d done? All he’d given?

  “Taniel.”

  He looked up. Etan sat in front of him, an orderly waiting to wheel him off.

  “Taniel, you know I don’t believe any of this treason garbage. None of them do either. If they did, they’d have executed you, regardless of Tumblar’s threats. They just wanted you out of the way. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. I have a house in North Umpshire if you need someplace quiet to recover. Bring the girl if you’d like.”

  Ka-poel. Taniel let out a shaky sigh. What should he do with Ka-poel? Send her back to Fatrasta? Would she even go?

  “Thanks,” Taniel said.

  It was some time before he realized that the tent was empty. Fell was gone. It occurred to him that he should have asked her if Ricard received his letter regarding the missing gunpowder.

  Taniel managed to climb to his feet. His legs shook, and he wondered where he could get some mala. No. Not mala. He needed powder. That would be easier to find anyway. He had to gather his things. What did he even have? His sketchbook and charcoals. The rifle wasn’t even his—army issued, though he might be able to slip off with it anyway. He could sell the buttons off his army jacket.

  Taniel cursed. The provosts had taken his jacket.

  He cursed again when he noticed the tent was not, in fact, empty.

  Mihali sat at the back, sipping a cup of coffee. He met Taniel’s glance with the slight rise of his eyebrows.

  Taniel wondered what it would be like to punch a god. “Did you see that, you bastard?” Taniel said. “ ‘Apologize to Doravir.’ That’s what you told me. ‘Save the war.’ How the pit does this save anything? Stripped of everything I know?”

  “The future is always changing,” Mihali said. “Coffee?”

  “Go to the pit.”

  Taniel left the command tent and headed toward his quarters. He wasn’t two dozen steps outside when he was joined by Brigadier Abrax. It only took him a few moments to realize why she was there.

  “Do the Wings of Adom usually perch at a court-martial, waiting to recruit new mercenaries?”

  Brigadier Abrax was a serious woman in her forties, with short blond hair and a sharp white-and-red uniform. “Awfully full of yourself, Two-Shot. I can see why Ket wanted to be rid of you. What makes you think I’ve come along recruiting?”

  “Nothing. Sorry, ma’am.” Taniel reminded himself that he was not in a position to insult the senior commander of the best mercenary army in the world.

  “I have, of course,” Abrax said. “Come recruiting, that is. I want to offer you a spot in the Wings of Adom.”

  Taniel had never thought highly of mercenaries. At best, they took your money and did everything they could to avoid actually fighting. However, he had to grudgingly admit that the Wings had a reputation for slogging into the melee along with the ordinary infantry. He’d seen the
m do it himself during this war.

  Taniel stopped and turned to the brigadier. “The General Staff would be furious.”

  “What do I care?” Abrax said. “I don’t report to anyone but Lady Winceslav and Tamas. Not to the General Staff. Besides, I just watched them court-martial their best soldier. I don’t have a lot of faith in their ability to do anything right. Even if you are a pompous ass with no respect for authority, you’re worth fifty men, and I mean to see you in my army.”

  “That was an incredibly backhanded compliment,” Taniel said.

  Abrax gave him a shallow smile. “I meant every word.”

  “Ricard Tumblar seems to think he’s bought me.”

  “If you feel as if you must repay him,” Abrax said with a shrug, “feel free to do so. But after this war is over. I have the feeling you would much rather be on the front than in Adopest trying to win over the snakes in politics. At least here you’re allowed to shoot your enemies.”

  Taniel looked around the camp. It was muddy and chaotic, the moans of the wounded rising from the field hospitals and the crack of gunfire drifting back from the front. Still, he couldn’t imagine leaving it for a desk or a podium in Adopest.

  “What do you propose?” he asked.

  “You’ll be a major in the Wings of Adom with full pay and benefits. I’ll place you outside the chain of command and you’ll only report to me. Your sole mission will be to kill enemy Privileged and Wardens. I don’t like to complicate things further than that.”

  “And the other brigadiers will agree to this?”

  “They love the idea,” Abrax said. She leaned toward him. “Tamas recently stole one of our very best. He did it fairly, I think, but it still stung. The brigadiers consider this revenge.”

  Taniel examined Abrax. She seemed sincere. Tamas had had nothing but good things to say about the Wings, and being in a mercenary company was certainly preferable to having to sit out the rest of the war.

  “Who did Tamas steal?”

  “A young brigadier by the name of Sabastenien,” Abrax said.

  The name rang a bell, but Taniel could not give it a face.

  “How long do you want me in the Wings?”

  “Until the end of the war. We disband between assignments. You’ll be paid in full and disbanded, with the option to muster for our next assignment.”

  “Ka-poel?”

  Abrax frowned. “Your savage?”

  “Yes.”

  “Bring her with if you want. I don’t care who you’re bedding. I put on a good front, but I’m not a prude.”

  “I’m not sleeping with her. She accompanies me on the battlefield as my spotter.”

  Abrax seemed to mull this over for a few moments. “I can’t promise any more than a private’s wages for her.”

  “Oh, ah…” Taniel almost stepped back. No one had even considered actually paying Ka-poel in the Adran army. “That sounds fair.”

  “We have a deal?”

  “I think so.”

  “Report to our camp in two hours,” she said. “We’ll get you bedded down in temporary quarters and then outfit you in the morning. I want you on the field killing Kez by noon tomorrow.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  Tamas climbed from his bedroll. He paused once, taking a deep breath.

  “Getting old,” he muttered.

  Every morning his limbs ached a little more, especially his leg. Every day it took him just another couple of seconds to climb from the bed. Worse now, sleeping on the hard ground. Every night for the last five weeks.

  Five weeks. Hard to believe it had only been that long since he’d faced the Kez Grand Army, planning how he’d take them from the side and smash them against the gates of Budwiel. Bloody stupid, now that he looked back on it, thinking he could take the entire Grand Army with two brigades.

  His arrogance got him into this. Had he been there, manning the walls beside Hilanska and the rest, they would have fought off those Wardens and sent the Kez army to the pit.

  Tamas got to his feet. He pulled on his shirt, long since yellowed and stained with blood—his own blood, and that of others—then on came his uniform pants and boots. Olem had polished the boots during the night, like he did every night. He understood that a field marshal needed to keep up appearances. Finally, Tamas put on his jacket, and he stepped out into the morning air with his bicorne tucked under one arm.

  Gavril stared down at him from on horseback. Somehow, he kept that Watchmaster’s vest of his immaculate. His pants were ripped and stained, his arms and shoulders covered with powder burns, nicks, and cuts, but the faded colors of the Watchmaster’s vest showed no wear but that of time and washing.

  Gavril had Tamas’s charger saddled and ready, and held the reins out to Tamas.

  “I’m not going on some bloody jaunt with you,” Tamas said.

  “Then why are you dressed?” Gavril looked around the camp. No one had stirred yet. Tamas let them off easy the last couple of days, sleeping until past eight in the morning. They’d earned their rest, and with the Kez cavalry broken, their remnants sworn to leave Tamas be, and the infantry still a week off, Tamas could afford to give his men some slack.

  “The army is marching today,” Tamas said.

  “We’ll catch up.”

  Stubborn bastard. Why did Gavril need this? Why did he need to drag Tamas along with him? The dead were best left buried, undisturbed. They cared not for the sentiments of the living.

  Tamas would rather have tipped his hat to the west and bowed his head in respect for a few minutes. It would have been more practical.

  “Get on your damn horse,” Gavril said.

  Tamas climbed onto his mount.

  They rode west in silence along one of the many rivers that made up the Fingers of Kresimir. Tamas didn’t know if this one had a name. The locals probably called it something—not that there were many locals in this part of Kez.

  Northern Kez, with its countless farms and ranches, had once been filled with people. The alternating droughts and floods of the last ten years that had caused Adro so many problems had also affected Kez, and huge portions of the Kez population had gone to the eastern cities in search of work. He imagined those cities even more crowded and dirty than Adopest.

  Tamas wondered how Adopest had fared in the war. The canal over the mountains should be finished by this time, alleviating some of the strain off the Mountainwatch for trade. With war with the Kez, food would have to come from Novi and Deliv.

  Tamas and Gavril came down out of the highest foothills to where Kresimir’s Fingers began to meet. The Fingers didn’t all converge, not all at once. It was several days’ ride to the place where they did, and their destination was not that far out onto the plains.

  The ground turned rocky—great boulders and sudden ravines that made Tamas wonder if the mountains had once come out this far, and if so, what god or force of nature had knocked them down.

  The terrain had provided a good place to hide from Ipille’s Wardens, long ago.

  They crossed a rocky bluff and then descended into a gully where two of Kresimir’s Fingers met. Tamas rubbed at his shoulders, suddenly cold despite the summer sun beating down upon them.

  He saw it then. A cairn, not more than fifty paces from where the two rivers met. It was about four feet high and six feet across, sandstone rocks gathered from the area and stacked.

  It had changed little in the last thirteen years. The bloody fingerprints both Tamas and Gavril had left, their hands raw from digging the stony earth, had been washed away. A necklace—a treasured possession of the dead that Tamas had left on the highest stone—was gone, but the rest of the cairn remained undisturbed.

  Tamas climbed down from his horse and tied the reins to a stunted tree. He approached the cairn slowly. Thoughtfully. Now that he was here, the dread he’d felt in coming seemed silly.

  He turned to Gavril.

  The big man, with all his stubbornness in making Tamas accompany him on
this pilgrimage, seemed reluctant to get any closer.

  Tamas took a shaky breath. He reached out and touched the top stone of the cairn.

  “Camenir,” he said, and found it felt good to say it aloud.

  A crunch of footsteps sounded on the rocky soil as Gavril finally joined him.

  “I doubt anyone but you or me remember the name.” In his head, it had been a musing thought. Aloud, it sounded callous, and Tamas instantly regretted saying it. Gavril was the last of Camenir’s kin. His relatives on the Kez side, dead by Ipille’s orders. The ones on the Adran side not numerous, and those alive having long disowned him.

  Tamas tried to picture Camenir in his mind, and found he could not. He looked a lot like Gavril, he thought. Not as big. Quite a bit younger. A sloppy, casual manner and a genuine smile that most found endearing.

  “How did you do it?” Gavril stood beside the cairn, head bowed.

  “Do what?”

  “How did you go on? After what happened?”

  Tamas was surprised to hear accusation in Gavril’s voice.

  “What choice did I have?”

  What did Gavril want him to say? Did Gavril want him to admit he’d slept his way through half the eligible ladies in Adopest, and quite a few ineligible ones? Did Gavril want him to point out that he’d killed more men in duels in the short time following Erika’s death than he had in all his angry youth?

  “I saw grief in you,” Gavril said. “I saw it eating through you after Erika’s murder. After Manhouch denied your demands that we go to war. When you came and said you wanted to kill Ipille, I knew it had to be done. But… but after we failed, after Camenir died, you changed. All those signs of grief I’d seen in you were gone. You went back to society. Smiled at all those fools who’d laughed behind their hands at the box containing Erika’s head. You entertained guests and walked the streets laughing.”