Promise of Blood tpm-1

by Brian McClellan

  “You’ll have my decision later,” Tamas said.

  “I must insist that it be now.” Charlemund squared his shoulders. His gaze fell on Mihali. “You are he, are you not? The blasphemous cook?”

  Mihali set the platter down gently beside Tamas and turned to Charlemund. He took a deep breath, sucking in his enormous gut. “I am a chef, sir, and you will speak to me as such.”

  “A chef! Ha!” Charlemund threw his head back and laughed. His hand went to the hilt of his smallsword. “Tamas, I arrest this man in the name of the Church.”

  “Get out.”

  The words were quiet, yet Adamat felt as if all warmth had been sucked from the room. He turned to Tamas, but it wasn’t Tamas who had spoken. It had been the chef.

  “How dare you.” Charlemund drew a handspan of steel.

  “Get out!” Mihali bellowed. His ladle appeared in his hand, for all the world like he was holding a sword. The large end pointed steadily at Charlemund’s nose. “I will not have you here. You false priest, you abhorrent fool! Give me a reason and I will strike you down!”

  Charlemund’s face contorted with rage. “What kind of madness is this? I arrest you in the name of the Church! I don’t fear your ladle, you ungodly glutton!”

  Mihali advanced suddenly upon Charlemund. The arch-diocel backpedaled a few steps, drew his sword, and lunged. Mihali caught the blade with his ladle, swung it expertly to one side, and backhanded Charlemund hard enough to throw him over the sofa.

  The room was silent. Olem rushed to Charlemund’s side.

  “Did you just kill the arch-diocel?” Adamat asked.

  Mihali sniffed. “I should have,” he said. “Drink your broth, Field Marshal.” He left the room without another word.

  “He’s alive, sir,” Olem said. “Unconscious.”

  Adamat exchanged a glance with Tamas. He could see his own disbelief reflected in Tamas’s eyes. The field marshal held his leg in pain. “Olem, see that the arch-diocel is put in a room downstairs. Let it be known he had a bad fall down the stairs. Find witnesses. Inspector, I’m sure you saw it.”

  Adamat smoothed the front of his jacket. “It was a very nasty fall. He tumbled two flights before we could catch him.”

  “I believe that was the case,” Tamas said. “Doctor, what could you prescribe for Charlemund?”

  The doctor looked down his nose at the unconscious form of the arch-diocel. “Arsenic?”

  “Now, really. Something to give him a quality headache and a great deal of memory loss.”

  “Cyanide.”

  “Doctor!”

  “I’ll find something,” the doctor mumbled.

  “Olem.”

  Olem paused, his arms beneath Charlemund’s shoulders as he dragged him from the room. “Sir?”

  “What was that bit about the men scuffling with Charlemund’s guards?”

  “I was going to tell you sir, after the surgery.”

  “I’m sure you were. What happened?”

  Olem paused with his hands under Charlemund’s arms. “Just that, sir. The boys don’t want to lose Mihali. Say he’s a good-luck charm, cooking or not. I had nothing to do with it. At least, not too much.”

  “How the pit is he a good-luck charm? What has he done to warrant that?”

  “Filled their bellies,” Olem said.

  “Were there any casualties?”

  “There might be next time.” A cloud passed across Olem’s face.

  “And if I give a direct order?”

  Olem looked down. “I’m sure the men will follow it, sir.”

  Tamas closed his eyes and rubbed them. “What do you suggest, Inspector?”

  Adamat started. “I’m not sure I know enough details, sir.” He felt like a fly on the wall here. This was not an event he was meant to witness. This Mihali character-Adamat would need to find out more about him.

  “Pretend you do,” Tamas insisted.

  “It’s a poor commander who gives in to the whims of his troops,” Adamat said. “And an even worse one who ignores their wants and needs. Yet there are mitigating factors.” He jerked his head toward the arch-diocel, whom Olem had resumed dragging out the door.

  “Olem.”

  The bodyguard paused once more. “He’s coming around, sir.”

  “I’d rather he not yet.”

  There was a sound like a hammer hitting meat. “He won’t.”

  Tamas put his head in his hands. “Let it be known that Mihali has been conscripted by the seventh brigade of the Adran army. Send a note to Hassenbur, letting them know they may send a doctor to watch over him. We will cover all expenses, and Claremonte will be spared any embarrassment.”

  “And the Church?”

  Tamas sighed. “They can send a priest to talk to him, if they like. To convert him or some such nonsense.”

  “So Mihali is the legion’s official cook now, eh?”

  “Chef.”

  “Right, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Tamas waited until the soldier was gone to begin eating his broth. A few moments passed, the only sound that of his satisfied slurping. He looked up. “Inspector?”

  “Yes?” Adamat had found his mind wandering again.

  “You’re dismissed.”

  As Adamat left the room, he heard Tamas say, “Let’s get on with this, Petrik.”

  He paused in the hallway. Tamas handled that well enough. The field marshal was not a man to tolerate fools questioning his orders. He was not a good man to cross. Adamat wondered again if he should tell Tamas about Lord Vetas. If Tamas discovered Adamat’s betrayal on his own, Adamat would lose any chance of rescuing his family. But if Adamat attempted a rescue, even with the help of Tamas’s soldiers, his family might die. The risk was just too great.

  Chapter 28

  Come on, you idiot,” Tamas said. “Prop me up. Put the pillow there.” He paused and gripped the edge of his desk as the room spun around him.

  “Sir?” Olem said. He chewed on the end of his cigarette.

  “I’m fine. Go on.”

  Olem wedged a cushion between Tamas and his chair.

  “Down farther,” Tamas said. “Perfect. Turn the chair a little. I want to look casual.”

  Tamas gave a few more orders until he was satisfied. He sat behind his desk, pointed toward the office door, his back propped up straight so he looked taller. Olem stepped back.

  “Do I look like an invalid?” Tamas asked.

  “No.”

  “You hesitated.”

  “A little beat up, sir,” Olem said. “It’ll do.”

  “Good.” Tamas didn’t dare lean forward, hardly even to look down, so he felt blindly to a desk drawer and removed a powder cartridge. He broke the end with his thumbnail and poured it out on his tongue. He fought off a bout of dizziness, then darkness as his consciousness tried to retreat before the wave of awareness that flooded his senses. The taste was sulfuric, bitter. To Tamas it tasted of ambrosia.

  His exhaustion ebbed. The pain in his leg receded to a steady hum in the back of his mind, a simple reminder that his leg had been cut open, the flesh torn and the bone reset but without the agony that should accompany it.

  “Three capsules in an hour, sir?” There was a hint of worry in Olem’s voice.

  “Save it for someone else,” Tamas grunted. “I’ve no time to worry about going powder blind.” Truth be told, he admitted to himself, the euphoria of the powder trance clung to him. He needed it, longed for its strongest embrace like a long-absent lover. He would deal with signs of addiction later. For now, there were more important matters. Despite the powder trance, one of the deepest he’d ever been in, he could barely move. His body still felt the pain, still cried out over his lack of rest-his brain simply did not register it.

  “Tell me about Brigadier Sabastenien,” Tamas said.

  “He was an orphan,” Olem said, “adopted into the Wings of Adom as a bullet-boy. The Wings of Adom are his family-Adro his mother, the army his father.”

&
nbsp; “As I’ve heard as well.”

  “He helped me track you,” Olem said. “Ryze’s betrayal burned him deep.”

  “Does he know Ryze is dead?” Tamas asked.

  Olem shook his head.

  “And you didn’t say a word of Ryze’s innocence?”

  “Not one, sir,” Olem said.

  “Good. Send him in.”

  Brigadier Sabastenien was one of the youngest commanders of the Wings of Adom, barely twenty-five years old. Tamas knew that brigadiers were not elected at whim. They were quick, they were intelligent, brave, and fanatically loyal to the Winceslav family and to Adro. Or they had been, until Brigadier Barat.

  Brigadier Sabastenien was a shorter man, with dark, unruly hair cut just above his eyes. He had grown muttonchops to give him a better appearance of maturity, and wore them better than most men of his age.

  “I’m glad to see you back in good health, sir,” Sabastenien said.

  “Thank you,” Tamas said. “I understand you helped Olem track me.” Tamas nodded to his bodyguard, and then dismissed him with a jerk of his head. Olem slipped out onto the balcony, while Tamas’s head reeled from the sudden movement. Careful, he reminded himself.

  “I provided what service I could,” the brigadier said. “Pray tell me if there is more I can do. I’ve already begun gathering men to hunt Brigadier Ryze with Lady Winceslav’s blessing. He’ll not escape.”

  “There is one thing you can do,” Tamas said.

  “Anything, sir.”

  “It’s a small thing. You see that screen there?” Tamas pointed toward the corner of the room, where a divider stood of the type a man or woman might change behind. “I’d like you to stand behind it and listen.”

  “Sir?” Sabastenien said.

  “You’ll understand soon enough,” Tamas said. “Please. For the whim of a beat-up old man.”

  Brigadier Sabastenien gave him a hesitant nod. “Now?”

  Tamas glanced at the clock. “Yes, that would be about right.”

  Sabastenien positioned himself behind the curtain. A few moments passed, during which Tamas closed his eyes. His mind, though blocked off from the pain and weariness that would have rendered a man unconscious, still spun from the powder trance. Eyes open, he could see Olem out on the balcony, watching the birds fly in the sun over Elections Square. He could see stray fibers on Olem’s jacket, and when he concentrated, he thought he could even hear the beat of Sabastenien’s heart from where he hid behind the curtain. The young brigadier was calm.

  A knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in,” Tamas said. He straightened in his seat. Now was not a time to appear weak.

  The door opened and Tamas caught a glimpse of Vlora waiting in the hall, hands resting on the butts of her pistols, as a pair of soldiers brought in Brigadier Barat. In contrast to Sabastenien, Barat was a tall man, taller than most. His features sharp, his brow severe, though with enough softness in the cheeks and eyes as to remain quite handsome. He was clean-shaven, and Tamas had heard soldiers say the man could not grow a beard if he wanted. Barat was twenty-six, and his father had been a wealthy viscount in the north before his death years before.

  Tamas did not miss the look of confidence on Barat’s face, nor the sword still buckled to his belt.

  “Please, sit,” Tamas said, indicating one of the chairs on the other side of his desk.

  “I prefer to stand, thank you,” Brigadier Barat said. “I hope there’s a reason I was escorted here by your soldiers. Perhaps there’s been some misunderstanding.”

  “I’m certain that’s the case,” Tamas said. “Give me just some of your time.” He fell quiet, watching Barat, waiting for him to squirm. A minute or two passed.

  “This is quite irregular, sir,” Brigadier Barat said.

  “Forgive me,” Tamas said. “My adventure over the past few days had quite the effect on me. I’m just thinking…”

  “About what, sir?”

  “You’ve heard of Ryze’s betrayal?” Tamas said.

  Brigadier Barat stiffened. “A disgrace for the Wings of Adom. I’m very relieved you’re all right, sir,” he added, as if an afterthought.

  “Thank you.” Tamas smiled shallowly. “Do you know why Ryze betrayed us?”

  “He was a broken man, sir,” Barat said. “Old and brittle.”

  Tamas feigned surprise. “Really? I can’t say that we were ever really friends, but Ryze was a contemporary of mine. He was a few years ahead at the university, and the academy. He never loved anything the way he’s loved Adro, and he was a fine commander and father. He handled the campaign against the royalists splendidly.”

  “That was only my impression of him, sir,” Barat said. “I mean, I’ve only known him for a year or so. I meant no offense.”

  “Why was he ‘brittle and broken’?” Tamas asked.

  “I don’t know. He…”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, I don’t want to start rumors, sir, not without all the facts in.”

  “It’s a bit late for that,” Tamas said. “Ryze handed me over to a Kez Privileged. He’s a traitor and a villain.”

  Barat looked slightly shaken by this. He licked his lips. “Well, I think he didn’t like me. He was jealous of my favor with Lady Winceslav. He didn’t think one so young should have risen the ranks to brigadier so quickly.”

  “Really?” Tamas once again acted surprised. “I… well, I can’t imagine. I know Brigadier Sabastenien rose faster than you. And he wasn’t bedding Lady Winceslav.”

  “Well, yes but…” Brigadier Barat’s eyes grew large. “Sir! With respect, sir, I’ll have to ask you to take that back.”

  “We both know it’s true,” Tamas said. “In fact, it’s common knowledge around both my army and the Wings of Adom.” It wasn’t, but Barat didn’t need to know that. Tamas heard Sabastenien shift behind the curtain. Barat glanced that way for a moment. Tamas called back his attention with a cough.

  “I will call you out if I have to, sir,” Barat said. “To protect my honor, and the Lady’s.”

  “Call out a powder mage?” Tamas said. “You’d really do that?”

  A small smile formed at the corners of Barat’s mouth. “Yes,” he said. “And I’d beg you to choose pistols, even if it meant my death. To prove my honor.”

  Barat knew about the star in Tamas’s leg, or he wouldn’t be so cavalier about a duel. He was also grandstanding. He knew he was being watched.

  “Where’s Ryze’s son?” Tamas asked.

  Brigadier Barat was taken off guard. “What? How should I know?”

  “I’m sorry,” Tamas said. “My mind is slipping. I already know. His body was recovered from the canal this afternoon. There were weights on his ankles. He was garroted so cruelly that his head fell off when they brought the body up. Sad, an eighteen-year-old boy with such promise, meeting an end like that. You know, that’s another thing both Ryze and I shared. We both married late in life, and were gifted with just one son before our wives passed.” Tamas thought of Taniel and wondered briefly how the battle was going at South Pike. He wondered what he’d do if someone took his son hostage. He blinked, his vision blurred for a moment, and fought down his rage. This was best done coldly.

  “A tragedy,” Brigadier Barat said, his voice on edge.

  Tamas said, “A witness at Adopest University saw a man matching your description enter the dormitories late last night. One of his classmates said the boy went with the same man.”

  “Impossible,” Brigadier Barat snarled. “No investigation could go on so quickly…” Barat stopped, sensing the trap. “I hope his killer is caught and brought to justice. That still doesn’t excuse what his father did.”

  “Piano wire is often used as a garrote,” Tamas said. “Those with little experience tend to cut their own fingers. May I see your hands?”

  Barat clasped his hands behind his back and took a step back from Tamas’s desk.

  Tamas took a deep breath. Loudly, calmly, he said, “H
is father warned me of a traitor among the brigadiers. He warned me that his son was a veritable hostage, and begged me to protect him. He didn’t care that his own life was forfeit when the sorcerer caught up to us. Ryze was no traitor, Barat. He was a patriot. A hero. And he warned me about you.”

  “What rubbish is this?” Brigadier Barat hissed. “You’ve gone mad.”

  “Sometimes I think that would be simpler,” Tamas said. “Who is the traitor in the council? Things will go easier for you if you tell me.”

  “Go to the pit,” Barat scoffed. “You have no evidence, old man. I won’t play this game with you.” He spun on his heel, heading for the door. The door rattled, but did not open. “Why is this locked?” Barat glanced nervously toward the balcony. Olem watched the scene through the window, a rifle in his hands.

  Barat spun on Tamas. “Who the pit do you think you are? Lady Winceslav will not stand for this! What do you think you’ll do? Bring me to justice? Send me to court? The Lady will protect me. I’ll never see a cell, and you will only disgrace yourself in the process. False accusations from a bitter, broken man,” Barat said. His smile grew. “Just like Ryze! Filled with lies and delusions, a traitor to his own country. You’re not even a powder mage anymore.”

  Tamas sniffed. He reached into his breast pocket and removed a bullet. He held it up, rolled it between his fingers. In the other hand he held up a powder cartridge. “Am I not?” He shook his head. “Alas, this is not mine to deal with, no matter how much I’d like to.” He lowered his hands. Loudly, he said, “There’s a pistol underneath the divan cushion. It’s loaded.”

  “What?” Barat demanded. He drew his sword and stepped toward Tamas.

  Brigadier Sabastenien emerged from behind the curtain. He held the pistol up and pulled back the hammer. His hand was firm.

  The shot echoed through the room, sending Tamas’s head spinning. He gripped the desk until the dizziness was gone, then lifted his head to look at the body as Olem stepped into the room.

  Brigadier Barat lay on the floor, his blood and brains scattered across the sofa and the curtain. His body twitched once and was still. Brigadier Sabastenien lowered the pistol.