Promise of Blood

chapter 25



Taniel wiped the blood from his face and watched a pair of women drag another Watcher away from the bulwark. The man’s skull had been creased by a bullet, not a minute after he and Taniel had shared a flagon of wine behind the relative safety of the bastion walls. Taniel closed his eyes and tried to remember the man’s face. He’d sketch it later tonight.

Blood was everywhere; new blood, old blood. Fresh splatters of red on the ground and on Taniel’s coat; old rusty stains on everything. The whole bastion smelled of salty iron. The sickly, clogging scent of death wafted up from below and warred with the clouds of black powder for Taniel’s senses.

The Kez were carrying the wounded down the mountainside at an alarming rate. Men were pushed and passed along like sacks of grain to make room for new soldiers. A week ago they’d constructed a V-shaped slide of lumber that went all the way down to Mopenhague. The dead were dumped in and prodded down by men with sticks, their faces wrapped in linen scarves. The wood had long since turned a brownish red. Taniel didn’t even want to imagine what that slide smelled like. He could see great pits on the plains below where the bodies were being dumped.

Taniel sat with his back against the bulwark, cleaning and reloading his rifle. A regular bullet this time—he was running low on redstripes. Beside him, Ka-poel wore her long black duster and hat. A bullet had taken a piece out of one lapel. She returned his worried look with a cryptic tilt of her head. He got up on one knee and looked over the bastion wall.

The redoubts had fallen weeks ago. No attempt had been made to retake them. Kez soldiers hid on the far side of their walls and waited there for orders. Taniel caught a soldier peeking too far around the wall and took his shot. The man grabbed for his face and yelled. He lost his footing. With a stumble he was rolling down the hill, taking two of his comrades with him as he grabbed blindly to arrest his fall.

If he survived the tumble, he’d be disfigured for life.

Taniel pushed the thought from his mind and turned around to reload. A bullet glanced off the wall near him just a moment after he ducked down. He took a deep breath and began reloading. “Find me a Privileged,” he told Ka-poel. She gave a nod and peeked over the top of the wall.

There’d been weeks of this. Kez soldiers held the mountainside just beyond the first redoubt. They piled soil high on the road to give themselves cover and cowered behind rocks and dirt and whatever they could find. Artillery had been moved up. Blasted remains had tumbled down the mountainside not long after, destroyed by the Watch cannons. More artillery moved up, accompanied by shielded Privilegeds. After countless tries, they’d formed a beachhead, and now artillery thumped away at the bulwark from at least fifteen cleared spots on the mountainside.

Every few hours they rushed the bulwark—like clockwork they formed behind their barriers and readied their weapons. A horn would sound. They’d charge up the hill, only to meet with withering fire. Taniel could practically see the promises of glory in their officers’ eyes before he gunned them down. It turned his stomach.

Each rush failed, yet each time they inched a little closer to the fortress. The Watch was losing men too. Canister shot pierced Bo’s tentative shields of sorcery above them. Bullets took musketmen between the eyes when they lined up to take a shot. Even some sorcery was beginning to make it through. A man had been burned alive by a sliver of Privileged fire yesterday. The bastion still smelled of charred flesh.

Taniel finished loading his rifle with a redstripe and took a few deep breaths. Ka-poel flashed a hand signal. Target found. Eleven o’clock from his position. He pictured it in his mind. One of the gun emplacements.

His rise to take a shot was arrested by the arrival of Gavril. The big Watchmaster scurried toward Taniel, head down, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pewter mug in the other. He fell down beside Taniel, back thumping against the bulwark, and waved the bottle under Taniel’s nose.

“How are things on the front, Marked?” he asked.

Ka-poel tapped Taniel’s shoulder. Repeated the hand motions. He took a deep breath and stood up at the wall. Less than a second to line up his shot. He pulled the trigger and dropped back down, breathing deep of the powder smoke. Ka-poel watched. She gave him a nod, but moved her hand, horizontally at her waist. He’d hit the Privileged, but not a killing shot.

Taniel gave Gavril his best scowl. “Shot full of holes. Why are you so happy?”

“Saint Adom’s Festival wine!” Gavril held up the bottle. “They’ve sent enough from Adopest to get the whole Kez army drunk. Pity there’s a war on. Late spring is the only time of year I can abide Adopest. The festival wine certainly helps.” He paused to fill the pewter cup and offered it to Taniel. Taniel waved him off.

“Already had a lick,” he said. “Five minutes ago.”

Ka-poel took the wine bottle from Gavril’s hand. She upended the bottle, taking deep gulps. Taniel took it from her. “Not too much, girl,” he said. She snatched the bottle back, taking another draw from it.

“If they can kill,” Gavril said, “they can drink. This girl’s plenty grown up, Taniel. Just save enough for me, lass.” Gavril took the bottle back and drained the last of it in one long draft. He smacked his lips, thick cheeks flushed, and Taniel wondered how many bottles the Watchmaster had already put away. He felt a little concern—rumor had it that Gavril had started drinking heavily again during the nights. He hoped it wasn’t true.

It wasn’t the only rumor to concern him. “Wine’s all good,” Taniel said. “But I’d rather have gunpowder. Any word on the shortage?” They’d gone through their stores at an alarming rate. What should have lasted a year’s siege was spent in just a few weeks. The Kez just had too many soldiers.

Gavril shook his head. “Nothing from Adopest. The last courier said the army still has plenty. Even still, they shorted us two whole cartloads last week.” He scowled. “I ordered the artillery to go easy the next few days. I have the feeling we’ll be seeing hand-to-hand soon.”

“You really think they’ll make it over the bulwark?”

“Eventually.” Gavril suddenly looked very tired. His bulk sagged a little, and his face revealed a man fighting a war of attrition he felt he might lose. “We’ve killed twenty thousand men already. Wounded as many more, and yet they keep coming. They say there’s a million down on that plain below, each one with words of glory and promises of riches in their ears.”

“I heard Ipille has offered a whole duchy to the officer who leads the charge that breaks us.”

“Heard the same thing,” Gavril said. “And they’ll make officers of the first thousand soldiers who follow him in.”

“That’s a lot of incentive.”

“Aye. Gives us a lot to shoot at.”

“They have more men than we have bullets.”

“How many Privileged you think you’ve killed?”

Taniel ran his fingers along the notches on the butt of his rifle. “Thirteen dead. Wounded twice that many.”

“That’s a sizable chunk of their royal cabal.”

“Not enough,” Taniel said.

“Well, I want you to keep an eye on something else.”

Taniel frowned. “What’s more important than Privileged?”

“Sappers,” Gavril said.

Taniel remembered the sappers. They’d tried to start digging their first day on the mountainside, and gunshots had sent them back down the hill with their tails between their legs, not to be seen since. Well, not until the other day. They were back at it again, down below the last redoubt—well behind the Kez front line. They were deep enough already that artillery wasn’t bothering them, though a couple of cannons had been blasting away at their position.

“Are you really worried about them?” Taniel asked. “It’ll take them years to dig the distance all the way up to us. If they break through, all we do is point a cannon down that hole and fill it with grapeshot.”

“Wish it were that easy,” Gavril said. “Bo says they’ve got help. Privileged. And Julene.”

Taniel felt his hands begin to shake a little. He stilled them by rubbing them together. “Whatever she feels like helping with can’t be good news for us. Still. You want me to shoot at sappers?”

“Not the sappers themselves. Watch for the Privileged helping them.”

“Gavril!”

Bo joined them at the bulwark, crossing the yard at a dead run. He dropped down on the other side of Taniel, breathing hard. Taniel could tell he was exhausted. His cheeks were sunken, all traces of fat gone, and his hair dirty and scraggly. There was mud on his face, from Kresimir-knew-what.

“They’re planning something big,” Bo said.

“The sappers?” Gavril asked. “We know about them.”

“No,” Bo snapped. “Right now. The…” He stopped as the sound of enemy artillery suddenly fell off. There was a moment of silence before a Watch cannon fired, followed by the cracks of muskets. There was no return from the Kez side. Bo went on. “All their Privileged are gathered just below the last redoubt, near their sappers.”

Taniel shrugged.

“Over a hundred!” Bo said. “They don’t get together like that for a picnic. There’s officers there, too, I wouldn’t doubt. They’re getting ready for a big push.”

Gavril stood up, looking over the bulwark. Taniel closed his eyes and waited.

“Shit,” Gavril said, dropping back down. “You might be right. They’ve got men coming up all quiet on the road. Lots of them. I saw a few black jackets among them.”

“Wardens?” Taniel said. “Pit.”

Gavril climbed to his feet and was away, barking orders at the Watchers, yelling for every able-bodied man.

“How can you miss that?” Bo said after Gavril was gone. “Aren’t you shooting at the bastards?”

Taniel pointed at Ka-poel. “She’s my spotter. I’m always behind cover.”

Ka-poel flashed a number of hand signals.

“She said they have only gathered in the last few minutes,” Taniel said.

“Well, be ready for whatever…”

Bo threw his hand up in a warding gesture. A second later a canister shot went off right above their heads, the echo of the blast ringing through the bastion. Bo’s shields flashed red as the bullets clattered off them, then fell harmlessly to the ground. Canisters exploded over the entire length of the bastion, the sound deafening. The wall at Taniel’s back shook with the impact of cannonballs. He glanced at Ka-poel. Her eyes were dark. She hadn’t even flinched.

“They must be firing every damned artillery they have!” Taniel said above the din. Bo ignored him. His face was strained, his hands flashing at an incredible speed as he worked sorcery to shield the air above the bastion.

The bombardment was withering. Bo’s eyes began to water, veins standing out on his forehead. Fire flashed above them, and Taniel knew that sorcery was backing up the Kez artillery.

Watchers rushed beneath Bo’s shields, flinching at the explosions above, carrying sacks and torches. One Watcher set a sack gently beside Taniel and was off for another after a quick glance at Bo and a muttered prayer. Taniel looked inside the sack. It was full of clay balls as large as a man’s fist. Grenados. They expected the Kez to get close today indeed.

“Fix bayonets!” Gavril’s bellow rose above the concussion of artillery. Taniel felt his heart beat faster. He pulled his ring bayonet from its leather case in his pack and slid it over the end of his rifle. With a twist it locked into place.

“Ready!” Gavril yelled.

Taniel checked his rifle—already loaded. He glanced at Bo. The Privileged was doing all he could do to stay standing while his fingers flashed commands to unseen elements. His shields were beginning to break down. On the other end of the bulwark a canister shot went off within the shield. Men screamed and fell, and a cannon lost its crew.

Taniel peeked over the edge of the bulwark as a trumpet sounded. The mountainside suddenly swarmed with Kez soldiers. They rushed up the road, they climbed the steep rocks. Every inch of mountainside was covered. Where had they been hiding all of these men so close to the fortress?

“Aim!”

Taniel picked out an officer near the front. The man’s white feather wriggled in the air as he ran up the road at the head of his men, waving his sword in the air. The Kez troops plowed on behind him, bayonets fixed on their muskets. A black coat among all the red and gold caught his eye and he changed targets. His heart beat loudly in his ears. Wardens. Lots of them, scattered among the troops. They carried big knives in their teeth like sailors as they scrambled over the rocks on the mountainside, heading straight for the slanted walls of the bulwark.

“Fire!”

Taniel pulled the trigger. He burned a little powder, giving extra oomph to the ball. A cloud of spent gunpowder burst into the air, obscuring his vision for a moment. It cleared, and yells of dismay echoed through the bastion.

Only one man fell from the volley: the Warden Taniel had shot right between the eyes with a redstripe. Bullets and grapeshot burst into sparks and fell harmlessly to the ground a few feet in front of the first ranks. The Kez charge didn’t even falter.

“They have Privileged in their ranks!” Taniel yelled.

“Fire at will!” came the order.

He snatched for his purse of redstripes and opened his third eye. A wave of nausea came over him, which he pushed away as he reloaded. He didn’t have time for powder. He simply dropped a redstripe down his muzzle and rammed cotton swabbing in after it. He sighted down the rifle, opened his third eye.

Pastel colors from the third sight made his head spin. The invisible shield the Kez Privileged were using became a translucent, yellow sheen partially obscuring all behind it. He struggled to pick through the colors beyond. Wardens glowed, and so did Knacked among the Kez troops. Taniel looked for the brightest colors—the Privileged. He picked one out and pulled the trigger. The man jerked and dropped, and Taniel loaded another redstripe.

He managed two more before the Kez reached the walls. The thunder of artillery suddenly dropped off.

Gavril’s voice shouted, “Hold!”

Taniel heard Bo wheeze. He spun in time to catch Bo under one arm and lower him to the ground. Bo shook his head. “Keep going!” he coughed. “You’re weakening them.” His eyes grew wide and he lurched to his feet. “They’re dropping the shield!”

“Fire!” Gavril roared.

Another cloud of powder swirled up around them as the line fired away. A dead silence briefly touched the bulwark, and then men were scrambling to reload as artillery captains barked orders.

The smoke cleared.

The volley of shots had torn through the first few ranks. Men dropped by the score. Wounded tossed themselves to the side, trying not to be trampled by those behind. They could not get out of the way. There were too many soldiers. Adran cannons fired grapeshot, the sound pounding away at Taniel’s ears.

Only Wardens remained standing after the grapeshot. They pushed onward, wet stains on their black coats betraying blood loss, yet seemingly no worse for the wear. They bellowed in defiance, shook their knives in the air, and waved to the ranks behind them. The dead were trodden underfoot.

“Grenados!”

The clay balls were lit on torches along the wall and tossed over. Explosions bit into the Kez numbers. A few Wardens were blasted to pieces.

Kez swarmed the base of the bulwark like angry hornets. Ladders were put in place, and grappling hooks thrown. Taniel snatched for a hatchet as a hook landed beside him. He cut the rope with one chop and jumped up, firing at a Privileged at the bottom of the wall.

Wardens scrambled up the slanted walls of the bastion as if they were light inclines. They made it up the wall in moments, and a half dozen jumped down among the Watchers.

“To bayonets!” Gavril yelled. “Keep up the cannon fire!”

One great, ugly head poked over the bulwark right in front of Ka-poel. Taniel swung his rifle toward the Warden, but Ka-poel was faster. Her hand jabbed forward, revealing a long needle that had been hidden in her sleeve. It went through the Warden’s eye and into his brain. The creature let go his handholds and fell.

Taniel stabbed a Kez soldier in the shoulder as he scrambled over the wall. He cracked the next man with the butt of his rifle and tried to load another redstripe. The Kez were coming too fast. He took a quick snort of powder and gripped his rifle in both hands, sure he wouldn’t get off another shot. He readied himself for the next wave—they’d find a trance-taken powder mage ready for them.

A Warden came over the wall with one hand on the brick, the other clutching a knife big enough to cut Taniel in two. Ka-poel leapt for him, but was batted away like a doll. Taniel yelled, thrusting his bayonet. The Warden reached long arms over the rifle, ignoring fourteen inches of steel through his middle, and backhanded Taniel. Taniel stumbled. The blow had rattled him even in a powder trance.

The Warden spotted Bo on the ground and pushed himself off Taniel’s bayonet. Bo raised his hands, trying to manage some defense, but the Warden leapt upon him in a moment, knife raised.

Taniel reached the Warden as he was about to stab Bo. He thrust his bayonet, spitting the creature like a hog. The Warden’s head turned, surprised that Taniel had regained his feet so quickly. The Warden tried to use his weight and strength as leverage to throw Taniel’s grip on his rifle.

Taniel would have none of it. He could feel the barrel of his rifle strain as he shoved the Warden back against the bastion wall. He set his feet and lifted, dumping the Warden over the edge. He hoped the creature’s wounds would prevent it from climbing the bastion again.

He paused for just a moment to help Ka-poel to her feet. She was rattled, but unhurt.

Gavril appeared by his side. “Get back to shooting,” he snarled as he grabbed a Kez soldier by the throat. He lifted the man, one-handed, and tossed him over the wall. “Kill the Privileged!”

Suddenly Fesnik was there with Gavril, a small sword in one hand, a long pole in the other, pushing away the ladders. Under their cover, Taniel grabbed his bag of redstripes. He dropped two balls in, rammed down the cotton, and took aim.

Angle floating, powder mages called it—when you fire a bullet and push it in one sharp direction, around a wall or even around a person. Taniel had seen his father do it on many occasions—it was said Tamas was the very best.

Taniel generally had a hard time with angle floating, and often failed to make the angle sharp enough. It took precision timing and a damned huge amount of concentration. Taniel couldn’t manage that concentration. A failed angle floater made his head feel like it had been pounded by a hammer. A successful one hurt more.

What Taniel could do was nudge bullets. Nudging a bullet was no more than burning some powder to correct your aim while the bullet was in flight—much like floating itself. It took little more than a sharp eye, yet he’d never seen anyone shoot farther nor more accurately than he could. And he could do it with two bullets.

Ka-poel pointed out a pair of Privileged about ten paces from each other. They stood down beside the easy cover of the redoubts, some hundred paces away and protected by their personal shields. Taniel lined up the shot and pulled the trigger.

Both men dropped, taking the separate bullets to the chest. A third Privileged saw them fall. Taniel ducked behind the wall.

He signaled to Ka-poel to stay down. The Privileged would be watching for him now. He couldn’t stop shooting. He took a few deep breaths and loaded one bullet and pictured that third Privileged in his mind’s eye. Less than a second to aim and shoot. He crawled, rifle in hand, changing his position on the wall by five paces. A few quick breaths and he sprang up.

The Privileged had his hands up, fingers twitching. An arch of lightning sprang from the air above him as Taniel pulled the trigger. The lightning slammed into the spot Taniel had been a few moments before, the force of the impact powerful enough to knock Taniel, Gavril, Ka-poel, Fesnik, and a dozen Kez soldiers off their feet.

The bullet drifted high and ripped through the Privileged’s throat. He went down in a spray of blood.

Taniel breathed a sigh of relief.

A horn resounded across the mountainside. The sound of fighting tapered off as the Kez soldiers retreated back down the mountain.

Gavril pushed away a soldier he’d been grappling with. He held a fist above his head. “Cease fire!” The cannons silenced. Kez soldiers within the bulwark threw down their weapons. Gavril scowled at them. “We’re not taking prisoners,” he said. “Surrender your weapons and gear, and then down the mountain with you.”

Word passed throughout the bastion. Kez climbed back over the walls after being relieved of their muskets and powder, and began the long walk among their dead. Gavril found a Kez officer among the wounded and took him by the shoulder while Taniel watched.

“Tell Field Marshal Tine that he can send some unarmed soldiers up to collect your dead. And I suggest we all take a few days to tend to the wounded.” Gavril repeated the order in Kez to be sure he was understood.

The officer nodded wearily and, with the help of a Kez soldier, headed over the wall and down the mountain.

Taniel dropped down beside Bo.

“You OK?”

Bo gave him a long look.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“To the pit with all this,” Bo managed.

Katerine, Rina, and Alasin appeared as if from nowhere. All three of Bo’s women. They surrounded Bo, alternately scolding and fussing, and Bo was carried off toward the town.

Taniel and Gavril watched them go.

“I need to get me one of those,” Taniel said.

“What?” Gavril asked. “A harem?”

“Yeah,” Taniel said. Ka-poel punched him in the arm.

“I’ve tried juggling more than one woman at once,” Gavril said. “It’s a pain in the ass. Don’t know how Privileged do it.”

“They treat ’em like shit,” Taniel said.

“Bo doesn’t,” Gavril said. “I guess I should say, ‘I don’t know how Bo does it.’”

They turned and watched the retreating Kez in silence for a moment.

“You really saved our asses there,” Gavril said.

Taniel gave Gavril a surprised look. “Huh?”

“You didn’t know?”

Gavril slapped his knee and gave a loud guffaw. Watchers, tending to the dead and wounded, paused to give Gavril odd looks. “You mean you don’t know who you shot?”

“A Privileged?” He bent over, picked up a discarded bottle of St. Adom’s Festival wine. Somehow it had gone unbroken through all of this. He took a swig. After a moment’s hesitation he handed it to Ka-poel. She drank once and gave it back.

“At a hundred yards even I recognized him,” Gavril said. “That last one, the one that hit us with a lightning bolt hard enough to knock through the wards on the bastion. That was Brajon the Callous.”

Taniel choked on a mouthful of wine. “The head of the Kez Cabal?”

“The same,” Gavril said.

Taniel felt his knees weaken beneath him. He put a hand on the bastion wall for support. “I would never have stood up if I had known it was him. Brajon was in Fatrasta at the beginning of the war. He almost ended it himself. Wiped out an entire Fatrastan army—singlehandedly. The war would have ended there if he hadn’t been called back to Kez by Ipille himself.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t know,” Gavril said. “They almost had us there. Their Privileged were dressed in infantry colors and hiding their gloves. Blended right in. Bo was too busy tending his shields to notice.”

And Taniel hadn’t had his third eye open until it was too late. He scolded himself. Stupid. He’d almost gotten them all killed. Taniel watched as Gavril took stock of the damage to the bastion. “You know,” Taniel said, “we could have kept firing after they sounded the retreat. Would have wiped out thousands on the mountainside. The Kez did that to us in Fatrasta a few times.”

Gavril snorted angrily. “War has to have some decorum. Otherwise it’s back to the Bleakening for all of us, and Kresimir be damned.”

Gavril left him then. Taniel looked over the edge of the bastion. He thought to open his third eye to track their Privileged, but decided it would just give him a headache.

A thought troubled him. If that was their big push, then where was Julene? He searched the hillside for the entrance to the sapper tunnels. There was some movement there, and he thought he saw a man empty a wheelbarrow of dirt.

Tamas stared up at the ceiling of a small room, his vision blurry. There wasn’t much to see even had his eyes been clear. He could make out the slanted logs of a roof, plain wood with mud in the cracks to seal them against the weather. It was light, barely. His body told him it was dawn. The light was gloomy, indicative of a stormy day ahead. He heard the crow of a rooster, and the sound of hoofbeats, followed by a muffled conversation. The men outside spoke Kez.

He couldn’t feel his right leg. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation, and combined with his blurry vision Tamas had to fight rising panic. Without a leg or good vision, what hope did he have of escape? He breathed deeply, calming himself, and assessed the rest of his body for wounds.

Both of his hands and arms still seemed to work. They moved when prompted. He could feel the stab of a straw mattress beneath him. His chest hurt when he took too deep a breath, but not enough for a broken rib. His side was tender, perhaps from a cut or a bruise. He touched it gently. A bruise, he decided. He was in short undergarments and nothing else, and years of instinct told him he was not alone in the room.

Tamas struggled to push himself into a sitting position. He’d been provided with neither blanket nor pillow, and lay upon a filthy straw mattress on a wooden frame. There was a window on his left, and stairs going down at the end of the bed. He rubbed his eyes, which improved his vision slightly. A Warden sat in the corner, his muscled, malformed body easy to recognize, though Tamas could not make out much more than the outline of the body.

“Where am I?” Tamas said.

The blurry mountain of flesh seemed to regard him for a moment, then mumbled something unintelligible in Kez.

“Where am I?” Tamas repeated.

The Warden left the room.

“Where am I,” Tamas shouted after the Warden. He pushed himself up farther. “Monster. Beast!” He lay back down, what little strength he had now gone. His head had begun to throb when he moved. He felt along the wrapping gingerly, grimacing. The slightest touch brought a jolt of pain, and he eventually left it alone. He’d been treated. They’d covered his wounds in strips of dirty linen. His leg was wrapped tight, but there was still circulation. He wouldn’t be walking on it any time soon. He heard steps from below, and two pairs of boots upon the stairs. The Warden returned, with him a smaller man.

“Field Marshal,” a voice said in accented Adran. Tamas felt his hackles rise at the sound of the voice.

“Nikslaus,” he spat. “I thought I threw you in the Adsea.”

The duke’s voice was genial. “My Wardens fished me out. How is your leg?”

“It’s fantastic,” Tamas said. “I’m going to dance a jig. Where am I?”

Nikslaus took the Warden’s seat in the corner of the room, while the Warden stood at the foot of the bed. “Deep in the King’s Wood,” he said. “Now, my surgeon said you’d hit your head hard when you fell. Are you having any problems with your vision?”

“No,” Tamas lied.

“Of course you are,” Nikslaus said. “I can tell that your eyes aren’t focusing. I’ll have the surgeon take a look at you before we go.”

Tamas did his best to glare at Nikslaus, but found it hard when he could barely see him. “Why the pit am I still alive? Where are we going?”

“To Kez,” Nikslaus said. “I advised against it, but after that first Warden didn’t kill you, Ipille decided that we should send a message. If everything goes as scheduled, you’ll face the guillotine beneath my king’s gaze on the final day of Saint Adom’s Festival.”

“You’ve planned this for a long time,” Tamas said.

“One of many contingencies. We need to be rid of you, one way or another, if we’re to take Adro. You’re the strongest of the powder mages and a tactical genius—I don’t mind saying it, it’s the truth. The mercenaries will give us some fight, but you’re the backbone of your army. Your soldiers will crumble without you.”

“You underestimate them,” Tamas said.

“Perhaps.” Nikslaus seemed unworried. “The dominoes will fall, Tamas. You’re only the first. Adro is outnumbered. With your head in a basket, we will whittle away at the Mountainwatch and hunt down your powder mages. We have every advantage.”

Tamas gazed at his hands, trying desperately to focus on them. “What happened to my leg?”

“My fault,” Nikslaus said. “The boulder you were hiding behind cracked in a particular way, and then exploded when I applied enough sorcery. A fragment glanced your leg. Shattered it, I’m afraid.

“But I wouldn’t worry much about it,” Nikslaus continued. “Our surgeon says it might heal, in time. He’s quite gifted. Put it back together and stitched the flesh up like no one would know.” Nikslaus stood up and approached the bed. He leaned forward, just out of Tamas’s reach. “You’re a few hundred krana richer, Tamas,” he said in a low voice. He tilted his head toward Tamas’s leg. “There’s a star of gold in there, right up against the bone. You’ve been cured.”

Tamas lurched forward and swung a fist at the blurry image of the duke. His body screamed at him, his leg sending a fiery needle of pain up his body that made his stomach lurch. Nikslaus danced out of the way.

“Cured.” That’s what Nikslaus thought of it. Gold in the bloodstream of a powder mage was anathema. It removed their ability to sense and touch powder, to enter a trance.

Nikslaus gave a chuckle. “You’re cured, Tamas, but it won’t help your cause. Your neck will rest beneath the same guillotine blade that took your wife’s head all those years ago. You won’t go to your death as a powder mage. You’ll go as the son of a poor apothecary.”

Tamas’s blood thumped hard in his ears and his hands shook violently. He wanted to reach out and take Nikslaus by the throat. He longed to have finished what he started on the docks. Yet he could do nothing. He was powerless.

It was not a familiar feeling. For as long as Tamas could remember, his magery had been there. Even when not in a powder trance, he could sense nearby sorcerers and tell where and how much powder there was within hundreds of paces. He could detonate charges or kegs, he could breathe in the acrid smoke and send his body into a berserk rage.

He had none of that now. Only his hands and a shattered leg, and vision blurred by a concussion. He sank back onto the bed and felt moisture roll down his face. He turned away from Nikslaus as best he could.

The duke left him in silence. Even the Warden was gone. It was plain to see that Tamas could do nothing, and from the growing noise outside the room there was plenty else to be done than watch one broken old man.

Nikslaus’s voice was louder than the others. He gave orders with the arrogance of the nobility. Tamas forced his hands to stop shaking. He lifted his good leg and put one foot on the floor. He pushed himself up.

He nearly collapsed there. It took all of his strength to keep from falling flat on his face. He put one hand on the wall, the other on a bedpost. He pushed himself over to the window, hopping on one leg. He stopped only to vomit, the pain finally overcoming his gag suppression, and then he was at the window.

Tamas sank to the floor, careful to avoid the puddle of bile, and put his head against the cool wall. He could hear Nikslaus almost as clearly as if he stood next to him. Nikslaus either didn’t count on Tamas eavesdropping or didn’t care.

“We’ll take the long road to Adopest,” Nikslaus said in Kez. “I don’t care what the scouts say, I’ll not risk encountering those fools from the hunt.”

Tamas heard the gallop of approaching hooves. They stopped outside the window.

“Well?” Nikslaus said.

“We tracked down four more, my lord,” a deep voice responded. There was a guttural quality to the voice, so Tamas knew it was a Warden.

“Is that the last of them?” Nikslaus said.

“No telling. With our man dead, we don’t know how many men Ryze brought with him. I suspect we have them all.”

“Don’t underestimate that brigadier,” Nikslaus snarled. “He was one of Winceslav’s best. He’ll have had outriders in case anything happened. Leave two Wardens to hunt.”

“We had to dodge patrols. They’re looking for Tamas.”

“We’ll be gone before they reach us. Go help the others. We leave within the hour.”

With powder mages on his trail, Nikslaus would be in a hurry to get away. Tamas’s mood began to rise, only to plummet as logic set in. They had been hours away from the hunt. Half a day from Adopest. Sabon might not even know he was missing yet. And that was all based on the possibility that Nikslaus let the others get away. How many Wardens did he have with him? Did Nikslaus send them after Olem, Charlemund, and the rest?

Tamas gave a weary sigh. Even if they were to find him, what was he? Just an old man now. No more a powder mage.