Chapter
17
Adamat was wary as his hackney cab pulled onto the long suburban street that led to his house.
He hadn’t been there for almost two months – not since the day he told Vetas that Field Marshal Tamas was on his way to arrest Arch-Diocel Charlemund. Adamat had been forced to trick Vetas and still almost gotten Tamas killed. Vetas would want Adamat back – either dead or alive.
Adamat was willing to bet that Vetas was having the house watched.
He kept an eye on the street on the approach to the house. No suspicious men, no figures lurking in windows with an undue interest in his home. Foot traffic was minimal in this part of town, just a family heading to the market and a single old man strolling briskly in the sun.
The carriage rolled to a stop three houses down from his own. Adamat checked the snub-nosed pistol in his pocket. Loaded and primed.
He flipped the collar of his jacket up around his face, pulled his hat low, and stepped into the street. Handing a few krana to the driver, Adamat headed warily toward his house, his cane held firmly in one hand.
The shutters were closed, the blinds drawn as he’d left them. Adamat searched the front of the house for any sign that things had been touched or tampered with. Nothing.
Adamat opened the gate to the alleyway between houses and went back to his garden. Another short inspection showed him nothing out of order. He waited for several minutes, examining the house again and again. No new scratches on the lock, no footprints in the garden.
It slowly began to dawn on him that perhaps he wasn’t as important to Vetas as he thought. Lord Vetas was playing some kind of larger game on behalf of his master, Lord Claremonte. Did Adamat matter anymore? After all, as far as Vetas knew, Tamas had had Adamat quietly executed for treason. What if Vetas had written Adamat off entirely? Maybe Faye and Josep were already dead, buried in a shallow grave somewhere.
Adamat clenched and unclenched his fists. No. He couldn’t think like that. Faye was alive. Vetas still held her. And Adamat was going to get her back.
Adamat unlocked the back door and stepped into the house. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The rooms were warm and stuffy with the windows closed up, but it still smelled like old wood, books, dust, and a slight hint of lavender from the incense Faye used to burn. He drew his pistol and carefully searched each of the rooms.
Everything was just as it had been left: the bloodstains on the sofa and carpet from one of Lord Vetas’s men, a bullet hole in the ceiling. Another in the hall and one in the floor, along with the rest of the unrepaired damage done in the fight with the Black Street Barbers.
Pistol in one hand, cane in the other, Adamat climbed the stairs to the second floor. Here was where the Barbers had attacked him. There was SouSmith’s blood, almost black on the dark hickory stairs.
No one upstairs. No sign anyone had gone through his belongings or searched the house.
Adamat sighed and lowered the pistol. He was almost disappointed. It was as if Lord Vetas had forgotten him entirely.
He put his cane in the umbrella stand by the front door and headed to the kitchen. There might be some canned beans or something to eat in the pantry. Get some food, then find his shovel, and then…
Adamat was not nearly fast enough to react as something swung around the corner and took him full in the nose. Pain blossomed all over his face and he was suddenly blinking up at the ceiling through tears.
Someone towered over him. He was grasped by the lapels of his jacket and lifted off the ground and a moment later slammed into the wall. Adamat swallowed a mouthful of his own blood and tried to breathe through his nose, only to utter a whimper.
Adamat was held against the wall by two strong arms. He batted at them to no effect, then lifted his hand to wipe his eyes. He looked into the face of a man with coal stains on his cheeks and shirt. Adamat recognized this man – one of Lord Vetas’s goons.
Adamat cleared his throat and tried to sound casual. “Kale, was it?”
“That’s right.” The coal shoveler’s mouth twisted. “Been waiting for you for a long time.”
Adamat’s whole head hurt. His nose had to be broken. He probably looked an absolute mess. The second set of clothes ruined in a week.
“Lord Vetas wants a word with you,” Kale said. “You come along quietly now, or I start breaking your teeth.”
Where the pit had he come from? Adamat had checked the whole house. Man must have been hiding in the cellar. And what on earth had he hit Adamat with? A cudgel?
“Right,” Adamat said.
Kale’s grip loosened. Adamat felt himself slide down the wall until his feet were touching the ground. This man was fast. And strong. Pit, what Adamat would have given to have SouSmith here now.
“Clean yourself up,” Kale said. He let go of Adamat’s jacket.
Adamat felt his knees give out from beneath him and he collapsed to the floor. He’d landed on something. Just under his chest – his pistol. He wrapped his fingers around the butt blindly.
He felt a strong hand on his back. “I’m all right,” Adamat said. “Just. Hurts. I’ll get another shirt from my bedroom and then I’ll come, no fight.” His words were gurgled and nasal.
He pushed himself to his feet with some struggle. Pit, the pain in his face. It would take more than three fingers of whiskey to dull this. Adamat took three steps down the hall and turned, lifting the pistol, and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot made his head – somehow – hurt even more.
Kale regarded the pistol, then looked at Adamat.
Adamat looked at the pistol, then at Kale. Then at the floor.
The bullet was on the ground. It must have fallen out of the barrel when Adamat dropped the pistol.
Kale crossed the space between them in two long strides, knocking the pistol out of Adamat’s hand and grabbing Adamat by the throat, lifting him into the air and slamming him against the front door. The walls rattled from the impact.
Adamat struggled to breathe. He kicked. He punched. Nothing he could do would loosen Kale’s grip.
“That’s going to cost you a thumb,” Kale said.
Adamat flailed around with his right hand. He had to do something, he had to… he felt his hand touch the head of his cane where it sat in the umbrella stand. He gripped the cane as far down as he could, lifted it, and slammed it into Kale’s temple.
Kale staggered to one side, letting up on his grip. Adamat shoved him away with one arm and brought the cane down as hard as he could.
The coal shoveler caught the blow with one hand even as he stumbled away from Adamat. He grabbed the end of the cane and jerked.
Adamat found himself in a sudden tug-of-war. Kale jerked again, almost pulling Adamat over. Adamat could see the coal shoveler’s eyes tighten at the corners and knew he’d not keep ahold of the cane the next time.
So Adamat twisted the head of the cane. There was a quiet click.
Kale yanked hard on the cane. He tumbled to the ground and looked with some surprise at the end of the cane in his hand.
Adamat threw himself forward, cane-sword-first, ramming the short blade into Kale’s stomach. He pulled back and rammed again, then again. Adamat stumbled to one side after the final thrust, staring at Kale.
The coal shoveler stared back. He held both arms across his stomach, whimpering from the pain.
“He’ll know,” Kale said. “Lord Vetas will know you’re back, and he’ll kill your wife.”
Adamat stood up straight and leveled his cane sword at Kale. “She’s still alive?”
Kale didn’t respond.
“And Josep? My boy?”
“Get me a doctor,” Kale said. “Do it now and I’ll tell you about your boy.”
“My next-door neighbor is a doctor. Tell me and I’ll fetch him.”
Kale let out a long, anguished sigh. “Your boy… your boy is gone. They took… I don’t know where, but he’s gone. Your wife is there… she…”
“She what?”
“Get me a doctor.”
“Tell me.” The pain in Adamat’s head seemed to climb to a crescendo. It was agonizing, and by the look of his soaked shirt and jacket he must have lost a great deal of blood from his nose.
“Vetas… he’ll know. He thought maybe Tamas took you in… that you were arrested, or shot… but now he’ll know you’re alive.”
Adamat gritted his teeth. “Not if they don’t find the body.” He barely trusted himself to thrust straight and true, but his cane sword went into Kale’s eye and only stopped when it hit the back of his skull. He pulled it out and waited until the body stopped twitching before he cleaned the blade on Kale’s coat.
Adamat stripped to the waist and and tossed his bloody clothes onto Kale’s body. He hunted about the house for any other sign that the coal shoveler had ever been here, then went and found his shaving mirror.
His bleary eyes and bloody face stared back at him. He barely recognized himself.
Adamat’s nose was bent nearly perpendicular to his head. Every gentle touch as he probed his face forced him to choke down a scream.
He put one hand on either side of his nose and stared at himself in the eyes. It was now or never.
He grasped his nose and straightened it.
Adamat woke up on the floor of his kitchen to the sound of someone pounding on his front door. He slowly got to his feet and glanced in the mirror. Through all the blood and grime he could tell his nose was straight again. He wondered if it was worth the excruciating pain that even now made him want to collapse.
It took him a full minute with shaking hands to reload his pistol. When it was primed, he went to the front door and peeked out the window.
It was one of his neighbors. An older woman, stooped from age and wearing a day dress with a shawl hastily thrown over her head. He didn’t think he’d ever learned her name.
Adamat cracked the door.
The woman nearly screamed at the sight of him.
“Yes?” he asked.
“Are you… are you all right?” she asked in a trembling voice. “I thought I heard a gunshot, and then not five minutes ago came the most terrible scream.”
“Gunshot? No, no gunshot. I’m terribly sorry at my appearance. I fell and broke my nose. I was just setting it. Probably the scream you heard.”
She stared at him like he was some kind of specter. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Just a broken nose,” Adamat said, gesturing at his face. “An accident, I assure you.”
“I’ll run and fetch the doctor.”
“No, please,” Adamat said. “I’ll go myself soon. No need to do that.”
“Now, now, I must insist.”
“Madame!” Adamat made his voice as firm as he could. It made his nasal passage vibrate, and the pain nearly dropped him to the floor again. “If you mind, I will attend to myself. Do not, under any circumstance, summon a doctor.”
“If you are certain…?”
Damned busybodies. “Quite, thank you, madame.” Adamat closed the door and surveyed the mess in his hallway. Blood everywhere. The rug, the floor, the walls. All over the door behind him.
It took Adamat several hours and quite a lot of Faye’s spare linens to clean up all the blood. He worked urgently – no telling if another of Vetas’s goons would arrive at any time. But he had to have the house cleaned out. There had to be no sign that he’d ever been here.
When it was done, Adamat finally cleaned himself. A full bottle of wine, and the pain in his head was a dull hum instead of a constant hammering. Night had fallen. He wrapped Kale’s body in the soiled linens and dragged it out the back door, thinking how furious Faye would be once she found out what he’d used the linens for.
In the corner of Adamat’s small garden was a toolshed, and under the toolshed an unused root cellar no larger than the inside of a small carriage. Adamat entered the root cellar and felt around in the dark for several minutes before he found what he was looking for: a rope on the cellar floor in a layer of loose dirt. He grabbed the rope and hauled, pulling free a stout wooden box.
He took the strongbox into the garden and returned to drop the body inside the root cellar. He rearranged the tools so it looked like no one had been in there for some time and closed the door behind him.
Inside the lockbox was every krana he’d saved since he first found out he owed Palagyi for the loan that had started Adamat and Friends Publishing. Adamat didn’t trust bankers anymore. Not since his loan had been sold to Palagyi.
The sum came out to a little under twenty-five thousand. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Adamat spent another several hours cleaning the house of all traces of blood and then gathered a travel case full of children’s clothes, the strongbox, and his cane and pistol before he headed out into the street to look for a hackney cab.
Taniel lay against the earthen battlements and glanced up at the overcast sky.
Mountainous white clouds moved ponderously through the sky, rolling like foam on top of a wave as it crashed upon the beach. Bits of gray mixed into the clouds, here and there. Rain, maybe? He hoped not. The earthworks would turn to mud and the rain would foul powder on both sides.
Taniel could hear the distant drumming of the Kez. It seemed far away, from where he lay against the cool, hard earth. The shouts of the Adran commanders – those were closer. He wanted to tell them to stuff it. Every man on the line knew they’d likely die today. Every man on the line knew that the Kez would succeed in their attack, taking the earthworks again like they did yesterday, and the day before that.
Morale wasn’t just dead; it had been hanged, shot, then drawn and quartered and buried in a rocky grave.
“Well?” Taniel said.
Colonel Etan stood a few feet back from the edge of the earthworks, waving his sword and lending his own reassurances to the meaningless chatter of the officers. He wore a bearskin hat with a purple plume, befitting an officer of the Twelfth Grenadiers. His eyes were fixed on the approaching Kez infantry, still well beyond the earthworks.
“Coming,” Etan said.
Taniel scanned the clouds. “Wake me when they get here.” He closed his eyes.
Some of Etan’s grenadiers chuckled at that. Taniel opened his eyes to see who’d laughed, and flashed them a grin. He surprised himself at how easily he smiled. Just a few days ago the very act had seemed foreign. Now…
He caught sight of Ka-poel back behind Etan. She sat on the earthworks, her knee raised up, chin in her hand. She was watching the Kez advance. Even the grenadiers – the strongest, bravest men in the Adran army – had a wild, nervous look in their eyes. They knew what it meant to be on the front. But Ka-poel’s eyes were thoughtful, piercing. Not a hint of fear. She looked as deadly as a Fatrastan wildcat.
Taniel wondered what she saw that the others didn’t.
“Getting close,” Etan said. His body was tense and he kept a white-knuckle grip on his sword.
Taniel wondered where Kresimir was. Why hadn’t the god shown himself? Why hadn’t he killed them all, scattering them with sorcery, instead of letting his army chip away slowly at the Adran defenses day after day?
“Here they come!”
Taniel gripped his rifle in both hands. The timing for this had to be perfect. No hesitation. He had to —
“Now!”
There was just a hint of a shadow in the corner of Taniel’s eyes. Taniel thrust his rifle upward, ramming two and a half spans of steel straight up between the legs of a leaping Warden.
Taniel felt the rifle stock twist in his hands. He gave a shout and pushed up harder, lifting the Warden like some kind of macabre trophy and then slamming him onto the earthwork floor.
Even a Warden could be taken by surprise, it seemed. The creature lay still in utter shock for several moments, eyes wide, a look of panic on his face. Then it began to thrash, trying to pull off the bayonet that Taniel had rammed up its ass.
A dozen grenadiers fell on the Warden with bayonets and swords. It only took a few moments before all that remained of the Warden was a bloody mess of meat. Taniel pulled his bayonet out of the dead creature just as the Adran line opened fire.
“Get rid of it,” Etan said. He and a pair of his men grabbed the dead Warden and hefted it over the earthworks, letting it roll down to the field below.
The advancing Kez wavered in the onslaught of musket fire. Hundreds dropped to the ground, but the Kez war machine marched right over them. They dropped their bayoneted muskets into a ready position and charged at a run.
Taniel got up on the earthworks and fired his rifle, dropping a Kez major from the back of his horse.
Etan stepped up beside Taniel. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you, my friend,” he said, eyes on the charging Kez.
“We’re not losing today.” Taniel rammed a cotton-wrapped bullet down his rifle, then cracked open a powder charge with his thumb. He snorted the charge in one long drag and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Not today,” he said. Then, louder, “We’re not losing today.”
Taniel felt a rising wave of anger. Why should they lose? Why should they turn and run? They were better than the Kez. The Adran army was feared all over the Nine.
He turned toward the grenadiers. “Are you Field Marshal Tamas’s men? Are you?”
“The field marshal is dead,” someone said.
Taniel felt the spittle fly out of his mouth. “Are you?”
“I’m the field marshal’s man!” Etan lifted his sword. “Dead or alive, I’ll always be!”
“Are you?” Taniel screamed at the grenadiers.
“Yes!” They answered with one voice, muskets raised.
“The Adran army – Tamas’s army – doesn’t lose. You can flee if you want” – Taniel pointed at the grenadiers – “when the trumpet sounds. Run back to those armchair generals, let the Kez shoot you in the back. But I’ll be here until the Kez break.”
“So will I,” Etan said. He swung his saber.
“And I!” the grenadiers shouted in unison.
Taniel turned back to the Kez. “Send them to the pit!”
Taniel saw his father’s face float before his vision like a tattered flag. He saw Vlora, and Sabon and Andriya, and all the rest of his fellow powder mages. He could see his friends in the Seventh and Ninth. Then they were gone, and the world was drenched in red as Taniel felt his legs carry him over the edge of the earthworks and straight into the teeth of the Kez infantry.
The crack of muskets and blasts of artillery were suddenly lost in the thunder of the charging infantry. Taniel gutted a Kez soldier with his bayonet, then locked the stock of his rifle with another. He shoved, sending the soldier reeling.
An officer’s sword sliced neatly along his cheek, just beneath the eye. He felt the blade, but pain seemed a distant thing from within the powder trance, with so much adrenaline coursing through his body. He smacked the officer across the chin with his rifle then stabbed an infantryman.
The Kez were all around him and he felt a sudden panic. It didn’t matter how quick or how powerful he was, he could be felled by sheer force of numbers, just like the Warden he and the grenadiers had hacked apart.
Taniel saw a bayonet aim at his heart. He dropped his shoulder and felt the point snag his jacket, ripping clean through, then slammed his fist into the soldier’s face.
And suddenly Taniel was not alone. Adran grenadiers with their bearskin hats and crimson-cuffed jackets were beside him, muskets at the ready to push back the Kez assault.
“Shove!” Etan’s voice rose above the din. “Step! Thrust! Shove! Step! Thrust!”
While the Kez infantry threw themselves forward with reckless abandon, the Twelfth Grenadiers moved in lockstep, every man chosen for his immense size and trained to meet the enemy unflinchingly. They’d come over the earthworks behind Taniel and now they pushed forward, bayonets working, chewing through the Kez infantry like so many farmers cutting hay.
Taniel forced himself into the line of grenadiers and joined their march. To his surprise, the Kez infantry seemed to melt before them. Taniel knew power. He knew speed. But the pure strength of these grenadiers working together shocked him. He felt the rhythm of their push deep down in his chest.
A Kez soldier threw himself over the line, crashing into Taniel and sending him back. The grenadiers closed up the empty spot, not missing a beat. Taniel wrestled with the soldier, throwing him to the ground and pressing his boot to the man’s throat. A glance at the line, and then…
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a Warden tear through the grenadiers. The biggest and strongest that Adro had to offer were scattered like toys as the creature breached the line.
Another Warden crashed through. Colonel Etan staggered back, his brow bloodied. He recovered quickly, slashing with his heavy saber, taking the Warden’s hand off at the wrist. The Warden threw himself forward and snatched Etan by the throat, picking up a man of fifteen stone and shaking him as a dog might a rat.
A trumpet sounded.
Retreat.
Fury tore through Taniel. No. He wouldn’t fall back. He wasn’t leaving this field without a victory.
Taniel snarled, the soldier beneath his boot forgotten. He could see Etan’s eyes roll back as he went into shock. Taniel hefted his rifle, bayonet ready, and charged.
Something slammed into him from the side. He flew, a few moments of uncontrolled tumble sending his heart lurching before he hit the ground, bouncing off an infantryman’s body. The jolt sent Taniel’s rifle sliding from his hands, and when he came to his feet, he was unarmed.
There wasn’t time to react. This new Warden was too fast. A heavy fist pummeled his face, sending him spinning.
Taniel righted himself, bracing for another blow. Mentally, he touched a bit of powder. There was no reaction. This was a Black Warden.
The next blow failed to land as the Warden thrashed about, Ka-poel on his back. She hung on by one of her long needles, which was buried deep into the meat of the creature’s shoulder. She’d missed his spine by inches, and the needle could do nothing but infuriate him.
Taniel drew his boot knife. He squared his shoulders, ready to leap, when the Warden suddenly stiffened. He lurched forward, dropping to his knees. Ka-poel calmly withdrew her needle and stepped away from the Warden. She wore a vicious smile and in one hand held a half-formed wax doll. Her fingers worked furiously to finish the doll.
The Warden came to its feet, still wobbling, still lurching. It staggered to one side and then suddenly flew forward, charging the Kez.
Perhaps half the grenadiers still stood, their line ragged and broken, with more of them dropping beneath Kez infantry every second. The Warden cleared them with a single leap, landing among the Kez.
Most of the infantry ignored him. They were used to the Wardens, of course. It wasn’t until this one took a discarded saber in his hand and began slicing up the Kez ranks that horror began to spread.
The panic was palpable. Taniel watched as the Kez began to scream and back away from the Warden. Some tried to stand and fight. Some even attacked him. A bayonet speared the Warden through the neck and the creature snapped the steel bayonet off the end of the musket and kept fighting. The Kez began to waver.
Taniel had killed Wardens in hand-to-hand combat, the same creatures that terrorized the Adran army, and now Ka-poel had turned one on the Kez. A thrill worked its way up from his toes until it reached his fingertips, and Taniel wondered just what he’d become that allowed him to fight a ferocious monster like that.
“To me!” He lifted his rifle over his head. “To me!” he shouted above the sound of the trumpets, blaring louder and louder for the grenadiers to retreat. “Bugger the trumpets, we fight!”
The Kez began to crumple. None of their snare drums were calling a retreat, but they fled all the same. The few Wardens left on the field were finally overpowered and mercilessly slaughtered. Some of the Kez threw down their weapons and fell to their knees in surrender.
The Warden that Ka-poel controlled chased the Kez almost the whole way back to their camp. A dozen other Wardens had congregated to try to put it down.
Ka-poel’s eyes were alight with glee, and the wax figurine in her hands twitched and spun. Her lips opened in a silent laugh.
The Warden fought on. Stabbed, shot, sliced: it would not fall.
And then Ka-poel lifted the doll and pushed the head off with one thumb.
The Warden collapsed.
Taniel stared, openmouthed, at Ka-poel. How could this girl, the same woman who had pressed herself against him so intimately, fall asleep in his arms like a child one minute and then take to the battlefield with the power of a vengeful goddess the next?
She turned, as if feeling his gaze, and flashed him a shy smile. In an instant she was once again the girl he’d rescued from a dirty hut in the swamps of Fatrasta.
Taniel wanted to rush to her, to carry her away from this madness, to make sure that she was all right. But she wasn’t his to protect, not anymore. Not since Kresim Kurga. He had a feeling that who – or what – Ka-poel really was had just begun to show itself.
Ignoring his own wounds, Taniel began to cast about for Colonel Etan. He found the grenadier beneath a dead Warden. Taniel rolled the corpse away. Etan was still breathing, much to Taniel’s relief, but there was a profound look of panic in his eyes.
“I can’t move my legs,” Etan said.
Taniel dropped to his knees beside Etan and felt that same panic begin to rise within him. “It’s all right,” Taniel said. “We’ll get you a surgeon.”
“I can’t feel my legs!” Etan gripped Taniel’s arm. He gasped, and Taniel could see the strain on his face as he tried to move. “I can’t feel them!”
Taniel felt his heart crack. Etan was one of the strongest men he knew. To die in battle was one thing, but to be broken…
“Get me a surgeon!” Taniel yelled. “And tell them to stop with the bloody trumpets. We won already, damn it!”
Etan seemed to sag. “We won?”
“We won.” Taniel looked around the field. He could see soldiers running from the Adran side, coming to provide backup. If there wasn’t a surgeon among them, he’d strangle someone.
“You held it,” Etan said. “You held the line.”
“No. You did. You and your grenadiers.”
“Couldn’t have done it without you.” Etan was blinking rapidly now. Taniel searched him for a wound, trying to find something. Etan’s fingers grasped the sleeve of Taniel’s jacket, his knuckles bone white, his face drawn in pain. “I saw the way my boys looked at you. They would have followed you all the way to the pit just now. Just like Tamas. Just like your father.”
“Don’t say horrid shit like that,” Taniel said. He felt hot tears on his cheeks. “I’m nothing like that old bastard.”
“Taniel. Promise me you’ll win this thing. Promise me you’ll finish this. That this won’t be the last victory Adro has.”
“No need for promises,” Taniel said. “You’re not dying.”
Etan pulled Taniel close. “I can’t feel my bloody legs. I know what that means, you ass. I won’t see a battlefield again. So you promise me now that you’ll win this thing.”
“I don’t know if I can,” Taniel said.
Etan slapped him. Taniel felt his cheek burn from the force of the blow. “Promise me.” Another sharp blow nearly turned Taniel around. Even lying on the ground, unable to move his legs, Etan was strong. “Promise it!”
A woman, one of the surgeons, threw herself to the ground on Etan’s opposite side. She looked him over, a frown on her face. “Where’s the wound?”
“My back’s broken,” Etan said. His voice cracked. He looked Taniel in the eyes. “Promise me.”
“No.”
Etan’s eyes were glassy with tears. “Coward. If I were dying, you’d promise me. Because you wouldn’t have to answer to me then. But I’m not dying, and you won’t promise it. Bloody coward.”
Taniel turned his face away. He knew it was true.
They brought out a cart, one of the ambulances with a covered top and four cots to hold the wounded, to take Etan back to camp. Etan turned his head away from Taniel, and Taniel didn’t walk beside him as they carted him away.
They had destroyed the Kez attack. Probably a thousand of the enemy soldiers dead. Twice that many wounded and another few hundred taken prisoner. It took Taniel a moment to realize he was surrounded by soldiers. The Twelfth Grenadiers. The smallest of them was a hand taller than Taniel. He wondered how many had died in the melee. Their losses had to be staggering.
One of them approached him. Taniel thought about turning away. He could push through them and head back to camp. Had they been listening? Did they hear their colonel tell Taniel he was a coward?
The stout man had his bearskin hat in one hand. His other hand was empty. Clenched in a fist. Taniel lifted his chin and waited to be punched.
“Sir,” the grenadier said.
“Go ahead. I deserve it.”
The grenadier seemed confused. He looked down at his fist, then flattened his hand. “Sir, you’re not a coward. The colonel… no man wants to end up like that. The things he said… you’re not a coward. We just watched you charge a brigade of Kez infantry by yourself. I want you to know: If you need something, anything, you just say so. I’ll be there. I suspect most of these boys will say the same.”
There was a round of nodding, and then the grenadiers began to trudge wearily back to camp.
Taniel stood alone in the field for several minutes, watching the surgeons cart off the dead and wounded. He felt someone behind him. He didn’t have to turn around. Ka-poel.
He wiped the tears from his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Don’t you have bodies to examine, or some such thing?” he asked.
She took his hand. He wanted to pull away, but couldn’t.
They stood together in silence as the blood of the living and the dead and the dying mingled together and made a red sea of Adran soil. Taniel lifted her hand in his. The movement was impulsive, sudden, and he wondered later what thought drove him, but he touched her hand to his lips firmly.
“I’m going to end this,” he said. “I’m going to kill Kresimir. For good. You need his blood? I’ll get it, even if I die doing it.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her give a slight shake of her head.
Without warning she stepped in front of him and wrapped one hand around the back of his head and pulled him down to her, pressing her warm lips against his. It seemed as if fire raced through his veins at the touch, and when she finally stepped away, he was breathless. He fought the impulse to drop to his knees, telling himself it was just blood loss that left him so weak.
Then the moment was past, and silent as always, Ka-poel went about her business, leaning over the body of a dead Adran soldier.
Stunned, Taniel watched her for several minutes until something far behind the Kez line brought him out of his reverie. In an instant he was a soldier again: vigilant, watchful, ready to defend against new threats from the enemy.
The Kez soldiers were raising something into the sky above their camp, just north of Budwiel’s city walls. It must have been eight stories high for him to be able to see it from this distance. He took a small hit of powder, sharpening his eyes.
It was an immense beam, hewn from what looked to be one giant tree. Soldiers and prisoners milled about the base and spread out in a fan behind it, pulling on long ropes tied to the top of the beam. It was lifted high and then suddenly it dropped ten or twenty feet – probably into a slot dug out of the ground – to stand straight in the air.
Taniel frowned. He could see something on the side of the beam. A person?
He focused his powder-heightened eyes. Yes. A woman, it seemed. Stripped naked, she was nailed to the beam by her wrists, and her hands were missing. A rope about her waist secured her to the beam.
Taniel was taken aback. Was she a traitor of some kind, put up there as a warning? The missing hands would indicate she’d been a Privileged. What could…
The body moved. Bloody pit, she was alive.
Her head lifted, and Taniel felt his blood go cold. He knew her. She’d fought him in Kresim Kurga, the holy city, when he tried to keep her from summoning Kresimir.
It was Julene.