“Yes.” Vlora moved several feet forward to crouch behind a fallen tree. Putting her back to the hollow trunk, she set her rifle across her knees and closed her eyes. Taniel saw a smile touch her lips and then felt her reaching out with her senses.
He felt the series of explosions rippling through his mage senses. A moment later and he heard angry bangs going off like a fusillade on a battlefield.
“Go,” Vlora said.
Taniel hopped the fallen tree and was sprinting through the forest, rifle held at the ready, eyes sharp for the green-and-tan uniforms of the Kez grenadiers. He heard Vlora fall in behind and to his right. Dry leaves crunched under his feet and branches whipped his arms and face. This wasn’t about stealth now but about catching any survivors before they could recover.
They would be confused and disoriented from the explosions—more than likely wounded—and thinking that a whole brigade of Adran troops were about to fall on them. Taniel had to reach their position quickly and take them captive or kill them before they realized they were only facing two powder mages.
He reached the top of a hill and paused to get his bearings. “Where?” he gasped.
“Next rise!” Vlora didn’t pause, racing past him and taking point. She had already fixed her bayonet. Taniel cursed and fixed his own as he chased after her.
He skidded to a stop near the top of the next rise and ducked behind a tree. He could see Vlora up ahead. She had slung her rifle over her shoulder and drawn a pistol. Slowly, she stood up.
Taniel waited for her signal to move forward and strained for the sounds of the wounded and dying. Nothing. Even with his powder-enhanced senses the forest was utterly still. No birds, no animals. Had Vlora’s powder ignition killed every single one of the grenadiers outright? That didn’t seem possible.
The moments stretched on while Vlora stood silently, and Taniel finally lost all patience. He dashed to her side, rifle ready.
The scene on the hillside below them stopped him dead in his tracks. He could see the road from this vantage, and the evidence of powder detonations all along this hill and the hillside on the opposite side of the road. Black stains marked the trees, leaves smoldered, fallen branches burned, and the scent of the spent powder hung in the air like a fog. The ground was pockmarked with small craters.
But the only victims were the trees themselves and a couple of unfortunate squirrels.
Taniel lifted his rifle further and spun around. His eyes scanned the surrounding forest, looking for a trap within a trap. Not a creature stirred.
“I don’t understand,” Vlora said. “Is this some kind of distraction? Something to slow us down?”
A nearby motion caught Taniel’s eye. Upon closer examination he found it to be the leather strap of a powder horn, the ends burned off, but the leather itself surprisingly unharmed. It swung from a branch gently, as if mocking them. Taniel felt his heart thundering in his chest as he tried to discover not how they’d been tricked, but why.
“Do you hear something?” Vlora asked.
Taniel cocked his head to the wind and waited for the sound to reach his ears. It didn’t take long.
“Screams,” Taniel said. He was already running for the road as he said it. The screams were coming from the north. From the Riflejacks they’d left behind.
This wasn’t the entire trap.
Taniel raced down the hard-packed dirt tracks of the western highway.
He could hear Vlora’s pounding feet behind him as he tore a powder charge from his belt pouch and stuffed it in his mouth, feeling the grit of the black powder in his gums. In his haste he dropped several charges, but he didn’t have time to stop for them.
The trick was so simple. So obvious. They knew that Tamas would send powder mages after them. The mage would sense the trap, approach with caution, and then be ambushed from the rear. Or, in this case, he’d be separated from his men entirely. He had fallen for it without hesitation!
It took him and Vlora less than two minutes to cross the mile between the false ambush and where their men waited on the road, but even that was too late.
He took in the scene as he rounded a bend: Sixty or more Kez grenadiers, armed with pikes and heavy sabers, their kits stripped of black powder, had fallen upon the Riflejacks. Bodies of men and horses littered the road and surrounding woods, and though less than fifteen Kez grenadiers remained on their feet, the Riflejacks, along with Doll and Flerrier, had been slaughtered.
Taniel put on a burst of speed, ready to close with the surviving Kez, but he felt a pair of hands on his side and he was thrown from the road and into a dry streambed.
He landed with an oof and Vlora on top of him.
“What…?” he started.
“Shh.”
He fell silent for long enough for her to poke her head from the streambed. “What the pit was that?” he hissed.
“Our men are down,” she said. “No sense in rushing in like fools.”
Taniel collected his hat. “Within minutes they’re going to figure out that there were more than two powder mages in the group and come looking for us.”
“Give me a moment, I’m thinking.”
Taniel gripped his rifle. “We don’t have a moment. Gavril and Norrine, remember? They’ll have heard the screams as well as us.”
“Shit.”
Taniel slapped her on the shoulder. “Go on. Back across the road. Take that hill over there and hit them on my signal.”
“All right.” Vlora retreated along the streambed, back to the bend in the road, before crossing over. Taniel gave her thirty seconds and then made off at a crouching run.
He circled behind a knoll some forty paces from the road. His eyes, accustomed to forest tracking in Fatrasta, saw the signs of the grenadiers immediately. They had hid behind this very knoll, waiting for the Riflejacks to cross their path, then descended upon them—probably from both sides, considering their lack of muskets. They needn’t have worried about cross fire.
He reached the top of the knoll and hunkered down beside a tree with a clear view of the road. The grenadiers had rounded up three bloody, wounded Riflejacks and were questioning them aggressively, while their comrades tended to their own wounded.
Taniel loaded his rifle with two bullets and looked for the stripes of the grenadier commander, a captain. It was the man doing the questioning, and as Taniel watched, he leaned over and casually slit the throat of one of the Riflejacks.
Taniel’s bullets caught the grenadier captain in the right temple, and a sergeant, likely his second-in-command, in the stomach. Before Taniel could load more bullets, the grenadiers sprang into action. They readied their pikes and kicked rifles and powder horns away from them. These men were trained for fighting powder mages.
One ill-timed kick lost a grenadier his leg as the powder detonated. Taniel grinned, reloading his rifle as the Kez scrambled for cover. His next double-shot hit only one of his targets, taking the woman down with a gut shot. He heard one of the grenadiers shout in a language that was most definitely not Kez.
Was that Brudanian? Why would Kez soldiers be shouting in Brudanian? Taniel didn’t have time to think about it. Ten big Kez soldiers leapt from their cover and rushed Taniel’s knoll. None noticed as one of their number was gunned down from behind.
Taniel didn’t have time to finish loading another shot. He leapt to his feet, throwing another powder charge into his mouth and blocking the thrust of a pike with his rifle barrel. He was forced back, unable to counterattack due to the closeness of the trees, and helpless to do anything but watch the grenadiers flank him.
He let go of his rifle and leapt to the side as the soldier’s momentum carried him forward. Taniel drew his belt knife and rammed it between the grenadier’s ribs, thrusting the man aside and taking his pike, whirling to block the thrust of a saber.
He dispatched two more, taking a heavy cut above his brow that poured blood into his eye before Vlora joined the fight. She whirled through the remaining grenadiers with
her short sword and a powder trance, giving her a huge advantage in speed in the close quarters, cutting down every remaining man in moments. By the time Taniel had wiped the blood from his face, the fight was over.
Winded and half-blinded, Taniel turned toward the sound of hoofbeats pounding up the road. He snatched up his rifle and loaded it, ready for the worst.
Gavril’s and Norrine’s horses stopped short of the slaughter, refusing to go any farther. Taniel could hear Gavril’s curses from the woods.
“Taniel!” Gavril yelled.
“Here,” he called back, already jogging toward the road.
“It was a damned trick,” Taniel said. “The powder was set a mile down the road, laid out like men lying in wait, and the grenadiers hiding here in the woods.”
Gavril swung from his horse while Vlora ran to free the two surviving Riflejacks.
“Sorry, sir,” one of the Riflejacks said to Taniel, wincing as Vlora helped him to his feet. “Came out of the woods like ghosts. Flerrier and Doll fought like the pit, but we were overwhelmed after our first volley. The pikes did in our horses without trouble.”
Gavril put down one of the frightened, thrashing horses with his pistol, while Norrine gave Taniel stitches on his brow. “Gather their survivors,” Taniel ordered. “I want to find out what the pit they know.” His head spun and he was still trying to make sense of it all. The trap had been perfect, and he’d walked right into it. It made him furious to see those Adran soldiers—his soldiers—lying dead in the road. There was no one to blame but himself.
There were twenty-three surviving grenadiers, and Taniel could tell at a glance that most of them would be dead of their wounds by morning. His own two surviving Riflejacks might survive if they could avoid infection, having gotten off with a dozen light wounds between the two of them. The Riflejacks’ horses—and Taniel’s and Vlora’s—were either dead or had thrown their riders and fled.
Taniel climbed to his feet after Norrine finished his stitches. He’d had time to catch his breath and let the pain and anger simmer. He had to come up with a plan now. They’d lost valuable time, and they’d lost their advantage of five powder mages.
Norrine knelt beside one of the Kez grenadiers, removing her own needle and silk thread.
“No, don’t,” Taniel said. “They’re not getting any help until they tell us what the game is.” He walked up and down the line of grenadiers, now stripped of their jackets and with their hands tied behind their backs with their own belts. Gavril stood over them, arms crossed, teeth set. He did not look like a man to cross right then.
“How about it?” Taniel asked. “First man who tells me how many men your Privileged master has left will be the first man to get medical treatment.”
Some of the soldiers stared at their feet. Others stared at him dumbly. A few of them moaned from the pain and one was weeping and holding his bloody side.
Taniel repeated his offer in Kez. The soldiers glanced at each other but did not answer. “Any of you speak Brudanian? I don’t know more than a few words.”
“I do.” Gavril said, then rattled off a few sentences. The men seemed to perk up at this, and one of them answered. Gavril switched to Adran. “He says it’s just three Privileged, six grenadiers, and the savage.”
“Why the pit would they be speaking Brudanian?” Taniel asked, though he already knew the answer.
“Because they’re Brudanian,” Vlora said. “Like the army that’s holding Adopest right now.”
Gavril said, “Norrine and I followed fresh tracks, nine sets, north. We only turned back when we heard the fighting. They’re taking your girl to Adopest.”
“Bastards have pulled one over on our whole damn army,” Taniel said. “Tamas is fighting the wrong war.”
CHAPTER
30
Nila worked her way through the Adran and then the Deliv camps, slowly gathering her courage to approach the Deliv cabal.
She had not expected them to arrive so soon. Tamas had insisted she stay close in case he needed her magic—whatever good it could do him, considering she still couldn’t consistently pull sorcery from the Else—and hadn’t let her accompany Bo to the Privileged healers. He’d said Bo could be gone for too long to risk losing both of his Privileged for a possible fight.
But just two days later the Kez cabal had arrived. Had it been some kind of a trick to separate her and Bo? Or just a miscommunication?
Perhaps she was just being overly cautious.
Bo would be proud.
She threaded her way through Deliv soldiers, who watched her closely but kept their distance. She wore a blue dress too fine for a laundress but not fashionable enough for a lady, and she had done her hair in a borrowed mirror. She was just wondering why no one had asked for her credentials, when a dark-skinned Deliv slid up beside her.
She recognized the stripes of a captain on his lapels. He was a handsome man, quite tall with slender shoulders. He grinned at her. “Going somewhere, my lady?”
“Yes, thank you.” She could feel his hand hovering just behind the small of her back.
“Can I help you find where you’re going?” His hand brushed her ass gently. She turned toward him, a welcoming smile on her face, and punched him in the nose.
He reeled back with a high-pitched squeal, fumbling at his face. “Aii! Pit, woman!” Surprise turned to anger, which quickly progressed to fury. He wiped his nose with one sleeve, looking down at the trickle of blood on his cuff, then reached for his belt. “You made a mistake, lass.”
Nila realized that mistake just after her knuckles connected with his nose. She was in a foreign camp—she had no companion or chaperone, and she didn’t know the least thing about Deliv social mores. What’s more, this man had the stripes of a captain on his lapel. This wasn’t the Adran army—he was most likely a nobleman and could cause all sorts of trouble for her.
“No,” she said, advancing as her mind raced. Nothing to do now but follow through. “I’ll teach you a lesson, you ingrate. I’m looking for the Deliv cabal. If you touch me again, I’ll put that hand so far up your ass, you’ll be able to scratch your own nose.”
The Deliv captain retreated several feet. He visually searched her up and down, glancing repeatedly at her bare hands, looking for evidence that she was a Privileged. She could see his mind working for several moments, as if he was weighing his odds. Finally, he said in a nasally tone, “They’re sequestered just to the east.”
“Thank you.”
She turned her back on him though every instinct told her not to, and began heading in the indicated direction. This was another part to play, she reminded herself. No more dangerous than the parts she played for Lord Vetas. She was a lady, a Privileged, and she had to demand respect.
“Watch yourself, lass,” the Deliv’s voice called to her.
She wanted to make a rude gesture, but she thought perhaps that was beneath the dignity of a Privileged.
The Deliv cabal, it turned out, was not hard to spot. Immense tents of white and Kelly-green rose just beyond the next rise. While not as high as the tent belonging to the Deliv king, these were far wider and more numerous, with dozens of chambers seemingly interconnected by cloaked avenues to keep the Privileged’s comings and goings shielded from common eyes. The whole area was cordoned off from the rest of the camp by a fine green ribbon tied at intervals to tall wooden posts. Each post was covered in Deliv script and arcane symbols, which Bo had taught Nila enough to recognize as wards—and the warnings that accompanied them.
She followed the ribbon around to the south until she found an opening. Deliv cabal guards—immense men with broad shoulders, gleaming breastplates, and spiked helmets—stood at attention with muskets shouldered.
She stepped between them, only to find her way immediately blocked by those muskets.
“Step back,” one of the guards said in heavily accented Adran, the words laced with menace.
She did.
Neither of them so much as looked
at her. Glancing from guard to guard, she extended one foot slightly, only to watch the tips of their musket barrels slide back across her path. It seemed like something out of a comedy play.
“I’m looking for Privileged Borbador,” she said, pulling her foot back.
Neither of the men responded.
“He’s an Adran Privileged. He was taken to your healers just two nights ago.”
Again, nothing.
“I’m here from Field Marshal Tamas. This is an important query,” Nila ventured. If invocation of Tamas’s name meant anything to the cabal guards, they didn’t show it. “Is there someone I should see?” A cold sweat broke out on the back of Nila’s neck. Did these men even know who Bo was? Had Bo reached the Kez cabal alive? The possibility that he had died on the way crept into her mind and she felt a rising panic.
What did she have to do to be allowed admittance to the cabal? She needed answers. Maybe if she set fire to their shoes, they wouldn’t be able to ignore her any longer.
A quick glance at the polished bayonets of the guards, and she imagined that setting their shoes on fire would be a quick path to a disemboweling. She raised her hands. A demonstration of some kind seemed to be in order. There was nothing else for her to do. She still didn’t know how to wield her powers. Without Bo she might as well go back to being a washerwoman.
“What do you want?”
Nila nearly jumped out of her skin. A woman had approached from behind one of the guards. Her caramel skin was lighter than most of the Deliv and her face was long but beautiful, with high cheekbones and a narrow chin. Her spine was straight, her head held high, and her hands were clasped at her waist, clothed in runed Privileged gloves.
“Make it quick,” the woman said impatiently before Nila could answer. She didn’t look at Nila’s face, but rather over her head, as if Nila herself was worth little more than a cursory glance.
“My name is Nila. I’m looking for Privileged Borbador.”
“He’s not seeing anyone.”
The Autumn Republic Page 28
