“Vaguely.”
“It’s behind a statue of Manhouch the First—old man, big ears. Go in that way. You’ll come out in a passage right behind the royal throne.”
“All right.”
“Get at it, soldier.”
Taniel nodded and stepped away, only to stop and look back. Tamas met his eye.
“Dad?” Taniel said.
“Yes, son?”
“Be careful.”
“You too.”
Taniel was off at a crouching run as he ran from bush to bush, covering his approach. Tamas went the opposite direction, toward the group of his soldiers he’d spotted earlier. He came up behind them and threw himself down behind the fountain where they hid. “Report!”
One of the soldiers, a woman of about forty with a major’s stripes on her uniform, snapped to attention. “Sir! We’ve encountered heavy resistance, sir. They’ve got marksmen in all the windows and at least three Privileged inside. They had around a thousand men in the gardens, but we were able to sweep through with our superior numbers.”
Tamas had expected Claremonte to have some kind of contingency for if he lost the election. After Adamat’s information that the ships hadn’t been fully loaded, Tamas had had his men follow them up the river to where they disgorged the rest of their troops. Those troops had then circled back around to garrison Skyline Palace.
But Tamas wasn’t making the same mistake he’d made attacking Charlemund’s manor. He now had over twenty thousand men closing in on the palace.
Whether that would mean anything in the face of a god… “Casualties?” he asked.
“No idea, sir, but it has to be at least fifteen hundred men. Those Privileged were unleashed the moment we took the gardens.”
“Where are they?”
“North side of the palace grounds, where the fighting is heaviest.”
Tamas craned his neck to look out from behind his cover and toward the north. At the north wing of the palace was the throne room. Taniel was walking into a full-on battle. “Where’s Colonel Olem?”
“We cracked the main palace door in two volleys from our cannon. Five minutes ago he led two companies into the palace to try to clear it out. Haven’t heard from him since, but the marksmen’s fire on this side of the building has died down.”
“Have your men tighten the perimeter. I’m going in after the colonel.”
“We’ll send a company with you.”
“Excellent.”
Just a few minutes later Tamas approached the front doors of Skyline with two hundred soldiers at his back. The mighty silver-plated doors had been rent asunder by light artillery. The entryway was littered with the bodies of the dead and dying, both Adran and Brudanian alike, and he left ten of his men to move the wounded back out into the relative safety of the royal gardens.
He paused in the mighty foyer and, by the pattern of the dead and wounded, could see the progress of the battle heading off to his left and up the stairs around one corner. Olem had led his men toward the throne room to try to come out behind the Brudanian soldiers who were holding the northern palace doors. The sheer size of the palace could easily swallow up Olem and his two companies. The thought made Tamas wish he’d brought an entire brigade with him.
He felt tired, his strength waning. Every old, sorcery-healed scar ached, and the memories of how he got them all seemed to flow together. He remembered the campaigns in Gurla and the countless charges and battles. He recalled his flight from Kez after his attempted assassination of Ipille, and the years of planning his own monarch’s fall that ended in Manhouch’s head in a basket. The battle against the royalists and his flight across northern Kez toward Alvation all seemed to blend together.
He was so tired, and this needed to end.
“You, Captain,” Tamas said, splitting his force in two, “bring your platoon and come with me. Major, take the rest of the men up to the second story and work your way north. There are a half-dozen galleries between here and the throne room that will give you the high ground. Give Colonel Olem what reinforcement he might need from above.”
“Sir?” the major asked. “Where are you going?”
“I have a score to settle.”
Taniel worked his way through the gardens and hedgerows, past the fountains and statues, over the decorative walls and around the north face of Skyline Palace.
The fighting grew thicker, bullets whizzing over his head, black powder smoke hanging like a fog over the ruined gardens. The smoke gave him strength and clarity of mind as he avoided the clusters of Brudanian troops and sprinted behind the lines of Adran soldiers slowly advancing on the palace.
He moved like a man possessed as he rounded the northeast corner of the palace, sprinting with all his strength. He cut across a polo lawn and heard the crack of muskets and the whiz of bullets cutting through the air behind him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a squad of Brudanian soldiers leave their cover in pursuit, but he left them behind as he cut through a hedge maze, throwing himself through the prickly walls of greenery with an arm over his face.
He came out on the other side of the maze and descended a hill into a grove of birch trees in a hollow behind the palace. The sound of fighting was muffled and distant, and this part of the garden was overgrown but untouched by the conflict. A dry streambed, once fed by the same pumps that kept the fountains going, meandered through the grove.
Taniel approached the back wall of the palace, passing the statue of the old King Manhouch the First. He ran his hands over the thick stone blocks of the foundation, ransacking his memory for an image of the entrance his father had showed him sixteen years ago.
He continued along the wall for twenty paces, feeling every crack and nook to no avail, his heart beating harder with every second that passed without finding the entrance. Back at the statue he gazed for several moments at the wall—all that lay between him and Ka-poel—before taking a step back.
The fall might have broken his neck if he hadn’t dropped his rifle to catch himself. His leg plunged into a hole in the grass below his feet, and he wiggled his foot in the empty space, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Reaching down, he cleared away the grass to find an opening easily big enough for a man worked into the landscaping in a way that made it impossible to see.
He crawled in on all fours, sliding his rifle along ahead of him. Within ten paces the passage turned and opened up into a narrow corridor. He was able to stand and keep moving forward. The ground was damp beneath his feet, cobwebs tugging at his face and arms.
The corridor ended abruptly, leaving Taniel at a dead end. The only sounds he could hear were his own nervous breaths and the distant, almost inaudible cracks of musket and rifle fire.
Putting his ear to the wall, he waited for several moments of silence before he pushed gently with both hands. There was a click and the wall gave way to reveal another dark hallway. He could see a source of light at one end, which proved to be the hairline crack of what Taniel could only assume was another hidden doorway.
This door slid to one side in complete silence, leaving Taniel with a view of a well-lit, curtained-off corner of a room. He recognized that corner. The tall windows, the blue-and-crimson trim, the tapestries gilded with the dueling lions of the Manhouch family crest.
He was in the throne room, directly behind the throne itself.
He crept forward until he reached the curtain, moving it to one side cautiously with his finger. A sudden blast made him jump, withdrawing behind the curtain and pointing his rifle ahead of him. A few shouts followed the blast, and musket shots echoed somewhere nearby. When he was certain those blasts weren’t meant for him, Taniel leaned forward to peek past the curtain again.
The throne room appeared deserted. Dust covered the floor, though it was crisscrossed with footprints, and a couple of the torches were lit. The big double doors at the far end of the room were open about a foot. While Taniel watched, two Brudanian soldiers rushed inside and threw their backs t
o the door. They wore the uniform but neither held a weapon. Taniel could sense sorcery, and his suspicion that they were Privileged was confirmed when one held up his rune-covered glove.
He said something to his companion, then leaned into the crack of the door, and a blast of ice slipped from his fingers and disappeared. The other Privileged’s fingers danced in the air, and Taniel heard another concussion beyond the doors.
Taniel wasted no time. He wrapped a bullet in cotton and rammed it down the barrel to join the one already loaded, then stuck a spare powder cartridge between his teeth. He got down on one knee and with an elbow propped on the opposite knee he slid the barrel of his rifle through the curtain. He opened his third eye to see the Privileged clearly, then pulled the trigger.
In one instant he burned the powder charge between his teeth, sending the energy behind the foremost bullet. The lead balls flew out of the chamber, one after the other. He let the first fly true and put his focus behind the second, nudging it with his sorcery, adjusting his aim by just a few feet.
The two Privileged dropped together, their brains scattered across the inside of the throne room door. Taniel swept the curtain aside and ran forward. He had to find Ka-poel and get her out of here. He could sense her nearby, he—
“Ahem.”
The sound made Taniel spin.
Ka-poel sat on the throne, her legs dangling above the dais, hands on the armrests, leaning back like she owned the chair. She was wearing new pants and a shirt beneath a brand-new duster, and appeared unharmed, though she was flanked by a pair of Brudanian soldiers. One of them held an air rifle, leveled at Taniel, while the second held a pistol pointed at Ka-poel.
“Lower your rifle, powder mage,” the soldier with the pistol said.
“Ka-poel, are you all right?”
“Lower it!”
Ka-poel seemed unbothered by the pistol barrel pressed against her neck. She gave Taniel a thumbs-up.
Slowly, his eyes on the two soldiers, he lowered his rifle to the ground. Reaching out with his senses, he found no trace of powder on the two men. The pistol looked off, and though he’d never before seen its like, he guessed it operated on air cartridges as well.
“Pistols,” the soldier said, while his partner took two steps down the dais, his aim unfaltering. “Take them slowly from your belt and throw them over there.”
“Just wait a minute,” Taniel said. Both soldiers were big men, as big as grenadiers, with weathered faces and the lean, muscular build of professional killers.
“Do it now!” the soldier shouted. He grabbed Ka-poel by the arm roughly and jerked her from her seat on the throne. “You even twitch and I will—” His sentence cut out in a cry of pain.
Everything happened at once. Ka-poel slipped the soldier’s knife from his belt while he talked and rammed it into his groin. Taniel drew his pistol while the soldier with an air rifle whirled toward his partner.
Taniel’s shot was rushed and went wide, blasting a chunk of wood out of the throne. He tossed the pistol aside and drew his spare, and in the time it took him to do that, Ka-poel stepped forward and smacked the barrel of the air rifle to one side and slid the knife across the second soldier’s throat.
Taniel leapt onto the dais, kicking the air pistol away from the bleeding Brudanian. He snatched Ka-poel up in his arms and kissed her, breathing hard. “You’re unhurt?”
She rolled her eyes and wiggled out of his arms.
“Pole, we’ve got to go. Tamas wants you out of here. We’re going to try to negotiate with Claremonte.”
She shook her head vehemently.
“What do you mean?”
She drew her finger across her throat.
“Kill him?”
A nod.
“We can’t, Pole. He’s a god. He’s Brude.”
Another nod.
“You know?”
She rolled her eyes again.
“Look, Pole, I’ve got to get you out of here so I can go help Tamas. He’s going to get himself killed.”
Ka-poel rounded the throne and reached beneath it, dragging an iron strongbox out and onto the dais with a thud. Taniel helped her pull it around in front of the throne. “What’s this?”
As an answer, she went to the soldier holding his blood-soaked groin and rummaged through his jacket, batting away his feeble attempts to stop her. She took a large iron key and used it to open the lockbox. Inside, Taniel recognized the container she’d made of branches to hold Kresimir’s doll. Gingerly, she removed the casket and set it to one side.
“Good,” Taniel said. “Bring that too and we’ll get out of here.” Taniel staggered to one side as sorcery shimmered around him, shaking the entire building. “Was that you?”
No, she mouthed, pointed at his rifle still lying in the middle of the throne room.
Taniel fetched it for her. “We have to hurry,” he said. “Something is happening. That sorcery feels so…” He tried to work moisture into his dry throat. “I’ve never felt anything like it. It’s emanating from the other end of the palace. Where Tamas is.”
Ka-poel pulled the ring bayonet off the end of the rifle, then used the Brudanian’s knife to slice the tip of her finger. She let her blood drip all over the slender blade. The color drained from her face and Taniel had to leap forward to keep her from collapsing. “What are you doing?”
She pushed him away and took a deep breath, steeling herself. Stepping over to the Brudanian soldier, she looked down upon him like a priest might look upon a sacrificial victim, then plunged the bayonet into his heart. The man twitched once and fell still, and Taniel watched as his skin seemed to wrinkle and sag, aging fifty years in a heartbeat.
Taniel couldn’t help but feel ill. There was a part of him that knew he’d just witnessed sorcery as dark as anything the royal cabals did in secret. “Pole?” he said, reaching toward her.
She drew the bayonet from the soldier’s chest and handed it to Taniel. It had not a drop of blood on it, but a thin red line ran from the very tip to the ring. He recognized that red line.
“This is what you did for the redstripes, isn’t it? And to contain Kresimir?”
A nod.
“Did you kill people for those, too?”
Ka-poel shook her head, then mimed a pair of tall ears.
“Rabbits?”
She shrugged her shoulders and made a wheel-like motion with one hand. Taniel got the message: and other small animals.
“This will kill a god?” he asked.
She raised her eyebrows as if to say, I hope so.
“That’s very reassuring, Pole. I don’t suppose you’ll get the pit out of here on your own so I can go help Tamas?”
She shook her head.
“All right. Stay close.”
Nila put a shoulder beneath Bo’s arm and they ran down the next two flights of stairs, spikes of hot iron as big around as Nila’s wrist raining around them.
“How the pit can she do that?” Nila demanded.
“Her primary element is earth. Every Privileged likes to get good at something that’s both effective and physically terrifying. Mine is ice. Those bloody bolts are hers.”
They reached the bottom of the stairs. She headed for the door leading outside, but Bo stopped her with one hand.
“There are worse things going on out there,” he said.
“What could possibly be worse than raining iron?”
“It’s not strictly iron. It’s compressed matter. Iron is just easier to say. And outside you’ll find a pair of gods fighting.”
“You’re joking.”
Something suddenly shook the building, followed by a deep groaning sound. “That would be them.” Bo grimaced. “Pit, be glad you’re not attuned to the Else like I am. I feel like I’m walking naked through a battlefield. I wish Adom would just kill her already.”
“Well, I think I would have preferred to remain ignorant of what’s going on.”
Bo limped on ahead, leading her through a series of ser
vants’ rooms and out into the main hall of the first floor. “Keep close,” he said. “I’m losing strength. I can only do so much.” His fingers twitched and Nila ducked involuntarily as the ceiling above her exploded. The iron spike that plunged down through the ceiling would have impaled her from head to foot if Bo’s sorcery hadn’t slapped it aside, sending it clattering down the hall.
“What can I do?” she demanded. “I can’t form shields, I’m not that quick!”
“You’ll learn.”
“If I survive this!”
“Good point. Air, can you do air?”
“Only a little.”
“Air behind your fire. The hottest fire you can make. The fire will melt the iron, air will spread the molten metal around you.”
“And shower anyone nearby? That’s mad!”
“This is sorcery!” He stopped her with an arm across her chest. “Shit.” The building shook and they both nearly fell. “One of those bloody Privileged is trying to help Brude. I don’t know if it’ll do anything, but to pit with me if I let him.” He reached out one hand. Nila noted his fingers moving slower, his eyelids drooping. “Damn it, I’m getting tired. This damned leg!”
“Tell me what to do.”
“Privileged. There.” He pointed up and to his right. “Two stories up. Do you feel him?”
Nila reached out with her senses. She could feel that Privileged and she could sense something greater outside the building. It was thick and ominous, far stronger than the Gurlish magebreaker’s sorcery nullification. This turned her bowels to jelly.
“Okay,” she said, her voice shaking.
“Kill him.”
“How?”
“Be creative.”
Nila scowled. Reaching up, she flung her sorcery at the ceiling, her own fire splashing back to singe her clothes before melting through marble, wood, and plaster and boring a black hole right through the guts of the building.
She felt the Privileged wink out of existence, his light in the Else snuffed out. “I did it. I did it!”
The Autumn Republic Page 50
