Powder Mage Trilogy 01 - Promise of Blood

by Brian McClellan

  Taniel felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. His companion stood a full head shorter than he, and her body was as slight as a youth’s. She wore a full-length travel duster that filled her out only a little and kept her warm, and a wide-brimmed hat that concealed most of her features. An early spring chill filled the air, and Ka-poel came from a much warmer place than this.

  She pointed up at the building above them quizzically, revealing a small, freckled hand. Taniel had to remind himself that she’d never seen a building like the House of Nobles. Six stories high and as wide as a battlefield, the center of the Adran government was big enough to house the offices of every noble and their staff.

  “We’re here.” Taniel’s voice seemed unusually stark in the quiet of the early hour. “This is where his soldiers said to go. He doesn’t have an office here. Did it happen tonight? I could have picked a better time…” He trailed off.

  He was prattling on to a mute, betraying his nervousness. Tamas would be livid when he heard about Vlora. Of course, it would be Taniel’s fault. Taniel noticed he still held the snuffbox. His hands were trembling. He tapped out another dark line on the back of his thumb. He snorted the powder and tilted his head back as his heart pumped faster. Lines in the darkness grew sharper, sounds louder, and he sighed at the comfort the powder trance gave him. He held up a hand to the light of the streetlamp. It no longer shook.

  “Pole,” he said, addressing the girl. “I haven’t seen Tamas in some time. He’s a hard man to all but a close few. Sabon. Lajos. Those are his friends. I am just another soldier.” Green eyes regarded him from beneath the wide-brimmed hat. “Understand?” he said.

  Ka-poel nodded briefly.

  “Here,” Taniel said. He reached into the front of his jacket and removed his sketchbook. It was a worn book, ragged from use and travels, bound in faded calfskin. He flipped through the pages until he found a likeness of Field Marshal Tamas and handed it to Ka-poel. The sketch was in charcoal and smudged from wear, but the field marshal’s severe face was hard to mistake. Ka-poel studied the drawing for a moment before handing the book back.

  Taniel pushed open one of the giant doors and headed into the grand hall. The place was pitch-black but for one pool of light near a staircase to Taniel’s left. A single lantern hung on the wall, and beneath it dozed a weary form in a servant’s chair.

  “I see Tamas has moved up in the world.”

  Taniel listened to his own voice echo in the grand hall and was satisfied to see Sabon jump from his chair. Lines stood out on Sabon’s dark face, details Taniel could only see because of the powder trance. Sabon looked to have aged ten years in the mere two it had been since they’d last met.

  “I don’t like it,” Taniel added, swinging his rifle and knapsack from his shoulder and onto the plush red carpet. He bent to rub feeling into his legs after twenty hours in a coach. “Too cold in the winter, too lonely in the summer. And space like this just invites houseguests.”

  Sabon chuckled as he came over. He clasped Taniel’s hand and pulled him into an embrace. “How is Fatrasta?”

  “Officially? Still at war with the Kez,” Taniel said. “Unofficially, the Kez have sued for peace and all but a few regiments have returned to the Nine. Fatrasta has won their independence.”

  “You kill a Kez Privileged or two for me?” Sabon said.

  Taniel lifted his rifle to the light. Sabon ran his finger along the row of notches in the stock and whistled appreciatively. “Even a few Wardens,” Taniel said.

  “Those are hard to kill,” Sabon said.

  Taniel nodded. “Took more than one bullet for the Wardens.”

  “Taniel Two-Shot,” Sabon said. “You’ve been the talk of the Nine for a year. The royal cabal has been scared stiff. Wanted Manhouch to recall you. Marked killing Privileged, even Kez Privileged, is a bad precedent.”

  “Too late, I assume?” Taniel said, glancing around the dark grand hall. Else he wouldn’t be here. If all went as planned, Tamas had slaughtered the royal cabal and captured Manhouch.

  “It was done a few hours ago,” Sabon said.

  Taniel thought he saw a hardness to the old soldier’s eyes. “Things didn’t go well?”

  “We lost five men.” Sabon rattled off a list of names.

  “May they rest with Kresimir.” Even as he said it, the prayer sounded hollow in Taniel’s ears. He winced. “And Tamas?”

  Sabon sighed. “He is… tired. Toppling Manhouch is only the first step. We still have the execution, a new government to establish, the Kez to deal with, starvation, the poor. The list goes on.”

  “Does he foresee problems with the people?”

  “Tamas foresees just about everything. There will be royalists. It would be stupid to think there won’t, in a city of a million people. We just don’t know how many or how organized they’ll be. Tamas needs you; you and Vlora both. She didn’t come with you?” Taniel glanced toward Ka-poel. She was the only other person in the hall. She’d left Taniel’s gear in a pile on the floor and was making a slow round of the place, gazing up at paintings that could barely be seen in the dim light. Her rucksack was slung over one shoulder.

  Taniel felt his jaw clench. “No.”

  Sabon drifted a step back and jerked his head toward Ka-poel.

  “My servant,” Taniel said. “A Dynize.”

  “A savage, eh?” Sabon mused. “Did the Dynize Empire finally open their borders? That’s big news.”

  “No,” Taniel said. “Some of the Dynize tribes live in western Fatrasta.”

  “Doesn’t look more than a boy.”

  “Careful who you call a boy,” Taniel said. “She can be a bit prickly about that.”

  “A girl, then,” Sabon said, giving Taniel a wry glance. “Can she be trusted?”

  “I’ve saved her life more times than she has mine,” Taniel said. “Savages take that sort of thing very seriously.”

  “Not so savage,” Sabon murmured. “Tamas will want to know why Vlora’s not here.”

  “Let me handle that.” Tamas would ask about Vlora before he even asked about Fatrasta. Taniel knew he’d be a fool to imagine two years would have changed much. Two years. Pit. Had it been that long? Two years ago Taniel had gone abroad for what would have been a short tour of the Kez colony of Fatrasta. Time to “cool his head,” Tamas had said. Taniel arrived a week before they declared their independence from Kez and he’d been forced to pick sides.

  Sabon gave a curt nod. “I’ll take you to him, then.”

  Sabon lifted the lantern from its hook while Taniel gathered his things. Ka-poel drifted a few steps behind them as they traveled the dark corridors. The House of Nobles was eerie and huge. Thick carpet muffled their footsteps, so they trod almost like ghosts. Taniel didn’t like the silence. It reminded him too much of the forest when there were enemies on the prowl. They rounded a corner, and there was light coming from a room at the end of the hallway. Voices, too, and they were raised in anger.

  Taniel paused in the doorway of a well-lit sitting room—the antechamber of some noble’s office. Inside, two men faced each other before an overlarge fireplace. They stood not a foot apart, fists clenched, on the edge of blows. A third man, a bodyguard, with more presence than most and the battered features of a boxer, stood off to the side, looking perplexed, wondering if he should step in.

  “You knew!” the smaller man was saying. His face was red, and he stood on his toes to try to match the other’s height. He pushed a pair of spectacles up his nose, only to have them slide down again. “Tell me true, have you planned this all along? Did you know you’d move up the schedule?”

  Taniel watched Field Marshal Tamas raise his hands before him, palms outward. “Of course I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m going to explain it all in the morning.”

  “At the execution! What kind of a coup…” The little man noticed Taniel and trailed off. “Get out,” he said. “This is a private conversation.”

  Taniel removed his hat and leaned agains
t the doorframe, fanning himself casually. “But it was just getting interesting,” he said.

  “Who is this boy?” the little man demanded of Tamas.

  Boy? Taniel glanced at the field marshal. Tamas couldn’t have expected him this very night, but he didn’t show a bit of surprise. Tamas wasn’t one to betray his emotions. Taniel sometimes wondered if Tamas had any emotions.

  Tamas let out a sigh. “Taniel, it’s good to see you.”

  Was it? Tamas looked anything but happy. His hair had thinned in the last two years, and his mustache had more gray than black now. Tamas was getting old. Taniel nodded slowly to the field marshal.

  “Forgive me,” Tamas said after a brief pause. “Taniel, this is Ondraus the Reeve. Ondraus, this is Marked Taniel, one of my mages.”

  “This is no place for a boy.” Ondraus caught sight of Ka-poel hovering behind Taniel. He squinted. “… And a savage,” he finished. He squinted again, as if unsure of what he saw the first time. He muttered something under his breath.

  Tamas introduced Taniel as a powder mage. Was that all he was to the field marshal? Just another soldier?

  Tamas opened his mouth, but Taniel spoke first.

  “Sir,” he said. “I’m a captain in the Fatrastan army, a Marked in service to Adro, and I know all about the coup. I can kill a pair of Privileged at over a mile with one shot and have done so on several occasions. I’m hardly a boy.”

  Ondraus sniffed. “Ah, yes, Tamas. So this is your famous son.”

  Taniel played at his teeth with his tongue and watched his father. So I am, aren’t I? It’s good of you to remind him, Ondraus. He tends to forget.

  “Taniel has a right to be here,” Tamas said.

  Ondraus examined Taniel for a moment. His anger was slowly replaced by a look of calculation. He took a deep breath. “I want promises,” he said to Tamas. The emotion had gone from his voice. It was all business, and there was a note of danger there far more frightening than his former fury. “The others will be as angry as I, but if you let me get my hands on the royal ledgers before the execution, I’ll give you my support.”

  “How kind,” Tamas said dryly. “You’re the king’s reeve. You already have the royal ledgers.”

  “No,” Ondraus said as if explaining something to a child. “I’m the city reeve. I want Manhouch’s private accounting. He’s been spending like an expensive whore at the jeweler’s for ten years, and I intend to balance the books.”

  “We agreed to open his coffers to the poor.”

  “After I balance the books.”

  Tamas considered this for a moment. “Done. You have until the execution. At noon.”

  “Right.” Ondraus crossed the room, leaning heavily on a cane. He gestured the big man to follow him. They both pushed past Taniel and moved down the dark hall, their footsteps echoing on marble.

  “Without so much as a ‘by your leave,’” Taniel said.

  “The world is nothing more than figures and arithmetic to Ondraus,” Tamas said with a dismissive gesture. He motioned Taniel into the room and stepped forward. They shook hands. Taniel searched his father’s eyes, wondered if he should pull him into a hug like he might with comrades long absent. Tamas was frowning at the wall, his mind on something else, and Taniel let the thought go.

  “Where is Vlora?” Tamas asked, looking curiously at Ka-poel. “Didn’t you visit her in Jileman on the way here?”

  “She’s taking another coach,” Taniel said. He tried to keep his tone neutral. First thing Tamas asked. Of course.

  “Sit down,” Tamas said. “There is so much to talk about. Let’s begin with this. Who is she?”

  Ka-poel had set Taniel’s knapsack and rifle in the corner and was examining the room and the curtains with some interest. Her time in the cities of the Nine had been hurried, as she and Taniel had taken coach after coach, sleeping as they traveled, to arrive in Adopest.

  “Her name is Ka-poel,” Taniel said. “She’s a Dynize, from a tribe in western Fatrasta. Pole,” Taniel instructed, “remove your hat.” He gave his father an apologetic smile. “I’m still teaching her Adran manners. Their ways are very different from ours.”

  “The Dynize Empire has opened their borders?” Tamas seemed skeptical.

  “A number of natives in the Fatrastan Wilds share blood with the Dynize, but the strait between Dynize and Fatrasta keeps them from suffering their cousins’ isolationism.”

  “Does Dynize concern the Fatrastan generals?”

  “Concern? The mere thought gives them heartburn. But the Dynize civil war has shown no signs of stopping. They won’t turn their eyes outward for some time.”

  “And the Kez?” Tamas asked.

  “When I left, they were already making overtures of peace.”

  “That’s a pity. I’d hoped Fatrasta would keep them occupied for some time yet.” Tamas gave Taniel a look up and down. “I see you’re still wearing frontier clothing.”

  “And what’s wrong with that? I spent all my money on passage home.” Taniel tugged on the front of his buckskin jacket. “These are the best clothes on the frontier. Warm, durable. I forgot how bloody cold Adro can be. I’m glad I have them.”

  “I see.” Tamas stepped over to Ka-poel and gave her a look-over. She held her hat in both hands and boldly returned Tamas’s gaze. Her hair was fire red, and her light skin was covered in ashen freckles—an oddity unseen in the Nine. Her features were small, petite. Not at all the image of a big, savage warrior that most of the Nine had of the Dynize.

  “Fascinating,” Tamas said. “How did you come across her?”

  “She was the scout for our regiment,” Taniel said. “Helped us track Kez Privileged through the Fatrastan Wilds. She became my spotter, and I saved her life a few times. She hasn’t left my side since.”

  “She speaks Adran?”

  “She’s a mute. She understands it, though.”

  Tamas leaned forward, looking into Ka-poel’s eyes. He examined her cheeks and ears as well, as one might a prize horse. Taniel wondered if Tamas would check the teeth next. Ka-poel would bite him for that. Taniel almost hoped he did.

  Taniel said, “She’s a sorcerer, a Bone-eye. The Dynize version of a Privileged, though their magic is somewhat different, from what I gather.”

  “Savage sorcerers,” Tamas said. “I’ve heard something about them. She’s very small. How old is she?”

  “Fourteen years,” Taniel said. “I think. They’re a small-statured people, but demons on the battlefield. Not bad with a rifle either. Ah,” he said as he suddenly remembered. “I wanted to show you something.”

  He pointed to his rifle. Ka-poel undid the knot holding his satchel to it and brought it to him. Taniel grinned and held the rifle out to his father.

  “Is this…? Is this the rifle you used for that shot?” Tamas asked.

  “Sure is.”

  Tamas took the rifle by the barrel, flipped it up, and sighted. “Awfully long. Good weight. Rifled bore and a covered pan on the flintlock. Beautiful craftsmanship.”

  “Take a look at the name under the barrel.”

  “A Hrusch. Very nice.”

  “Not just the design,” Taniel said. “Made by the man himself. I spent a month with him in Fatrasta. He’d been working on it for quite some time, made it a gift to me.”

  Tamas’s eyes widened. “Genuine? I’ve not seen better-made rifles. We bought rights to the patent a year ago and have been churning them out for the army, but I’ve only seen one made by the man himself.”

  Taniel felt warmth at his father’s wonder. Finally something new. Something Tamas might be proud of. “The Kez tried to buy the patent too,” Taniel said.

  “Really? Even though they were at war with Fatrasta?”

  “Of course. The Hrusch rifle kicked their asses on the frontier. Hardly a misfire, even in the worst of weather. Hrusch wouldn’t sell it to them, not for a chest of gold and an earldom. And Kez gunsmiths can’t replicate his work.”

  “No one ca
n, not unless they’ve been trained by the man himself.” Tamas examined the rifle closely for several minutes before handing it back.

  “You like it?” Taniel said.

  “Remarkable.” His interest seemed to wane suddenly, his attention becoming distant.

  Taniel hesitated. “Then you’ll like this.” He held out a hand to Ka-poel. She brought him a wooden case, a little longer than a man’s forearm and made of polished mahogany.

  “A gift,” Taniel said.

  Tamas set the case on a table and flipped open the top. “Incredible,” he breathed.

  “Saw-handled dueling pistols,” Taniel said. “Made by Hrusch’s oldest son—who they say is a better gunsmith than his father. Refined flintlock with a rainproof pan and a roller bearing on the steel spring. A smoothbore, but more accurate than most.” Taniel felt the warmth return as his father’s face lit up.

  Tamas lifted one of the matched pair of pistols and ran his fingers up and down the octagonal barrel. Ivory inlay caught the lamplight, the polish on it shining beautifully. “These are incredible. I’ll have to provoke an insult, just so I can use them.”

  Taniel chuckled. That sounded like something Tamas would do.

  “These are… wonderful,” Tamas said.

  Taniel thought he saw something glisten in his father’s eyes. Was he proud? Grateful? No, he decided, Tamas doesn’t know the meaning of those words.

  “I wish we had more time to talk,” Tamas said.

  “On to business?” Of course. No time for chatting. No time to catch up with a long-absent son.

  “Unfortunately,” Tamas said, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “Sabon,” he called. The Deliv appeared in the doorway. “Bring in the mercenaries.” Sabon disappeared again. “Now, where is Vlora? We need you both. Did Sabon tell you about our losses?”

  “Sabon told me. Sad news. I imagine Vlora will be along eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly talk to her.”

  Tamas scowled. “I thought—”

  “I found her in another man’s bed,” Taniel said, feeling a jolt of satisfaction at the shock on Tamas’s face. The shock turned to anger, then grief.