Powder Mage Trilogy 01 - Promise of Blood

by Brian McClellan

  “So it doesn’t need a direct hit,” Bo said thoughtfully. He straightened. “Why have I never heard of these before?”

  “If you were the Kez, would you want it widely known that enchanted bullets could cut through your best defenses? If you were the Fatrastans, would you want to tip your hand at having an advantage?”

  “Fatrastans could sell one bullet for a lot of money,” Bo said.

  Taniel could practically hear the gears turning in Bo’s head. “Yeah, and then you’d find one coming for you one day.”

  Bo smiled. “Probably would at that, wouldn’t I?” He still looked thoughtful. “I wouldn’t tell anyone else about those, if I were you.”

  Gavril moved up beside them. “Taniel. The Privileged have begun to show themselves. Time to go to work. And you, Bo.” The big man snorted. “I want you slinging whatever you can at them the whole way up. The battle’s about to begin.”

  A cannon blast punctuated his words and left Taniel’s ears ringing. Another followed in less than a few heartbeats, and then another.

  “Get used to the sound,” Gavril shouted above the racket. “The only thing we’re not short of is ammunition. They’ll pound away day and night, till either we crack the barrels or the Kez send us to the pit.”

  Taniel spent the rest of the morning sending Kez Privileged scrambling for cover. The redstripes cut through the protection offered by the Privileged Tower everywhere but nearest the tower itself. The sorcery was just too strong there, and the redstripes pinged off an invisible shield just as the conventional artillery did. Kez Privileged huddled around the tower, matching its ponderous progress. Some even rode on it, sending halfhearted shots of sorcery up the mountainside in the form of fire and lightning. Not once did a shot make it past the redoubts. The wards protecting the Mountainwatch were too powerful.

  The Privileged Tower reached a point three-quarters of the way to the fortress from Mopenhague around noontime. It rolled to a stop on a relatively flat part of the road near a level area of ground big enough for a squat house and a latrine—a resting point for travelers on the switchbacks. Blocks were put behind the wheels and the oxen were corralled. Tents were set up in the shadow of the Privileged Tower.

  The Kez Cabal had found their staging ground.

  The Kez worked all day beneath the torrent of artillery fire. The air above them shimmered where cannonballs and canister shot rained down upon the sorcery-woven shield. Late in the day Taniel found himself near Bo.

  Bo wore his gloves but had yet to make any response to the Kez Cabal. He scowled while he examined the royal cabal’s new position through a looking glass.

  “Pit,” Bo said to himself. He stowed the looking glass, when he sensed Taniel’s presence and turned. “She’s down there,” he said.

  “Julene?” Taniel asked. “How can you be sure?”

  Bo rubbed his temples. “I’ve had my third eye open all day. She’s hiding herself well, and pit, it’s tough to pick out individuals beneath that shield. I’ve seen her well of power manifest twice now. Each time when the Tower got stuck.” He snorted. “Bitch is driving cattle now. I just saw it again, right now. It’s her, all right. Only a Predeii has that flare to them in the Else. She’s barely bothering to hide.”

  “What if there’s another one down there?” Taniel asked.

  Bo turned white as a cloud. He swallowed and turned around, staring through the looking glass again. After a moment he took it away from his eye. He spit at Taniel’s feet. “You’re a bastard for suggesting that,” he said. He rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be up all night now, looking for a second one. Damn it.”

  “So she survived that beating we gave her on the mountain?”

  “It seems so.”

  “How the pit do we kill her, then? Can it even be done?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You inspire a lot of confidence, you know that?” Taniel ignored Bo’s glare. “She’s really trying to come up here to summon Kresimir?”

  “Yes.”

  Taniel had asked the question fifty times now. He hoped Bo’s answer would change. It hadn’t. He felt like he couldn’t give up trying.

  “Why didn’t she do it weeks ago? She could have snuck past us and gone up there.”

  “Last time it took thirteen of the most powerful Privileged in the world,” Bo said. “She’ll need an entire royal cabal this time.”

  “Hence, the Kez.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why would they help her?”

  “Who knows what she’s promised them,” Bo said. “Immortality? Power? Ruling the Nine at Kresimir’s side?”

  “We have to tell my father.”

  “I sent a warning to him over a month ago,” Bo said. “The answer I got was that he sent you to kill me.”

  “I believe you,” Taniel said.

  “Very reassuring. Have you written him about Julene?”

  “I did.” He had yet to hear a word from his father. What did that mean? Last news from Adopest was a week ago. A Warden had tried to kill Tamas. They’d not succeeded. Taniel had no idea whether his father had been wounded or incapacitated—or whether he was simply too busy to write back. Or maybe he was still planning on sending someone to kill Bo. Taniel was looking over his shoulder every day for another powder mage. None had come.

  “I can already tell you he won’t believe all that stuff about summoning Kresimir,” Taniel said. “He’s too practical.”

  “You did tell him, though, right?”

  “Of course I told him. I told him I couldn’t kill you because I needed your help on the mountain. I told him I saw the Kez army and knew we’d need a Privileged to hold them off.”

  “You didn’t see the Kez army until we were on our way back, though,” Bo said.

  “But it’s a plausible lie.”

  “The only kind that works.”

  “I requested reinforcements, too,” Taniel said. “At the very least Tamas will send those.”

  “Good. Only problem with a choke point like this is that only so many men can hold it. More soldiers might just muddle things up. I’ll talk to Gavril. Having a few companies camped just down the mountain on the Adran side would allow us to cycle men. Give us more rest.”

  Taniel and Bo stared down at the Kez army for a few minutes of silence.

  Bo turned to him. “Tamas is really playing with fire, isn’t he?”

  “Seems so.”

  “I have a question,” Bo said. He sounded hesitant.

  Taniel frowned. When had Bo ever held back from asking him anything? “Yeah?”

  “What happened to your mother? I’ve heard the official stories. On a diplomatic mission to Kez. Accused of spying and treachery, and then beheaded quickly. There’s more to it than that.”

  Bo wanted to know why Tamas had started the war. “I haven’t told you?”

  “I’ve never asked,” Bo said. “It seemed a topic you were… reluctant to discuss.”

  Taniel opened his mouth to speak and found he had no words. He choked, then coughed into his hand and tried to blink back the tears. No, he had never talked about it. Not even with his closest friend. He worked to find his voice.

  “My mother’s mother was Kez. Mother used it as an excuse to visit once, sometimes twice a year. Her status as a noblewoman made her impossible for the Kez to touch, despite their habit of imprisoning powder mages. Each visit, she tried to find a powder mage and smuggle him or her into Adro and under Tamas’s wing, or out of the Nine entirely. Duke Nikslaus found out. The Kez arrested her and my grandparents, and they were all put to death by the time word reached Adro.”

  Taniel cleared his throat. “Tamas demanded that Manhouch declare war. Manhouch refused. The crown buried the entire affair so deep that no one asked questions. My father disappeared for more than a year. When he returned, there was rumor that he’d tried, and failed, to assassinate Ipille. That rumor was squashed just as quickly as the one that my mother was put to death without a trial.”

&n
bsp; “Your father,” Bo said, his voice flat, “tried to kill the king of Kez and got away with it?”

  “He’s never spoken about it. My mother had two brothers. They both disappeared around the same time. I think they were caught, and Tamas got away, and claimed he had nothing to do with it.” Taniel sprinkled powder on the back of his wrist and took a sniff. His uncles were a vague memory. He couldn’t even remember their names.

  “Should I watch my back for another powder mage?” Bo asked.

  Taniel was glad he’d changed the subject. “I don’t think so,” he said. “With the whole Grand Army here and the better part of the Kez Cabal, Tamas knows he needs you. At least until the army retreats.”

  “Fantastic.” Bo managed a smile and slapped Taniel on the shoulder. He turned to head back toward the town. Taniel fingered the rifle in his hands and watched his friend’s back. Bo’s shoulders were slumped, his walk hardly more than a shuffle. He was tired, Taniel realized.

  Bo was their best weapon against the Kez, and he was getting dull. Their second best weapon? Taniel felt his mouth go dry. That was a lot of pressure on him. Tamas could thrive on this kind of pressure. He’d throw a hundred bullets into the air and kill every Kez Privileged on the mountainside. It should be his ass up there.

  Taniel shouldered his rifle and headed back to the bulwark. He had to do it the old-fashioned way. One bullet at a time. No, he realized. He was Taniel Two-Shot. He’d take two at once.

  Chapter 23

  Tamas stepped out of his carriage and took a deep breath of country air. Olem already stood in the drive, one hand on the butt of a pistol at his belt, the other tucked into the pocket of his scarlet hunting coat. His nose was in the air like a guard dog as he examined their surroundings. He wore an outfit matching Tamas’s with black laceless boots and dark pants in addition to the scarlet coat and hunting cap, a rifle over one shoulder.

  The baying of hounds echoed out across the pastures. The hunting lodge rested between two hills beside a stony creek on the edge of the King’s Wood. It was a vast affair with hundreds of rooms in the traditional bad taste of the Adran monarchy. It had originally been built of local stone and immense oaks the likes of which hadn’t grown in this area for a hundred years. Recent renovations had given it a brick façade. The kennels, a two-story building as big as the king’s stables, were visible across the southern pasture.

  “Come on, Hrusch,” Tamas said. The hound dog leapt from the carriage and immediately put his nose to the ground, floppy ears dusting the gravel. Tamas felt a twinge when Pitlaugh didn’t follow Hrusch out of the carriage as he had so many years in the past. A great many things were different about the hunt this year.

  Tamas entered the farmhouse and was hit by the nervous titter of uncertain conversation. He was among the last to arrive, yet there were fewer than a dozen people in the main foyer.

  “Not many here, sir,” Olem said. A butler gave Olem’s cigarette a disapproving look. Olem ignored him.

  “I killed ninety percent of the people who usually come,” Tamas murmured.

  Tamas nodded to each of the men and women in the foyer. A couple of merchants of means, and a pair of noblemen with low enough rank to spare them the Elections. Last year they would have worn the pale breeches and dark waistcoats of those not included directly in the hunt. This year, they would wear hunt colors along with everyone else simply to fill out the numbers. Brigadiers Ryze and Abrax chatted idly with the merchants. Tamas exchanged a few words with them and thanked them for their service against the royalists. Conversations died as he passed by the minor nobility.

  Lady Winceslav, dressed in colors with a dark riding habit and a black coat with a scarlet collar, swept down the stairs.

  “Tamas, I’m glad you made it,” she said. Brigadier Barat, a sullen, impetuous young man that Tamas continually wanted to smack, lurked on the stairs behind her.

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tamas said. “Hrusch needs something to take his mind off things.” The hound looked up from his olfactory inspection of the floor at the sound of his name. “As do I, perhaps,” he added.

  “Or course,” Lady Winceslav said. “Is he in the running, then?”

  Tamas scoffed. “He’ll win it. Pitlaugh was the only one to beat him last year. With the king’s kennels out of contention, it’ll be no contest.” He felt his smile begin to slide off his face and gestured for Lady Winceslav to step to the side. When they were alone in a hallway, he said, “This is a farce, Lady.”

  She glared at him. “It is not, and it’s insulting of you to say so.”

  “The king is dead. This hunt was his tradition. Most of the people who used to come are dead too.”

  “So we should let it die with them?” she said. “Don’t deny that you enjoy these hunts.”

  Tamas took a deep breath. The Orchard Valley Hunt was an annual tradition going back six hundred years and marked the beginning of St. Adom’s Festival. Tamas struggled within himself. He loved the hunt, however…

  “It sends the wrong message,” he said. “We want to show the people that we’re not replacing Manhouch and his nobility with more nobles. The hunt is a noble’s sport.”

  “I think not,” Lady Winceslav said. “It’s an Adran sport. Would you outlaw tennis, or polo? This is simply entertainment.” She shook her head. “Next you’ll want to outlaw masquerades, and then we’ll see how popular you are come winter, when there’s nothing else to do.”

  “I wouldn’t do that. I met my wife at a ball,” Tamas said.

  She gave him a sympathetic look. “I know. Look around, Tamas. Some of the finest merchant families of Adro are here. Even Ricard and Ondraus came. I made the invitation open to everyone in Adopest.”

  “Everyone?” Tamas asked. “If that was the case, there’d be more people here, if only for the free food.”

  Lady Winceslav sniffed. “You know what I mean. There are even some amateur kennelmasters here from North Johal. Freed peasants. They’re rough men, but they seem to know their hounds.” She poked Tamas in the chest with one slender, slightly wrinkled finger. “Saint Adom’s Festival cannot begin without the Orchard Valley Hunt. I simply won’t let it happen. Now, the draggers have already begun laying the scent. The hunt will begin in twenty minutes. Get Hrusch to the starting line. The stable master will have a hunter ready for you to ride.”

  Tamas and Olem found their mounts and headed out to the kennels, where the official hunt would begin. A chalk line had been dusted on the trimmed grass spanning an entire field. Hundreds of men and women sat atop their hunters. Some held their hounds on leashes, others by command alone, while a number of the wealthier participants had kennelmasters on foot beside them.

  Tamas took a place at one end of the line. There were more people out here than he expected, and a far greater number of hounds. “She really meant it when she said she had invited everyone. Half these people aren’t even wearing hunt colors.” He bit back a comment. It was a damned time to complain. It would still be fine colors and nobility if it weren’t for him.

  “Aye,” Olem said. “I’m glad there’s anyone here at all. Would be a sad start to the festival without a hunt.”

  “Did Lady Winceslav pay you to say that?” Tamas said. Olem was a soldier, risen from the peasantry to his current position. He had no attachment to the hunt.

  Olem looked surprised. “No, sir.” He flicked the end of his cigarette into the grass and immediately began rolling another.

  “I’m joking, Olem.” Tamas glanced about, grimacing at the sight of a peasant on a mangy-looking mare with two hounds and an off-red coat that didn’t come close to hunt colors.

  In a few minutes’ time the horn was blown and the hounds were off. Tamas began at a slow canter, watching Hrusch fly off ahead of the rest of the animals in the direction of the scent. It wasn’t long before the dogs disappeared into the woods. Tamas urged himself ahead of the rest of the riders until he reached the woods, then slacked off and let himself be passed.
He closed his eyes, listening to the softening bays of the hounds, the sound soothing to his ears.

  He opened his eyes after some time to find himself alone with Olem. The bodyguard’s hunter trotted along beside Tamas’s. Olem’s eyes scanned the surrounding brush with the vigil of a hawk.

  “Do you ever relax?” Tamas asked.

  “Not since the Warden, sir.”

  Tamas could see horses up ahead, and hear others behind them. The huntsmen had begun to spread out in order to enjoy themselves while the hounds ran themselves to exhaustion. The sport would last all day, either until one of the hounds caught up with the volunteer dragging the scent or until they reached the end point of the race. Last year, Pitlaugh had found the volunteer halfway through the day, earning the ire of Adro’s nobility for cutting short their hunt, and earning himself a flank of steer from Tamas.

  Tamas brushed off memories of past hunts and turned to Olem. “It wasn’t your fault. They’ll send more Wardens at me. You’ll do little against one of them.”

  Olem rested one hand lightly on his pistol. “Don’t write me off so quickly, sir. I can cause more damage than you’d guess.”

  “Of course,” Tamas said gently. He felt more relaxed than he had in, well, it seemed like years. He let his mind wander, enjoying the cool breeze through the trees and the periodic splash of warm sun on his face. It was a perfect, blue-sky day for the Orchard Valley Hunt.

  “A question, sir.” Olem’s voice cut through his thoughts.

  “If it has to do with the Kez, I don’t want to hear it.”

  “I was wondering what you’ll do with Mihali, sir?”

  Tamas stirred himself out of his reverie and gave Olem’s back an annoyed glance as the soldier searched the woods with his eyes. “I think I’m sending him back to Hassenbur,” Tamas said.

  Olem gave Tamas a sharp look.

  Tamas said, “Not you, too? I’d expect the common soldiers to grow attached, but not you.”

  “I am a common soldier, sir. But you stated his worth yourself,” Olem said. “Creating food from thin air.”