Adamat swallowed hard. Charlemund’s wounds didn’t look fatal, but there were several of them. He’d bleed out slowly, painfully—if Tamas let him. Tamas didn’t make any move to help, nor call out for his soldiers. He simply watched as Charlemund tried to stem the blood flow, hands shaking. Tamas wiped the blood from his sword on Charlemund’s discarded cape and sheathed it.
Adamat’s own wounds were bad, but he judged them survivable if he bound them better. He shrugged the thought off and went to squat down beside Siemone’s limp body. The priest’s neck had been broken in the fall. His eyes stared sightlessly off into a pasture, mouth open in a cry of despair. Adamat closed the eyes with his fingertips. He stood up and walked around to the other side of the carriage.
Olem and Tamas leaned upon each other, heads together in a conference. Tamas once again held the air rifle as a cane. They both looked to Adamat. “Olem says you delayed Charlemund just long enough for him to catch up.” Tamas gave him a slow nod. “You have my thanks.”
Adamat licked dry lips. Neither had a look of suspicion, an accusation on their lips. Why not? Adamat’s warning to Lord Vetas had just caused the deaths of a number of Tamas’s soldiers. They had yet to realize why he was there at all.
“Sir,” Adamat said. “I’m sorry. But my family…”
Tamas returned to the inside of the manor. Wardens and Church guards lay about, dead. He marveled at the perfect kills—bullets to the heart or the head, easy hits in the close proximity of a house. Blood pooled thick on the marble floors, making them slick. He found an ivory parasol stand in the corner of the foyer and appropriated a real cane, leaning the air rifle up against the wall.
Nikslaus was gone. Tamas bit the inside of his cheek, fighting against welling frustration. He’d left the Privileged lying on the ground writhing in pain. A blood trail led from that spot off to a side room. Tamas didn’t have enough men to tend to the wounded and organize a search. He closed his eyes and limped off after the blood trail.
Adamat. What would Tamas do with the inspector? He’d confessed to betraying Tamas and Adro to this Lord Vetas and his master, Lord Claremonte. How many powerful enemies could Tamas have? Adamat was ultimately responsible for Sabon’s death. Or was he? According to Adamat, the warning was sent to Charlemund just ahead of Adamat himself. Charlemund had more than just a few moments to marshal his defenses.
The pain in his leg increased as his powder trance began to fade. It would take a while for the trance to fade completely, and he’d be able to stand for a few hours yet, with the help of a cane. When that time was over, the agony would be so great he’d be lucky to even be able to stand.
Dr. Petrik would be furious. Tamas may have damaged his leg irreparably, fighting on it like he did. Foolishness.
The blood trail led through two rooms, two separate worlds of expensive furnishings rarely seen outside of a king’s palace. Ivory-bone chairs from the horns of Fatrastan animals, pelts and taxidermied big cats from the farthest jungles. A squat table chiseled from a single piece of pure obsidian. The skeleton of a long-dead lizard as big as a horse. Artwork from every corner of the world, sculptures from before the Time of Kresimir.
The blood trail led to a servant’s door out onto a small patio. Tamas examined the area cautiously. He didn’t know if they’d accounted for all the Wardens. He glimpsed movement out across a pasture. A stable door opened, and a pair of horses galloped out, swinging out around the barn and away from the villa. In his powder trance Tamas could see the makeshift bandages on Nikslaus’s hands, the writhing muscles of the Warden who led his horse. Nikslaus glanced back toward the villa nervously. Tamas watched until the pair was out of sight.
All of this was for naught if Julene manages to summon Kresimir.
“I can’t find Nikslaus,” Olem said.
Tamas turned. The soldier had not even attended to his own wounds. He stood straight as he could, trying to meet Tamas’s eyes. He did not hide his pain well, which meant there was a lot of it. He fumbled in his shirt jacket for rolling paper and tobacco. They almost slipped out of his blood-slick fingers. Tamas took them from him and rolled Olem a cigarette, then lit it with a match from Olem’s breast pocket. Olem took a puff and smiled gratefully.
“Attend to the wounded,” Tamas said. “Nikslaus is not a threat anymore. Attend to yourself first. You did well, my friend.”
“But Nikslaus…” Olem said.
“My vengeance will be that he continues to live,” Tamas said. He smiled, and he knew it was tinted with cruelty. “That will be enough.”
Chapter 40
Only aftepr climbing stairs for what seemed like hours did Taniel realize the full scope of Kresimir’s palace. It was, as Del said, a husk—the giant shell of what must have once been thousands upon thousands of rooms and halls and galleries. Only the volcanic outer crust remained, along with the enormous staircase that spiraled up along the inner wall. The ash thinned as they ascended. Their footfalls began to echo, and Taniel soon realized that the pinpricks of light above were windows. He forced himself to climb hard, fast, not caring if Del kept up or not.
In the near-utter silence Taniel felt as if time were suspended. He thought he saw pale colors flicker in the shadows, like ghostly auras of long-dead magic. Every now and then, puffs of ash rose like phantoms. As they neared the top, he saw windows, yes, but they were too high above the staircase to shoot from, and there was nothing to climb to reach them. He kept going. The walls closed in around them and the staircase narrowed. They reached a platform, bathed in light, blackened by soot, and as wide as a ballroom. Taniel saw the roof arch above them and the slits of windows high up the walls.
Taniel slumped against the wall and waited for Del to catch up.
“Where?” Taniel asked when the monk arrived, panting. He lurched forward and grabbed Del by the hem of his robes. “Where? You said I could shoot from up here. Point me to some damn windows!” He shook the monk hard.
“There!” Del wailed. He closed his eyes and flung a hand over Taniel’s shoulder.
Taniel let go of Del and turned around. A chill crept over him as he reevaluated the room. A cold hand seemed to touch his heart.
This was Kresimir’s throne room. A dais lay at the end of the hall, thirteen steps up to a place where sat a blackened chair. He saw light behind that chair.
Taniel hurried up the dais steps. He passed the empty throne and found a doorless archway. He gathered his courage and entered.
The room beyond brought him to a sudden stop. He gasped, mind overcome. The room was well lit, fully furnished. Tapestries hung on the walls. There was glass in the windows, and a four-poster bed in the center of the room. Velvet-cushioned chairs and gold-rimmed tables. He’d tracked soot onto a white rug. Taniel might as well have stepped from a cave into Skyline Palace. He stumbled.
“You left Bo behind?” a female voice said.
Taniel felt faint. Julene stepped in from a balcony.
“Yes, ma’am.” Del appeared at Taniel’s shoulder.
“And the girl?” Julene said, a sneer on her lips.
“Guarding Bo.” Del stood straight, his head held high. He no longer shook. He no longer even looked like Del. The youth of his face faded, leaving wrinkles behind, and as Taniel watched, the false monk pulled a pair of Privileged’s gloves from his pocket and tugged them on.
Julene strode to Taniel. She put one finger under his chin and lifted up his head to look into his eyes. He felt ill. Dead inside.
“I had a feeling you might chase me up here,” she said. “Glad I left Jekel behind. What was his plan?” she asked the Privileged.
“Shoot enough of us to keep you from summoning Kresimir,” Jekel said.
“That might have worked,” Julene admitted. “It takes a lot of sorcery to pull Kresimir between the Nether that separates worlds.”
Taniel felt himself sway. He longed to snatch for a pistol. He might be able to at least kill the false monk. His fingers didn’t want to obey. He was defeate
d. He knew it.
“Why?” Taniel asked. He took a couple of breaths, trying to find the words.
“Summon Kresimir?” Julene rolled her eyes.
“No. Why this dog? Why the ruse? He could have just as easily waited and killed us all. Why not kill me now?”
Julene shrugged. “If your father manages to survive the coming pitfire, I will keep you as some leverage. He’s not resourceful, but he is stubborn.”
Taniel tried to come to terms with what she was saying. “Just kill me now,” he said.
She tapped his neck with long nails. “I will if I need to.” She raised one hand. Taniel closed his eyes. After a moment, he opened them, only to receive an open-handed slap. He felt her nails rake at his skin.
“That’s for throwing me off a cliff,” she said. She turned to go.
Taniel twitched his fingers. They would move. Good. What could he do? “Going to summon Kresimir?” he asked.
Julene chuckled. “Already done,” she said. “I’m going to watch him descend. Care to come with me? The last time he touched earth, he collapsed half the mountain. You might want to find some protection in my sorcery.”
Jekel ducked after Julene with a look of concern. Taniel blinked. He set his fingers on his pistol, then followed after them.
The balcony was full of people. Two dozen Privileged, if not more. They held their eyes to the sky. Taniel was at the peak of the mighty building—or as close as one could get. He nudged his way among the Privileged and looked over the side. He stifled a hysterical laugh as he realized that there was a coliseum down by the lake. He could see right into it from this vantage point.
“Enjoy the show,” a voice whispered in his ear.
It was Jekel. The false monk gave Taniel a shallow smile.
“You disgust me,” Jekel said. “You and your kind. Kresimir will destroy the powder mages once and for all. Damned Marked.”
Taniel grabbed Jekel by the front of his robe. Jekel sneered, lifted his gloved hands. Taniel tossed him off the balcony.
The man’s scream lasted a long time, even as he bounced and slid down the outside of the giant sheen of volcanic rock that was the building’s shell.
“What?” someone asked.
“Who the pit is this?” a Privileged said.
Taniel drew a pistol and then wondered what for. What damage could he possibly do? Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a glowing light, up in the clouds. He felt the blood drain from his face. He tightened his grip on his pistol. He could at least take a few of them with him.
A Privileged raised his gloved hands at Taniel. His fingers twitched. Taniel whipped up his pistol, only to hesitate as the Privileged suddenly—and apparently gleefully—threw himself off the balcony.
Another Privileged followed suit. Then a third collapsed to the ground screaming, gouging at his eyes. Taniel whirled toward the balcony entrance.
Ka-poel stood there, legs planted wide, arms spread. Her buckskin vest was loosened sloppily at the neck, and her rucksack lay at her feet. Dolls lay scattered around it. Her fire-red hair was wild. She raised one hand.
The dolls, dozens of them, rose into the air. They spread out before her like cards before a soothsayer, held up by invisible hands. Julene caught sight of Ka-poel, and she screamed.
Everything happened at once. Privileged scrambled for their gloves and made warding gestures. Julene froze, as if in a panic, and Ka-poel began her attack.
Fire spread from her fingertips. It hit several of the dolls, and Privileged burst into flames. A needle appeared in Ka-poel’s hand. She jabbed hard, quickly, into different dolls. Screams of agony filled the balcony.
A flash of light raced toward Ka-poel as a Privileged got off a shot. She didn’t even waver. The light arced, flashing into a doll. The Privileged to Taniel’s right turned to dust and blew away with the wind.
The mongoose had found the serpent’s nest, and Taniel was right in the bloody middle. He lifted his pistol and shot a Privileged that wasn’t getting any attention from Ka-poel. He tossed the pistol aside and grabbed his second. When that was spent, he rolled his rifle off his shoulder.
Julene regained her faculties as Ka-poel decimated the Privileged. Julene balled her fists and strode toward Ka-poel, face twisted in fury. Taniel felt fear then, and it wasn’t for himself. Turn her unfamiliar magics as she might against the Kez Privileged, Ka-poel would not be able to handle Julene.
Taniel rushed Julene, bayonet forward. She waved her hand, and he felt himself sail through the air. Something crunched as he crashed into the balcony railing. He’d barely arrested his own fall, scrambling for some handhold, his rifle clattering away across the balcony. Privileged lay dead and dying around Julene, and she strode on toward Ka-poel.
Ka-poel’s dolls melted as Privileged died. Some wavered and dropped, still others drifted away. She twirled her hands, and the remaining dolls rotated. Taniel recognized Julene’s doll.
Julene laughed fiercely as Ka-poel massaged the air above the doll. Ka-poel opened her mouth.
“Taniel, run!”
The voice had come from Julene, yet it had not been her voice. It was a girl’s voice, a voice tinged by desperation.
“Get out now!”
Julene didn’t seem to notice that she’d spoken. She put down her head and charged Ka-poel, fire flinging from her fingertips, setting alight all it touched—stone and flesh alike. It sprayed some of Ka-poel’s dolls, and two Privileged wailed in agony.
Taniel found his rifle in the other corner of the balcony. The remaining Privileged didn’t even seem to notice him. They had backed away as far as they could from Ka-poel, spread out, and threw their hands up frantically to fend off her magic.
No, he would not run. He’d not leave Ka-poel to fight alone.
Taniel snatched up his rifle. He checked the barrel. The bullet had come out in his fall. He cleared the barrel and loaded one, then another, both redstripes. He rammed cotton batting to hold the bullets in. A Privileged stumbled toward him, hands raised. He rammed his bayonet through the Privileged’s eye.
He found a place at the railing to line up his shot. The glow he’d seen earlier was descending from the heavens. It looked like a cloud, falling swiftly as it grew closer.
The cloud flew past, lowering itself into the center of the coliseum below. Taniel licked his lips. He cleared his throat. He tried to steady his hands. A pinch of powder helped to clear his mind and sharpen his eyes.
The coliseum was too far away. Six miles, at least. There was no way he could make a shot that far. He took a deep breath. The cloud touched the ground.
A foot emerged from the cloud, followed by a person. Taniel fought off the darkness of a fainting spell.
The man from the cloud was more beautiful than anyone Taniel had ever seen. His skin was perfect, his golden hair long and lustrous. He wore a tunic, something out of a play depicting the Time of Kresimir. He stepped from the cloud and paused. His perfect face was marred by a frown.
Taniel blinked the sweat out of his eyes and pulled the trigger. The crack echoed in his ears, and he lowered his rifle. He didn’t so much see as he felt the two bullets speeding toward Kresimir. Long after they should have fallen to the ground, his will kept them in the air. His mind began to hurt from the effort, his hands began to tremble. Pain blossomed in his head as he burned through his powder horn to keep the bullets flying. Still he held on.
One bullet entered Kresimir’s right eye. The other hit his chest and pierced his heart. Taniel watched the god’s body crumple and fall.
Taniel felt a sob wrench itself from his chest. He’d killed a god.
He dropped to the balcony floor.
He couldn’t bring himself to care as Julene’s roar of fury tore at his brain. He heard a mighty thump, and then the world began to shake. He cradled his rifle, trying to pull himself into a fetal position. The building was falling. I killed a god.
Ka-poel. Was she still alive? He staggered to his feet, casting
aside his rifle. Ka-poel was nowhere to be seen. Julene was gone too. The building creaked and swayed beneath him. Another quake? Outside, in the middle of Pike Lake, a great geyser sprayed into the air. Taniel could feel the heat from it. He forced himself inside.
Ka-poel lay near the arched doorway to the throne room. Blood leaked from her mouth and nose and from the corner of one eye. She stared up at Taniel, still gripping one of her dolls. It was Julene, clear as day, and the doll wore a mask of absolute rage.
Taniel fell to his knees beside Ka-poel.
“I can’t take you anywhere safe,” he said. “There’s nowhere safe left. I killed a god.”
Ka-poel blinked. Taniel choked on his own sob.
“Pole?”
She smiled, reached up, and grabbed him by the back of the neck and pulled him close to her, stronger than Taniel could have imagined.
That’s when he felt the building fall out from under them.
Epilogue
Bloody pit, Olem thought as they brought in the bodies and laid them before Tamas.
Rain beat down and wind whipped at the canvas tent over their heads. The sounds in the air—screams like banshees that came from no mortal throat—and the smell of sulfur that clogged his senses and made him want to spit every few minutes.
He could see South Pike from time to time through the swaying trees. The whole mountain, no, the whole southeastern sky, glowed like the hillside behind a fire. It made him nervous being this close, no matter what the field marshal said. The mountain had changed. Its familiar rimmed top had collapsed on the southern side, spilling out its fiery guts onto the Kez plains.
Olem hoped it swallowed the whole damned Kez army.
Plumes of ash and smoke as big as Adro floated in the air above them, reflecting the harsh flow of the mountain. The ash rained down, requiring every man to wear cloth over his face. A plume of fire spurted from the southern rim and disappeared, heading toward Kez. Olem shuddered. That one plume was probably big enough to cover a city.
Powder Mage Trilogy 01 - Promise of Blood Page 51
