Tamas gestured for the closest mercenary captain. “Don’t worry, Teef,” Tamas said. “If you kept your side of the bargain, I will keep mine. I’d love to throw you into Sabletooth, but I’m a man of my word. And… you may prove useful in the future.”
Tamas left Teef behind and approached the barricades with Sabon, Olem, and an entire company of the Wings of Adom. Tamas reached out with his senses, looking for powder charges. He sensed a small munitions dump near the barricade and a scattering of discarded powder.
Tamas climbed to the top of the barricade and looked around. From the few barricades they’d captured he knew what to expect: the semblance of a soldier’s camp, the street clear of debris, makeshift flags hung above the doors of homes and shops that’d been turned into barracks.
The streets were filled with people. Far more of them than Tamas had expected. Hundreds of women and children. Far fewer men. Their faces were painted with fear, with dejection, with loss. The faces of people who awoke to find their husbands, their friends, and their fathers and leaders with throats cut in their beds. People had little fight in them after an experience like that.
Each huddled group of people had a Barber watching over them, armed with a pistol or a club, sometimes with nothing more than a bared razor. It seemed to be enough.
“Brigadier Sabastenien,” Tamas said.
The young brigadier climbed the barricade to stand beside him. “Sir?”
“Have your men relieve the Barbers. Begin filing these people out of the barricades.”
“To Sabletooth, sir?”
“No,” Tamas said. He surveyed those faces once more. “I suspect that those most responsible for the royalist uprising have already met their fates. I want all survivors taken to the old bailey. Disarm them, but then feed them. Have them checked by doctors and given beds. They’re no longer royalists. They are citizens. They are our countrymen.”
“My men aren’t nursemaids, sir.”
“They are now. Dismissed.”
Tamas watched as mercenary soldiers went down among the royalists. Voices were subdued, quiet, and for the most part everyone went willingly. Soldiers began the work of dismantling the barricades. Every so often, heads would turn when cannon fire echoed from the south.
“Sabon, send word to Brigadier Ryze. Tell him we’ve taken the main barricade. Tell him to offer parley. Every royalist not of noble blood will be pardoned. If the Barbers have done their work through the whole royalist camp, I suspect the offer will be taken.”
“You intend to pardon them all, sir?” Olem asked.
“If I treat them like animals, like criminals, then I will have a second royalist uprising on my hands. If I treat them like citizens, if I restore them to their places in this city, if I make them belong, that is the best solution. I will not perform another round of executions.”
“Probably wise, sir,” Olem said.
Tamas gave the man a long look. “I’m glad you approve.”
“Well, sir, even with you offering a month’s wages, no one will clean the blood out of Elections Square. Stained the stones rust. They say the dried blood is a half-foot deep in some places. Wouldn’t want to add to that.”
“Elections Square?”
“Formerly the King’s Garden, sir. It’s been renamed.”
“I hadn’t heard that.”
“Well, you’ve been awfully busy, what with the barricades and all.”
“Why Elections Square?”
Olem chuckled. “Well, kind of a dark joke, that. See, the people see those executions as a kind of election.”
“There was no voting.”
“I think the vote was cast when the people tore those Hielmen to shreds.”
A mercenary soldier came jogging toward them through the now orderly lines of royalists leaving the barricades. The man snapped a salute. “Sir, Brigadier Sabastenien said you’d want to know. We found General Westeven.”
The general was in a small room behind what had once been a flea market. His quarters were damp, cold. They seemed too small for such a great man. Tamas had to duck to enter the room.
Westeven lay faceup on a cot. A few meager possessions were scattered on the dresser—aside from the bed, the only piece of furniture. They included a pocket-sized portrait of Westeven’s late wife; a Gurlan hunting knife, the handle well worn; a beaded native’s fetish; a pair of spectacles; and a neatly folded handkerchief.
Tamas frowned down at the body. Westeven lay beneath a thin blanket, far too short for his long body, stockinged feet sticking out the bottom. They’d cleaned up his body, but burns were still visible. His eyes were closed. Even in death his one good hand still clutched at an old leather-bound book. He’d survived losing an arm, it seemed—if only for an hour or so. The man’s aged fingers were bent from rheumatism.
Tamas turned his head to read the title of the book in Westeven’s hand: The Age of Kresimir. He hadn’t known Westeven to be religious.
Tamas picked up the Gurlan hunting knife and the native’s fetish. “Brigadier,” he said softly.
Sabastenien ducked beneath the entrance and joined him. There was barely enough space in the dark room for them both.
“Have the general’s body sent to his next of kin.”
Sabastenien took off his hat. “I don’t believe the general has any living relatives.”
Tamas felt a lump in his throat and swallowed. When he’d regained his composure, he said, “I will claim the body. Send word to the city reeve. I want full honors for the general’s burial—a state burial. No expense is to be spared. I’ll pay for it from my own pocket if need be.”
Sabastenien didn’t answer. When Tamas turned, he saw that unshed tears glistened in the young brigadier’s eyes.
“Sir,” Sabastenien said. “I formally request that General Westeven be buried in the Wings of Adom cemetery. I’m sure Lady Winceslav would agree.”
Tamas lay a hand on Sabastenien’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. Such a thing was the greatest honor. The Wings of Adom were tough ranks to join living, harder to join dead.
Sabastenien left Tamas alone with the body. Tamas lay his hat on Westeven’s chest and took a deep breath.
“A poor scrap to go out in,” Tamas said. “I’m sorry, my friend. Yet you went out fighting for what you believed. I’ve got the Kez to deal with next, and how I wish I had you by my side for that.”
Chapter 13
She’s here,” Julene said.
Taniel frowned at the Privileged mercenary. She wore a wicked small smile, tugged up farther on one side by the scar on her face, and her eyes were unnaturally wide. It reminded Taniel of a cougar he’d once seen at a circus. They stood at the front gates of Adopest University. The walls surrounding the collegiate town were little more than crumbling relics beyond which flags waved in the brisk breeze on the towers of the university buildings. Taniel could hear the sound of students laughing. This was not a good place to confront a Privileged.
Yet far better than the crowded city.
“You sure?” Taniel asked. He’d not opened his third eye in days. The last time, he’d nearly collapsed. He told himself it wasn’t because he’d been in a powder trance for four weeks running. He wasn’t powder blind. He wasn’t addicted.
He snorted a line of powder off the back of his hand and shivered.
Julene ignored his question. “Well?” Taniel asked Gothen.
The magebreaker nodded. “She’s here,” he confirmed.
Taniel looked around for Ka-poel. She was studying the gargoyles above the gate. A group of male students were studying her. Taniel glared at them, setting a hand on the butt of his pistol.
“Is that a real savage?” one of them asked.
“You have to have a permit to carry a weapon on university grounds,” another informed him.
“Sod off,” Taniel said. “Wait. Where can I find a map of the university?”
The boy—Taniel thought of him as a boy, though he might have been the same ag
e—sniffed. “Sod off yourself.”
Taniel turned toward the group until they could see his powder keg pin.
“That supposed to impress us?” the boy asked.
Taniel grinned. “It will when I beat your teeth in.” He snatched his pistol from his belt and flipped it around until he held it by the barrel. He flipped it again, then spun it around his middle finger until he held it the right way.
“Fancy,” one of the boys said with a laugh. “Administrator’s office. Head through the gate, take a right. You’ll run into it eventually.”
“Thanks,” Taniel said. “And yes, she’s a savage. My savage.” His grin disappeared when he turned to find Ka-poel glaring at him.
He cleared his throat. “Let’s find a map of the university. Julene, how close can you get to her without her sensing you?”
“I don’t care if she knows I’m coming.”
“I do,” Taniel snapped. “Don’t be a damned fool.”
Ka-poel tapped herself on the chest, then walked a pair of fingers through the air.
“You can get close?” Taniel said.
Ka-poel rolled her eyes.
Of course she could. Ka-poel could practically walk up and poke a Privileged without being noticed. Taniel wondered where his mind was at. It was the damned powder, he decided. When this was over, he’d go a month without touching the stuff.
“All right. Pole, find the Privileged. I want to know exactly where she is, down to the building and the room. You two,” he said, pointing at the mercenaries. “Wait for Captain Ajucare.” The captain had been trailing them for a week at Tamas’s orders. Far enough to stay out of the way, and close enough to be there if he was needed.
A quick glance down the road gave Taniel a glimpse of men on horseback in the distance. “Tell him to begin evacuating the university. We’re going to take this Privileged here, now. Gothen, will you be able to cut off her access to the Else?”
“Of course.”
“No problems this time?”
“None,” Gothen said. “I won’t make the same mistake I made last time.”
All that was needed was for Gothen to be able to get close enough to cut off her sorcery. If bullets and blades weren’t enough to kill her, it would give Julene the chance she needed to use her own sorcery.
“An evacuation will tip our hand,” Julene said.
“I’m not going to let a bunch of students get killed in the crossfire if we mess up and the two of you begin to throw around sorcery.”
Julene sneered at him.
“I’ll be back,” Taniel said.
Taniel headed through the gates and toward the administration building. A series of signposts gave him better directions. The place was practically a town in and of itself. The buildings were huge, built of somber gray stone with towering spires and wide arches. They were separated by open spaces where students lounged on the grass. Taniel walked through a large quad and past the library. His rifle was getting looks.
“Can I help you, sir?”
A man of perhaps forty intercepted him as he headed up the stairs of the administration building.
“Powder Mage Taniel,” Taniel said. “Who are you?”
The man drew himself up. “Assistant to the vice-chancellor. Professor Uskan, at your service.”
“Professor,” Taniel said. “Is the vice-chancellor here?”
“He’s in Adopest on business. Pardon me, are you Taniel Two-Shot? The field marshal’s son?”
“Look, I’ve got a company of soldiers about to come pouring through your front gate. There’s a rogue Privileged on your university grounds. We’re hunting her on orders of my fa— on orders of Field Marshal Tamas.”
Uskan’s eyes grew wide. “Wha… No, you can’t fight here. This is a university.”
“We’ll do our best not to. Do you have an evacuation plan?”
“What? No…”
“Well, you should come up with one. Now. The soldiers are from the Wings of Adom. Send word for the students to get out.”
“Get out? We have almost five thousand students here! The campus is nearly a mile across! What do you expect me to do?”
“Think of something.”
“What about the Privileged?”
“We’ll deal with her.”
The man wrung his hands. “Privileged! There could be wholesale destruction! The repairs…”
“I’m sure it won’t come to—” Taniel froze. There she was, coming out of the library not a hundred yards away. Taniel began to breathe quickly. She wasn’t wearing her Privileged gloves. That gave him an advantage.
“Go on,” Taniel said. “You should evacuate the premises.”
“But what do I say?”
“I don’t know,” Taniel growled. He slowly reached for his pistol, trying not to look obvious.
Uskan swallowed hard and looked Taniel up and down. He gave him a beseeching look. “Just be careful of the Applied Sciences building,” he said. “It’s brand-new.” Taking a deep breath, he suddenly threw his arms in the air.
“Free lunch!” he yelled. “Free lunch, outside the north gate!” He began to run across the quad.
“Shit,” Taniel said.
The woman stared at him. He snatched a pistol from his belt, hesitated. People on the quad were slowly following after Uskan. Taniel gritted his teeth.
The woman began to sprint in the opposite direction.
Taniel aimed his pistol and pulled the trigger. The shot echoed across the quad. Taniel nudged the bullet at the last second to avoid hitting a student, cursing under his breath. The bullet missed the Privileged and lodged in the wall of the library. There was a scream. Students began to run.
Taniel took off after her, jamming the pistol into his belt and drawing his spare. She rounded the edge of the library, and Taniel skidded to a halt. She could be waiting just around the corner. Her sorcery would tear him apart before he could fire a shot. Taniel looked around. His eyes fell on the tower back behind the administration building.
The bell tower was the highest point on the campus. He backtracked, heading through the administration building and across a botanical garden. The garden was enclosed, giant sheets of glass held together in a latticework of iron above. He nearly fell into the pond trying to leap it, regained his footing, and headed for the door to the bell tower.
He took the stairs of the tower two at a time. He paused in a window about halfway up and surveyed the quad. He guessed he was five stories above the ground. No sign of the Privileged. He went up to the next window and looked. There. She was heading across the quad between the museum and a great galleried building with large letters proclaiming it to be Banasher’s Hall.
Taniel swung his rifle from his shoulder. He closed his eyes, breathing the calm of a powder trance, and refocused. When he opened them again, he could see her as if she were standing five paces away. She was a handsome woman, with sharp features and a mole above one brow. She walked briskly, still wearing her academic gown. She’d put on her Privileged’s gloves. She glanced over her shoulder once.
“Rozalia!” The call echoed across the quad.
Taniel started. The Privileged jumped too, a wild look in her eyes. Taniel settled his finger on the trigger.
Sorcery ripped across his vision. Chunks of sod flew in the air, followed by lines of fire erupting from the ground all around the Privileged. Taniel blinked spots from his eyes.
Dirt rained down, obscuring half the quad. Julene walked toward the area, gloved hands held high. She shrieked laughter.
Taniel caught a glimpse of an academic robe. He lifted his rifle to his shoulder and snapped off a shot. The bullet ricocheted inches from the Privileged’s head, cracking against an invisible shield with a sound like a spoon tapping glass. Taniel swore.
A lightning bolt slammed into Julene. She slid backward, her feet dragging turf. She somehow kept upright, hands raised above her head. A crackle of energy, and the lightning bolt returned to the Privileged. The thunder
knocked Taniel backward.
Taniel rolled a few steps before arresting his fall. He retrieved his rifle and dropped a bullet down the barrel, then drew a powder charge from his pack and crushed it between his fingers. He returned to the window, leveled his rifle, and fired.
The Privileged spun about, blood spurting from her shoulder. She caught herself on knees and one hand and looked up toward Taniel’s bell tower.
“Oh, pit.”
She made an angled chopping motion with one hand.
Taniel squeezed his eyes shut. Nothing. He cracked one eyelid. The world was moving. From beneath him, he heard the terrible grinding sound of stone on stone.
Taniel’s heart leapt into his throat. The tower was falling. Clutching his rifle, he leapt from the window.
He opened his mouth, but found he had no breath to scream. The glass panels of the botanical garden rushed to meet him. His feet hit first, legs crumpling beneath him, and then the glass shattered. He fell the last twenty feet and landed on his shoulder. He rolled onto his back and gasped. Shards of glass as big as a man lay everywhere around him. He was lucky none had landed on him.
Powder mages were stronger in a trance. They could withstand far more damage than a regular person, and ignore far more pain. Yet a fall like that should have killed him, or at least broken bones.
The ground rumbled. Taniel felt himself rolled by the shock wave as the entire top half of the bell tower slammed into the building beneath it. Stone ground together, wood splintered. Taniel threw his hands over his head.
When he looked up, the dust was settling. He slowly climbed to his feet.
His rifle lay twenty feet away. He stumbled toward it, stepping over rubble and broken glass. His body ached, but nothing was broken. He checked his kit for his sketchbook. It was still there. He retrieved his rifle. “You and I are surviving far too much these days.”
Another thunderclap made him stagger. He limped out of the garden and into an adjoining building, avoiding the debris from the tower. He found a hall where he could look out onto the quad. The end of the hall had been destroyed—the tower had landed on the administrator’s office. He hoped no one had been inside.