Mihali stood up straight suddenly, as if stirred from slumber. “Bread, bread,” he muttered. “Another fifty loaves at least. These girls don’t work fast enough.”
He moved to the counters in the middle of the room. There were lumps of dough beneath damp towels. He whisked away the towels with one hand and plunged the other hand into the great mounds of dough. “Risen perfectly,” he said to himself, a distracted smile on his face. He divided the dough into perfect portions, his hands working so quickly Tamas could barely follow. Two loaves at a time were loaded onto the bread paddle and scooped into a waiting oven, until all the dough was gone.
When the last loaf was loaded in the oven, he immediately removed the first. It was golden brown, the crust crisp and flaky, though it had only been a minute or two since it went in. Tamas narrowed his eyes and began to count.
“That’s not my imagination,” Tamas said, leaning toward Olem.
“No,” Olem confirmed. “He put a quarter that many loaves into the oven.” Olem made the sign of the Rope, touching two fingers together and then to his forehead and his chest. “Kresimir above. Have you ever heard of sorcery that can create something out of nothing?”
“Never. But I’m seeing a lot of new things these days.”
Mihali finished removing the last of the loaves from the oven. He turned to Tamas and Olem. “Hassenbur has sent men for me,” Mihali said. “I would sooner flee to the far side of Fatrasta and cook for the savages than return to Hassenbur Asylum.”
Tamas pulled his eyes off the loaves. He looked at the cooked side of beef and the pot of stew that had been empty not ten minutes before. He nodded at Mihali’s words and moved away slowly, Olem at his side.
“A Knack,” Olem said. “That’s the only explanation. I’ve heard of Knacks stronger than any Privileged sorcery. His must have to do with food.”
“Third eye?” Tamas asked.
Olem nodded. “Just did. He has the glow of a Knacked.”
“Well, he’s no god,” Tamas said. “But he thinks he is. And that’s a powerful Knack. His food alone is responsible for half the army’s morale. Now what do I do with him?”
Chapter 17
I’m looking for Privileged Borbador.”
Taniel stood in the entrance to a tavern. It was a big place, though very old. Half the roof had caved in and long since been badly repaired. It was called the Howling Wendigo. Its name came from the low whine of wind in the eaves, which now drowned out everything else, as conversation in the place had stopped.
Fifty or more sets of eyes stared at him. He was alone; he’d left Julene and Ka-poel outside to wait. He wore his buckskins and his cap and he was glad of it. Spring or not down in the valley, Shouldercrown Fortress was still locked in winter.
“What business does a powder mage have with our Privileged?”
Our Privileged. Taniel didn’t like the sound of that. Bo had made friends with these thugs. Convicts and malcontents, the poor and the wretched—these were the members of the Mountainwatch. They didn’t trust easily, and they welcomed strangers like a crowded city welcomes a plague. They were easily the toughest of the Nine.
Taniel took a deep breath. He wasn’t in the mood for this. I’m here to kill him, he wanted to say. Get in my way and I’ll put a bullet in your head. Instead he said, “That business is mine.”
A man stood up. He was younger than Taniel by a year or two at most. Scrawny, bearded, he wore a sleeveless shirt despite the cold, his arms corded with the muscles of a man who hauled timber and worked the mines. He scowled at Taniel.
“That business is ours,” the man said.
“Fesnik, don’t mess with a powder mage,” someone else said. “You want Tamas breathing down our necks?”
“Shut up,” Fesnik called over his shoulder. “What if we don’t tell you?”
“You the toughest one here?”
“Huh?” Fesnik seemed taken aback by this.
“Simple question,” Taniel said. “Are you the toughest, father-stabbing, goat-raping, inbred son of a whore in this place?”
Fesnik turned away from Taniel, a half smile on his face. He came back around quickly, knife drawn. Taniel drew both pistols. One barrel went in Fesnik’s mouth, cracking teeth and bringing the man’s knife thrust up short. Fesnik’s eyes went wide. The other pistol pointed at the first Watcher to climb to his feet.
“My name’s Taniel Two-Shot,” Taniel said loudly. “And I’m here to see my best friend, Bo. Tell me kindly where he is?”
“Taniel Two-Shot?” a voice asked. “Why didn’t you damn well say so? Bo’s up the mountain.”
“That true?” Taniel asked Fesnik.
The man nodded, eyes crossed from staring at the pistol barrel in his mouth.
Taniel holstered both pistols.
“Sorry,” Fesnik said, checking his teeth. “Bo said not to let any powder mages know where he was. Nobody but you, that is. Said you might come looking for him.”
Taniel tried to keep the scowl off his face. “Sorry about the teeth,” he said. Louder, “Drinks on Field Marshal Tamas!”
A general cheer went up around the room. Taniel gestured Fesnik closer. “You say he’s up the mountain?”
“He went up there almost two weeks ago. Right after an inspector fellow came up from Adopest to see him.”
“When did he say he’d come back down?”
“He didn’t.”
Taniel scratched his jaw. He’d not shaved since starting his hunt for the Privileged in Adopest. The thick curls on his neck itched. “Why’d he go up?”
Fesnik shook his head.
Taniel felt a sharp fear run up his spine. Bo knew that Tamas would send someone to kill him.
“And he told you to tell only me?”
“Yeah. He’s told us a lot about you. Said you two have been chums for years.”
That felt like a knife thrust to Taniel’s gut. He clenched his teeth and forced a smile on his face. Psychological warfare on Bo’s part? Or just drunken chatter? “That’s right. How long does it take to reach the top of the mountain?”
“Well, he won’t have gone all the way to the top,” Fesnik said. “There’s a monastery up there for the pilgrims, a couple miles short of Kresim Kurga. He’ll have stopped there.”
Kresim Kurga. The Holy City. It was a name out of legends. Taniel hadn’t heard the name since his nurse had taken him weekly to Kresimir’s chapel when he was a child. Even then, he’d never believed it really existed.
Taniel brought himself back to the present. He couldn’t wait here. He would have to go up after Bo and leave him buried in the snow. Taniel would be back in Adopest before they discovered Bo was dead.
“I’ll go up and see him,” Taniel said.
“This time of year?” Fesnik shook his head. “Not even a seasoned Watcher will guide you up, and believe me, without a guide you’ll walk into a snowstorm and never come out. The roads are treacherous well up until early summer.”
“My father mentioned a man named Gavril,” Taniel said. “Old friend of his. Said he was the best mountain man in the Nine. What?”
Fesnik had started to laugh. “Gavril, he might do it. If he’s sober enough to see but drunk enough not to think straight. I’ll try to find him for you.”
Fesnik went off into the barroom crowd. Taniel returned to the street, where he found Julene glaring at Ka-poel. Ka-poel was staring up at the mountain above them.
“Bo’s up there,” Taniel said, pointing to the mountain. “We’re going up after him.”
Julene’s eyes narrowed. “It’s probably a trap. He must know Tamas would send someone.”
“He does. But he told the Watchers to let me know where he was if I came. No one else. That means he trusts me.”
“Or he trusts himself to kill you before you can get off a shot.”
“I know Bo. It means he trusts me.” He took a deep breath. “Worse luck for him.”
“We’ll need supplies and mountain gear,” Julene said.
“And winter clothing.”
“You’re not coming.”
“What?” Julene stared at him hard.
“You almost got me killed more than once,” Taniel said.
“How dare you.”
“Shut up. I’m going up there with Pole; we’re going to do in my best friend and come right back down. Carefully, quietly. You start throwing around sorcery up there and not only will the entire Mountainwatch know what we’re doing but you’ll likely bring an avalanche down on us.”
Julene sneered. “I don’t trust you. You’re weak. You won’t be able to pull the trigger.”
“Killing Privileged is my specialty,” Taniel said. He took a hit of powder. A small one, just to calm his nerves. He took a second hit. “Bo’s a danger. I know how to deal with a danger. Now, shut the pit up and go find yourself a room to hole up in. There’s another reason I’m leaving you down here. If Bo gets the drop on me or slips by me somehow, I want you watching. Kill him on sight. Can you do that, lady?”
Julene’s arms trembled. She looked as if she wanted to leap on Taniel and tear his throat out with her teeth. Without a powder trance Taniel might have been intimidated. With a powder trance, Taniel didn’t give a damn.
“Well?” he asked. “Can you damn well do it?”
Julene whirled and stalked away from him, down the street.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
The door to the tavern opened and Fesnik stepped out, shrugging into a knee-length deerskin coat. He was followed by one of the biggest men Taniel had ever seen. He wore thick leathers and furs soaked with sweat and beer, and he struggled to focus his eyes on Taniel even as he toppled against the side of the building. He shook his head and slurred, “I’m Gavril.”
Taniel looked him up and down. “Fantastic.”
Taniel paused to adjust the furs protecting his face as a freezing wind spattered him with snow. He flinched away from the biting cold, turning his face from the wind, even though Gavril had warned him that to do so could mean death—always one foot in front of the other, eyes on the snowbank ahead of you or you might step into a half-hidden fissure or off the edge of a cliff.
Right now, Taniel didn’t much care. Ten thousand feet below them, farmers tilled their fields as the spring weather warmed. A few more weeks and it would be warm enough to go swimming in the Adsea. Yet here he was, nearing the top of the highest mountain in all the Nine—some said the world—with snowshoes strapped to his feet, armed with rifle and pistols that were probably too frozen to work, on his way to kill his best friend, with a drunk as a guide.
He was tied to Gavril by a sturdy rope, though the wind had died enough that he could see the big mountaineer through the eddy, some ten paces up the slope. Their climb was steep, but bearable. After all, there was a road under there somewhere. This pass was well used in the summer—or so Gavril claimed. The wind swirling around them brought no fresh snow; it only kicked up the top layer from the recent storm. Taniel could have sworn he heard a child’s laughter every time more snow slapped him in the face. The mountain was a cruel place, he decided.
Another rope led off behind Taniel, where Ka-poel struggled slowly with her snowshoes, and behind her a small man named Darden trekked along in her wake. He was an old Deliv who had insisted on coming along. He said he had a cousin at the monastery who had been dying last fall, and he wanted to know if he had survived the winter. Taniel didn’t trust him. Was he one of Bo’s friends?
Gavril was a jovial drunk, and had been surprisingly interested in the trip up the mountain. They’d set off within hours, and though Gavril had wobbled on his snowshoes the first half day, Taniel was certain he’d gotten dead sober by the end of the second.
Taniel paused briefly to check the pistol at his hip. The flintlock was frozen, jammed with snow and ice. The powder still seemed to be dry, though, and the bullet was wedged firmly in place. That was all that mattered for a Marked. He could make his own spark to fire the bullet. Yet… Taniel examined Gavril. Would the man give him trouble when Taniel put a bullet through Bo’s eye? Or would any of the monks? Taniel checked his second pistol. Would he be able to make it back down the mountain without Gavril if it came to that?
By the time they finally rose above the worst of the wind, Taniel had long since ceased being able to feel his legs. The swirls of snow died down, and the sun came through the eddy, nearly blinding him. The trail leveled out, and suddenly he saw ground; not just hard-packed trails of snow but real earth notched with shovel marks. This had been cleared recently. He blinked in surprise and tried to smile. His face was too numb.
“How are you?” Gavril’s voice cut through Taniel’s thoughts. The words were a welcome change to the howling wind and the mountain’s mocking laughter after three and a half days of climbing. Taniel realized that they’d not said a word in that time, not even during their camps at night, when the four of them huddled together for warmth in Gavril’s small tent.
“Hine.” Taniel came to a stop beside the big mountaineer, and they waited for Ka-poel and Darden. Taniel closed his eyes and worked at his mouth, trying to form words.
“Fine,” he said. “How much harther? Farther?”
“There,” Gavril said. He pointed upward.
Taniel shaded his eyes and squinted into the sun. “It’s so bright up here. I can’t see. How can you?”
“Years on the mountain. You don’t need eyes after as long as I’ve been here. Novi’s Perch. We’re just beneath it.”
Darden grinned at Taniel through cracked lips, his dark-skinned face split with the size of the smile. He was a small man, and easily as old as Tamas. “Almost there,” he said. He was barely breathing hard, Taniel noticed with annoyance, though Taniel himself gasped for breath.
Taniel held his snuffbox of powder up to his nose and snorted straight out of the box. He carefully returned it to his pocket—he didn’t trust his numb fingers. The rush of the powder trance made him dizzy for a brief moment, then his breathing came easier and his muscles relaxed.
They removed their snowshoes and finished the climb to the monastery. It was only a few hundred more feet. The trail narrowed as they went. To the left, the mountain rose above them in a sheer rock face. To the right, only white sky was visible—the cliff seemed to have no bottom. They moved into the shade of the monastery, and Taniel was able to look up and really see it for the first time.
Novi’s Perch seemed to be part of the mountain. It had been built of the same dusty gray rock, and parts of it had even been hewn into the bones of Pike itself. It blocked the trail—that is, the trail ended at the doors to the monastery, and the building rose up above them for a hundred feet or more. It overhung the cliffside to their right by a dozen feet, and Taniel wondered how the monks could sleep, knowing they were suspended above thousands of feet of nothing.
The monastery was plain and unadorned. The stones were chiseled flat, the arches of the doors and windows rounded at the top. There were no spires or grand façades. Only the location of the place gave it grandeur, and the daring of its construction hanging out over the abyss.
Taniel stepped off the road and onto the stone doorstep. He gazed upward, unaware that he’d been wandering, until Gavril reached out and grabbed the front of his coat. He jumped. He’d been not two feet from the edge of the cliff and its perilous drop.
The double doors of the monastery opened with the whine of unoiled hinges. Taniel’s pistol was half drawn before he realized it wasn’t Bo. A man and woman, both about Taniel’s height, bowed their heads in greeting. They were tall for Novi, and their skin was olive—just a shade lighter than Darden’s.
“It’s very early in the year for pilgrims,” the Novi man commented when they’d all come inside.
Taniel glanced at his weapons, at his thick furs and leathers, and at his companions with their climbing gear. They were obviously not pilgrims.
“I’m here to see Privileged Borbador,” Taniel said quietly. The words echoed in the long, stone ha
llway, and Taniel felt like he was whispering inside of Pike’s own old bones. “Where can I find him?” Taniel needed to get this over with as quickly as possible. If Bo had an inkling Taniel was after him…
The woman nodded solemnly. “I see. I’m afraid your journey has not quite ended.”
“Pit.” Taniel glanced at the monks apologetically. “Sorry, sister.”
“He’s a few miles up the trail past the monastery. A cave.”
“I know that cave,” Gavril said.
“Did Bo tell you why he came up here?”
Both monks shook their heads. “He said someone might come looking for him,” the man said. “He asked us not to stop him from coming.”
Bo was definitely expecting someone. No getting around it.
“How do I get up?” Taniel asked.
“Through the monastery,” the woman said. “This is the only true path up the mountain, even in the summer. We are the gatekeepers to Kresim Kurga.”
Taniel felt his heart jump. “It really exists?”
Both monks raised an eyebrow at Taniel.
“The Holy City?” Taniel said. “It’s really up there?”
“The ruins, yes,” the man said. “Long ago, Novi chose his people to guard the high places of the Nine. Kresim Kurga may have been long abandoned, Kresimir’s protection dissipated, but we have not shirked the duty placed upon us by our saint.”
Gavril stepped up beside Taniel as Darden went to the man and woman and spoke in a low voice. Taniel tried to listen to them. He caught the words “ill” and “cousin” before Darden was led down the corridor by the man.
“What is Kresimir’s protection?” Taniel asked.
Gavril was large enough that his head nearly scraped the monastery ceiling. “The God wove powerful sorceries, back during his reign, so that no one, sick or in health, young or old, would be bothered by the elements or the altitude sickness.”