Powder Mage Trilogy 01 - Promise of Blood

  “Another tribe lived in the same swamp. They stayed neutral through most of the war, but toward the end of my time they were bought by the Kez. They attacked Ka-poel’s village. Her people managed to fight them off, but not before they captured twenty or thirty children.

  “The village wanted Fatrastan help getting the children back. The Fatrastans were spread too thin. They said no. My unit was ordered out of the village. I stayed behind and went with the natives to recover the children. Well, they’d killed most of them.”

  Taniel felt his mouth go dry. The memory haunted him, even now. The sight of dozens of children, crucified on barbed crosses, hung to rot from the twisted branches of moss-covered swamp trees.

  “Why?” Bo asked.

  Taniel snorted. “They wanted to show the Kez how savage they could really be. The Kez had offered barrels of whiskey, spices, rifles, horses. Anything they wanted in return for helping take down my unit. We’d caused them a lot of grief over that year.”

  “What’d you do in that village?”

  Taniel tossed a rock off the edge of the cliff. “Justice,” he said. “I’m not proud. But I don’t regret it either.”

  Taniel watched wispy clouds form and roll and disappear with unseen air currents far off their cliff edge. He felt cold suddenly and wrapped his arms about himself. Memories of murder touched his mind, long shoved to the furthest part of his recollection and locked away. Perhaps there were a few things he’d regret.

  He shook himself out of his reverie. “Anyway,” he said. “Pole was quite a bit older than the others, but they had taken her just the same. Probably because she was a Bone-eye. I didn’t know what that meant to them. I still don’t. Yesterday was the first time I’ve seen her use her powers for more than just tracking, though I’ve long known she was a Privileged of sorts.” Taniel scrounged about his person and his pack until he found a spare powder charge. He bit the end, tasting the sulfuric powder on his tongue, and snorted half the charge in one go.

  Bo was watching him, a worried expression on his face. He edged away from the powder and scratched absently at his exposed skin.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Taniel said.

  “I’ve never seen sorcery like what she unleashed yesterday,” Bo said. “Nor the protection woven about you. As far as the royal cabals are concerned, there are three different kinds of sorcerers: Privileged, Marked, and Knacked. We’ve encountered minor sorceries from witches, and shamans, and warlocks in the far places of the world, but nothing with the potency of what she showed. Does she have the third eye?”

  “Yes, I’m certain,” Taniel said. “She helps me track Privileged.”

  Bo reached out and pressed a palm against Taniel’s forehead. He closed his eyes, muttering, and then jerked back. He dusted his palm off with snow. “God, you reek of powder. It’s gonna make my eyes swell up and the space between my fingers itch. As for your protection. Ugh. I have no idea. It shrugged off my wards well enough. I don’t know if it’ll stop a bullet or a knife. It could just be against sorcery. Either way, don’t risk it.”

  Taniel thought back to the fight with the cave lion—with Julene. He’d nearly slid off the mountainside, taking a long plummet to his death. Then rock had sprouted from the very earth, jutting out to catch him. He wondered if that had been Ka-poel or Bo. He didn’t ask. He didn’t want to grow to depend on someone else’s protection. Bo might take credit even if it wasn’t his. Or even the opposite. He’d always been unpredictable.

  “Tamas sent me to kill you,” Taniel said.

  “Yeah.”

  They didn’t look at each other.

  “I didn’t.”

  “Yeah.” Bo’s voice was wry. He gave Taniel a sidelong look, then a quick grin.

  “Should I have?”

  Bo’s grin disappeared. “He knows about the gaes, then?”

  “It’s true?”

  “Yes.” Bo grunted. “Part of becoming a member of the royal cabal.” He touched his collar gently. “I’ll have to avenge the king someday. I’ll have to kill Tamas.” He pulled a pendant from beneath his shirt. It was a simple thing, braided silver around a single gemstone. Taniel vaguely remembered seeing similar necklaces upon dead Kez Privileged. Not even the savages had looted those.

  “Is… is that it?” Taniel asked.

  “A demon’s carbuncle,” Bo said. “Very dark stuff. You don’t want to know. The gaes to protect—or avenge—the king is tied to this. Even now I can feel a pull, tugging me toward Adopest. It’s not very strong. It will grow stronger as time passes. I’m not sure how quickly. If I resist for too long, though, it will kill me.”

  “The only way to break it is to avenge the king?”

  Bo remained silent.

  “So you have to kill my father.”

  Bo picked up a rock and threw it off the cliff. He didn’t look happy about it.

  “We should start looking for a way to break it,” Taniel said. He hoped he sounded confident. “Privileged wouldn’t attach themselves to something they can’t get out of. It’s just another secret. Maybe one of the Predeii knows.”

  Taniel examined his friend, realizing just how much the fight yesterday had taken out of him. His cheeks were gaunt. His skin looked saggy, wrinkled, as if he were forty years older than he was.

  “We’ll find out together,” Taniel said. “We’ll break it. I swear.”

  Bo gave a tired chuckle. “My eyes are going to itch every day I’m with you, you optimistic bastard. Come on.” He stood up, stretching. “We have to go find out if we killed that bitch.”

  Chapter 20

  The parlor of Winceslav House was a spacious affair with ornate brick walls and a granite fireplace big enough to drive a pair of oxen through. Adamat had politely refused a seat from the butler and made his way slowly around the room as he waited for the lady of the house. There were a number of paintings of Lady Winceslav and her late husband, Henri Winceslav, as well as a single painting of the two of them with their four children. The painting was perhaps five years old, done just before the old duke passed away and each of the children had since been sent to boarding schools or resided in the country with their governesses, according to Adamat’s research.

  Adamat examined the floor, the walls, and the doors. A lot could be discovered about the waxing or waning fortunes of an Adran noble family by observing the state of their manor. When money was tight, upkeep and repairs often fell behind as housing staff were let go and materials became scarce.

  Everything was pristine. The wood furniture and brass hangings were polished, the floor recently replaced, and the brickwork dusted. Her mercenaries had done quite well, even without Lord Winceslav to direct them. They fought in Fatrasta against the Kez, against the Gurlish on behalf of the Brudanians, and just about everywhere else colonists from the Nine had the coin to pay them.

  Adamat had to remind himself that it wasn’t Lord Winceslav alone who was responsible for the Wings. It was said Lady Winceslav had a mind sharp enough to match most field generals and that Lord Winceslav had relied heavily on her advice in all matters before his death. The lord had been clever; a man skilled with words and people. The lady was astute and practical; a forward-thinking planner.

  Adamat faced the door when he heard voices in the hall outside. He smoothed the front of his waistcoat. A small group filed into the parlor: three men and a woman, all of them in white uniforms, military sashes of gold across their chests. Four brigadiers of the Wings of Adom. They were followed by Lady Winceslav. She wore a riding gown of fine purple wool, the collar pulled tight despite unseasonal warmth, and a matching shawl draped around her shoulders. Her heeled boots clicked on the wooden floor.

  The commanders regarded Adamat with some wariness. He recognized two of them from paintings in the great hall outside: Brigadier Ryze was an older man, older even than Field Marshal Tamas, his hair as white as his uniform. He bore a number of visible scars on his hands and face and wore a white sash of linen across one eye
to conceal a wound received in battle half a decade ago.

  Brigadier Abrax was a woman, and her appearance could not have been more opposite Lady Winceslav’s. Short blonde hair was cropped above her ears. Her face was tanned and weather-beaten from too many campaigns in Gurla. Her uniform matched the others’ completely, apart from the slight bulge of small breasts. She regarded Adamat with a coldness he rarely felt from another person.

  Introductions were short and brisk. The younger two were Brigadier Sabastenien and Brigadier Barat. Compared with their elders they were barely weathered, and looked almost like a pair of boys playing in their father’s uniforms. They couldn’t have been past their midtwenties. Brigadier Barat approached Adamat.

  “I’d like to see your credentials, please,” he said briskly.

  Adamat narrowed his eyes at the impertinence. “I showed them to the butler when I arrived. They are in order.”

  “Even so…”

  Adamat produced an envelope and handed it to the young brigadier. He forced himself to check his indignation. Unlike many modern armies, a commission in the Wings could not be bought. Everyone climbed the ranks. To be a brigadier at that age was remarkable.

  Brigadier Barat read over Adamat’s papers. He crossed the room to his elders and handed them one of the papers—the note from Tamas that granted him freedom in the investigation.

  “Why,” Brigadier Ryze said slowly, “does Tamas feel the need to imply threats to his closest advisers?”

  “It’s just a precaution,” Adamat said. “An assurance that my investigation will proceed quickly, without any… hitches.” But there would be plenty, he was sure. Tamas’s note promised that anyone attempting to hamper Adamat’s investigation in any way would be presumed guilty, yet a hundred of those notes wouldn’t prevent nobles from trying to keep their secrets to themselves. Adamat wondered if Tamas would actually back up the threat if he were found facedown in the ditch outside the manor.

  Brigadier Ryze handed the papers back to Brigadier Barat, who returned them to Adamat. Adamat took the papers from the younger brigadier without acknowledging him and returned the papers to his pocket. He could almost feel Barat seethe as he returned to his superiors. Barat had been plucked from the nobility, Adamat would wager. The type to look down on anyone beneath him and bend knee to anyone above him.

  “Get on with it,” Brigadier Ryze said. “Lady Winceslav has nothing to hide.”

  Adamat ran his gaze over the four brigadiers and turned pointedly to Lady Winceslav. She sat in one corner of the parlor, to the left and behind her brigadiers, as if she expected to be but a witness to an exchange of words. She seemed surprised when Adamat addressed her directly.

  “Did you inform the Kez of the location of your meeting with Field Marshal Tamas?” he said.

  “How dare you!” Brigadier Barat stood, hand going to the small sword at his side.

  Adamat waited for a moment, giving the other brigadiers a chance to reprimand their younger comrade. They did not. Adamat pointed to Barat’s chair with the tip of his cane. “Sit.”

  The brigadier blinked at him for a moment, jaw tightening, before he returned to his seat.

  “Do I need to ask again, my lady?” Adamat said.

  “I did not,” Lady Winceslav said.

  Adamat allowed himself a small smile. “Let us pray you are all as forthright and honest.”

  “That is unnecessary,” Brigadier Abrax said. Her tone was like a schoolteacher’s, the words said quickly, clipped off at the end.

  Adamat paused for a moment. The brigadiers sat as if to form a shield around the Lady. He wondered if she was a fool to be prevented from speaking, of if they were really that protective of her.

  “I am here to interview you, my lady,” Adamat said. “I’m not here to receive condescension from your brigadiers. I’m sure you have servants for that.” Adamat cringed inside. He was letting his annoyance do the talking. He could hear his old commanding officer from his young days in the force. The old man had been clear how you treat the nobility: Never antagonize them.

  Lady Winceslav examined Adamat from beneath the brim of her riding hat for a moment. Her eyes were cool, her hands composed in her lap. She stood and crossed the room, taking a seat just opposite Adamat.

  “Ask your questions, Inspector,” she said. Despite her polite tone, there was an air of superiority to her words, and her nose was turned up slightly.

  Adamat sighed inwardly. It was the best he was going to get. “Why did you support Tamas’s coup?”

  “I had many reasons,” the Lady said. “For one, the Wings of Adom would have been disbanded if Manhouch had signed the Accords with the Kez.”

  “Why? The Wings of Adom are only based in Adro. They are not subservient to the king.”

  “It was a stipulation in the negotiations,” she said. She leaned forward. “Do you know why Ipille wants Adro under his rule?”

  “We have an abundance of natural resources,” Adamat said.

  “That is a reason, yes. But Ipille and his royal cabal fear Adro. In Kez, the nation is run by the court. Nothing happens without their say. Adro is different. Despite his flaws, Manhouch was an open-minded king. He allowed the union, the powder mages, and my mercenaries to all operate independently of the court. This made Adro stronger. The Kez royal cabal fear the powder mages will make them obsolete. They fear the Mountainwatch for their control of the major trade routes through the heart of the Nine. And they fear the Wings of Adom, for Henri gathered the greatest military minds and men of courage from throughout the Nine and bought—and earned—their loyalty. The Accords stipulated that the powder mages would be disbanded, that the Mountainwatch would be reduced, and that the Wings of Adom could no longer function from within Adro’s borders.” She shook her head. “I could not have that—I would not have that.”

  “You could have moved your headquarters to another country—even Fatrasta, far out of Ipille’s influence.”

  “No,” Lady Winceslav said. “My husband chose Adro because it was his land and his pride. The Wings of Adom are not just any mercenary army. They are a secondary defense of Adro—and that is how Tamas will be using them in the coming war. I will honor Henri’s vision.”

  Adamat examined the Lady. Her cheeks were flushed, her tone raised. She felt strongly about her husband’s mercenaries, and about Adro. If this was an act, it was a good one.

  “Are the Wings being paid for their service to Adro?”

  “They will receive a portion of the land confiscated from the nobility,” the Lady said.

  “And if the Kez offer payment greater than what Adro can muster?”

  Lady Winceslav drew herself up. “The Wings of Adom have never once switched sides after taking a contract. I’m offended that you suggest we would.”

  “My apologies,” he said. “Why else did you go along with the coup?”

  Lady Winceslav composed herself. “I agreed with Tamas’s opinion of the monarchy. It is an aged and corrupt institution.”

  “You yourself are a prominent member of the nobility.”

  Lady Winceslav removed an embroidered pocket fan from her sleeve and spread it out with the flick of her wrist. She began to fan herself. “Despite appearances, I was not born to such a position, nor was my husband. Henri was a soldier of fortune in Gurla, and I was the youngest daughter of a merchant. After Henri made his first fortune in textile manufacturing, he formed the Wings of Adom and purchased a duchy from an ailing old man without wife or children.”

  Adamat blinked. “Duke Winceslav was not his father?”

  She read his expression and gave a light laugh. “Kresimir, no. This is not common knowledge, of course. In fact, few people outside this room know about it. Tamas is one of them. I tell you only in the hope that it helps remove me as a suspect in your mind. Tamas and I are kindred spirits. I would never want him dead.”

  Adamat let his eyes travel over the four mercenary commanders. They stared back at him, unblinking, sharp as hawks
.

  “Did you tell anyone, even the closest of confidants, about the meeting of the council?”

  “No,” Lady Winceslav said, her chin raised. “Tamas forbade it. Not even my brigadiers knew.” She shot them a glance. “Much to their chagrin.”

  Adamat asked a few more basic questions before he sat back and folded his hands in his lap. He struggled to hide a grimace. Nothing. Winceslav was a lady through and through. Polite and charming, and her cards held close to her chest. That bit about her husband buying the duchy… Adamat was sure that any of her enemies who could have used that against her were taken to the guillotine last month.

  “Thank you for being so forthright,” Adamat said, careful to inject the proper amount of sincerity into his tone. “I do appreciate it.” He turned to the butler, who had just entered the room. “Is the manor’s staff gathered?”

  The aged man gave a curt nod.

  Adamat stood as Lady Winceslav did. The brigadiers followed suit. Adamat took her offered hand and touched his forehead to it. “I will finish with your staff as quickly as possible.”

  “My staff and manor grounds are yours for the day, Inspector,” she said.

  “One last thing, my lady.” Adamat paused in the doorway. “Do you have reason to suspect any of the other members of the council?”

  Lady Winceslav paused halfway to her chair. She sat back down. “None that come immediately to mind. Charlemund is a man of Kresimir. I would never suspect the vice-chancellor; Prime is an old family friend—a scholar. The Proprietor must be at the top of your list. He is a criminal, after all, despite his connections. I’d heard that Ondraus and Tamas have been arguing about the city ledgers for weeks, though I’m sure there’s nothing more to that.” She frowned. “I did hear that Ricard Tumblar sent a delegation from his union to Kez just after the coup. Seems he wants to start a chapter there.”

  Lady Winceslav rose and bid him good day. The brigadiers filed out behind her, leaving him alone with the butler.