“But fire isn’t an element,” Adamat said. “It’s the result of combustion.”
Uskan sniffed. “Bear with me. This explanation is recognized as imperfect in the light of discoveries of the last hundred years, but it’s the best we have. Now, each finger corresponds to an element and to a Privileged’s strength with that element, the thumb being the strongest digit. A Privileged uses his strong hand—most often his right—to call upon the auras of that which he wants to manipulate in the Else. He uses his off hand to direct those auras once they have been pulled into our world.”
“So how does a powder mage’s magic work?”
“Bugger if I know. Privileged hate powder mages, and the cabals have always discouraged a study of them.”
“Why such a strong hate?” Adamat had heard most Privileged were allergic to gunpowder.
“Fear,” Uskan said. “Most Privileged’s spells have a range of less than a half mile. Powder mages can shoot from over twice that. The cabals have never liked being at a disadvantage. I’ve also been told that whereas all things, living or dead or elemental, have auras in the Else, gunpowder does not, and that makes Privileged nervous. Ah, here we are.”
Uskan paused in front of a bookcase. He ran his finger along several spines before taking them out and piling them into Adamat’s arms. Dust rose as the books thumped against each other. “Only one missing,” Uskan said. “I know just where it is, too. The vice-chancellor’s office.”
“Can we get it?”
“The vice-chancellor is away, summoned to Adopest early this morning with some urgency. I don’t have a key to his office. We’ll have to wait until he gets back.”
They retired to one of the tables with their stacks of books and set to their research. Adamat sat down and flipped open the first book. He frowned. “Uskan?”
“Hmm?” Uskan looked over. He leapt to his feet and rounded the table, moving faster than Adamat had ever seen him. “What is this? Who the pit did this?”
The first several pages of the book had been removed, and dozens after that had whole sections of the text blacked out, as if someone had dipped their finger in ink and smudged it along the page. Uskan mopped at his forehead with a handkerchief and began pacing behind Adamat.
“These books are invaluable,” he said. “Who would do such a thing?”
Adamat leaned forward and squinted at the ripped line of the paper. He judged the book in his hands. It was made with vellum, thicker than today’s paper and four times as tough. The ripped edge was slightly blackened.
“A Privileged,” Adamat said.
“How can you tell?”
Adamat pointed to the ripped edge. “Do you know of anything besides sorcery that could make a burn like that without damaging the rest of the book?”
Uskan resumed pacing. “A Privileged! Kresimir damn them. They should know the value of books!”
“I think they do,” Adamat said. “Else they would have burned the whole thing. Let’s take a look at the rest here.” He reached for the next book, and then the next. Of the eleven they’d removed from the shelf, seven had passages smudged or had pages ripped out. By the time they finished the stack, Uskan was fuming.
“Wait till the vice-chancellor finds out! He’ll head straight down to Skyline and beat those Privileged senseless, he’ll—”
“Tamas has executed the entire cabal.”
Uskan froze. His nostrils flared in and out, his lips bunched in a fierce frown. “I suppose there will be no redress for this, then.”
Adamat shook his head. “Let’s take a look at what we have.”
They spent some time with the books and they found eight different places where smudged writing could have been references to Kresimir’s Promise. Yet the passages were indecipherable.
“That last book,” Adamat said. “The one in the vice-chancellor’s office…?”
“Yes,” Uskan said absently, scratching his head. “ ‘In Service of the King.’ It outlines the duties of the royal cabals in their protection of the kings of the Nine. A very famous work.”
Adamat smoothed the front of his coat. “Let’s see if he left his door unlocked.”
Uskan returned the books and chased Adamat out into the courtyard of the library. “He won’t have left it unlocked,” he said. “Let’s just wait until he gets back. The vice-chancellor is a private sort of man.”
“I’m on an investigation,” Adamat said as he entered the main administration building.
“That doesn’t mean you have the right to look through other people’s studies,” Uskan said. “Besides, the door will be locked.” He smiled triumphantly at Adamat when the doorknob rattled but did not turn in Adamat’s hand.
“No matter,” Adamat said. He crouched down and removed the tiny set of lockpicks he kept in one boot. Uskan’s eyes grew wide.
“What? No, you can’t do that!”
“When did you say the vice-chancellor will be back?”
“Not until late,” Uskan said. “I…” He realized his mistake at once as Adamat began fiddling with the lock. Uskan huffed and slumped against the wall. “I should have told you, ‘Any minute,’” he muttered.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Adamat said.
“Yes, I am. And I won’t be able to lie to the vice-chancellor when he asks if someone’s been in his office.”
“Come, now. He won’t know.”
“Of course he will, how can…”
The lock clicked and Adamat pushed the door open gently. The office inside was more representative of what one might expect from a university type. Books and papers were everywhere. There were plates of half-eaten food on chairs, tables, even the floor. The entire room was walled by bookshelves twice as tall as a man, and those were overflowing, sagging with the weight of too many books stacked haphazardly upon each other.
“Don’t move anything,” Uskan said. “He knows exactly where he left every item. He’ll know if…” Uskan fell silent at a look from Adamat. “Here, let me find the book,” he said sullenly.
Adamat stayed at the edge of the paper-and-ink jungle that was the vice-chancellor’s office while Uskan looked for the missing book with the natural grace of a secretary. Papers were lifted, plates and books shifted, but everything was returned to its exact place.
Adamat stood on his toes and surveyed the room. “Is this it?” Adamat asked, pointing to the center of the vice-chancellor’s desk.
Uskan pulled his head out from beneath the vice-chancellor’s chair. “Oh. Yes.”
Adamat stepped gingerly through the room. He lifted the book carefully and began to leaf through it. Uskan came up beside him.
“No damaged pages,” Adamat reported. He scanned the pages, flipping through, looking for just two words to stand out. He found his prize in the book’s afterword, on the last page.
Adamat read aloud: “And they will guard Kresimir’s Promise with their lives, for if it is broken, all the Nine might perish.” He scanned the page, and then the page after, and then the page before. There were no other references. He scowled at the pages. “This doesn’t make sense.”
Uskan’s finger stabbed the middle of the book, right at the spine.
“What?”
“More pages missing,” Uskan said. “Half the afterword.” His voice trembled with rage.
Adamat looked closer. Sure enough, the pages had been torn clean from the book. The binding was different on this volume, making it difficult to tell that the pages were missing at all. He sighed. “Where can I find another copy of this book?”
Uskan shook his head. “Maybe the Public Archives. I think Nopeth University has a copy, too.”
“I’m not sitting in a coach for the better part of a month just to ‘maybe’ find a book at Nopeth University,” Adamat said. He snapped the book shut and returned it to the vice-chancellor’s desk. “I’ll have to check the Public Archives.”
“The riots,” Uskan protested as Adamat made his way to the door.
Adamat
paused.
“They’ll have it locked up,” Uskan said. “The Archives contain tax records, family histories, even safe-deposit boxes. They have guards, Adamat.”
That was only a problem if they caught him. “Thanks for your help,” Adamat said. “Let me know if you find anything else.”
Chapter 7
Taniel eyed the mob moving systematically down the street and wondered if they’d give him much trouble. The city was in chaos; wagons overturned, buildings set ablaze, bodies left in the street to fall victim to looters and worse. The smoke hanging like a curtain over the city seemed as if it would never blow away.
Taniel flipped through his sketchbook randomly. The pages fell open to a portrait of Vlora. He paused there for just a moment before he gripped the spine of the book in one hand and tore the page out. He crumpled it up and threw it to the street. He stared at the jagged rip in his book and instantly regretted damaging it. He didn’t have money for a new sketchbook. He’d sold everything of value in order to buy a diamond ring in Fatrasta. That damned diamond ring he’d left nailed to a fop in Jileman. He could still see the blood spreading from the man’s shoulder, crimson dripping from the ring he’d slid on the man’s sword before he shoved it in. Taniel should have kept the ring. He could have pawned it. He forced a lump down in his throat. He regretted not saying something—anything—to Vlora as she stood in the bedroom door, sheets clutched to her chest.
He checked the time on a nearby clock tower. Four hours until his father’s soldiers would begin to reassert order. Any of the mob left out after midnight would have to deal with Field Marshal Tamas’s men. The soldiers might have a hard time of it. There were a lot of desperate people in Adopest these days.
“What do you think of these mercenaries?” Taniel asked. He bent over and picked up the rumpled sketch of Vlora and smoothed it on his leg, then folded it and tucked it into his sketchbook.
Ka-poel shrugged. She watched the approaching mob. They were led by a big man, a farmer with worn, old overalls and a makeshift truncheon. Probably moved to the city to work in a factory but couldn’t join the union. He saw Taniel and Ka-poel standing in the doorway of a closed shop and turned toward them, raising his truncheon. More victims to be had.
Taniel ran a finger along the fringe of his buckskin jacket and touched the butt of a pistol at his hip. “You don’t want any trouble here, friend,” he said. Ka-poel’s hands tightened into little fists.
The farmer’s eyes fell to the silver powder keg pin on Taniel’s chest. He came up short and said something to the man behind him. They turned away suddenly. The rest followed, dark looks for Taniel, but none of them willing to get mixed up with a powder mage.
Taniel breathed a sigh of relief. “Those two hired thugs have been gone a long time.”
Julene, the Privileged mercenary, and Gothen, the magebreaker, had left to follow the Privileged’s trail almost an hour ago. She was close, they’d said, and they’d scout her out, then come back for Taniel and Ka-poel. Taniel was beginning to think they’d been abandoned.
Ka-poel jerked her thumb at her own chest and then shaded her eyes, thrusting her head out as if looking for something.
Taniel nodded. “Yeah, I know you can find her,” he said, “but I’ll let these mercs do the groundwork. That’s all they’re gonna be good for any—”
Taniel’s head cracked against the stone of the building at his back, his ears pounding from the sudden explosion. Ka-poel rocked into him and he caught her before she could fall. He steadied her on her feet and shook his head to dispel the ringing in his ears.
He’d been half a mile from a munitions dump once when the powder caught fire. This had felt like that kind of explosion, but his Marked senses told him it wasn’t powder. It was sorcery.
A gout of flame shot into the air not two city blocks from them. As quickly as it was there, it was gone, and Taniel heard screams. He checked on Ka-poel. Her eyes were wide, but she seemed unhurt. “Come on,” he said, and broke into a run.
He ran past the mob, all scattered on the cobbles like so many children’s toys knocked down by an angry fist, and turned the corner to head toward the explosion. He thumped into someone and was thrown off his feet. He hit the ground and immediately pushed himself up, sparing barely a glance for the person he’d run into.
He was two steps into running again when what he’d seen caught up with him: an older woman with gray hair, a plain brown jacket and skirt, and Privileged’s gloves.
Taniel whirled, drawing his pistol.
“Stop!” he shouted.
Ka-poel careened around the corner, directly into his line of fire. He lowered his pistol and ran toward her. Over her small shoulder he watched the Privileged turn. Her fingers danced, and Taniel felt the heat of a flame as the Privileged touched the Else.
Taniel grabbed Ka-poel and flung them both toward the ground. A fireball the size of his fist tore past his face, hot enough to curl his hair. He lifted his pistol and sighted, feeling the calm of the powder trance take him as he concentrated on the aim, the powder, and his target. He pulled the trigger.
The bullet would have hit the woman’s heart had she not stumbled at that moment. Instead it took her in the shoulder. She twitched with the impact and snarled at him.
Taniel looked around. He needed someplace to take cover and reload. An old brick warehouse twenty paces away would do. “Time to go,” Taniel said to Ka-poel. He jerked her to her feet and ran for the warehouse.
Out of the corner of his eye he watched the Privileged’s fingers dance. It was a fascinating thing, watching a Privileged touch the Else—if that Privileged wasn’t trying to kill you. With their mastery of the elements a skilled Privileged could throw a fireball or call lightning.
Taniel felt the ground shudder. They got behind cover of the warehouse, but the building rumbled. He felt the scream wrench itself from his throat in anticipation of the powers that would tear through the building and destroy them.
The building cracked, jerked, but it didn’t explode. Smoke billowed from sudden cracks in the mortar. An audible wump split the air. Then everything was still. They were alive. Something had stopped whatever sorcery the Privileged had been about to throw at them.
Taniel glanced at Ka-poel. He felt a shaky breath escape him. “Was that you?”
Ka-poel gave him an unreadable look. She pointed.
“After her. Right. Come on.”
He sprinted out into the street, switching his spent pistol for a loaded one. He paused a moment when he saw Julene and Gothen running toward them.
Julene looked like a keg of powder had exploded in her face. Her hair was scorched, her clothes blackened. Even Gothen had a wild look in his eyes and black marks on his shirt, and sorcery wasn’t supposed to be able to touch him. The sword in his hand was missing a foot of blade.
“What the pit did you two do?” Taniel said. “You were supposed to come back and get me before going after her.”
“We don’t need a damned Marked getting in our way,” Julene replied with a rude gesture.
“She shouldn’t have known we were there,” Gothen said. He gave Taniel a sheepish look. “But she did.”
“And she did that?” Taniel pointed at Gothen’s broken blade.
Gothen frowned. “Oh, for pit’s sake.” He threw the half sword on the ground.
“We stand here talking and we’ll lose her,” Taniel said. “Now, Julene, try to flank her, I’ll—”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Julene said, leaning forward. “I’ll go straight down her throat.” She tugged at her gloves and took off running down the street.
“Damn it!” Taniel slapped Gothen’s shoulder. “You’re with me.”
They headed down a side street, then onto the next main thoroughfare, running parallel to Julene.
“What the pit happened?” Taniel asked.
“We found her in an astronomer’s shop,” Gothen said between gasps as he ran, swords, buckles, and pistols rattling.
“We circled the place, checked all exits, and laid our trap. We were just getting ready to go in after her when the whole front of the building blew off. Julene barely shielded herself. I could feel the heat of the explosion! That’s not supposed to happen. I should be able to nullify any aura she can summon from the Else. No fire, no heat, no energy from it should reach me, but it did.”
“So she’s powerful.”
“Very,” Gothen said.
Taniel saw Julene sprint past an alleyway the next street over. He came up short and took a deep breath, motioning for Gothen to stop. Something was wrong. He turned around.
“Ka-poel?”
She’d stopped in the mouth of the alley. She put a finger to her lips, her eyes half-lidded. She pointed down the alley.
Taniel gestured for Gothen to go first. He would void any traps or sorcery flung at them. Taniel lifted his pistol, keeping it aimed just over Gothen’s shoulder. The alley was filled with debris—trash, mud, and shit; a few half-rotted kegs. Nothing big enough for a person to hide behind. It was well lit by the noonday sun.
“There!” Gothen surged forward, and Taniel caught a movement in the alley up ahead. He blinked, trying to see clearly. It was as if light were turning in on itself, making a slight shadow where a person could hide.
Then the Privileged appeared. Her hands twitched and she leveled them at Gothen. Gothen braced himself.
The air shimmered, distorted by a furnace of impending sorcery. Gothen yelled, the veins on his neck standing out. Taniel fired.
The bullet glanced off her skin as if it were metal, ricocheting harmlessly down the alley. The Privileged threw her hands out. Gothen tumbled backward and fell to the ground.
There were handholds built into the brick side of the building for roof access. The Privileged climbed them with the ease and speed of someone far younger, and was over the roof two stories up before Taniel could reload one of his pistols. He took a snort of powder and climbed up after her.
“Don’t lose her!” Taniel shouted back to Gothen. Ka-poel raced back out into the main street to track the Privileged’s progress.