Promise of Blood (41 page)

“Of course,” Charlemund said. “My colleagues in the Church have been apprised of the situation. I received their communiqués just this morning.”

“And?”

“They wish me to take him into Church custody immediately. Before any more of his lies can be spread.”

“He’s harmless,” Tamas said. “He escaped from Hassenbur Asylum. I’m sending him back any day now.” The Church’s involvement was the last thing he needed.

“Who is he?” Ondraus asked.

“Lord of the Golden Chefs,” Tamas said.

“Don’t mock me,” Ondraus said, taken aback.

“He’s not,” Ricard suddenly said. “Lord of the Golden Chefs is a title among culinary experts. It means he’s the best damned cook in all the Nine. I can’t believe he’s really in the city.”

“You know him?” Tamas asked.

“Know
of
him, more like,” Ricard said. “I paid a king’s ransom to have him cook for Manhouch five years ago. It was that dinner that convinced the king to let me start a union. I’ve never tasted such food.” He gave a low whistle. “His squash soup is to die for. I’d love to see him.”

Tamas stifled a smile at the very thought of Mihali’s squash soup. His mouth watered a little, and for just a moment he could smell it, as if Mihali was making it in a pot in the middle of the next clearing.

“Well,” Charlemund said, “you won’t meet him. I’m bringing him under Church custody tonight. I only held off giving the order this morning in deference to Tamas.”

“And if I don’t let him go?” Tamas said lightly.

Charlemund gave a laugh, as if Tamas had made some kind of joke. “That isn’t an option. The man is a heathen and a blasphemer. We all know there is only one God, Kresimir.”

“Aren’t Adom, Unice, Rosvel, and the rest all supposed to be Kresimir’s brothers and sisters?” Tamas asked. “I’m not up on my church lore as much as I should be…”

“Doctrine, not lore,” Charlemund said. “Semantics. They helped him create the Nine, yes, that is why they are saints. Kresimir is the only God among them. To claim otherwise goes against Church doctrine. It was decided so at the Council of Kezlea in five-oh-seven.”

Ricard’s eyes grew wide. “You
do
know something about the Church. Incredible! I thought all you needed to be an arch-diocel was a nice hat and a harem.”

Charlemund ignored Ricard as one might ignore an irritating rug seller in the market. “The Council also established that heretics and blasphemers would fall under the jurisdiction of the Church. Every king of the Nine signed the accord.”

“Interesting,” Tamas said, “that Adro has no king anymore.”

Charlemund looked startled by this. “What…?”

“Has it occurred to any of the arch-diocels,” Tamas said, “that Adro is no longer held by any of the agreements signed by previous kings? Technically, we don’t even have to pay tithe anymore.”

Charlemund sputtered. “I don’t think that’s true. I mean, we had an agreement…”

“With Manhouch,” Ondraus said. The reeve had a nasty smile on his face, and Tamas wondered if he had just given Ondraus an excuse to do something that would completely alienate the Church. Tamas squeezed his eyes shut.
O Kresimir above. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“I think I’d like to catch up with the rest of the hunt now,” Tamas said before Charlemund could respond. “I can barely hear the hounds.” He urged his hunter on, reaching the whipper-in in a few moments.

Gaben turned. “Sir,” he said, “We’ve fallen significantly behind the rest of the group.”

“Yes,” Tamas said, “I gathered.”

“If you’d permit, sir,” Gaben said, “I’d like to lead us on a shortcut through the forest. I know where they’re planning on being in, oh”—he glanced up at the sun, which was showing through the trees—“two hours. I think we can catch them there. Otherwise we might not reach them until after the hunt has finished.”

“Sir,” Olem said in a low voice, “it’s dangerous to leave the hunt trail. These forests were the king’s own, bigger than Adopest and all the suburbs. I used to play in them as a boy. We get lost here and we could be gone for days.”

“The going will be slow,” the whipper-in said, “through the brush, but we should have no problem cutting them off. I know these woods well.”

“I don’t like it, sir,” Olem said.

Tamas pushed away his own uneasiness and gave Olem a smile. “Calm yourself. I’ve known Gaben since he was a boy. The worst things in these woods are deer. Lead on.”

They trotted along the deer trail, single file, making their way through the woods. The priestesses bantered loudly behind Tamas. He let his mind wander, considering battle plans and strategies. Battle had yet to be joined at the Gates of Wasal. Only at South Pike had shots been fired, and the unique positioning of the fortress town required very little strategy. They’d been shrugging off Kez advances for a month, with minimal loss and despite powerful sorceries on the Kez side. The very thought of Julene’s betrayal made Tamas’s blood boil.

And Taniel. What could he do? Bo was still alive and the two were working together to push back the Kez. That pleased Tamas. Yet Bo was still under the gaes. Could Tamas trust them? Taniel had disobeyed his orders. There would have to be redress for that, though Taniel claimed he had a good reason to keep Bo alive—they needed the Privileged to help hold Shouldercrown.

Tamas knew the real reason. Taniel hadn’t been able to do it. He’d not been able to kill his best friend, even when it was necessary; even on the order of his superior. Taniel had to know that Tamas would see through the excuses. Tamas pushed the thought aside, unwilling to let it ruin his day.

The terrain slowly changed as they rode. They descended into a valley where moss-covered boulders hemmed them in and the forest floor was thick with fallen branches and rotted pine needles. The place seemed to deaden all sound. An icy hand climbed Tamas’s spine. The forest felt old and deep, and the clop of their horses’ hooves an intrusion here.

Their deer trail ran out, and they followed a small brook. The boulders grew bigger, the tree canopy overhead thicker. It seemed they had not even reached the bottom of the valley. Tamas had no memory of this place from other hunts.

Tamas found himself staring at the back of Ondraus’s head. Wisps of silver hair clung to his skull, along with a pair of moles as big as a two-krana coin. Was he the traitor? Tamas became acutely aware that he rode with four of his council, any one of whom was just as likely the traitor as any of the others.

Olem suddenly spurred his horse forward. He passed the other riders and reined in before the whipper-in. “Where are we?” he said.

“Almost there,” Gaben said. “Not a mile from rejoining the hunt.”

“Then why can’t we hear hounds?” Olem said.

Tamas rode up to the front of the column, followed closely by Charlemund and Ondraus. Ricard remained at the back of the column, staring up at the boulders around them.

“It’s impossible to hear anything in these rocks,” Gaben said as Tamas reined in beside him.

“We’re not anywhere near the hunt,” Olem said. “This is the Giant’s Billiard Table. I ran here as a boy.”

Tamas scowled at Gaben. “Explain yourself.”

A rock fell from one of the boulders above. Tamas jerked around, eyes searching the forest. “Ricard?” he said. Ricard’s horse was alone at the back of the column, the reins thrown over a broken tree limb. Ricard was missing. Tamas turned back to Gaben. “Explain yourself. Now!”

Tamas heard leaves rustling in the forest around them. He turned again, searching. He saw nothing. Ricard had been carrying a pistol. Tamas reached out with his senses. Ricard was nearby. Tamas could sense the powder. He’d scrambled up onto one of the boulders and lay flat on it, facing the group. Was Ricard the traitor? Was this some kind of trap? Ricard was carrying a pistol. Surely he knew that Tamas could find him just from the gunpowder.

A man stepped out on a boulder just ahead of their trail. He held a bow, strung, with arrow at the ready, aimed at Tamas. He sighted along one eye, because the other eye was covered by a white patch of cloth. The man was older than Tamas, his face weathered by battles. He wore a brown-and-green patched cloak to blend in with the forest.

“Brigadier Ryze,” Tamas said.

Olem tossed Tamas a pistol and brought about his rifle, moving with the speed of a seasoned soldier. Tamas caught the pistol and leveled it at the brigadier, not bothering to cock it. A powder mage didn’t need to.

“Lower the weapon,” Brigadier Ryze said. His aim with the bow didn’t waver. He took a half step forward, his footing sure on the boulder. His cloak rippled, revealing the scarlet colors of the hunt underneath.

“I’ll kill you right now,” Tamas warned.

“Maybe,” Ryze said, “But not all of us.”

Tamas kept his eyes locked on Ryze. “Olem?” he said.

“We’re surrounded, sir,” Olem responded glumly. “All of them are carrying bows. Fifteen. But there may be more in the woods.”

“There are,” Brigadier Ryze said.

“Do you know who I am?” Charlemund demanded. Tamas didn’t have to look to know Charlemund had drawn his smallsword. Little good it would do against yeomen far above them.

“We know, Arch-Diocel,” Brigadier Ryze said. “And you won’t be harmed as long as Field Marshal Tamas comes with us. None of you will be harmed.”

“I will destroy you,” Charlemund snarled.

“I’m sure you will,” Brigadier Ryze said without emotion. “Field Marshal, if you please?”

Tamas took a mental inventory of his weapons. A dozen bullets. Not nearly enough to kill fifteen men by scattering the shot, even at his best. He considered Ricard up on one of the boulders and wondered if he was up there because he had sensed a trap or because he’d set the trap in the first place.

“I don’t seem to have a choice,” Tamas said.

“That’s right,” Ryze said. His lone eye traveled around the group slowly. “Let’s go.”

Tamas reached out again with his senses. None of the men had a granule of gunpowder on them. They’d been very careful. He pushed his senses farther into the woods, trying to find out if there were any more armed with powder. He froze. There was a Privileged in the forest.

“Why did you sell out to Manhouch?” Tamas said. “Lady Winceslav trusted you.”

Ryze gave a slight shake of his head. “This has nothing to do with the Kez. I serve Adro and Lady Winceslav.”

“Then why is there a Privileged in the woods over there?” Tamas asked, pointing north.

Brigadier Ryze’s eye widened slightly. “This has nothing to do with the Kez,” he said again. “Now, come with us, or we’ll take you all down and sort it out later.” Ryze’s fingers twitched on the bow. It was said Ryze was a perfect shot with bow, crossbow, rifle, or pistol. He had a reputation for action and brutality—when necessary. He wasn’t stupid, either. There was a reason he’d risen to be a brigadier of the Wings of Adom.

Tamas urged his hunter forward.

“Dismounted,” Ryze said, gesturing to the ground with the tip of his arrow. “Hand your extra powder charges to your bodyguard. Same with the pistol. Leave the horse tied up to a tree.”

Tamas did as he was told and approached Brigadier Ryze.

“You bastard,” Olem said. “You filthy bastard. I’ll take out that other eye.”

“Quiet your dog,” Ryze said.

“Olem, it’s all right,” Tamas said. He paused next to Gaben and glanced up. The man was expressionless. “I take it this is one of yours,” Tamas said to Ryze.

“He is,” Ryze said. “He’ll guide the rest back to the hunt.”

“Go to the pit,” Tamas said. “Olem, take everyone back safely. You said you played here as a boy. Can you get out?”

“Yes,” Olem said. He sounded miserable.

“That’s an order, then,” Tamas said. “Don’t come back for me until everyone is out of the forest.”

“If you follow us,” Ryze said, “I’ll cut his throat.” The brigadier leapt from the boulder, landing on the ground with a hollow-sounding thump.

He edged Tamas into step before him. They were soon flanked by a pair of woodsmen, then two more. Tamas saw that they weren’t wearing hunt colors under their cloaks. They’d probably been in place for hours.

“Ryze,” someone called suddenly. Tamas turned with the brigadier. It was Brigadier Sabastenien, the quiet commander. His voice was calm, collected. “We’ll have your head for this betrayal,” he said. “The Lady will not stand for it.”

“I know,” Brigadier Ryze responded. There was a hint of sadness to his voice. He turned his back on Sabastenien and led Tamas into the woods. As soon as they were out of sight of the other group, Brigadier Ryze broke into a trot, urging Tamas forward with the tip of a dagger. He did it absently, though, as if almost forgetting that Tamas was his prisoner. Tamas glanced over his shoulder, gauging the brigadier.

“Why are you doing this?” Tamas said.

“Quiet,” Ryze said, his voice not unkind. “You don’t even know what ‘this’ is. You say there’s a Privileged in the forest?”

Tamas stopped suddenly. He spun on Brigadier Ryze, grabbing the wrist with the dagger. Ryze gripped tightly, one hand going to Tamas’s shoulder. They struggled silently for a moment, neither man the stronger, until one of Ryze’s men stepped up and struck Tamas in the small of the back. Tamas grunted, letting go of Ryze’s wrist. He dropped to his knees.

“Back off,” Ryze snarled at his man. He grasped Tamas by the forearm and helped him up. “I’ve been betrayed,” he said quietly, only for Tamas to hear.

“So have I.” Tamas glared at the brigadier. There was a time Tamas considered Ryze a colleague, though never close enough to be a friend. Decades ago, postings had seen them together overseas.

“Not the way you think.” Ryze stepped back and lowered his dagger. “I’m not here to kill you, Field Marshal, nor to hand you over to the Kez.”

“Then what is this charade?” Tamas wondered if he should go for Ryze again. He might get the upper hand, but Ryze’s men watched from nearby.

“To warn you,” Ryze said. “I’ve brought my most trusted men, but apparently that was not enough. You’re sure there’s a Privileged in the forest?”

“Yes,” Tamas said slowly. He opened his third eye. “He’s getting closer. He has Wardens with him.” The thought chilled him. Brigadier Ryze seemed in earnest, but Tamas was not ready to trust him. He might only be delaying, waiting for the Privileged to catch up.