Promise of Blood

“Taniel Two-Shot,” Sabon said. “You’ve been the talk of the Nine for a year. The royal cabal has been scared stiff. Wanted Manhouch to recall you. Marked killing Privileged, even Kez Privileged, is a bad precedent.”

“Too late, I assume?” Taniel said, glancing around the dark grand hall. Else he wouldn’t be here. If all went as planned, Tamas had slaughtered the royal cabal and captured Manhouch.

“It was done a few hours ago,” Sabon said.

Taniel thought he saw a hardness to the old soldier’s eyes. “Things didn’t go well?”

“We lost five men.” Sabon rattled off a list of names.

“May they rest with Kresimir.” Even as he said it, the prayer sounded hollow in Taniel’s ears. He winced. “And Tamas?”

Sabon sighed. “He is… tired. Toppling Manhouch is only the first step. We still have the execution, a new government to establish, the Kez to deal with, starvation, the poor. The list goes on.”

“Does he foresee problems with the people?”

“Tamas foresees just about everything. There will be royalists. It would be stupid to think there won’t, in a city of a million people. We just don’t know how many or how organized they’ll be. Tamas needs you; you and Vlora both. She didn’t come with you?” Taniel glanced toward Ka-poel. She was the only other person in the hall. She’d left Taniel’s gear in a pile on the floor and was making a slow round of the place, gazing up at paintings that could barely be seen in the dim light. Her rucksack was slung over one shoulder.

Taniel felt his jaw clench. “No.”

Sabon drifted a step back and jerked his head toward Ka-poel.

“My servant,” Taniel said. “A Dynize.”

“A savage, eh?” Sabon mused. “Did the Dynize Empire finally open their borders? That’s big news.”

“No,” Taniel said. “Some of the Dynize tribes live in western Fatrasta.”

“Doesn’t look more than a boy.”

“Careful who you call a boy,” Taniel said. “She can be a bit prickly about that.”

“A girl, then,” Sabon said, giving Taniel a wry glance. “Can she be trusted?”

“I’ve saved her life more times than she has mine,” Taniel said. “Savages take that sort of thing very seriously.”

“Not so savage,” Sabon murmured. “Tamas will want to know why Vlora’s not here.”

“Let me handle that.” Tamas would ask about Vlora before he even asked about Fatrasta. Taniel knew he’d be a fool to imagine two years would have changed much. Two years. Pit. Had it been that long? Two years ago Taniel had gone abroad for what would have been a short tour of the Kez colony of Fatrasta. Time to “cool his head,” Tamas had said. Taniel arrived a week before they declared their independence from Kez and he’d been forced to pick sides.

Sabon gave a curt nod. “I’ll take you to him, then.”

Sabon lifted the lantern from its hook while Taniel gathered his things. Ka-poel drifted a few steps behind them as they traveled the dark corridors. The House of Nobles was eerie and huge. Thick carpet muffled their footsteps, so they trod almost like ghosts. Taniel didn’t like the silence. It reminded him too much of the forest when there were enemies on the prowl. They rounded a corner, and there was light coming from a room at the end of the hallway. Voices, too, and they were raised in anger.

Taniel paused in the doorway of a well-lit sitting room—the antechamber of some noble’s office. Inside, two men faced each other before an overlarge fireplace. They stood not a foot apart, fists clenched, on the edge of blows. A third man, a bodyguard, with more presence than most and the battered features of a boxer, stood off to the side, looking perplexed, wondering if he should step in.

“You knew!” the smaller man was saying. His face was red, and he stood on his toes to try to match the other’s height. He pushed a pair of spectacles up his nose, only to have them slide down again. “Tell me true, have you planned this all along? Did you know you’d move up the schedule?”

Taniel watched Field Marshal Tamas raise his hands before him, palms outward. “Of course I didn’t know,” he said. “I’m going to explain it all in the morning.”

“At the execution! What kind of a coup…” The little man noticed Taniel and trailed off. “Get out,” he said. “This is a private conversation.”

Taniel removed his hat and leaned against the doorframe, fanning himself casually. “But it was just getting interesting,” he said.

“Who is this boy?” the little man demanded of Tamas.

Boy? Taniel glanced at the field marshal. Tamas couldn’t have expected him this very night, but he didn’t show a bit of surprise. Tamas wasn’t one to betray his emotions. Taniel sometimes wondered if Tamas had any emotions.

Tamas let out a sigh. “Taniel, it’s good to see you.”

Was it? Tamas looked anything but happy. His hair had thinned in the last two years, and his mustache had more gray than black now. Tamas was getting old. Taniel nodded slowly to the field marshal.

“Forgive me,” Tamas said after a brief pause. “Taniel, this is Ondraus the Reeve. Ondraus, this is Marked Taniel, one of my mages.”