Promise of Blood (15 page)

Formichael delivered several more single punches before letting SouSmith fall back down to his hands and knees. SouSmith’s face was a mess of blood and pulped flesh. He spit into the sawdust. Formichael turned, raised his arms to the crowd, bathed himself in the roar of voices. He faced SouSmith once again.

The big man rose to his feet in less than a heartbeat, all twenty-five stone following his fist into Formichael’s pretty young face. The impact lifted Formichael off the ground. His body flattened out in midair and then bounced like some child’s toy off the wooden slats before tumbling to the ground. He shuddered once before falling still. SouSmith spit on Formichael’s back and turned away, plodding up the stairs and toward the fighters’ stalls. Hands reached out to slap him on the back in congratulations; curses lashed out for bets lost.

Adamat collected his winnings and then waited until enough of the crowd was milling about to slip unnoticed back to the stalls. He entered SouSmith’s room and closed the curtain behind him. “That was quite the fight.”

SouSmith paused, a bucket lifted over his head, and gave Adamat a single glance. He tipped the bucket, letting the water wash away a layer of sweat and blood, then scrubbed his body with a soiled towel. He tilted his head at Adamat, the skin around his eyes puffy and bruised, his lips and brows split. “Aye. Make the right bet?”

“Of course.”

“Bastard’s trying to kill me.”

“Who?”

“Proprietor.”

Adamat chuckled, then realized SouSmith wasn’t joking. “Why do you say that?”

SouSmith shook his head, twisted the red-brown water out of his towel, and dunked it in a clean bucket. “Wants me to sink.” SouSmith was far from stupid, but he’d always spoken in short sentences. A man had trouble collecting his thoughts after years of being punched in the head.

“Why? You’re a good fighter. People come to see you.”

“People come to see young whips.” SouSmith spat into one of the buckets. “I’m old.”

“Formichael will think twice next time he’s told to fight you.” Adamat remembered the still body on the Arena floor. They’d had to carry him out. “If he’s still alive.”

“He’ll live.” SouSmith tapped the side of his head. “He’ll be afraid.”

“Or maybe he’ll just be sure to finish it quick,” Adamat said.

SouSmith took a deep breath, then let out a chuckle that turned into a grunting cough. “Not bad either way.”

Adamat watched his old friend for a moment. SouSmith was a different man than his appearance suggested. He was no average thug, not like the other boxers. Behind his beady eyes was a sharp intelligence; behind his gnarled fists the soft hands of brother and uncle. Many read him wrong, one of the reasons for his winning record. One thing no one read wrong, though: Behind it all, even deeper than his loyalty to his family or his cleverness, he was a killer.

“I have a question for you,” Adamat said.

“Thought you missed me.”

“You once told me you were part of the street gang Kresimir’s Broken.”

SouSmith froze with the corner of the towel still in one ear. He lowered it slowly. “I did?”

“You were very drunk.”

SouSmith’s movements were suddenly cautious. He glanced toward the stall’s single desk, to a drawer where he no doubt had hidden a pistol. Yet a man his size didn’t need a pistol.

Adamat made a reassuring gesture. “You were very drunk,” Adamat said again. “I didn’t believe you at the time. I was there when they pulled those boys out of the gutter. I didn’t think anyone had escaped what went after them.”

SouSmith examined him for a few moments. “Maybe one didn’t,” he said. “Maybe one did.”

“How?”

SouSmith countered with his own question. “Why?”

“I’m doing an investigation.” Adamat had already decided to tell SouSmith the whole story. “For Field Marshal Tamas. He wants to know what Kresimir’s Promise is.”

SouSmith looked impressed. “One man I’d not cross,” he said.

“Agreed. You have any idea what it means?”

SouSmith returned to cleaning himself up. “Our leader was a royal cabal washout.” SouSmith opened the desk drawer. He removed a grimy old pipe and a tobacco pouch. SouSmith lit up his pipe before he went on. “A loudmouth. A jackass. Wanted attention. Said our name was supposed to remind the royal cabal of their mortality.”

It was the longest sentence Adamat had heard SouSmith utter in years. “Did he tell you what it meant?”

“Break Kresimir’s Promise,” SouSmith said, puffing on his pipe. The smell of pistachio-flavored tobacco filled the tiny room. “And end the world.”

“What’s the promise?” Adamat asked.

SouSmith shrugged.

Adamat tapped the side of his jaw with one finger as SouSmith leaned back. He wasn’t going to say any more. Not about this. Adamat let his thoughts slip toward Palagyi. The twerp of a banker still had men lurking about. He was unpredictable. A man with SouSmith’s size and reputation could keep the idiot in line. At least until Adamat’s loan was due and Palagyi had the law on his side. Besides, SouSmith could be very useful in tight places—such as the Public Archives, behind the royalist barricades.

“Any chance you’re in need of a job?” Adamat asked.

SouSmith examined him through those small eyes. “What kind of a job?”

Chapter 9

Taniel found his father’s command post just out of range of the royalist barricades. The empty streets were full of rubbish, the paving stones damp from a brief rain the night before. The city smells threatened to overcome his senses, enhanced from the near-constant powder trance he’d been in for two weeks. The world smelled of shit and fear, of empty piss pots and distrust.

Ka-poel was at his side. Even after all this, she was still mystified by the sight of the city—so many buildings, each one so tall on every side. She didn’t like it. Too many people, she had indicated with a series of gestures. Too many buildings. Taniel sympathized. His real talent as a powder mage was being able to float a bullet for miles—to make long shots across the widest battlefield. What good was that when his view was obstructed on all sides?

Gothen stood on Taniel’s other side. The magebreaker scratched the back of his head where he still had hair. He watched the barricades with a hand on the grip of one of his three pistols.

“Coming in with me?” Taniel asked.

Gothen shook his head. “Your father makes me nervous.”

“You’re not the only one,” Taniel muttered.

Tamas had set up his headquarters in one of the hundreds of abandoned homes near the center of the city. Soldiers milled about outside. They didn’t wear the familiar dark blue of Adran infantry. Their uniforms were red and gold and white, their standard a saint’s halo with gold wings. These were the Wings of Adom. The majority of them were Adran, as it was an Adran-based mercenary company, but one could see all kinds in their ranks. Taniel crossed the street and paused just long enough for one of the guards to get a look at his powder keg pin before heading inside, Ka-poel on his heels.

The salon of the house had the look of a command tent. There were maps on every available surface, gear stacked in the corners, even rifles and ammunition crates. Tamas stood behind a table, examining a map of the city while two of the Wings’ brigadiers—brigade commanders—stood off to one side. Tamas’s bodyguard lounged on a sofa in the corner, smoking.

Tamas didn’t look up when Taniel entered. Taniel cleared his throat. No response. The brigadiers gave him a curious look.

“I want Bo,” Taniel said.

Tamas finally looked up. He had the tense air of someone whose deep thoughts had been interrupted.

“Bo?”

Taniel rolled his eyes. “Borbador. I need his help.”

Tamas scowled. “I don’t want a Privileged anywhere near the city right now.”

“What about that mercenary you saddled me with? Julene?”

“That’s different,” Tamas said. “Privileged Borbador was a member of the king’s royal cabal.”

“Exiled,” Taniel said. “And Bo has no love for the late king. He joined the royal cabal for the money and the brothel girls.”

“And he was exiled because he slept with the royal cabal head’s favorite mistress,” Tamas said. He stepped away from the table and sank into a chair. He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to will away exhaustion. “They almost reinstated him just a few months ago. I arranged for his transfer to the Mountainwatch so that when I slaughtered the royal cabal, he wouldn’t be there. I do pay attention to these things.”

Taniel felt a flicker of gratitude and hated himself for it.

Tamas changed the subject. “How goes the hunt?”

Taniel remained standing to give his report, even when his father gestured to a chair. “The Westeven townhouse has been abandoned. The Privileged is gone, too. She’s covering her tracks well, and Ka-poel’s methods, though accurate, aren’t fast enough to keep up with someone on the move.”

“Julene should be able to track her.”

“Julene is more trouble than she’s worth.”

Tamas sat up straight. “Julene’s well worth the money I pay her. She’s taken care of problems for me in the past. She’s discreet and measured.”

“Problems, eh?” Taniel said. “Like those three Adran Privileged last year that disappeared? That was in the newspapers in Fatrasta. They were getting too vocal in their opposition to your powder cabal, if I remember right.”

“Yes,” Tamas said.

“And you trust her?”

“As long as I keep paying her.”

“Tamas, she’s a powder keg with a short fuse. She went after the Privileged—she and her magebreaker, alone, against my orders. She’s either got a death wish or there’s something personal in all of this.”

“When did I put
you
in command?” Tamas stood up, crossed to his desk, and poured himself a glass of water.

Taniel stiffened. “That was the implication when you paired me with those two. I am a Marked.”

“Hmm.” Tamas swirled the water in his glass. “Let that Privileged slip through your fingers again and I will put Julene in charge. She’s efficient—brutal when she needs to be, but efficient.”

“Do that and you’ll explain to your council why half the city was destroyed in a full-on melee between two Privileged.” Taniel couldn’t keep the venom out of his voice. Was Tamas being willfully stupid?

“I’ll give you one more chance,” Tamas said.

Taniel ground his teeth together. “You don’t trust me to do my job? You can’t, can you? What will it take for you to put any faith in me? Fifty Privileged notches on my rifle stock? A hundred?”

“I know what you’re capable of, but you’re still young. You have a hot temper.”

“And you have room to speak?”

“Watch your mouth. You’re going to follow orders or I’ll put someone else on this. Vlora would jump at the chance to get back into my good graces right now.”

“I can do this.” Taniel spoke between clenched teeth.

“Then prove it. Listen to Julene’s advice. She’s a veteran Privileged hunter and a skilled sorceress herself.”

Taniel snorted. “Kresimir above, it’s like you slept with the woman.” There was a brief pause, a flicker of danger in Tamas’s eyes. Taniel felt the grin sprout on his face. He threw his head back and laughed. “You did! You bedded the mercenary!”

“That’s enough, soldier.” That came from Tamas’s new bodyguard. The man sat on the sofa, watching them both through a swirl of cigarette smoke. Taniel glanced at him once, then back at his father. He could see the veins standing out on Tamas’s neck. Tamas’s fists were clenched, his teeth grinding together. Taniel felt his pride warring with the sudden sense of danger in the room. The two brigadiers had their heads together over a map of the Nine, pretending not to hear the conversation between father and son.

Taniel cleared his throat. “Julene can’t track her. She admitted so herself. The Privileged is spreading auras using the rain. I’ve tried my third eye and gotten nowhere. Our only chance is Ka-poel and she’s moving slow. Even then, once we catch her—well, this woman is powerful. Not just magically. I’ve shot her three times. I put my bayonet through her stomach and she destroyed two buildings and disappeared. She’s still on the move after a wound that should have killed her. That’s why I want Bo.”

Tamas seemed to gain control of himself. “Absolutely not. I will not risk a cabal Privileged in the city. Maybe in a few months. You’ll have to make do with the help you have. Ryze,” he said to the older of the two brigadiers in the corner, a veteran with a patch over one eye, “I need a company at the ready for whenever Taniel needs it. Give him an experienced tracker, too. One that’s good in the city.” The old brigadier nodded, and Tamas turned back to Taniel. “Dismissed, soldier.”

Taniel gave a mock salute and spun around, leaving the room. He paused outside the command post to snort another line of powder. The powder trance intensified instantly. He shivered, the world so clear in his vision it caused his eyes to water.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he said to Ka-poel.

The girl mimed his taking a snort of powder and shook her head.
Too much powder.

“I’m fine.”

She shook her head again.

“What do you know?”