Another soldier suddenly held his powder horn up to his flintlock and pulled the trigger, blowing himself and three of his companions to the pit.
Fistfights broke out, and the tide of Kez soldiers heading toward Taniel and Ka-poel began to ebb as they turned on one another.
Ka-poel stood, legs braced, eyes on her dolls as if she were examining a chessboard. Around her, the dolls were moving of their own accord. Some of them fought each other, while others tumbled and stabbed at shadows. Taniel felt a terrible fear grip him. She was controlling an entire army, thousands all at once!
An unoccupied infantryman charged Taniel.
Taniel slapped aside the thrust of a bayonet and rammed his own through the infantryman's eye.
"We should go," he said to Pole. "You can't keep them forever."
Ka-poel caught his sleeve and made the shape of a gun with one hand, pointing at her dolls.
"You want me to shoot them?"
A nod.
Taniel dropped the butt of the musket to the ground and quickly loaded it. Lifting it to his shoulder, he looked to Ka-poel for confirmation.
She made a hurrying motion with one hand.
Taniel aimed at her field of dolls and pulled the trigger.
A sound like thunder cracked out of the late-morning air, sending Kez soldiers diving for cover. A nearby soldier suddenly splattered across a tent like he'd been hit by a cannonball. Taniel could hear the cries of dismay, and someone shouted, "Artillery fire!"
Ka-poel threw her head back in a silent laugh.
"That's sadistic," Taniel said. He grabbed her by the hand. "Let's go."
They raced through the Kez camp, heading toward the eastern mountains that lined Surkov's Alley. Ka-poel's dolls kept pace with them, floating, fighting shadows. By the time they reached the edge of the Kez camp and began to climb the nearest hill, the number of dolls had diminished.
Ka-poel panted heavily as they climbed. Taniel looked behind them. No one was following, but it wouldn't be long until they did. He pulled on her arm and felt her sag to the ground, her eyes suddenly cloudy from exhaustion. Taniel swung his musket onto his shoulder and then lifted Ka-poel in his arms, continuing to run.
The hill grew steeper, and Taniel soon found himself climbing more than running. He was forced to set Ka-poel on a large rock in the scree and pause to rest, turning to look at the valley.
They weren't being chased.
The entire Kez camp was in an uproar. Brother fought brother. A weak Privileged was slinging sorcery in a panic. Wardens were trying to restore order by killing "ringleaders" in a perceived uprising among the troops – it only added to the chaos.
All because of Ka-poel's dolls.
Taniel uncorked his powder horn and poured a measure onto the back of his hand. He snorted it. The immediate danger may have passed, but the Kez could still send infantry or even riders after them. There'd be no getting away if they did. He could feel fatigue circling him, like a pack of wolves around a wounded deer. The burning flame of his powder trance would go out soon. No amount of fuel would keep it going, and then he would be useless.
He and Ka-poel would need to walk the steepest part of the scree north for over three miles to get even with the Adran camp.
Then there was the matter of the traitor Hilanska.
Near the front line, the chaos seemed the least pronounced, and plenty of the Kez soldiers were still watching as Kresimir and Mihali spoke alone between the camps. The two gods faced each other, no more than a few feet apart. Taniel would have given a fair amount to read their lips. Neither seemed to notice or care about the confusion in the Kez camp.
Mihali reached out, resting a hand on Kresimir's shoulder.
Kresimir shrugged it off.
Mihali spread his hands in a calming gesture. Kresimir raised one hand in the air, pointing at the sky, shouting something.
Mihali kept speaking. His lips barely moved and his face was serene.
It was several minutes that Mihali spoke. Much to Taniel's surprise, Kresimir seemed to listen. The god's hand fell to his side.
Back at the camp, chaos continued. Ka-poel's floating dolls had dwindled to no more than a few dozen. She sat up, looking haggard and bruised, but a victorious smile played on her lips. Her attention seemed to be focused on the last dolls, and they were not disappearing as quickly as the earlier ones. She was fighting hard to keep those last few puppets alive.
Taniel watched the two gods. Kresimir and Mihali had edged closer to each other. Mihali was pointing to his opposite hand as if explaining something. Kresimir listened, brow furrowed.
Mihali appeared to finish his explanation.
Kresimir shook his head adamantly.
Mihali frowned. A sad smile crept onto his face and he opened his arms.
Taniel suddenly felt his heart beating faster. He lifted his musket to his shoulder and sighted down the barrel at Kresimir. Two miles. Not a hard shot for him, but the bullet was a regular ball and it would take far too long to reach Kresimir. Taniel could only provide a distraction.
Kresimir suddenly threw his arms wide. For a brief moment, he looked as if he was ready to embrace his brother.
Taniel clutched his hands to his face and stumbled back, falling to the ground as a light brighter than a thousand suns erupted from Kresimir. Taniel braced himself, waiting for a shock wave and the deafening boom of an explosion.
Neither came. The light blazed on so brightly that though Taniel covered his face, he still felt as if he was staring into the heart of the sun.
A hand touched him. He reached out, grabbing Ka-poel. What did she see? Was there anything to see? She had to be as blind as he was. He pulled her to him and clutched her to his chest, trying to protect her eyes from the blaze. Sweet gods, what was this sorcery?
Taniel felt the brightness begin to fade after what seemed an eternity. Fear crept through him when he opened his eyes and saw nothing. Had he been blinded?
It must have been twenty minutes before shapes began to manifest themselves in his vision. He blinked rapidly, trying to dispel pools of color, trying to grasp what he'd just seen. That blaze – so bright and intense, but without heat or sound. Not an explosion.
Taniel tried to recall his knowledge of Privileged sorcery. What had Kresimir done?
Slowly, it dawned on him.
Kresimir had opened the Else itself to the world.
Taniel's returning sight began to show him that both the Kez and Adran camps were in chaos now. It seemed that no one could see. Hundreds of thousands of men crept on their hands and knees, wailing and crying out.
In the center of the field, positioned between the two camps, Kresimir stood alone. Mihali was completely gone, not even ash where he'd once stood. Kresimir's mouth was open, his face frozen in a silent scream.
Taniel watched as Kresimir's shoulders slumped. Kresimir stared blindly for a moment at the spot where Mihali had been. Then the god dropped to his knees and wept.
Taniel sagged against the mountainside, overcome with exaustion, his body racked with the pain of his wounds. A few minutes passed in silence before he looked down at his bloody, vomit-stained shirt. There was a rushing sound in his ears, and his hands shook with sudden excitement.
"Pole," he said. "My shirt is soaked with Kresimir's blood."
Adamat couldn't take his eyes off Lord Claremonte as he finished his speech. He'd worked the crowd perfectly. There weren't cheers or shouts – no, not even Claremonte would have expected that.
There were grumbles. Murmurs of discontent. Someone near Adamat told the woman next to him that Claremonte had a point. A rising sense of indignation washed through the assembled masses, and Adamat knew that Claremonte had convinced them. Maybe not all of them. Maybe not now. But the few screams of protest when Claremonte's Privileged destroyed the Kresim Cathedral had been stifled quickly.
All up and down the Ad, Brudanian soldiers pushed their longboats up onto the riverbank and disembarked. At quick glance they seemed to be working in teams of about fifteen, each one accompanied by a Privileged. They carried bayoneted muskets and barrels of black powder, and Adamat saw the first team reach a church on the other side of the Ad and begin pushing people away.
They were preparing it for demolition.
If Adamat wasn't so horrified he'd be impressed. Claremonte had arrived with reinforcements and supplies, given a brilliant speech for his ministerial candidacy, and now he was setting about destroying the religious buildings of Adro. He'd taken the horror of the people – the fear of the Brudanians invading the capital – and turned it on its head. Everyone would be so relieved that Claremonte was not pillaging the city that he could do just about anything he wanted.
Adamat wasn't a religious man by any stretch, but he wanted to rush to the nearest church and stop the soldiers from destroying it. These were historical icons, some of them close to a thousand years old! He had the feeling that any move to stop the soldiers would see him killed.
Less than forty paces away, Claremonte's longboat was pushed onto the bank. Ricard was already hurrying toward it, his assistants and bodyguards following cautiously. Adamat shouted at him to stop.
A sailor helped Claremonte onto the muddy ground and then up the shore and onto the street.
Adamat knew from the set of Ricard's shoulders that he was about to do something stupid.
"Fell! Grab him!"
It was too late. Ricard cocked his fist back and punched Claremonte in the nose, dropping him like a sack of potatoes.
Brudanian soldiers surged forward, and Claremonte's Privileged raised a gloved hand, fingers held together as if about to snap them. Adamat's heart leapt into his throat.