Mihali glanced at Ka-poel. "I've studied the Bone-eyes. Not in depth. Being in Dynize and Fatrasta, so far away from Adro, taxes my strength. I never knew how Kresimir and the rest left the planet. They always called me a homebody for not wanting to explore the cosmos. Anyway, the Bone-eyes have incredible magic. So very different from anything Kresimir or the others could imagine. You, my dear, are truly terrifying. So much potential."
Mihali didn't look terrified. If anything, he seemed intrigued.
The chef turned to Taniel. "And powder mages! Kresimir wouldn't have expected that. After all, gunpowder wasn't invented until hundreds of years after he left." Mihali drummed a pudgy finger on his chin. "He's going mad, you know. That Bone-eye bullet you put in his eye was never removed. It's in his brain, causing him incredible pain every day."
Taniel tried to work moisture into his mouth. Kresimir, a god, was going mad. All because of him. "Does he know who shot him?"
"I believe he knows. What you did on South Pike is barely a rumor in the Adran army, and the only two to survive that battle on the Kez side were Julene and Kresimir." Mihali paused. "Of course, he has Julene. Then he must know."
"He nailed Julene to a beam. Cut off her hands. Why would he do that?"
Mihali frowned. "Julene. Misguided child. She may or may not have deserved that, but I don't think torture does anyone any good."
Taniel noticed that Mihali had sidestepped the question about Julene. He decided not to press it.
"How can I kill him?"
"Kresimir? Hmm. What makes you think I'd tell you?"
Taniel rocked back. "But … you're on our side. Aren't you?" He felt his muscles tense, a bit of fear touching his heart.
"I defend Adro. It's my country, after all. However, Kresimir is still my brother. I love him. I will not see him dead. I would, however, like to stop him. Help him. If I can get that bullet out of his brain, I might even be able to reason with him and end this whole thing."
Taniel's fingers curled into fists. "I'm going to kill him."
"That may be your path." Mihali examined his inventory paper. Once again, he seemed to be counting.
It was several moments before Taniel spoke again. "The generals. Do they know … ?"
"Oh, Tamas told them. Most of them don't believe it."
"But they know you're a powerful Privileged?"
Mihali nodded. "An uncomfortable truth. They asked me to participate in the fighting and I refused. After all, the Privileged with the Wings of Adom are doing a fine job keeping the remainder of the Kez Cabal in check."
"Did you tell them that Tamas was alive?"
"Of course."
Taniel blinked at this. "Then why haven't they told me? Hilanska … surely he would have said something if there were hope."
"Not even a god sees everything," Mihali said. "I do not know. But I don't trust the generals. I'm sure that most of them have Adro's best interests at heart. But a few … "
"General Ket."
Mihali shrugged. "The provosts are here, by the way."
Taniel stepped to the tent flap and took a peek. Dozens of them had gathered outside.
"Pit. Can I get out the back way?"
"They've surrounded the tent. It's probably best that you go with them."
"I won't let them arrest me. The bastards. I -"
Mihali cleared his throat. "As I said. It's probably for the best. For now, anyway."
Taniel's mind raced. What to do? Run for it? Go out, dignified, and let them take him away? "Answer me this, first: What has happened to me? I'm stronger and faster than before. I've never felt this kind of power. It took enough mala to kill a horse just to get me buzzed. I know it's more than just being a powder mage. Is it because of her?" He flung his finger toward Ka-poel, who raised an eyebrow in response.
Mihali hesitated for several moments. "You've been tempered," he said. "This girl here has you wrapped in protective sorceries. Kresimir's returning strike after you shot him was enough to bring down South Pike Mountain. It should have shattered your mortal body. That blow he gave you could very well have killed me, for all my knowledge of sorcery. But you … " Mihali chuckled, as if something was funny. "You, it just made stronger."
"That doesn't make any sense, it -"
"It's time to go," Mihali said.
Taniel took a deep breath. "All right. Ka-poel, stay here. I don't want them touching you." Without waiting for an answer, he stepped out of the tent and into daylight.
The provosts surrounded him quickly, their pikes leveled.
"All right, you bastards. Take me to General Ket, I -"
Someone brought a truncheon down on his head, hard. Taniel staggered forward, spitting blood from the blow. Another hit his stomach, then his knee. He collapsed to the ground. He was cursed and kicked and beaten, and when he thought he could take no more, he was pulled to his feet and struck about the face and head until he lost consciousness.
CHAPTER
20
Tamas listened to his stomach growl as his charger trotted along the road at the rear of the column. Ahead of him, the men of the Ninth Brigade shuffled to the crack of a single drummer boy's snare. The air was hot and oppressive, even with the cover of tall pine trees. The summer humidity soaked through Tamas's soiled jacket and made every breath a labor.
He watched one of the infantry in the column ahead of him. The man was tall, with dirty-blond hair pulled back in a ponytail over one shoulder. About twenty minutes ago his shoulders had started to sway dangerously as he marched. He'd be the next to faint. Tamas would have put money on it.
Every so often the soldiers would glance back at Tamas's charger with hungry eyes. They watched with the same looks every scout and officer who was still riding. It was unsettling.
They'd slaughtered the last of the Kez horses two days ago and distributed the meat. Tamas heard rumor that some of the company quartermasters were holding back and selling the last precious pounds. He'd tried to get to the bottom of it, but no one would confess. Every stream they passed saw a dozen men leave the line, throwing themselves into the mud in search of tiny fish and crawdads. Their sergeants had to beat them back into the column.
"They think they're going to get a meal soon," Olem said.
Tamas shook himself from his reverie. He felt light-headed, weak. He'd not eaten in four days. The men on their feet needed it more than he did. At least there was some periodic grazing for the horses.
Olem pointed up to a pair of buzzards circling high above the treetops.
"Ah," Tamas said.
"They've been following us for fifty miles," Olem said.
"You can't be sure it's the same vultures."
"One of 'em has red on the tips of his feathers."
Tamas grunted. Words were coming slow out of his mouth. The heat didn't make him feel much like talking.
"That red-tipped buzzard kept on when most of the others stayed behind at the camp two mornings ago, when we slaughtered the horses." Olem pursed his lips. "I think he's hoping for the big payday."
Tamas looked up at the buzzards. He didn't want to talk about them. He'd seen far too many on far too many battlefields. "I haven't seen you smoke for a week," he said.
"Too bloody hot, pardon the language, sir." Olem patted his breast pocket. "Besides. I'm saving my last one."
"A special occasion of some kind?"
Olem continued to watch the buzzards. "Gavril told me we might be making a stand at the Fingers. I figure it'll be nice to die with a cigarette between my lips."
Tamas couldn't help but scowl. "Have you told anyone? About the stand, I mean."
"No, sir."
"Damned Gavril. Needs to keep his mouth shut."
"So it's true, then?"
"I don't intend to make a last stand, Olem. I intend to break the Kez. Last stands are for men who plan on losing."
"Quite right, sir."
Tamas sighed inwardly. Soldiers had a strange sense of fatalism. Most of them didn't realize that any odds could be beaten with the right maneuvering.
"Olem … " Tamas began.
"Sir?"
"About what I saw the other day … "
A muscle jumped in Olem's jaw. "What do you mean, sir?"
"I think you know what I mean. Vlora. If I'd come a few minutes later, I think I would have found the two of you in a much more compromising position."
"That was the hope, sir."
Tamas blinked. He'd not expected that kind of bluntness. "Can't hold your tongue to save face, can you?"
"Not to save my life, sir."
"I won't have that kind of fraternization, Olem."
"What kind, sir?" The corners of Olem's eyes tightened.
"You and Vlora. She is a captain, you are -"
"A captain," Olem said. "You made me one yourself." He touched the gold pins on his lapels helpfully.
Tamas cleared his throat and looked up. Those damned buzzards were still there. "I mean that she is a powder mage. You know my mages are a different contingent of the army. I won't have you crossing that line."
Olem looked like he wanted to say something. He worked his jaw around, chewing on a phantom cigarette. "Yes, sir. Whatever you say, sir."
The sarcasm in Olem's tone leaked through like water through paper. It nearly shocked Tamas. Olem was normally so loyal, so quick to obey. He opened his mouth, a rebuke on his tongue.