The Autumn Republic

Chapter 31

Tamas could feel his anger begin to ebb as he arrived at King Sulem’s tent.

The Deliv messenger escorted him up to the royal guards, then excused himself and returned to the camp, while Tamas and Olem were admitted immediately. Tamas paused once to look toward the west, where he’d last seen flashes of sorcery, but all signs of the battle had faded. He could still sense that sorcery – swallowing darkness in the Else like a bad taste in his mouth.

King Sulem’s tent was not all that different from Tamas’s own, if perhaps a bit more spacious. The king was not an ostentatious man. His luxuries were limited to fine furs, hardwood chairs, and an intricately carved desk in one corner. His sleeping and dressing chambers were closed off from the main room, and a bodyguard stood in each corner, both inside and outside the tent, their bayonets fixed.

Sulem sat cross-legged on a fine cushion in the middle of the floor, reading glasses perched on his nose and what looked to be some kind of report in his hands. Tamas noted the two Privileged in the room – Magus Doranth, head of Sulem’s royal cabal, was a colossus of a man, a head taller than Tamas, with skin as black as night, jade rings on his fingers, and black hair tied in a thick knot behind his neck. He stood beside his king, arms folded, and glared at Tamas.

Privileged Vivia seemed Doranth’s opposite in every manner. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream and she had blue eyes, hinting at ancestry that was not fully Deliv. She had a long, slender face that gave her a queenly visage, and she managed to lounge on one of the hardwood chairs in the corner. From what Tamas knew of the Deliv cabal, these were the two major players – and they disliked each other immensely.

“Vivia,” Olem whispered in Tamas’s ear, “is the one who’s seeing to Bo. They go quite a ways back.”

Tamas bowed. “King Sulem. Privileged,” he said, addressing the group.

“Magus,” Doranth corrected in a low, rumbling voice.

“Is a magus not a Privileged?” Tamas asked.

“You hold the rank of field marshal. Would you rather I call you ‘king-killer’?”

“Oh, let it go.” Sulem waved a hand at his cabal head. “We can prattle on all day about honorifics. We have a problem.”

“I understand that to be the case,” Tamas said. He had not been offered a seat, so he clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the Deliv monarch, who seemed unbothered by Tamas’s looming over him. It was not the king who spoke.

“For the past two days, our baggage train has been ravaged by Kez dragoons,” Vivia said. Her tone was clipped, and she examined Tamas not with the hostility of Doranth but with a certain amount of wariness.

Tamas swore inwardly. The Deliv baggage train was not just supplying the Deliv but was also providing food, surgeons, and ammunition for the Adran army – items his men were running dangerously low on. “I’ve sent my cavalry onto the plains, and last I heard, you had sent three thousand of your own as reinforcements. Are they not getting the job done?” Tamas hadn’t had a report in twelve hours; not something that would normally have concerned him, but now he was nervous. He had thought his men would have little trouble mopping up the Kez cavalry who had slipped up north of them.

“Our people have had a few losses,” Doranth said.

“A few?” Vivia said, her tone rising in disbelief. “You have a strange definition of ‘few,’ Magus.”

Doranth bared his teeth at Vivia. “You’ll be quiet until you’re addressed.”

“No, I will not be quiet.” Vivia rose from her seat, smoothing the front of her Deliv uniform with one hand. “Not while you run this cabal into the ground.” She turned to Tamas. “We fielded six thousand dragoons and cuirassiers forty-eight hours ago. We have less than twenty-seven hundred left.”

Tamas reeled at this information. The Deliv weren’t known for stellar cavalry, but instead for their finely trained infantry. But that didn’t mean their cavalry were worthless. Far from it. How could this be possible?

“Not only that,” she continued, talking over Doranth’s rumbled warning, “but we’ve lost eight Privileged in those two days.”

“Eight Privileged!” Tamas couldn’t contain his outburst. “How?”

“This is none of the powder mage’s business,” Doranth said to Vivia, advancing on her quickly. Vivia made a warding motion with her hand, though neither of them wore their gloves.

“Sit down!” Sulem’s voice cut through the commotion. Both Vivia and Doranth returned to their places. The king sighed, like a schoolteacher taxed to his limit by unruly students. “The Kez dragoons have a magebreaker. A very, very powerful one. He can null the sorcery of my Privileged even at a distance, and his dragoons are better than any of the cavalry my generals have faced in Gurla. They’ve managed a raid against the main camp each of the last two nights, each time assassinating at least one Privileged.”

“No magebreaker is that good,” Tamas said.

“He has those blasted Black Wardens.”

Tamas thought he detected a hint of desperation in Doranth’s voice. It had not occurred to him that the Black Wardens would be that terrifying to a Privileged, but it made sense. Wardens had been created by the Kez cabal to hunt powder mages. Black Wardens had been made from powder mages. It couldn’t get much worse than that.

“Then go after him,” Tamas said. “I’ll bring up my cuirassiers and we’ll perform a sweep of the western plains and crush him together.” He fought down frustration even as he spoke. Ipille was outmaneuvering him. He had betrayed a flag of truce, moved his cavalry into position during the ensuing confusion, and now all he had to do was kill time until they could awake Kresimir. They were doing a damned good job of it.

Sulem climbed slowly to his feet and set his report on his desk. He removed his reading glasses, then gave Doranth a long look. The Deliv cabal head lifted his chin, and some silent communication passed between them. “Out,” Sulem finally said.

“My Liege…”

“Out,” Sulem said again.

Doranth left, his wide shoulder hitting Tamas on his way past.

“You, too,” Sulem said to Vivia. The Privileged woman bowed to her king and retreated after the cabal head.

Tamas searched Sulem’s face. Something was going on here, something under the surface. It wouldn’t bode well for either him or his men.

“My generals are terrified,” Sulem finally said. “This phantom of a dragoon has them jumping at shadows. They’ve never lost so many cavalry in so little time. He’s quick, he has perfect timing, and his ability to nullify the sorcery of my Privileged has everyone in the army on edge. ‘The Kez Wolf.’ ”

Tamas wasn’t sure whether to be more impressed by this Kez magebreaker or by the fact that the Deliv had managed to keep all of this a secret from him the past two days. After all, they were supposed to be working with Tamas. His own limitations had forced him to trust the Deliv entirely.

“In just two days, this magebreaker has shattered the confidence of my cavalry.”

“Losing over half their number will do that,” Olem commented quietly.

The king examined Olem for a moment, as if wondering why a commoner would address him in such a manner, then snorted laughter. “My Privileged will not send out any more riders. They absolutely refuse. You may have seen that battle on the horizon?”

“Yes,” Tamas said.

“That was five of my Privileged letting loose on a raid by the Kez Wolf, just to drive him away from our baggage.”

“Pit.”

“Exactly what I thought.” The king drummed his fingers on his desk. “Those five Privileged barely killed three-score Kez dragoons. The rest of the company escaped. My generals won’t pursue. They fear a trap.”

Tamas watched Sulem for several moments. Normally so serene, the Deliv king seemed uncharacteristically agitated. “We can’t stop to track him down,” he said. “We have to march for Budwiel. We can’t delay.”

“And let this brigand dog our heels?”

Tamas almost told him about Ka-poel and Kresimir. Sulem needed to know why Tamas was so desperate to march on Budwiel. But it wasn’t a tale he cared to explain, nor one that lent itself to believability. “I’ll deal with the Kez dragoons.”

“I…” Sulem spread his hands.

“I will deal with it.” Tamas understood that Sulem was not about to call his own men cowards. Sulem’s generals had rarely, if ever, experienced a battle in which they couldn’t rely on the power of their Privileged. Tamas had been training his men, and himself, to do so for decades – even when there was an Adran Cabal.

Tamas left the king’s tent. It was well past noon, his army was poised to march for the rest of the day, and he knew he had to do something about this immediately. “Olem, I…” He paused. Doranth stood nearby, his big arms crossed, face livid.

Tamas found himself less and less inclined to exercise restraint. He crossed to the Deliv magus. “All the power at your fingertips and you’ll let a single magebreaker shut you down?”

Doranth opened his mouth.

“No,” Tamas said. “No excuses. This is war, not some stupid bloody political game. If you can’t win it with the tools you have, you make new tools. Something you damned Privileged will never understand.”

“You’re a fool.”

“And you’re a coward.”

Doranth unfolded his arms to reveal he had put on his gloves. He threw his arms wide, like a bear ready to swipe, a snarl on his lips.

Tamas stepped inside Doranth’s guard, even as Olem drew his pistol. He stared up at the towering magus. “No,” he said. “Not a good idea. I may be an old man, but I’m running a mighty powder trance right now and I’ll twist your balls off before you can twitch a finger. You might be able to kill me before I can end you, but you’ll die squealing a moment later. Remember what I did to the Adran Cabal.”

Doranth’s arms shook with fury. Moments passed, and Tamas could feel the sweat rolling down his back and wondered idly if he really could take the magus with him. He was getting old. His reflexes weren’t what they once were.

Doranth lowered his arms and tugged his gloves off. “I will kill you, Powder Mage.”

“I’ll probably be long dead before you get the chance.” Tamas stepped away. “Let’s go, Olem.”

It wasn’t until they were out of the Deliv camp that Tamas allowed himself a relieved sigh. “Pit,” Tamas said, wiping his brow, “I should not threaten allied Privileged.”

“I thought it was an interesting tactical choice,” Olem said.

“And I thought you were around to keep me from doing stupid things.”

“You looked in control from where I was standing.”

“Then why did you draw your pistol?”

Olem shrugged. “Just in case.”

“You’re a man to inspire confidence.”

“I try.”

Tamas could sense a plan forming in his head. “Find me Beon je Ipille. And that Privileged girl. Meet me in my tent in twenty minutes.”

“His name,” Beon said, “is Saseram.”

Tamas watched Beon through narrowed eyes. He’d undone his jacket, as his tent felt warm and muggy despite the cool breeze outside. There was an ache deep in his bones, and he wondered how many years it had been since he last had a drink. “That’s a Gurlish name.”

“That’s because he is Gurlish,” Beon responded.

“A Gurlish cavalryman, fighting for the Kez? That seems a stretch.” Tamas glanced at Olem, who had raised a skeptical eyebrow. Nila stood beside him, looking uncertain of herself. She’d changed out of her scorched dress and now wore a white daydress with a violet scarf.

“He changed sides during the third campaign – it was his defection that allowed us to take Delfiss. This was all when I was very young, of course. All I know is what I’ve heard from father.”

“I’ve always wondered about Delfiss. So he’s a magebreaker?”

Beon smoothed the front of his uniform. “Well, I didn’t want to give up any state secrets, but if you already know – yes. That was a condition of his defection. He was once a very powerful Gurlish Privileged. My father wasn’t interested in allowing a foreign Privileged the run of his army. The way he tells it, Saseram agreed almost too quickly. He willed away his Privileged powers and became a magebreaker.”

“Magebreakers are former Privileged who are able to nullify sorcery,” Tamas said to Nila, who was looking more than a little lost. “Most of them had little power to start with, and that’s reflected in how close a proximity they must be to stop magic. I hired one once. He was fairly weak and had to be within spitting distance to stop sorcery. A powerful Privileged turned magebreaker can stop quite a bit more.”

Beon glanced toward her. “May I ask who this is?”

“So he’s a Gurlish Wolf rather than a Kez. Why have I not heard of this man?” Tamas asked, ignoring the question.

Beon’s eyes lingered on Nila for a moment. “Because he changed his name when he entered Kez service.”

“And who was he before that?” The Gurlish Wars had been a bloody series of campaigns half a world away involving most countries in the Nine. Tamas could think of half a dozen powerful Gurlish Privileged who had died or disappeared under mysterious circumstances.

Beon smiled in response, and glanced at Nila, but Tamas shook his head. He wasn’t about to reveal Nila’s identity over this. Not just to sate his own curiosity. “Anyway,” Beon continued, “he’s been rotting in some border town for the last fifteen years. He’s a bloody good cavalryman, maybe even better than me – and an expert in guerrilla warfare. I imagine that you’ll have a very hard time catching him indeed.”

Tamas didn’t have time for this. A few hours ago, he had been ready to order his men to march through the night so he could catch the Kez forces at Auberdel. Now he discovered that his allies – fifty thousand strong, including a third of a royal cabal – had been cowed by a single regiment of Kez cavalry.

“Thank you, Beon.”

The Kez nobleman seemed to know he was being dismissed. He stood, brushing his hands together, eyeing Nila. She met his gaze, and Tamas chuckled inwardly. He had known that there would be a day when the Adran Cabal would need to be rebuilt. He had secretly hoped it would be long after his death. But he could do a lot worse than having Borbador and Nila as its foundation.

With Beon gone, Tamas climbed to his feet and rebuttoned his jacket. “Olem, have you created a cavalry regiment for your Riflejacks yet?”

“Yes sir. Six hundred dragoons and three hundred cuirassiers.”

“Excellent. Take another five hundred cuirassiers – the Fifteenth won’t miss them – and hunt this Gurlish magebreaker down.”

Olem straightened. “Sir!”

“You wanted a command, Olem. You’ve got it now. Don’t let me down.”

“I won’t, sir!” Olem grinned proudly, his shoulders squared.

“And Privileged Nila.”

Nila swallowed hard, but she met Tamas’s eye. He held his hands behind his back so that she couldn’t see his nervousness, and wondered if he was making the right decision.

“You’re going with Olem. Burn those bastards to the ground.”

He had the brief satisfaction of her eyes growing wide before he strode out into the sunlight to let his men know they would be leaving at first light.