“It’s worse than that,” Mihali said. “If it was just you, I’d be sorry, but…”
Tamas felt ill. His leg had begun to throb again. He shifted and felt a stab of pain. He choked back vomit. “What do you mean?”
“He’ll destroy the whole country,” Mihali said. “Every man, woman, and child. Every plant and animal. He’ll raze it to the ground.”
“Why?”
“My brother is not a… kind god,” Mihali said. “He’ll find it easier to start over.”
Tamas clenched his fists. Gods. How could he deal with that? What could he do? “Why hasn’t he done it yet?”
Mihali regarded South Pike Mountain. “He has been on a long journey, my brother. I don’t think he actually ever intended to return. But he will be summoned. There are those who seek to accomplish that, those who seek to prevent its happening.” Mihali turned to Tamas. “It’s too late for you to influence that battle. I will try to protect Adro from his power, but you need to clean your house.”
“The traitor,” Tamas whispered.
“If there are more interruptions like this” – he gestured around them – “if there are more distractions…”
“But I don’t know who it is,” Tamas said.
“He might,” Olem said, pointing across the square. Tamas turned to see Sabon and Adamat rushing toward them.
Chapter 37
Elections Square was in shambles. Soldiers wandered about the clutter of fallen chairs and spilled food and overturned tables as if after a battle, dolefully picking among the debris. A few townsfolk were being taken away on stretchers as Adamat arrived, and a knot of men had gathered beneath the steps of the House of Nobles.
Adamat watched Sabon reach the knot ahead of him. He slowed to a walk, casting about for signs of what had happened. Were they too late? People had fled in chaos, that much was clear. But what had happened? Adamat didn’t see any of the Barbers or any fallen soldiers. Those on the ground weren’t in uniforms of any kind, only townsfolk caught by some kind of crossfire. He saw slashed throats, blood spilled on the cobbles, even a few gunshot wounds. Families gathered around their fallen members. Women wailed.
Adamat reached the knot of soldiers and let out a sigh of relief. Tamas was there, along with the vice-chancellor and Mihali, the master chef. Tamas’s bodyguard hovered nearby, a frown on his face as he studied the chef. Lady Winceslav stood nearby, and both Ricard Tumblar and Ondraus the Reeve approached from across the square as Tamas’s troops fanned out to help the wounded.
Sabon shook his head to something Tamas asked him. They both turned expectantly to Adamat.
Tamas opened his mouth to speak.
“Charlemund,” Adamat said. “The arch-diocel.”
Rage danced across Tamas’s face. He warred with his emotions a moment before gaining his composure. Through clenched teeth he said, “How do you know?”
Adamat explained quickly about Siemone the priest and Teef’s confession. “It has to be Charlemund,” Adamat said. “The priest Teef described matched Siemone too well to be coincidence.”
“This priest,” Tamas said. “It’s not possible he’s working for someone else?”
“No.” Yes, of course it was possible. There was never absolute certainty. But it was very unlikely, and Adamat had to be firm in his decision.
Tamas’s bodyguard drew near. “Let’s tear him down,” Olem said. “We have the name. We have a witness. We can’t hesitate.”
“Agreed,” Sabon said.
Tamas closed his eyes.
“It must be done,” Sabon said.
Adamat watched the field marshal. Tamas was scared, he realized. Charlemund was the only member of his council with the power to crush him outright. Tamas could leave him be, and wait for the next assassin, or he could attack and risk the wrath of the Church. Adamat did not envy Tamas that decision.
Tamas slowly studied the faces of those around him. His gaze came to rest on the chef. Mihali gave Tamas a brief nod. There was something here that Adamat had missed. “Why did he come after you?” Tamas asked the chef.
Mihali stared at nothing for a moment, a scowl on his face. “That is cloudy,” he said. “Julene is a Predeii. She knows I inhabit a mortal body. Perhaps she warned him. Or perhaps others have entered the fray.”
Tamas waited for Ricard Tumblar and Ondraus. When they’d arrived, he said, “Charlemund has betrayed our cause. I will not suffer that. I do not know if his treachery has the blessing of the Church. I do not care. Who stands with me?”
“I,” Ricard said, stepping forward.
“I do,” Lady Winceslav said.
Prime Lektor nodded.
“Of course,” Ondraus said with a snort.
Tamas said, “Prepare the horses and carriages. Get me whatever troops we have on hand. I’m going to arrest the arch-diocel.”
“Go to him?” Sabon asked. “Why can’t we just call a meeting? When he comes, we will take him.”
“We have to force him to play his hand,” Tamas said. “His spies will tell him the attack on Mihali failed and that he has been exposed. If he flees, we confirm his guilt. If he stays, we will confront him. Either way, I will not let him escape. Get moving.”
Adamat felt himself swept aside as the soldiers rushed into action. Tamas paused beside him, leaning heavily on his cane, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good work,” he said. “Go home. Pack up.” His voice dropped. “Get your family out of the country. If everything goes well, I will have use for you and your skills in the future.”
Did he joke? Adamat searched Tamas’s face. No. He was serious. Too serious. Tamas moved away, jerking like a marionette as he walked, his crutch clicking against the paving stones.
Signs of cave lions only increased as Taniel’s company approached the summit. The dogs pulled at their harnesses despite Rina’s rebukes. Half the time they wanted to give chase. Half the time they whimpered, tugging Rina back down the slope.
Taniel felt his own nerves begin to fray. In his mind the cave lions were beyond each slight rise, or waiting to pounce from every boulder. The wild eyes of his companions said they were thinking the same thing. Yet they weren’t being tracked. All signs said the creatures were ahead of them, following the Kez in force. By their tracks there were at least seventy of the creatures, and growing more numerous by the mile.
They found the first body partially devoured and dragged to the side of the trail. It was torn and mangled, blood soaking the white snow, but easy enough to tell it had been a cave lion. Ka-poel squatted beside it, her fingers searching through the snow. Taniel thought he saw her put something in her pack. He came up beside her.
“What killed it?” he asked. He already had a pretty good idea.
Ka-poel mimed firing a rifle.
He nodded. “So the Kez know they’re being followed. And these creatures. They feast on their own kind. How far from the top?” he asked when saw Bo had joined them.
“Not far, I think,” Bo said. “I’ve only come this high once before.” He turned to the monk. “Del?”
Their guide had paled at the sight of the cave lion carcass. Slowly, his hands shaking, he lifted one arm to point ahead. “There,” he managed.
Taniel followed his gaze toward an outcropping where the trail disappeared. “That close?” Taniel frowned. “Where’s the city?”
“There,” Del said again.
“You’ll see what he means,” Bo said.
It took less than half an hour to reach the height Del had indicated. They climbed a steep knoll in the road. Taniel paused to catch his breath, only to find it whisked from him at the sight below.
He stood on the lip of a vast crater. It had to be tens of miles across and it was hundreds of feet deep. Taniel wobbled, then regained his footing.