Field Marshal Tamas sat behind the desk, his head in his hands. He looked up when Adamat entered. He looked like he’d just been shouting at someone.
“You have a report for me?” he asked in a surprisingly calm voice.
“Yes.” He hefted the books in his arms. “And more.”
Tamas jerked his head toward the balcony. “Forgive me a moment,” he told his officers.
Outside, the sun was shining. The breeze made Adamat wish he’d worn a thicker jacket. It was windier up here than at street level.
“What do you have for me?”
Adamat set the books aside. “Kresimir’s Promise.”
“And?”
“I’ve just returned from the South Pike Mountainwatch. There I interviewed Privileged Borbador, the last remaining Privileged of Manhouch’s royal cabal.”
“Formerly of the royal cabal,” Tamas said. “He was exiled. Otherwise he’d be buried in an unmarked grave with the rest.”
Adamat grimaced. “We’ll get to that in a moment. When I mentioned the Promise, Bo laughed at me. It’s an old legend, passed down among members of the royal cabal. It says that Kresimir promised the original kings of the Nine that their progeny would rule forever. If their lines were cut off, he would return himself and take vengeance.”
“A fairy story meant to scare children,” Tamas said.
“Bo said the same thing. The legend was perpetuated by the kings in order to keep the royal cabals in line. Their fear was that as soon as Kresimir left, the Privileged would seize power themselves.”
“I don’t see how it could be true. What educated man would take that seriously?”
“Apparently the older members of the royal cabal.”
Tamas grunted at this.
“It did get me thinking,” Adamat said. “Bo made a vague reference to the notion that the kings had other ways to keep the royal cabals in line – something that would make Kresimir’s Promise unnecessary.”
This piqued Tamas’s interest. “Go on.”
Adamat picked up one of the books. He found a page he’d marked, and handed it to Tamas. When Tamas had finished reading, Adamat had another passage in a different book for him, then another in the third.
Tamas handed the last book back, his face troubled.
“A gaes,” he said.
“A compelling, of sorts. Every Royal Privileged has it. If the king is killed, they are compelled to avenge him. It gets stronger and stronger over time until they either succeed or it kills them out-right. The gaes is manifested by a demon’s carbuncle – a large gem worn on the Privileged’s person that they cannot take off. When I spoke with Bo, I saw him fiddling at a necklace repeatedly. And this.” He flipped to a different page in the third book and handed it to Tamas.
Tamas scowled as he read. When he’d finished, he flipped the book shut and handed it back to Adamat. “So the gaes is permanent. Nothing can remove it, not even being exiled or removed from the royal cabal.”
“Indeed. One other thing,” Adamat said. He quickly explained his run-in with Rozalia and the message she’d sent to Bo. “As soon as he heard that message, he bolted back into the Mountainwatch. When I went to find him to ask him what it meant, he refused to see me. I saw him head out of the north gate of South Pike an hour later.”
“The north gate…?” Tamas said.
“The mountain gate. The one pilgrims use to reach the South Pike’s peak, where Kresimir first set foot on the mountain. It’s the only route up there.”
Tamas leaned against the balcony railing and looked up toward the sun. “What do you think of all this?”
Adamat had thought hard on this question the entire five-day journey back from South Pike. “I’m a reasonable man, sir. A modern man. While the last words of sorcerers give me the chills, there’s no going around it. The whole thing is rubbish. It smacks of religion. There’s a reason the royal cabals distanced themselves from the Kresim Church five hundred years ago.”
“I agree,” Tamas said. “And this thing with the gaes?”
“There’s religion and then there’s sorcery. I confirmed this with secondary sources,” Adamat said, gesturing to the stack of books. “Sorcery is deadly serious.”
“Looks like I can’t spare Borbador after all.” Pain crossed Tamas’s face quickly enough that Adamat thought he’d imagined it. Tamas gave him a look up and down. “You’ve done a commendable job,” he said, offering his hand. “You went above and beyond what I asked.”
“I’m sorry it came to nothing,” Adamat said, shaking the field marshal’s hand.
“No need to be sorry about it. Better to know it’s nothing than to not know it’s something. See the reeve about payment. I’ll make sure he’s not stingy. Good day.”
Taniel jerked awake, a pistol in his hand. He struggled to focus on the figure looming above him.
“You’re going to blow a foot off sleeping with that.”
Taniel sagged back to his bed and dropped the pistol on the floor.
“What do you want?”
Tamas pulled the only chair over and sat down, kicking his boots up on the edge of Taniel’s bed. “That’s no way to talk to your father.”
“Go to the pit.”
There were a few moments of silence. Taniel could barely think. He’d tried not taking powder last night. He’d lasted until about two in the morning before he went looking for his powder horn. Ka-poel had hidden it, along with his snuffbox full of powder and all his spare charges. His pistol wasn’t even loaded. Savage bitch. He’d just barely fallen asleep.
“Vlora was looking for you.”
“I don’t care.”
“I wouldn’t tell her where you were.”
“I don’t care.”
“I threw Duke Nikslaus into the Adsea.”
Taniel opened his eyes and sat up. His father was cleaning his nails. He looked pleased with himself.
“I think I’ve started a war,” Tamas said.
“Should have blown his head off. The Adsea’s too good for him.”
Tamas took a deep breath. “No, a bullet is too good for him. I want that man to suffer. I want that man to feel humiliation. But I want it to last.”
Taniel grunted his agreement.
“It was calculated,” Tamas said.
“What was?”
“King Ipille sending Nikslaus. He wanted me angry. He wanted me to beat him or kill him. He wanted an excuse to start a war.”
“So did you. From the very beginning you wanted to go at them.”
“I’ve been thinking,” Tamas said. “Over the last few months. I’ve been thinking that we should avoid war. Especially after the earthquake. We need to rebuild our country, feed our people. Too late now.”
“Can we take them?” Taniel’s head was starting to clear. That wasn’t a good thing. It pounded harder than a smith’s hammer.
“Maybe,” Tamas said. “The Church is threatening to take sides. The Kez side, more specifically. They didn’t like me throwing Nikslaus in the Adsea. That pompous bag Charlemund says he’s trying to convince them otherwise. I believe him. I have to believe him. He was Adran before he became an arch-diocel, after all.”
Taniel swung his legs out of bed and groaned. His body hurt. His head hurt. Whatever luck or sorcery or what-have-you that saved his life at the university had not spared him the aches of the aftermath.
“I have a new chef,” Tamas said.
Taniel gave his father a long look. Why should he care? His whole body ached. He just wanted powder, and Pole had hidden it all.
“He says he’s Adom reborn,” Tamas went on. “I should have had him arrested, but his cooking is too damned good. Rumor has it he’s been making food for half the regiments. Don’t know how he does it, but the men like him. I’ve got a war about to start and a mad cook quickly becoming the most popular man in the army. And…”