Adamat spoke so quickly that it did not even occur to him to fudge the truth or lie outright until afterward. When he finished, he fell to sit on the stairs, his hands shaking, and he felt drained. It seemed his age had caught up to him then, and far surpassed him.
Lord Vetas took a moment to think. “Two months of investigation, and this is all you have?”
Adamat narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been doing the work of twenty men.”
“And these are all the details, you’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” Adamat said. “I do not forget things.”
“Ah, yes. Your Knack. Tell me more about this… pending destruction of Adro,” Lord Vetas said.
“I know very little.” Adamat was tired. He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into a hole. “It is a prophecy that Kresimir will return. It implies a great deal of violence accompanying his return. An old legend.”
Lord Vetas remained thoughtful. He dabbed at his neck one last time to remove the blood there and put on his hat. “I’ll be back,” he said. “I hope you’ll have something of greater interest for me when I do. If not…” His eyes flicked to the box in Adamat’s robe pocket.
Chapter 25
Taniel wiped the blood from his face and watched a pair of women drag another Watcher away from the bulwark. The man’s skull had been creased by a bullet, not a minute after he and Taniel had shared a flagon of wine behind the relative safety of the bastion walls. Taniel closed his eyes and tried to remember the man’s face. He’d sketch it later tonight.
Blood was everywhere; new blood, old blood. Fresh splatters of red on the ground and on Taniel’s coat; old rusty stains on everything. The whole bastion smelled of salty iron. The sickly, clogging scent of death wafted up from below and warred with the clouds of black powder for Taniel’s senses.
The Kez were carrying the wounded down the mountainside at an alarming rate. Men were pushed and passed along like sacks of grain to make room for new soldiers. A week ago they’d constructed a V-shaped slide of lumber that went all the way down to Mopenhague. The dead were dumped in and prodded down by men with sticks, their faces wrapped in linen scarves. The wood had long since turned a brownish red. Taniel didn’t even want to imagine what that slide smelled like. He could see great pits on the plains below where the bodies were being dumped.
Taniel sat with his back against the bulwark, cleaning and reloading his rifle. A regular bullet this time – he was running low on redstripes. Beside him, Ka-poel wore her long black duster and hat. A bullet had taken a piece out of one lapel. She returned his worried look with a cryptic tilt of her head. He got up on one knee and looked over the bastion wall.
The redoubts had fallen weeks ago. No attempt had been made to retake them. Kez soldiers hid on the far side of their walls and waited there for orders. Taniel caught a soldier peeking too far around the wall and took his shot. The man grabbed for his face and yelled. He lost his footing. With a stumble he was rolling down the hill, taking two of his comrades with him as he grabbed blindly to arrest his fall.
If he survived the tumble, he’d be disfigured for life.
Taniel pushed the thought from his mind and turned around to reload. A bullet glanced off the wall near him just a moment after he ducked down. He took a deep breath and began reloading. “Find me a Privileged,” he told Ka-poel. She gave a nod and peeked over the top of the wall.
There’d been weeks of this. Kez soldiers held the mountainside just beyond the first redoubt. They piled soil high on the road to give themselves cover and cowered behind rocks and dirt and whatever they could find. Artillery had been moved up. Blasted remains had tumbled down the mountainside not long after, destroyed by the Watch cannons. More artillery moved up, accompanied by shielded Privilegeds. After countless tries, they’d formed a beachhead, and now artillery thumped away at the bulwark from at least fifteen cleared spots on the mountainside.
Every few hours they rushed the bulwark-like clockwork they formed behind their barriers and readied their weapons. A horn would sound. They’d charge up the hill, only to meet with withering fire. Taniel could practically see the promises of glory in their officers’ eyes before he gunned them down. It turned his stomach.
Each rush failed, yet each time they inched a little closer to the fortress. The Watch was losing men too. Canister shot pierced Bo’s tentative shields of sorcery above them. Bullets took musketmen between the eyes when they lined up to take a shot. Even some sorcery was beginning to make it through. A man had been burned alive by a sliver of Privileged fire yesterday. The bastion still smelled of charred flesh.
Taniel finished loading his rifle with a redstripe and took a few deep breaths. Ka-poel flashed a hand signal. Target found. Eleven o’clock from his position. He pictured it in his mind. One of the gun emplacements.
His rise to take a shot was arrested by the arrival of Gavril. The big Watchmaster scurried toward Taniel, head down, a bottle of wine in one hand and a pewter mug in the other. He fell down beside Taniel, back thumping against the bulwark, and waved the bottle under Taniel’s nose.
“How are things on the front, Marked?” he asked.
Ka-poel tapped Taniel’s shoulder. Repeated the hand motions. He took a deep breath and stood up at the wall. Less than a second to line up his shot. He pulled the trigger and dropped back down, breathing deep of the powder smoke. Ka-poel watched. She gave him a nod, but moved her hand, horizontally at her waist. He’d hit the Privileged, but not a killing shot.
Taniel gave Gavril his best scowl. “Shot full of holes. Why are you so happy?”
“Saint Adom’s Festival wine!” Gavril held up the bottle. “They’ve sent enough from Adopest to get the whole Kez army drunk. Pity there’s a war on. Late spring is the only time of year I can abide Adopest. The festival wine certainly helps.” He paused to fill the pewter cup and offered it to Taniel. Taniel waved him off.
“Already had a lick,” he said. “Five minutes ago.”
Ka-poel took the wine bottle from Gavril’s hand. She upended the bottle, taking deep gulps. Taniel took it from her. “Not too much, girl,” he said. She snatched the bottle back, taking another draw from it.
“If they can kill,” Gavril said, “they can drink. This girl’s plenty grown up, Taniel. Just save enough for me, lass.” Gavril took the bottle back and drained the last of it in one long draft. He smacked his lips, thick cheeks flushed, and Taniel wondered how many bottles the Watchmaster had already put away. He felt a little concern – rumor had it that Gavril had started drinking heavily again during the nights. He hoped it wasn’t true.
It wasn’t the only rumor to concern him. “Wine’s all good,” Taniel said. “But I’d rather have gunpowder. Any word on the shortage?” They’d gone through their stores at an alarming rate. What should have lasted a year’s siege was spent in just a few weeks. The Kez just had too many soldiers.
Gavril shook his head. “Nothing from Adopest. The last courier said the army still has plenty. Even still, they shorted us two whole cartloads last week.” He scowled. “I ordered the artillery to go easy the next few days. I have the feeling we’ll be seeing hand-to-hand soon.”
“You really think they’ll make it over the bulwark?”
“Eventually.” Gavril suddenly looked very tired. His bulk sagged a little, and his face revealed a man fighting a war of attrition he felt he might lose. “We’ve killed twenty thousand men already. Wounded as many more, and yet they keep coming. They say there’s a million down on that plain below, each one with words of glory and promises of riches in their ears.”
“I heard Ipille has offered a whole duchy to the officer who leads the charge that breaks us.”
“Heard the same thing,” Gavril said. “And they’ll make officers of the first thousand soldiers who follow him in.”