His advancement to the rank of major had been approved.
The hub of the Adran government was an immense, six-story building in the center of Adopest. It had marble floors, gorgeously-wrought stonework, and magnificent arched hallways. It was a building that could take away the breath of even a seasoned campaigner-which Tamas was.
He marched swiftly up to the second floor, where he reached the landing only to be shoved roughly to one side.
A challenge died on his lips. He’d been shoved-or rather, brusquely shouldered-by a hulking woman in the crimson and gray of the royal cabal. Tamas pressed himself against the wall without comment to let her and the other five guards tramp past him. Each of them bore a pike, with a heavy saber at their belt and a cuirass on their breast, and they marched in a diamond formation around a Privileged sorcerer.
The Privileged was a handsome woman of about forty-five with streaks of gray in her raven hair. She had a regal bearing and wore the runed gloves that allowed her to draw sorcery from the Else. In his thirteen years in the army he’d seen countless Privileged, both at home and abroad, but had never spoken to one. And he’d never seen one in the House of Nobles.
He watched her proceed down the stairs, troubled for a reason that he could not pinpoint, the smell of jasmine perfume lingering behind her.
When he’d managed to shake himself of his reverie, he looked down at the summons in his hand and proceeded down the hallway. He entered a small antechamber, where the general’s secretary immediately ushered him into the general’s office.
The man behind the desk was not General Seske.
Tamas snapped to attention. “Colonel Westeven, sir!”
The colonel was a tall man, thin as a fencepost, and in his late forties, he was already completely bald. He was one of the few superiors for which Tamas felt any sort of respect. Both a capable commander and politician, he was expected to be named general before the end of the year.
“Sit down, Captain,” Westeven said without looking up from the letter he was writing.
“Thank you, sir.” Tamas took the chair across from Westeven and smoothed out the message he received. “I was told that I was to meet General Seske here, sir.” He resisted the urge to rub at his nose. He could still smell the Privileged’s jasmine perfume.
“General Seske is in Budwiel,” Westeven said.
Tamas frowned. “Sir?”
Westeven finally looked up. His face was somber. “The general has me handling all of his business while he is on holiday.”
“I see.”
“Indeed. Captain, do you mind if I call you Tamas?”
Tamas hesitated. The colonel was acting very strangely. “No, sir.”
“Tamas, I like to think of myself as an honest man, so I will not lie to you. Until five minutes ago I had intended to present you with papers honoring your advancement to the rank of major. I would have done so with pleasure.”
Tamas wet his lips. This was not going anywhere good, and he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“Five minutes ago, I was informed that you have been accused of cheating in a duel. Furthermore …”
Tamas leapt to his feet, hand on his small sword. “That is a lie!”
“Furthermore,” Westeven continued, talking over him and gesturing that he sit, “I have been instructed to suspend you until we can convene a hearing before two magistrates and two members of the General Staff.”
“I must protest, sir! I would never do such a thing. My last duel was completely legal and witnessed by two seconds. My opponent was barely wounded!”
“Be quiet, Captain, and let me speak!” Westeven gave a frustrated sigh. “Your suspension from duty begins immediately. I know this means you’ll miss the next campaigning season in Gurla, and I know how much that means to you. But this is a grave accusation that the Adran army takes most seriously.”
“Sir, the hearing may not be for months.”
“That is true,” Westeven admitted.
“Is Captain Linz my accuser?“
“I’m not able to give you that information right now,” Westeven said. “And I strongly suggest that you don’t do anything rash. You and I both know that a man of your station cannot afford to make any mistakes.”
“Which is why I would not have — ” Tamas began.
Westeven cut him off. “That is not for me to decide. Again, Tamas, I do this regretfully.” He got to his feet and crossed to the window, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked out over the square below. “I’m your greatest admirer, Tamas. Only a handful of commoners have ever risen to captain in the Adran army and none of them have made major. Unlike many of my colleagues, I see it not as an embarrassment to the system but rather a testament to your own skill and bravery. I’ve watched you lead men into battle. I’ve seen you fight. You’re a damned good soldier and a natural leader.”
Tamas sat stiffly, the summons that he had so happily grasped as he hurried to the House of Nobles now forgotten on the desk. “Thank you, sir,” he rasped. He stared at his boots, cursing his pride. If he had just walked away from Linz the night he had been insulted, none of this would have happened. “Is there anything I can do for myself, sir?”
“Keep your boots polished and mind your manners. Cheating in a duel is enough to see you lose your rank. It shouldn’t be enough to see you tossed from the army completely, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someone pushes it that far. There are a lot of men who don’t like seeing a commoner climb the ranks.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“And Tamas, I can do one thing for you; this will be a private suspension. You will continue to receive your pay and be allowed in the officer’s mess until the hearing.”
Tamas nodded, unable to speak. This was an outrage. It went beyond politics and decorum. Certainly shooting off Linz’s earlobe had been an insult. But nothing worthy of this!
He was dismissed and retired to the hallway, where he slumped against the wall, his energy gone. For years he had fought his way up the ranks. He had played their games, kissing asses and leading suicide charges. And all for his next advancement to be snatched away because he’d dueled a duke’s son.
He took a sharp breath, fuming at the indignity, and suddenly stopped himself. That smell of jasmine still clung to the air. Too closely, he suspected. It had followed him down the hall and even into the general’s office.
The Privileged sorcerer had been in to see Colonel Westeven just before Tamas.
His thoughts turned, and he wondered if there was something else behind this accusation and suspension. On the last campaign he had killed two Gurlish Privileged from a great distance using his powder magery. Word had it that made the royal cabal nervous. They didn’t like anything that could challenge their elemental sorcery, not even if they were ostensibly on the same side.
“Captain.”
“Sir!” Tamas leapt to attention as Westeven came out into the hall beside him. The colonel looked him up and down. “Nothing rash, remember?”
“Of course, sir. I’ll lie low.”
“This is above my head, Captain,” Westeven said, his voice suddenly a whisper. “But it might not be above General Seske’s. He’ll be attending Lord Ildal’s masquerade in Budwiel in two weeks. You may be able to talk him into letting you go on the campaign.”
Tamas ground his teeth. His suspicion about the royal cabal would have to wait. If he could speak with General Seske, none of this would matter. “Yes, sir. I’ll leave for Budwiel tomorrow. Thank you, sir.”
The city of Budwiel sat at the southernmost point of Adro and formed the border between Adro and its southern neighbor, Kez. The city was positioned deep in a mountain valley, flanked by a pair of immense cliffs, and received very little sunlight during most of the year.