“You have so little faith that things will work out, Tamas. Here.” He held out a round metal canister.
“What’s this?”
Adom blinked back at him. “Olem’s dinner. I may be a fat coward, but do you take me for rude?”
“Am I doing the right thing, Olem?”
The moon was full and bright above them, even though daylight was only an hour or two away, and Tamas barely noticed the smell of Olem’s cigarette. They stood in a grove between two farms a few miles outside of Adopest, their presence sheltered from the casual eye by the screen of old-growth trees. It was chilly, and Tamas tightened his jacket at the collar.
“Not for me to judge, sir.”
“You’re as useless as Adom.”
“Now, that’s unfair, sir. He did give us something to eat. Pit, I miss his cooking.”
Tamas shook his head. “I was so mad he wouldn’t help that I forgot to ask his advice on this.”
“You think it would have changed your mind?”
Tamas hesitated. “No.”
“I thought not.”
“Shut up and smoke your damn cigarette. And stop looking so smug. Where’s Bo?”
“Over there.”
Tamas made his way to the edge of the grove, where Borbador and his apprentice stood just inside the trees, watching the road that led to Adopest.
“They’re late,” Tamas said.
Bo looked up from fiddling with the straps on his fake leg. “They’re out there about a mile off. Watching us as we watch them.”
“Is it a trap?” Tamas asked.
“Not enough men for it to be a trap,” Bo said. “Not unless they brought Brude with them.”
Tamas looked at Nila, who was watching the darkness silently, then back at Bo. He took a step closer to Bo. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry I sent Taniel to kill you.”
Bo looked surprised, then like he might laugh. “Don’t be. It’s in your nature. If our positions had been reversed, I would have done the same. Ow!”
Nila had kicked Bo in his one remaining shin.
“Well,” Bo said. “I would have.”
“It’s rude to say so,” Nila chided.
“Which one of you is the apprentice?” Tamas asked.
Bo sniffed. “Not another word, old man.”
Tamas watched Bo. “You haven’t called me that since you were fifteen.”
“And it’s all the more applicable now.”
“You’re still a bratty upstart.”
“Yes.” Bo grinned. “I do my best.”
“Thank you as well for convincing Taniel not to go after Ka-poel himself.”
“He was champing at the bit.” Bo looked off to the north, where Taniel now crouched in another such grove, his rifle aimed at Claremonte’s representatives still waiting down the road. “I’m hoping he doesn’t shoot one of them tonight.”
“Me too.”
“They have Privileged with them, by the way.”
“How many?”
“Six. Claremonte doesn’t particularly trust you, it seems.”
“Nor I, him. That’s why we have you and Nila here. As well as Taniel, Norrine, and Andriya in the bushes.”
Bo was tapping his wooden leg. It gave Tamas an uneasy feeling. “Don’t tell me you’re thinking about revenge.”
“I really miss my leg. And she’s down there. The one who did this to me. I can tell. And I recognize her now. Her name’s Lourie. We’ve got a little bit of history.”
“Is there a woman in any of the cabals of the Nine that you don’t have a history with?” Nila asked.
“A few,” Bo replied.
Tamas swore. “You better not jeopardize this entire operation.”
Bo made a calming gesture. “Of course not. I’ll keep myself reined in, thank you. Here they come.”
Tamas put powder on his tongue to increase his trance a little, and watched as the group on the road split in two, the smaller half coming across the farmer’s field toward their hiding spot. Tamas called quietly for Olem and they walked out of the grove.
The Privileged at their head was a woman he had not met before. She had pale skin, large eyes, and hair so blond it might have been white. She was wearing her gloves, and she eyed Tamas suspiciously.
“Mage,” she said.
“Privileged.”
“You have something for us?”
“I do.”
“And we, for you.” The woman raised her hand, and a figure was brought forward. Tamas stifled a sigh of relief at the sight of Vlora. Her uniform was ripped and dirty, one cheek scraped raw and one eye bruised, but she was still alive.
“What are you trading for me?” she demanded.
“Nothing I want to keep,” Tamas said. Olem went to Vlora’s side, taking her arm and leading her away from the Privileged and back toward the grove.
The Brudanian Privileged raised one hand. “Your half of the bargain?”
“Olem! Bring it out.”
Olem disappeared into the grove with Vlora and came back a moment later, alone.
“Well?” Tamas asked.
“She’s objecting strenuously to the deal.”
“Would she rather go back with them?”
“That’s what she says.”
“I never wanted daughters, Olem. You can quote me on that.”
“I’m growing impatient, mage,” the Brudanian Privileged growled.
“I’m still here, aren’t I? Olem, go get it.”
Olem returned to the grove. A few minutes later Tamas heard the sound of wooden wheels trundling over dirt, and soon a wagon came into view from around the opposite side of the grove. It was pulled by two oxen and had a stone sarcophagus in the bed. Olem pulled it up and jumped down from the wagon.
“All yours,” Tamas said.
One of the Brudanian soldiers leapt into the wagon and opened the sarcophagus. He closed it a moment later, and nodded solemnly to his leader.
“Your Knacked can see in the dark,” Tamas said. “That’s handy.”
The Brudanian Privileged gave him a tight-lipped smile. “I should kill you right now.”
“What would your boss say to that?”
“I’m sure he’d find it in his heart to forgive me.”
Tamas took a long step forward, then leaned into the Privileged until their chests were almost touching. “Try it,” he whispered.
The Brudanian Privileged gave a low chuckle. “You think I’m scared of your powder mages hidden on the horizon? Or your pet Privileged hiding in the grove? I’ve already fought him once. He’d be dead if I hadn’t been in a hurry and feeling generous. Tell Borbador that he owes me his life.”
“I think you are afraid. Otherwise you’d have tried it already. Get out of here, Privileged dog. Take Kresimir back to your master. Remind him to keep his word.”
One of the soldiers took the reins to the wagon and the Privileged turned away. “He’ll keep whatever he desires. Even this miserable country.”
Tamas watched until the Privileged were long gone before he returned to the grove.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Vlora said.
“I’ve done a lot of things I shouldn’t. This isn’t one of them.” Tamas leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “It was worth it. Bo, that Privileged sends her regards.”
“I bet she does.”
“Bo,” Tamas continued.
“What?”
“A fight is coming. I can feel it. If you see her again, wipe the floor with her.”
Bo’s fingers flexed, his jaw clenching, and he exchanged a glance with Nila. “That would be my pleasure.”
Adamat sat on the northern section of Adopest’s old wall, his feet dangling off the thirty-foot precipice.
He crunched into an apple, feeling the juice run down his chin as he watched the Brudanian troop transports load by the evening light. The largest oceangoing ships had already set off up the Ad River, hauled against the current by teams of twenty oxen each on their long journey to the lock system over the mountains, while the troop barges were still only half full.
“I confess,” he mused aloud, “that I’m shocked to see him leaving.”
SouSmith didn’t reply. The big boxer leaned against the battlements. He wore a butcher’s canvas pants and white shirt, the bloodstained sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He removed a pipe from his shirt pocket and lit it with a match, puffing to get it lit. A few moments later the air was full of the sweet smell of cherry tobacco.