Cheris pointed at Tamas. “Why haven’t you killed him yet?”
Claremonte rolled his eyes. “I had other plans,” he said, addressing Tamas. “In case I lost the election. Plans within plans within plans. Weakening Ricard’s position, toppling the Adran currency. I planned on having power within twelve years, but my other half is less patient than I, it seems.”
“You’re the one who left me in that bloody tower,” Cheris said to her brother accusingly.
Tamas took another step. “Kill Kresimir. Go ahead. I won’t stop you. It sounds like he deserves to die. But leave us out of your machinations. Leave Adro in peace.”
“You won’t try to stop us?” Cheris scoffed.
“Now, now,” Claremonte said. “Don’t dismiss the field marshal entirely, Cheris. Tamas, I plan on uniting this world for a new era. I’d like you to lead it. Say yes and you will be healed. I’ll lengthen your life. I’ll spare your friends and your family. You will hold a place of honor. You will bring peace to every nation on this planet.”
It was growing harder for Tamas to breathe now. He could feel the blood in his lungs, and wondered if he’d been cut in more places than just his shoulder. It took every last bit of strength to grasp the spare pistol in his belt and draw it. His hand wavering, he lifted it and aimed it at Claremonte. “No.”
The pistol evaporated in a splash of light, and along with it Tamas’s hand. There was no pain from the destroyed limb, just a sudden numbness. Tamas stumbled backward, felt the sorcery grip and tear his body. The pain filled his head until he thought it might burst, and then he fell.
The appearance of Brude’s other half gave Taniel pause. He waited for several moments, watching them speak.
“Pole?” he hissed. “There’s two of them. Even if I can get close enough, I only have one bayonet.”
Ka-poel seemed to consider this a moment. She gave him a nod and tapped her chest with one finger.
“You?”
Another nod.
“What can you do?”
She smiled at him, but didn’t have time to give an answer. Out of the corner of Taniel’s eye he saw a quick movement as Tamas drew his pistol. The pistol exploded in Tamas’s hand, and Taniel could feel the sorcery spear through his father’s body.
Taniel leapt the balcony and landed in the hall on the opposite side of the altar from Brude. He saw Tamas’s body topple. “Dad!” The word wrenched from him as a sob, a searing, painful cry of fear and anguish. He stepped forward and felt Brude’s sorcery turn on him, snaking around the altar like a python and snatching at his bones. The pressure was incredible. He instantly felt as if he were wading waist-deep through mud, the same crushing feeling that had held him at bay in Elections Square.
He held the ring bayonet in one hand, the blade between his fingers. He plowed forward, using the bayonet to cut through the sorcery as if it were the prow of a ship slicing through the sea. Cheris rounded the altar to meet him while Claremonte, his face calm, stepped up to Kresimir and raised the flint dagger in his hand.
“Pole, a little help!”
Kresimir’s casket – the small one that Ka-poel had been carrying – soared through the air in an arc above Taniel’s head. The sticks and string burst apart, the bonds around Kresimir’s doll unraveling in the blink of an eye. Sorcery suddenly erupted from Kresimir, blasting both Cheris and Claremonte across the room.
Kresimir rolled off the altar and Taniel froze in place, afraid of the madness in Kresimir’s eye as the god’s gaze came to rest upon him. But there was no madness there. In fact, there was nothing. Kresimir’s face was blank, expressionless. Ka-poel’s doll floated above his head, and Kresimir jerked as the doll moved, mimicking its motions.
Taniel rushed toward Claremonte, only to find himself driven to his knees. He tried to stand, but he felt as if the weight of the world were pressing down on his shoulders. His eyes bulged and his heart thundered as he shoved against the unrelenting, invisible force. Through the slits of his eyelids he could see Claremonte and Cheris, both on their feet, jaws clenched, fighting back against Kresimir’s sorcery.
Taniel realized that the pressure he now struggled against wasn’t directed at him, but was rather the strength of the two gods suddenly pushing against each other. He was only caught in the middle. His whole body shook as Ka-poel’s magic fought to protect him. He could feel every sinew straining, bones ready to snap at any moment. Ka-poel worked her way down the stairs at one end of the room. Sweat poured off her face and her fingers danced like a puppeteer with her hands on the strings.
Claremonte and Cheris moved toward each other with Kresimir between them. Kresimir himself seemed unaffected, but Taniel could see the doll above him dripping wax, the pressure turning it into a formless blob.
Claremonte raised his flint knife and brought it down on Kresimir’s neck. The god toppled before him, and Taniel suddenly lunged forward, freed of the oppressive conflict of sorcery. He gained his balance and grabbed Claremonte by the front of his jacket, thrusting Ka-poel’s bayonet through the soft part beneath his chin and through his brain.
Cheris’s scream made Taniel release Claremonte’s body and clutch at his ears. She ran toward him, hands raised, and he braced himself for the power of her fury.
Cheris stumbled. Taniel looked to find Tamas at her feet, Claremonte’s flint dagger in his remaining hand. Blood poured from Tamas’s ears, nose, and mouth, and black powder stained his chin. He thrust the dagger through her leg.
She yelled again, but more in anger than in pain. “You think that will kill me?” she demanded. She snatched Tamas by the collar of his jacket and lifted his broken body only to recoil as he spit blood in her eyes.
“Let him go,” Taniel roared.
“You have no power to command me,” Cheris said. “I will drink the blood from your father’s corpse. I will slaughter you and your savage and then I will bring my love back. I have that power!”
“Let him go, and you win.”
Cheris hesitated. “What do you mean?”
Taniel drew the bayonet from Claremonte’s lifeless body and flipped it around in his hand. “Here,” he said. “You win.” He tossed the bayonet.
Cheris dropped Tamas and reached up, but the bayonet arced over her fingertips. She whirled, hand extended.
Ka-poel snatched the bayonet from the air and rammed it through Cheris’s heart. The god gasped once and toppled to the ground. Ka-poel straddled her body and drew the bayonet out, ramming it in again and again until Cheris had stopped moving.
Taniel grabbed her arm. “She’s dead, Pole.”
Ka-poel sneered at Cheris, but let Taniel pull her away. He left her to check Claremonte’s and Kresimir’s bodies while he went to Tamas.
His father lay on his side, soaked in blood. Both legs were broken, his left arm shattered and left hand gone entirely. He still clutched the flint dagger in his hand. “Dad,” Taniel pleaded, feeling desperation grab hold. “Dad, come on!”
Tamas’s eyes fluttered. “Lost one of your pistols,” he croaked.
“It’s fine, Dad,” Taniel said, cradling his father’s head in his hand. “Come on. Stay with me.”
“Is it over?”
“Yes. They’re dead.”
“Bloody gods.”
“Stay with me, please,” Taniel sobbed.
“No, Tan,” Tamas said, blood on his teeth. “I don’t think I will.”
Taniel’s vision blurred. “Please, Dad.”
Tamas groped blindly for the front of Taniel’s jacket, his fingers gripping the bloodstained lapel. “I’m proud of you, Taniel.”
“Nothing to be proud of, Dad. I’m a terrible commander. An awful soldier.”
“You’re a good man. A good fighter. That’s all that matters.”
“Just stay alive, Dad. You hear me? Stay alive.”
“I’ve earned this, my boy. I’m ready to rest.”
“No you’re not. You’ve got so much more to do.” There was a rumble and the building shook around them, but it didn’t matter, not anymore.