Taniel said, “She’s a sorcerer, a Bone-eye. The Dynize version of a Privileged, though their magic is somewhat different, from what I gather.”
“Savage sorcerers,” Tamas said. “I’ve heard something about them. She’s very small. How old is she?”
“Fourteen years,” Taniel said. “I think. They’re a small-statured people, but demons on the battlefield. Not bad with a rifle either. Ah,” he said as he suddenly remembered. “I wanted to show you something.”
He pointed to his rifle. Ka-poel undid the knot holding his satchel to it and brought it to him. Taniel grinned and held the rifle out to his father.
“Is this…? Is this the rifle you used for that shot?” Tamas asked.
“Sure is.”
Tamas took the rifle by the barrel, flipped it up, and sighted. “Awfully long. Good weight. Rifled bore and a covered pan on the flintlock. Beautiful craftsmanship.”
“Take a look at the name under the barrel.”
“A Hrusch. Very nice.”
“Not just the design,” Taniel said. “Made by the man himself. I spent a month with him in Fatrasta. He’d been working on it for quite some time, made it a gift to me.”
Tamas’s eyes widened. “Genuine? I’ve not seen better-made rifles. We bought rights to the patent a year ago and have been churning them out for the army, but I’ve only seen one made by the man himself.”
Taniel felt warmth at his father’s wonder. Finally something new. Something Tamas might be proud of. “The Kez tried to buy the patent too,” Taniel said.
“Really? Even though they were at war with Fatrasta?”
“Of course. The Hrusch rifle kicked their asses on the frontier. Hardly a misfire, even in the worst of weather. Hrusch wouldn’t sell it to them, not for a chest of gold and an earldom. And Kez gunsmiths can’t replicate his work.”
“No one can, not unless they’ve been trained by the man himself.” Tamas examined the rifle closely for several minutes before handing it back.
“You like it?” Taniel said.
“Remarkable.” His interest seemed to wane suddenly, his attention becoming distant.
Taniel hesitated. “Then you’ll like this.” He held out a hand to Ka-poel. She brought him a wooden case, a little longer than a man’s forearm and made of polished mahogany.
“A gift,” Taniel said.
Tamas set the case on a table and flipped open the top. “Incredible,” he breathed.
“Saw-handled dueling pistols,” Taniel said. “Made by Hrusch’s oldest son – who they say is a better gunsmith than his father. Refined flintlock with a rainproof pan and a roller bearing on the steel spring. A smoothbore, but more accurate than most.” Taniel felt the warmth return as his father’s face lit up.
Tamas lifted one of the matched pair of pistols and ran his fingers up and down the octagonal barrel. Ivory inlay caught the lamplight, the polish on it shining beautifully. “These are incredible. I’ll have to provoke an insult, just so I can use them.”
Taniel chuckled. That sounded like something Tamas would do.
“These are… wonderful,” Tamas said.
Taniel thought he saw something glisten in his father’s eyes. Was he proud? Grateful? No, he decided, Tamas doesn’t know the meaning of those words.
“I wish we had more time to talk,” Tamas said.
“On to business?” Of course. No time for chatting. No time to catch up with a long-absent son.
“Unfortunately,” Tamas said, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm. “Sabon,” he called. The Deliv appeared in the doorway. “Bring in the mercenaries.” Sabon disappeared again. “Now, where is Vlora? We need you both. Did Sabon tell you about our losses?”
“Sabon told me. Sad news. I imagine Vlora will be along eventually,” he said with a shrug. “I didn’t exactly talk to her.”
Tamas scowled. “I thought–”
“I found her in another man’s bed,” Taniel said, feeling a jolt of satisfaction at the shock on Tamas’s face. The shock turned to anger, then grief.
“Why? When? For how long?” The words tumbled from Tamas, a moment of true confusion that Taniel wondered if any had ever seen in Tamas, or would again.
Taniel leaned on his rifle and fought back a sneer. Why should Tamas care? It wasn’t his fiancee. “For several months, from the gossip. The man was paid to seduce her. Some nobleman’s son, in it for the thrill and the money.”
“Paid?” Tamas asked, his eyes narrowing.
“A scheme,” Taniel said. “Petty revenge. No doubt hatched by a wealthy nobleman.” Taniel hadn’t taken the time to find out who the culprit was, but he had little uncertainty. The nobility hated Tamas. He was common-born and had used his influence with the king to prevent the wealthy from purchasing commissions in the army. Only the capable rose in the ranks. It flew in the face of tradition, but also made the Adran army one of the best in the Nine. The nobility feared Tamas too much to attack him directly, but they’d strike him any way they could, even through his son.
Tamas’s teeth clenched in a snarl. “I’ve arrested half the nobility this very night. They face the guillotine with their king. I’ll find out who paid, and then…”
Taniel suddenly felt tired. Years fighting a war that wasn’t his, followed by months of cramped traveling, only to come home to betrayal and a coup. His anger had been sapped. He thumbed a line of black powder onto his hand and snorted it. “The guillotine is enough. Save your men.” Save your anger, though Kresimir knows you have enough of it. No pity, though. None for your son, the betrayed.
Tamas rubbed his eyes. “I should have had her watched.”
“She’s free to do what she wants,” Taniel said. It came out as a snarl.
“The wedding?”
“I nailed her ring to the bastard bedding her. They’ll have had to cut him off his own sword.”
Sabon reentered the room. He was followed by a pair of disreputable-looking characters wearing the clothes of people who slept in the saddle, or on a barroom bench. One was a man, tall and lanky with a hairline that touched the back of his head, though he couldn’t have been older than thirty. He wore a belt that covered his entire stomach, carried four swords and three pistols of different sizes and shapes, and he wore the gloves of a Privileged – though instead of white with colored runes, the gloves were navy blue with gold runes. The man was a magebreaker: a Privileged who’d given up his natural-born sorcery to nullify magic at will.
The other was a woman. She looked to be in her late thirties and wore riding pants and a jacket. She would have been beautiful but for the old scar that lifted the corner of her lip and traveled all the way to her temple. She, too, wore the gloves of a Privileged, which allowed her to touch the Else. Hers were white with blood-red runes. Taniel wondered why she wasn’t in a cabal. He could sense she was strong enough even without opening his third eye.
Mercenaries, Tamas had said. These two had a look. A Privileged and a magebreaker together were a dangerous combination. They were used to hunt Knacked, Marked, and Privileged. Taniel wondered which his father had in mind.
“A Privileged escaped our cull at Skyline,” Tamas said. “Not one of the royal cabal, but powerful nonetheless. I want you three” – a glance at Ka-poel – “four to track her down and kill her.”
Tamas settled into the role of a man used to briefing his soldiers, and Taniel realized his homecoming amounted to little more than a briefing and an assignment. Off hunting another Privileged. He glanced at the two mercenaries. They had a competent look to them. Taniel had had less to work with in Fatrasta. This Privileged they meant to hunt had killed five seasoned powder mages in half a breath. She’d be dangerous, and Taniel had never hunted in a city before. He decided the challenge would keep his mind off… things.
Taniel lifted his snuffbox once more and tapped out a line on the back of his hand, ignoring his father’s disapproving look.