Promise of Blood

In a few minutes’ time the horn was blown and the hounds were off. Tamas began at a slow canter, watching Hrusch fly off ahead of the rest of the animals in the direction of the scent. It wasn’t long before the dogs disappeared into the woods. Tamas urged himself ahead of the rest of the riders until he reached the woods, then slacked off and let himself be passed. He closed his eyes, listening to the softening bays of the hounds, the sound soothing to his ears.

He opened his eyes after some time to find himself alone with Olem. The bodyguard’s hunter trotted along beside Tamas’s. Olem’s eyes scanned the surrounding brush with the vigil of a hawk.

“Do you ever relax?” Tamas asked.

“Not since the Warden, sir.”

Tamas could see horses up ahead, and hear others behind them. The huntsmen had begun to spread out in order to enjoy themselves while the hounds ran themselves to exhaustion. The sport would last all day, either until one of the hounds caught up with the volunteer dragging the scent or until they reached the end point of the race. Last year, Pitlaugh had found the volunteer halfway through the day, earning the ire of Adro’s nobility for cutting short their hunt, and earning himself a flank of steer from Tamas.

Tamas brushed off memories of past hunts and turned to Olem. “It wasn’t your fault. They’ll send more Wardens at me. You’ll do little against one of them.”

Olem rested one hand lightly on his pistol. “Don’t write me off so quickly, sir. I can cause more damage than you’d guess.”

“Of course,” Tamas said gently. He felt more relaxed than he had in, well, it seemed like years. He let his mind wander, enjoying the cool breeze through the trees and the periodic splash of warm sun on his face. It was a perfect, blue-sky day for the Orchard Valley Hunt.

“A question, sir.” Olem’s voice cut through his thoughts.

“If it has to do with the Kez, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I was wondering what you’ll do with Mihali, sir?”

Tamas stirred himself out of his reverie and gave Olem’s back an annoyed glance as the soldier searched the woods with his eyes. “I think I’m sending him back to Hassenbur,” Tamas said.

Olem gave Tamas a sharp look.

Tamas said, “Not you, too? I’d expect the common soldiers to grow attached, but not you.”

“I am a common soldier, sir. But you stated his worth yourself,” Olem said. “Creating food from thin air.”

“I risk angering Claremonte. The asylum’s patron is not a man to be trifled with, not with his position with the Brudania-Gurla Trading Company. I risk our entire supply of saltpeter. At this point in the war, gunpowder is more important than food.”

“And later?” Olem asked.

“Mihali is a madman, Olem. He belongs in an asylum.” He chose his words carefully. “It would be a cruelty to let him live like a normal man.” He knew the words made sense in his head, but when he spoke them out loud, they seemed wrong. He frowned. “They can help him at the asylum.

“Have you checked on those names that Adamat gave us?” Tamas said, unwilling to continue the conversation.

Olem was clearly uncomfortable with the abrupt end to the topic of Mihali’s future. “Yes, sir,” he said stiffly. “Our people are looking into it. Slowly. We don’t have enough men, to be honest, but Adamat’s hunches are proving accurate enough.”

“He said he gathered that list of names and ships in just two days of investigation,” Tamas said. “The entire police force on the docks has only given us half a dozen Kez smugglers since the war started. How can he work so fast?”

Olem shrugged. “He’s got a gift. Also, he doesn’t have the restrictions of the police. He’s not wearing a uniform. He can’t be bribed or intimidated.”

“You think he can find my traitor?” Tamas asked.

“Perhaps.” Olem didn’t look so sure. “I wish you’d put more men on it. You shouldn’t leave the fate of Adro in the hands of one retired investigator.”

Tamas shook his head. “As you said, he can go where the police cannot. I can’t trust it to anyone else. Everyone I truly trust—you, Sabon, the rest of the powder cabal—they’re doing tasks of utmost importance, and none of them has the set of talents and skills that Adamat does. If he can’t track down my traitor, no one else can.”

Olem gave him a dark stare. The corner of his mouth twitched, and Tamas felt a thrill of fear through his chest. “Give me a writ of purpose,” Olem said quietly. “And fifty men. I’ll find out who the traitor is.”

Tamas rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to let you hack apart my council with a meat cleaver and a hot iron. You’ll leave nothing left of them, and I’ll have made enemies of the most powerful people in Adro. I’m sorry, Olem, but I need you watching my back and I need the other five of the council—the ones that aren’t traitors—fully intact.”

Tamas turned as he heard horses galloping up from behind. “Pit, I was hoping for a pleasant day.”