Promise of Blood

“He went through a bramblebush, sir. I decided to go around.”

“Smart man. I’ve heard from your father you have a singular skill for horses.”

“He overtells it,” Gaben said modestly.

“No, I’m sure he does not.” Tamas saw him eyeing the young ladies. “Please, don’t let me keep you.”

Gaben rode up beside the priestesses and answered their questions about the hunt. Soon after, Brigadier Sabastenien came up quietly from behind. He joined the whipper-in and the priestesses, listening quietly to their talk.

Tamas leaned over to Olem. “Brigadier Sabastenien impressed me during the racket with the royalists. We’ll keep an eye on him over the years. Mark my words, he’ll be senior brigadier by the time he’s forty.”

Silence fell in the wood, the only sound that of horses and the quiet conversation of the young people a few dozen yards ahead of them. Tamas was just beginning to enjoy the relative quiet when Ondraus spoke up.

“I want to know about this cook,” the reeve said.

Tamas turned in the saddle toward Ondraus. The path here was wide enough for the four of them to ride abreast. Tamas was on one end, with Ricard on his right, lagging slightly behind, and Ondraus between Ricard and Charlemund. Olem stayed just behind them, his eyes on the forest.

“What cook?” Tamas said.

“The one who is providing for all the clerks and workers in the House of Nobles, in addition to your garrison,” Ondraus said. The bent old accountant looked alert in the afternoon sun and rode his horse like a man much younger. His gaze matched Tamas’s.

“The one who creates dishes that have never been seen in Adopest and receives shipments of raw goods that are well out of season in this part of the world, without ever having made an order in the first place. The one feeding five thousand people on a few hundred kranas’ worth of flour and beef a day.” Ondraus gave Tamas a shallow smile. “The one that claims he’s a god. Or had this all gone beneath your notice?”

Tamas slowed his mount slightly and waited for the others to do the same. The priestesses, brigadier, and whipper-in went on ahead, unaware. When they were well out of earshot, Tamas said, “He’s a Knacked. Not a god.”

Charlemund snorted. “I’m certainly glad. It’s blasphemy.”

“So you know of him?” Tamas said, resigned. He’d hoped that Charlemund’s gaze had swept over Mihali without noticing. A vain hope indeed.

“Of course,” Charlemund said. “My colleagues in the Church have been apprised of the situation. I received their communiqués just this morning.”

“And?”

“They wish me to take him into Church custody immediately. Before any more of his lies can be spread.”

“He’s harmless,” Tamas said. “He escaped from Hassenbur Asylum. I’m sending him back any day now.” The Church’s involvement was the last thing he needed.

“Who is he?” Ondraus asked.

“Lord of the Golden Chefs,” Tamas said.

“Don’t mock me,” Ondraus said, taken aback.

“He’s not,” Ricard suddenly said. “Lord of the Golden Chefs is a title among culinary experts. It means he’s the best damned cook in all the Nine. I can’t believe he’s really in the city.”

“You know him?” Tamas asked.

“Know of him, more like,” Ricard said. “I paid a king’s ransom to have him cook for Manhouch five years ago. It was that dinner that convinced the king to let me start a union. I’ve never tasted such food.” He gave a low whistle. “His squash soup is to die for. I’d love to see him.”

Tamas stifled a smile at the very thought of Mihali’s squash soup. His mouth watered a little, and for just a moment he could smell it, as if Mihali was making it in a pot in the middle of the next clearing.

“Well,” Charlemund said, “you won’t meet him. I’m bringing him under Church custody tonight. I only held off giving the order this morning in deference to Tamas.”

“And if I don’t let him go?” Tamas said lightly.

Charlemund gave a laugh, as if Tamas had made some kind of joke. “That isn’t an option. The man is a heathen and a blasphemer. We all know there is only one God, Kresimir.”

“Aren’t Adom, Unice, Rosvel, and the rest all supposed to be Kresimir’s brothers and sisters?” Tamas asked. “I’m not up on my church lore as much as I should be…”

“Doctrine, not lore,” Charlemund said. “Semantics. They helped him create the Nine, yes, that is why they are saints. Kresimir is the only God among them. To claim otherwise goes against Church doctrine. It was decided so at the Council of Kezlea in five-oh-seven.”

Ricard’s eyes grew wide. “You do know something about the Church. Incredible! I thought all you needed to be an arch-diocel was a nice hat and a harem.”

Charlemund ignored Ricard as one might ignore an irritating rug seller in the market. “The Council also established that heretics and blasphemers would fall under the jurisdiction of the Church. Every king of the Nine signed the accord.”

“Interesting,” Tamas said, “that Adro has no king anymore.”

Charlemund looked startled by this. “What…?”