Promise of Blood

Taniel ignited his whole powder horn and pushed the blast behind his bullets.

They tore right through the cave lion. It screamed as bubbling green blood sprayed the icy trail. The lion turned from Bo, its howls sounding like the scream of a wounded horse, and instead turned to face Taniel. It raised a taloned hand. Taniel felt the heat of approaching sorcery.

Ka-poel squeezed past Taniel on the narrow trail, throwing herself between him and the beast.

“Dammit! Pole, no!”

Ka-poel lifted both hands defiantly. She held something in one hand—a doll. It was naked and about the size of a hand, shaped from wax. The craftsmanship was superb. Every part was accurate to a person—a woman, to be precise—especially the face. It was Julene.

Ka-poel stabbed the doll with a long needle. The cave lion howled again and clutched its side. She jammed the needle into the doll’s head, scrambling the tip about inside the skull. The lion twitched and growled. It scratched at its ears and face, which left long, bloody cuts. Ka-poel bent forward, took a long, deep breath, and then blew on the doll.

The cave lion burst into flame. Bo renewed his attacks, fingers flying, lances of ice bursting from the inside of the cave to smash against the lion. Shakily, Taniel reloaded one of his pistols. He had a few powder charges left, though his horn was empty. What could he do against a creature like this? It was trapped between Bo and Ka-poel’s sorcery but it refused to die. How long could they keep it up?

Taniel whirled. “Gavril, your powder horn. Now!”

Gavril, a little ways down the trail, locked eyes with Taniel and tossed him the powder horn.

Taniel caught the horn and hefted it in one hand. Mostly full. Good. He turned. Bo looked like he was about spent, and Ka-poel juggled the burning doll in her hands, needle and fingers thrusting, a look of savage glee on her face.

“Down!” Taniel shouted, tossing the powder horn. He grabbed Ka-poel by the shoulders and threw her against the mountainside. The horn landed between the mountain and the cave lion. With a thought, Taniel ignited it.

His mind warped the blast, guiding it with Marked sorceries to maximize the power of the detonation. The cave lion was thrown into the air, twenty, thirty, fifty paces out from the mountain before it began to curve and plummet. Taniel watched it go, howling, clawing. The howl changed, turning to a scream as the lion’s shape warped into the body of a woman. It bounced off the mountainside, far down, and continued to fall, disappearing through the clouds below.

Chapter 18

Tamas stopped underneath a streetlamp to check the address he’d scribbled on plain stationery a few hours before. “One seven eight,” he muttered to himself, squinting to see the number plaques. Olem walked a few feet behind him, pistols hidden under a long coat, keeping an eye out for trouble.

The Routs was a wealthy part of town, where the banks and the remnants of the old merchant guilds still did business every weekday. It had barely been touched by the earthquake, and not at all by the royalist uprising. Side streets were lined with small but well-kept houses for businessmen, clerks, and merchant liaisons. The lanterns were lit, and there was a common police beat on every street, enough that Tamas wondered if he’d stumbled into the wrong part of town.

Bad place to kill a man, he noted. He paused, correcting himself as he noticed that there was a splash of darkness on the street up ahead. As he drew closer, he saw that a good half-dozen lamps had blown out—or had been put out, as was the case. He counted the street numbers so that he was sure to find the right house and approached it straight on, stepping up from the street and rapping on the front door three times. There were no lights on, or any sign of life at all. The place looked abandoned.

The door opened a crack, and he and Olem were admitted immediately. Olem waited in the sitting room while Tamas was taken by the arm and led down a hall and then into what he guessed to be a back room. A match was struck and a candle lit.

Tamas saw a familiar face over the candle.

“Good to see you, Tamas,” Sabon said.

“Likewise. I hope I’m not too late.”

“The Barbers aren’t here yet.”

“Good. I want to see how they operate.” Tamas’s eyes adjusted to the light and he glanced around. They were in a small kitchen, the floors and cupboards bare. A man sat on one of the counters in the corner, an unlit pipe in the corner of his mouth. He was a small man, demure and of medium build, his face covered with a thick black beard that made his features almost impossible to see in the dim light. He chewed on the stem of his pipe and watched Tamas.

“You are our contact?” Tamas asked.

“Fingers,” the man said.

“I take it that’s not your real name?” Tamas said, raising an eyebrow.