The Autumn Republic

Nila looked to see what had caught Tamas’s eye. To their northwest, light flashed along the horizon like the sun reflecting off a dozen mirrors. She opened her third eye, slowly so as not to let it overwhelm her, and saw the splashes of pastel color whirling in the distance, fighting something-a strange darkness, the likes of which she had not yet seen in the Else. It seemed to swallow all light that touched it, moving like an inky cloud upon the horizon.

Something about that darkness touched a nerve in Nila’s subconscious and she felt sick with fear.

Doubt crossed Tamas’s face. Had he seen it too?

“Our people are giving chase, sir,” the messenger said. “King Sulem has requested your presence.”

“He better have a damned good explanation. Your people were supposed to be backing up my dragoons to prevent this very thing from happening.”

Nila caught Tamas’s quick glance. “Stay here,” he said quietly. “But be ready for anything.” Then he was gone, yelling for his horse, Olem close on his heels.

Be ready for anything, he’d said.

That’s a little vague. She looked to the northwest. The flashes of light were now gone, but a chill crept up her spine as she remembered that darkness with which they had warred.

CHAPTER 31

Tamas could feel his anger begin to ebb as he arrived at King Sulem’s tent.

The Deliv messenger escorted him up to the royal guards, then excused himself and returned to the camp, while Tamas and Olem were admitted immediately. Tamas paused once to look toward the west, where he’d last seen flashes of sorcery, but all signs of the battle had faded. He could still sense that sorcery-swallowing darkness in the Else like a bad taste in his mouth.

King Sulem’s tent was not all that different from Tamas’s own, if perhaps a bit more spacious. The king was not an ostentatious man. His luxuries were limited to fine furs, hardwood chairs, and an intricately carved desk in one corner. His sleeping and dressing chambers were closed off from the main room, and a bodyguard stood in each corner, both inside and outside the tent, their bayonets fixed.

Sulem sat cross-legged on a fine cushion in the middle of the floor, reading glasses perched on his nose and what looked to be some kind of report in his hands. Tamas noted the two Privileged in the room-Magus Doranth, head of Sulem’s royal cabal, was a colossus of a man, a head taller than Tamas, with skin as black as night, jade rings on his fingers, and black hair tied in a thick knot behind his neck. He stood beside his king, arms folded, and glared at Tamas.

Privileged Vivia seemed Doranth’s opposite in every manner. Her skin was the color of coffee with cream and she had blue eyes, hinting at ancestry that was not fully Deliv. She had a long, slender face that gave her a queenly visage, and she managed to lounge on one of the hardwood chairs in the corner. From what Tamas knew of the Deliv cabal, these were the two major players-and they disliked each other immensely.

“Vivia,” Olem whispered in Tamas’s ear, “is the one who’s seeing to Bo. They go quite a ways back.”

Tamas bowed. “King Sulem. Privileged,” he said, addressing the group.

“Magus,” Doranth corrected in a low, rumbling voice.

“Is a magus not a Privileged?” Tamas asked.

“You hold the rank of field marshal. Would you rather I call you ‘king-killer’?”

“Oh, let it go.” Sulem waved a hand at his cabal head. “We can prattle on all day about honorifics. We have a problem.”

“I understand that to be the case,” Tamas said. He had not been offered a seat, so he clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the Deliv monarch, who seemed unbothered by Tamas’s looming over him. It was not the king who spoke.

“For the past two days, our baggage train has been ravaged by Kez dragoons,” Vivia said. Her tone was clipped, and she examined Tamas not with the hostility of Doranth but with a certain amount of wariness.

Tamas swore inwardly. The Deliv baggage train was not just supplying the Deliv but was also providing food, surgeons, and ammunition for the Adran army-items his men were running dangerously low on. “I’ve sent my cavalry onto the plains, and last I heard, you had sent three thousand of your own as reinforcements. Are they not getting the job done?” Tamas hadn’t had a report in twelve hours; not something that would normally have concerned him, but now he was nervous. He had thought his men would have little trouble mopping up the Kez cavalry who had slipped up north of them.

“Our people have had a few losses,” Doranth said.

“A few?” Vivia said, her tone rising in disbelief. “You have a strange definition of ‘few,’ Magus.”

Doranth bared his teeth at Vivia. “You’ll be quiet until you’re addressed.”

“No, I will not be quiet.” Vivia rose from her seat, smoothing the front of her Deliv uniform with one hand. “Not while you run this cabal into the ground.” She turned to Tamas. “We fielded six thousand dragoons and cuirassiers forty-eight hours ago. We have less than twenty-seven hundred left.”