The Autumn Republic

And had he been singing to himself earlier?

Charlemund seemed to grow thoughtful, and his eyes focused on something over Adamat’s shoulder. “Oh, that’s right. We have met.” He grimaced. “Not on the best of terms with this body, though. I really do apologize. Let me help you.”

“Help me?”

“With your search. You’re looking for a book. I think The Compendium of Gods and Saints should be the right thing. Mostly superstition and rubbish, but it answers your question. It’s back in the library, northwest corner. About three feet from SouSmith’s elbow, actually.”

Adamat felt his sword arm waver. “How could you possibly know any of that?”

Charlemund grinned. “Just trying to be a good host. Can I offer you something?”

“Offer me what?”

“Something to eat. I made some squash soup last night. I may have leftovers.”

Tamas stood atop the blasted ruins of the walls of Budwiel with the noonday sun in his face. His body ached and his leg throbbed, skin feeling tight against the stitches. A slash along his cheek itched and he had to remind himself not to rub at it, or the damned thing would never heal.

The Deliv army approached, a snake of Kelly-green uniforms winding down the highway and into the immense camp of Adran soldiers outside the walls. Tamas’s men lined the highway in their parade uniforms as a sign of respect for their Deliv allies. Sulem and his cabal rode at the head of his army-Tamas could see their banners from this distance even without a powder trance-and he could hear the distant beat of their drums tapping out the march.

“Sir.”

Tamas spared a glance for the young corporal who had come up to join him at the wall. “Yes?”

“Colonel Olem is here to see you.”

“Send him up right away.” He waited until the corporal was gone to sag against the fortifications and breathe a sigh of relief. Olem had survived. That was good. Too many quality men and women had died these last several weeks.

A few moments later he heard a halting step on the stone stairs behind him, and then Olem joined him at the ramparts. His face was black and blue, and he bore several visible wounds on his neck and hands. Olem stood slightly hunched, his shoulders curled inward, and Tamas could tell he was in a great deal of pain. He’d seen that stance many times in his long career. It was the look of a man who had been flogged severely. Tamas didn’t even want to know what Olem’s back looked like under the uniform.

There were several minutes of silence, and then Tamas heard a small sound like clattering coins. He looked down to see Olem’s colonel pins lying on the stones.

“Did you fail your mission?” Tamas asked.

“It didn’t go well, sir.”

“Did you fail?”

“The magebreaker is dead. His men are killed or captured.”

Tamas took the colonel’s pins and set them in front of Olem. “If you try to give these back again, I’ll shove them up your ass.”

“But…”

“That was your only warning.”

Silently, Olem returned the pins to his lapels. Tamas glanced out of the corner of his eye to see Olem struggling with the pins, one of his arms in a sling. His face was one large bruise, and his brows and lips between them had dozens of stitches. The bottom of one earlobe was gone.

“You look like the pit,” Tamas said without reproach.

Olem finished putting his pins back on one-handed and managed a wan smile. “You don’t look so well yourself, sir.”

“I’ve had better days.” Tamas’s memories of the battle were a blur of blood and steel and he could not recall where he’d gotten half of his wounds, but he could remember the faces of hundreds of his men whom he watched die. He wouldn’t sleep well for some time.

“My report’s going to be a bit late, sir. I can’t write left-handed.”

“Don’t worry too much.”

“I can give it to you now if you’d like.”

“Later. Wait. How did the Privileged girl do?”

“Very well.” Olem hesitated. “I don’t know much about sorcery, sir, but Privileged Borbador said she’s going to be the strongest Adran Privileged in six hundred years.”

“Bo has been known to exaggerate.”

“She set fire to a magebreaker, sir. With sorcery. At least, that’s what Bo said.”

“That’s… remarkable.” Tamas remembered Taniel’s report of the magebreaker Gothen being slain by what turned out to be one of the Predeii. Tamas had barely believed him at the time and might not have believed this either but he felt too tired to doubt Olem. After all, he had seen things in the last ten months to shake the foundations of the Nine.

He realized with a start that Olem was still talking, and waved him off. “That’s enough. I’ll get the rest later.”

“Of course. Congratulations on the victory, sir.”

“We’re not done yet.”

“Sir?”

Tamas lowered his voice. “Ipille’s betrayal of the parley? It wasn’t him. It was Claremonte’s men in disguise.”

“We’ll feed him his own shoes, sir.” Olem’s eyes hardened, and his one good hand tightened into a fist.