The Autumn Republic

A moment later and Ondraus’s carriage shot into the light, carried down the streets of Adopest and into the normal daily traffic.

Adamat leaned against the wall of the carriage, breathing a sigh of relief, his heart thundering in his ears.

“Turn here!” Ondraus shouted.

The carriage turned and they drove past a street that ended in a small but well-appointed courtyard and a three-story brick building. The courtyard was full of soldiers and the façade of the building had been ripped apart by sorcery, fire flaring into the air from the roof. Bodies were being dragged out of the building-some Brudanian soldiers, but mostly the Proprietor’s goons.

“You keep a carriage on hand at all times?” Adamat asked as they drove on past the Proprietor’s headquarters and into the anonymity of the midday streets.

“Three, actually,” Ondraus said. His eyes were glued to the window and he was grinding his teeth. “Decades of work down the shit hole. Must have caught one of my lieutenants.”

“We’re in the banking district,” Adamat said with surprise, recognizing the main thoroughfare they’d just pulled onto.

“Of course we are. I-and I mean Ondraus the Reeve-works here. I couldn’t have it on the other bloody side of town.” Ondraus pounded twice on the roof and the carriage pulled off to the side of the road. The driver got down and opened the door. “The council is meeting with Field Marshal Tamas tomorrow at four. Be there. Be ready to explain to Tamas your theory about Claremonte. And try to be more convincing than you were to me.”

Adamat stepped out and the door slammed shut behind him. He turned, mouth open, but the carriage was already rolling away.

He waited for a few moments before hailing a hackney cab. He had the distinct feeling that Tamas would more readily believe the news than Ondraus.

CHAPTER 46

Tamas’s soldiers deployed their camp two miles outside the walls of Adopest.

He watched the city through weary eyes, noting the absence of the once-prominent spires of Kresim Cathedral. The black tooth of Sablethorn Prison rose above the city and seemed to lean even more since the earthquake last spring. He made a mental note to mention it to the council. The building might have to be taken down before it could fall.

“Sometimes when we’re out on campaign,” Tamas said, “far away from the lands we love, it’s easy to forget why we go on fighting.” He gestured to the city sitting serenely at the tip of the teardrop of the Adsea. “Coming home always reminds me why I fight.”

“It’s a beautiful sight, sir,” Olem said. Olem seemed to have recovered well enough, thanks to the Deliv Privileged, but Tamas knew it would be some time before he had the spring back in his step. “You have any more orders for the boys?”

“Spread the camp wide. I don’t want a surprise attack by their Privileged to be able to wipe out more than a single brigade.”

Olem lifted his spyglass to one eye. “They don’t seem like they’re looking for a fight. Crowd’s gathering on the walls, though. Only see a few Brudanian soldiers.”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Spread the camp and post my remaining powder mages on guard duty. Any Privileged comes within a mile of the camp and they are not under a white flag, they’re to put a bullet through their eyes. And get me a guard. We’re going in.”

“Yes sir.”

Thirty minutes later Tamas was riding out of his camp and toward the southwestern gate of Adopest. His guard consisted of sixty men: Olem’s best Riflejacks as well as Nila, Bo, and Gavril. He loathed going anywhere without his powder mages at his back, but they were better suited to keeping watch over the army.

“You sent messengers?” he asked Olem as they approached the open gates. People watched him from the crowded walls and children waved flags. He could hear their cheering from a mile away.

“Yes sir. They’ll be ready for us.”

“Good.”

They rode beneath the arches and Tamas found the people lining the streets, calling his name. His messengers had been for his council alone, so this crowd would have had to gather since this morning. Not a bad welcome, he decided.

They rode through the Factory District and across the Ad, from whose bridge he could clearly see the ruins of Kresim Cathedral-cleared away but for the immense cornerstones and the footprint of the outer wall. City folk turned out to wave him past as word spread of his arrival, but Tamas paid them little mind. His eyes were on the rooftops and the alleyways, watching for Brudanian Privileged or soldiers.

None showed themselves but the few stationed upon the old walls, who simply watched him pass.

“Olem, I-”

“Sir,” Olem interrupted, tapping him on the shoulder. He pointed into one of the alleyways along the street and then tugged on his reins, dropping back behind Tamas with a hand on his pistol.

A horse emerged from the alley and fell into step beside Tamas. Tamas eyed the rider in his dark Adran blues. “Good to see you, son.”