The Autumn Republic

“Can’t be helped.” Bo hobbled on ahead, out the back of the office and into the servants’ stairwell. Nila looked down the stairs and could still see the fleeing minister’s staff. Back out in the hallway Brudanian soldiers had gained the landing and were taking up positions in doorways and behind columns.

Nila stepped away from Bo and leaned into the hallway, stretching out one hand, plucking at the air with the other. Flames shot from her fingers, rolling and snaking through the doorway. A bullet splintered the door frame beside her head, but she didn’t allow it to distract her. She focused on the heat of the flames, dragging sorcery through the Else and into this world.

She stiffened suddenly as an icy feeling crept up her spine, as if she had suddenly found herself plunged into shadow on a sunny day. “Bo, what just happened to me?” Her fire trickled off, expunged by her sudden doubt, and she dared not move.

Bo hobbled up beside her, his prosthetic clicking. “Well done,” he said. “You’ve set the building on fire, but I’ll give you points for the effort. That thing you felt was me, by the way. Come on.” He grabbed her by the arm and they made for the back stairwell.

“What did you do?” she asked as she helped him on the stairs.

“Quiet,” he whispered. “Trick an old lover taught me. I took a tiny bit of your aura and left it where we were just standing. Leaves a splash of color in the Else that burns like a person and covers our tracks. They’ll see through it quickly, but it might give us time to get behind them.”

They passed the fourth floor and Nila rushed through the door and into the office beyond, approaching the door to the main hallway. Soldiers stood down the hall, gathered around the main staircase, muskets pointed cautiously upward. Among them was a female Privileged-Lourie, she had no doubt.

“Now?” she asked.

“No, down one more floor.”

“We’ll give up the advantage of height.”

“I’d rather give up the high ground if it means we’re not trapped. Besides, you set fire to the top floor.”

They returned to the stairwell and descended to the third floor. Bo approached the servants’ door, sweat now pouring down his face, grimacing with every step on his prosthetic. He’d lost his cane somewhere in the chaos. Nila ran ahead of him and grabbed the door, but was suddenly thrown backward by a burst of sorcery. She slammed into the wall, plaster falling on her shoulders, the breath knocked out of her.

A man strode through the remains of the door. He wore Privileged gloves and he was big, as big as Colonel Etan. Bo made a warding gesture, which the man seemed to brush away. He grabbed Bo by his wrists and swung him around and into the banister. It cracked beneath Bo’s weight and both men toppled backward and plunged from sight.

Nila gathered herself off the floor and ran down the steps after them. They lay on the next landing, Bo underneath the behemoth of a Privileged, wrists pinned at his sides. The big Privileged laughed and cracked his forehead against Bo’s nose. Bo screamed with pain.

Nila grabbed the man by the back of his neck. He whirled, spittle flying from his mouth as he threw her off of him. His eyes twitched toward her hands, checking for gloves, before he turned his attention back to Bo.

“Shouldn’t be looking at me,” Bo said, blood bubbling from his nostrils.

Nila’s burning fingers seared through the man’s spine as easily as a shovel through snow. He gave a strangled scream before she was in his lungs, and he died with her hand around his heart. She shoved the body off of Bo.

“Are you all right?”

“I’ve felt better.” He wiped at the blood streaming from his nose. “Up, quick.”

She helped him to his feet, and then there was a great whining sound. The building trembled, and blades of hot iron suddenly leapt through the wall above their heads, raining wood and plaster upon them.

“Run, run!”

Tamas didn’t bother to find his horse, but rather threw another powder charge into his mouth and ran all the way to Skyline Palace.

Taniel ran beside him, rifle clutched in his hands, blood caked around his nostrils and at the corner of his mouth. They reached the winding road that snaked its way up the hill to Skyline. Tamas stopped them both there, gasping for breath. The powder trance spiked his adrenaline, giving him strength and energy, but he was far too old to do this for long. He could hear cannons and muskets firing, and smoke rose from the hill above them.

Olem must have started the attack.

“Find the girl,” Tamas said. “I’ll look for Kresimir’s body.”

“Do we have a plan?”

“If we can get Ka-poel out and maybe Kresimir himself, we might have leverage over Claremonte,” Tamas said. “I’ll distract him.”

“That’s suicide.”

“That’s why I’m doing it.”

Taniel clutched at Tamas’s jacket. “I can survive his sorcery.” Tamas could hear the earnestness in his son’s voice, the insistent, almost pleading tone. He wanted to be the one to go in after Claremonte. Tamas would not allow that.