The Autumn Republic

“Yes. All the way on the other side of Fatrasta. Your son’s little savage girl is the strongest practitioner of this sorcery that I’ve ever stumbled across, and that includes even myself. I’ve used artifacts like this to kill all but two of my siblings.”

“Adom…”

“And Kresimir. Yes. I like Adom. He was always kind to me, back before I came into power. I’ve left him unmolested so far. I’m afraid my twin won’t feel so magnanimous, though, with Kresimir out of the way. Speaking of which.”

Claremonte paused, and there was a distinct popping sound. Coughing, smoke rising from her skin and hair, Cheris appeared from beyond a translucent veil of sorcery and stumbled into Claremonte, who caught her with one hand. “Hello, my love,” he said. “What is the matter?”

Cheris hacked, then went behind Kresimir’s altar and heaved noisily. “Our damned brother has gotten his filthy sorcery inside me. I had to flee, but I don’t think he’ll follow.”

“I told you not to eat anything in this city,” Claremonte said, his pleasant voice sounding slightly cross. “It won’t kill you. Adom is too gentle for that.”

Tamas took a step forward. The world seemed to tilt in his vision, the floor spinning. “This doesn’t have to go any further,” he said.

Cheris pointed at Tamas. “Why haven’t you killed him yet?”

Claremonte rolled his eyes. “I had other plans,” he said, addressing Tamas. “In case I lost the election. Plans within plans within plans. Weakening Ricard’s position, toppling the Adran currency. I planned on having power within twelve years, but my other half is less patient than I, it seems.”

“You’re the one who left me in that bloody tower,” Cheris said to her brother accusingly.

Tamas took another step. “Kill Kresimir. Go ahead. I won’t stop you. It sounds like he deserves to die. But leave us out of your machinations. Leave Adro in peace.”

“You won’t try to stop us?” Cheris scoffed.

“Now, now,” Claremonte said. “Don’t dismiss the field marshal entirely, Cheris. Tamas, I plan on uniting this world for a new era. I’d like you to lead it. Say yes and you will be healed. I’ll lengthen your life. I’ll spare your friends and your family. You will hold a place of honor. You will bring peace to every nation on this planet.”

It was growing harder for Tamas to breathe now. He could feel the blood in his lungs, and wondered if he’d been cut in more places than just his shoulder. It took every last bit of strength to grasp the spare pistol in his belt and draw it. His hand wavering, he lifted it and aimed it at Claremonte. “No.”

The pistol evaporated in a splash of light, and along with it Tamas’s hand. There was no pain from the destroyed limb, just a sudden numbness. Tamas stumbled backward, felt the sorcery grip and tear his body. The pain filled his head until he thought it might burst, and then he fell.

The appearance of Brude’s other half gave Taniel pause. He waited for several moments, watching them speak.

“Pole?” he hissed. “There’s two of them. Even if I can get close enough, I only have one bayonet.”

Ka-poel seemed to consider this a moment. She gave him a nod and tapped her chest with one finger.

“You?”

Another nod.

“What can you do?”

She smiled at him, but didn’t have time to give an answer. Out of the corner of Taniel’s eye he saw a quick movement as Tamas drew his pistol. The pistol exploded in Tamas’s hand, and Taniel could feel the sorcery spear through his father’s body.

Taniel leapt the balcony and landed in the hall on the opposite side of the altar from Brude. He saw Tamas’s body topple. “Dad!” The word wrenched from him as a sob, a searing, painful cry of fear and anguish. He stepped forward and felt Brude’s sorcery turn on him, snaking around the altar like a python and snatching at his bones. The pressure was incredible. He instantly felt as if he were wading waist-deep through mud, the same crushing feeling that had held him at bay in Elections Square.

He held the ring bayonet in one hand, the blade between his fingers. He plowed forward, using the bayonet to cut through the sorcery as if it were the prow of a ship slicing through the sea. Cheris rounded the altar to meet him while Claremonte, his face calm, stepped up to Kresimir and raised the flint dagger in his hand.

“Pole, a little help!”

Kresimir’s casket-the small one that Ka-poel had been carrying-soared through the air in an arc above Taniel’s head. The sticks and string burst apart, the bonds around Kresimir’s doll unraveling in the blink of an eye. Sorcery suddenly erupted from Kresimir, blasting both Cheris and Claremonte across the room.

Kresimir rolled off the altar and Taniel froze in place, afraid of the madness in Kresimir’s eye as the god’s gaze came to rest upon him. But there was no madness there. In fact, there was nothing. Kresimir’s face was blank, expressionless. Ka-poel’s doll floated above his head, and Kresimir jerked as the doll moved, mimicking its motions.