The Autumn Republic

“First thing in the morning,” Adamat said. He lowered himself back into his chair. He felt so incredibly old.

“Would a lesser request sway you?”

Adamat cocked an eyebrow, sensing a trap. Tamas had backed off of that far too quickly for one of his kind. “What is it?” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “What can I do, sir?”

“Offer Ricard your help in his political campaign. He’ll need all the aid he can get-especially from men he trusts. You two are friends, are you not?”

“Ricard is running against Claremonte,” Adamat said. The very man Adamat wished to avoid.

Tamas made a calming gesture. “I’m not asking you to get too closely involved. Just give him some help. A kind word. Lend him your talent for memory. Whatever you can spare.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Adamat said after a moment’s consideration. “But I don’t guarantee anything. I will not get caught up in Claremonte’s web again.”

Tamas responded with a tight nod. He opened his mouth to say something else, but they were interrupted by a light rap on the tent pole and a messenger putting his head inside. “Sir?”

“What is it?”

“I’ve a messenger from the king.”

“What king? Deliv? They’re here already?”

“No, sir. From the Kez. Ipille has sued for peace. He wants to parley.”

Adamat’s presence was forgotten the moment word came that the Kez wanted to discuss terms of peace. He slunk back to his tent amongst the ensuing round of late-night messengers and sudden meetings and managed just a few hours of restless sleep before his carriage was ready to take him back to Adopest.

He bid his driver to wait for him, and stole through the morning chaos of the camp, working off directions from the field marshal’s bodyguard to find one particular tent in a sea of thousands.

He was saved the embarrassment of having to put his head in tent after tent to find Privileged Borbador by spotting the Privileged himself sitting beside a smokeless fire, long-stemmed pipe clutched in his teeth. His jacket was immaculately pressed, his muttonchops trimmed. He looked as dapper as an officer with half a dozen batboys. Adamat wondered how sorcery could be applied to help one’s morning routine, and at the same time noted that the fire had no fuel.

“Good morning, Inspector,” Bo said softly. He put a finger to his lips and pointed to the tent behind him.

“Good morning, Privileged.” Adamat took his hat in his hands and tried not to look nervous.

The Privileged glanced up from his sorcerous fire. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I…” Adamat cleared his throat. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it would be for the best if he just left things alone.

“Yes?”

“It’s a sensitive matter.”

Bo took out the pipe from between his lips and scowled at the empty bowl. “Haven’t had a spare minute to find any pipe tobacco. You wouldn’t happen to have any, would you?”

Adamat felt around for his own pipe and pouch, and removed it from his pocket. “Just a little.” He gave the rest of the pouch to Bo, who nodded his thanks, taking a moment to pack his pipe and light the bowl from a flame that sprang from his finger. He looked up, meeting Adamat’s eyes.

Whatever the Privileged had been pondering when Adamat approached had been tucked away. He now had Bo’s full attention, and he wasn’t sure he wanted it.

“Does this have to do with your son?” Bo asked.

“It does.”

“I promised I would help you get him back. Tamas is trying to recruit me, and that complicates things. But I still plan on holding to my promise.”

“I’m returning to Adopest,” Adamat said.

Bo watched him carefully, his eyes soft. “Have you given up?” His voice was not unkind.

“Circumstances have changed.”

“In what way?”

Adamat licked his lips. It was time to be strong. For himself. For Faye. For Josep. “My son has been turned into a Warden. A Black Warden. I saw him myself at the battle. He would have killed me, but I called his name and he fled.”

“Can you be sure?”

“As sure as I can.”

Bo seemed to consider this for a moment. “I can’t do anything for him. The process of creating a Warden cannot be reversed. The Adran Cabal has tried. And these Black Wardens, even their corpses stink of Kresimir’s sorcery. I would likely die trying to counter that.”

“I know. I mean, I read a book on Wardens once. Only a few chapters, really, but I know that the process can’t be reversed.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I wanted to change the terms of our agreement.” Adamat thought that Bo might disagree immediately. After all, an agreement was an agreement. He expected Bo to hold to nothing but the letter of it.

“I’m listening,” Bo said.

“I want you to find my son. And I want you to kill him.”

CHAPTER 21

It took four days to arrange the parley. During the uneasy peace, brigades on both sides were reinforced and allowed to posture, and messengers were exchanged. Two days after finalizing the parley, Tamas found himself in a town just off the southern highway about fifteen miles north of Fendale.