The Autumn Republic

Calling it a town was actually quite generous. There were less than a dozen buildings, the biggest of which, a Kresim chapel, had been appropriated for the purpose of the meeting. There was no sign of the previous occupants of the town. Whether they’d evacuated months ago or been enslaved by the Kez, there was no way of knowing, and it wasn’t high on Tamas’s list of questions to ask the Kez king.

Riders came and went for the better part of the morning, and Tamas passed his time watching Ipille’s retinue where they camped on the other side of the town, about a mile away. Not a lot of the camp was visible-Ipille had set up in a shallow ravine, out of the wind.

And out of sight of any powder mages.

Tamas commented on the fact to Olem, who lifted his looking glass to examine one of Ipille’s royal guard standing on a hill overlooking the Kez camp.

“He doesn’t trust you, sir,” Olem said.

“I can’t terribly blame him. I did try to kill him once.”

Olem lowered his looking glass and removed a cigarette from the corner of his mouth. “He’s tried to have you killed a dozen times, at least.”

“True,” Tamas said wistfully. “But I’ve wrapped my fingers around his throat. That’s a little different.”

“Ah. You ever going to tell me that story?”

“Maybe when I’m drunk someday.”

“You don’t drink, sir.”

“Exactly.”

One of Olem’s Riflejacks rode up to give his report, and a moment later Olem conferred with Tamas. “Sir, my boys have given the all-clear. The town is empty except for a couple of Ipille’s royal guard, and they’ve scouted everything within half a dozen miles. If it’s a trap, Ipille is far cleverer than we give him credit.”

“Ipille is far cleverer than we give him credit. Fortunately for us, the one skill he lacks is the ability to select for talent. That’s why all of his generals and field marshals have only ever been half-competent at best. You’ve had a few Knacked checking for Privileged and Wardens?”

“No Wardens. And just one fifth-rate Privileged. Supposedly she’s the head of the royal cabal now, with everyone stronger dead.”

“Tell Vlora to keep the Privileged in her sights, in case she tries something.”

“You know, sir,” Olem mused, “Ipille is doubtless traveling with a kingly entourage. We’ve only brought fighting men. We have the superior force. We could…” He imitated a pistol with his thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t tempt me.” The thought had already occurred to Tamas. Several times. “We’re in position to end this war. Kill Ipille, and one of his bloody stupid sons will call for our heads and might even gain sympathy throughout the Nine. Taniel!” Tamas waved his son forward. Taniel looked up from speaking with one of the Riflejacks and waved back. He said a few more words and walked over.

Taniel had cleaned up well since his ordeal in the mountains. He’d shaved, bathed, and been given a new uniform. He bore a dozen more scars than when Tamas had sent him up South Pike Mountain, and there was a patch of white hair around his right ear that Tamas hadn’t noticed before. He wore the powder keg pin of a powder mage on his breast, but no rank.

Tamas drummed his fingers on his saddle horn. “I gave you a promotion, you know,” he said, eyeing Taniel’s empty lapels.

“Technically,” Taniel responded, “I’m not one of your soldiers anymore.”

“That’s rubbish and you know it.”

Taniel let his weight fall to his back leg and his hand rested on the butt of one pistol. Even here, surrounded by allies, he adopted the stance of a casual killer. Similar to Olem, but without the bodyguard’s watchfulness. Taniel wasn’t ready to kill because he needed to. Just… because.

“I made an agreement with Brigadier Abrax. I’m a member of the Wings of Adom.”

“And I told you that you never left my service. Your dismissal was orchestrated by a traitor on one side and a war profiteer on the other. No court, military or civilian, would uphold the results of that court-martial.”

“Of course, father,” Taniel said quietly.

Tamas bristled. They’d had this conversation a dozen times, and each time Taniel made a show of conceding the point. But he still had yet to attach the major’s pins to his lapel.

“This could be a trap,” Taniel said.

Tamas shook his head. “We’ve checked.”

“It’s the real thing? Ipille wants peace?”

“That’s what we’ve been led to believe.”

“We could just kill him,” Taniel said.

Olem nodded emphatically. “That was my suggestion.”

Tamas sighed. No need to dignify that with a response. As much as he wanted Ipille’s head on the end of a bayonet, he was acting as a politician now. This had to be done right. And, he reminded himself at the sight of a group of riders cresting the highway a few hundred yards distant, he wasn’t doing this himself.

“My lady,” Tamas greeted Lady Winceslav when she arrived.

The Lady wore a sharp red riding dress with black boots and rode with a carbine laid across her saddle. She pulled up next to Tamas and looked him up and down.

“Abrax is furious with you.”

“I know.”

“So am I.”

“I assumed as much.”