Part 36 (1/2)
”No magebreaker is that good,” Tamas said.
”He has those blasted Black Wardens.”
Tamas thought he detected a hint of desperation in Doranth's voice. It had not occurred to him that the Black Wardens would be that terrifying to a Privileged, but it made sense. Wardens had been created by the Kez cabal to hunt powder mages. Black Wardens had been made from powder mages. It couldn't get much worse than that.
”Then go after him,” Tamas said. ”I'll bring up my cuira.s.siers and we'll perform a sweep of the western plains and crush him together.” He fought down frustration even as he spoke. Ipille was outmaneuvering him. He had betrayed a flag of truce, moved his cavalry into position during the ensuing confusion, and now all he had to do was kill time until they could awake Kresimir. They were doing a d.a.m.ned good job of it.
Sulem climbed slowly to his feet and set his report on his desk. He removed his reading gla.s.ses, then gave Doranth a long look. The Deliv cabal head lifted his chin, and some silent communication pa.s.sed between them. ”Out,” Sulem finally said.
”My Liege...”
”Out,” Sulem said again.
Doranth left, his wide shoulder hitting Tamas on his way past.
”You, too,” Sulem said to Vivia. The Privileged woman bowed to her king and retreated after the cabal head.
Tamas searched Sulem's face. Something was going on here, something under the surface. It wouldn't bode well for either him or his men.
”My generals are terrified,” Sulem finally said. ”This phantom of a dragoon has them jumping at shadows. They've never lost so many cavalry in so little time. He's quick, he has perfect timing, and his ability to nullify the sorcery of my Privileged has everyone in the army on edge. 'The Kez Wolf.' ”
Tamas wasn't sure whether to be more impressed by this Kez magebreaker or by the fact that the Deliv had managed to keep all of this a secret from him the past two days. After all, they were supposed to be working with Tamas. His own limitations had forced him to trust the Deliv entirely.
”In just two days, this magebreaker has shattered the confidence of my cavalry.”
”Losing over half their number will do that,” Olem commented quietly.
The king examined Olem for a moment, as if wondering why a commoner would address him in such a manner, then snorted laughter. ”My Privileged will not send out any more riders. They absolutely refuse. You may have seen that battle on the horizon?”
”Yes,” Tamas said.
”That was five of my Privileged letting loose on a raid by the Kez Wolf, just to drive him away from our baggage.”
”Pit.”
”Exactly what I thought.” The king drummed his fingers on his desk. ”Those five Privileged barely killed three-score Kez dragoons. The rest of the company escaped. My generals won't pursue. They fear a trap.”
Tamas watched Sulem for several moments. Normally so serene, the Deliv king seemed uncharacteristically agitated. ”We can't stop to track him down,” he said. ”We have to march for Budwiel. We can't delay.”
”And let this brigand dog our heels?”
Tamas almost told him about Ka-poel and Kresimir. Sulem needed to know why Tamas was so desperate to march on Budwiel. But it wasn't a tale he cared to explain, nor one that lent itself to believability. ”I'll deal with the Kez dragoons.”
”I...” Sulem spread his hands.
”I will deal with it.” Tamas understood that Sulem was not about to call his own men cowards. Sulem's generals had rarely, if ever, experienced a battle in which they couldn't rely on the power of their Privileged. Tamas had been training his men, and himself, to do so for decades-even when there was an Adran Cabal.
Tamas left the king's tent. It was well past noon, his army was poised to march for the rest of the day, and he knew he had to do something about this immediately. ”Olem, I...” He paused. Doranth stood nearby, his big arms crossed, face livid.
Tamas found himself less and less inclined to exercise restraint. He crossed to the Deliv magus. ”All the power at your fingertips and you'll let a single magebreaker shut you down?”
Doranth opened his mouth.
”No,” Tamas said. ”No excuses. This is war, not some stupid b.l.o.o.d.y political game. If you can't win it with the tools you have, you make new tools. Something you d.a.m.ned Privileged will never understand.”
”You're a fool.”
”And you're a coward.”
Doranth unfolded his arms to reveal he had put on his gloves. He threw his arms wide, like a bear ready to swipe, a snarl on his lips.
Tamas stepped inside Doranth's guard, even as Olem drew his pistol. He stared up at the towering magus. ”No,” he said. ”Not a good idea. I may be an old man, but I'm running a mighty powder trance right now and I'll twist your b.a.l.l.s off before you can twitch a finger. You might be able to kill me before I can end you, but you'll die squealing a moment later. Remember what I did to the Adran Cabal.”
Doranth's arms shook with fury. Moments pa.s.sed, and Tamas could feel the sweat rolling down his back and wondered idly if he really could take the magus with him. He was getting old. His reflexes weren't what they once were.
Doranth lowered his arms and tugged his gloves off. ”I will kill you, Powder Mage.”
”I'll probably be long dead before you get the chance.” Tamas stepped away. ”Let's go, Olem.”
It wasn't until they were out of the Deliv camp that Tamas allowed himself a relieved sigh. ”Pit,” Tamas said, wiping his brow, ”I should not threaten allied Privileged.”
”I thought it was an interesting tactical choice,” Olem said.
”And I thought you were around to keep me from doing stupid things.”
”You looked in control from where I was standing.”
”Then why did you draw your pistol?”
Olem shrugged. ”Just in case.”
”You're a man to inspire confidence.”
”I try.”
Tamas could sense a plan forming in his head. ”Find me Beon je Ipille. And that Privileged girl. Meet me in my tent in twenty minutes.”
”His name,” Beon said, ”is Saseram.”
Tamas watched Beon through narrowed eyes. He'd undone his jacket, as his tent felt warm and muggy despite the cool breeze outside. There was an ache deep in his bones, and he wondered how many years it had been since he last had a drink. ”That's a Gurlish name.”
”That's because he is Gurlish,” Beon responded.
”A Gurlish cavalryman, fighting for the Kez? That seems a stretch.” Tamas glanced at Olem, who had raised a skeptical eyebrow. Nila stood beside him, looking uncertain of herself. She'd changed out of her scorched dress and now wore a white daydress with a violet scarf.