Promise of Blood (Powder Mage series Book 1) by Brian McClellan

Author:Brian McClellan [McClellan, Brian]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: Fiction / Fantasy - Epic, Fiction / Men&#8217, S Adventure, Fiction / Fantasy - Historical
Publisher: Orbit
Published: 2013-04-16T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

21

Tamas awoke to the sound of his own labored gasps. He sat up, leaning on his elbows, struggling to breathe. It felt like a millstone sat upon his chest. He kicked away the blankets that were wrapped around his feet and sat up, leaning over the edge of his bed.

He slept in his office on the top floor of the House of Nobles these days, forsaking the thick cushions of the royal sofa for a simple but comfortable soldier’s cot set up in the corner of the room. The cot, heavy-duty canvas, was soaked through with his sweat, as were his bedclothes and hair. He wrapped his arms about himself, suddenly shivering as his sweat began to cool. The clock, visible by bright moonlight, said it was half past three in the morning.

His dreams came back to him, like memories of long years ago, broken and blurry. His hands shook when he thought of them, and it wasn’t from the cold. Men died in his dreams—soldiers he’d known his whole life, friends and acquaintances, even enemies. Everyone he’d ever known. They lined the rim of South Pike Mountain and one by one they leapt into a fiery cauldron. Taniel was there too, though his fate was obscured. He shuddered. Where was Vlora in those dreams? He’d seen Sabon leap into that volcano, but where was Olem?

Tamas took a shaky breath. He made his way to the balcony window and stood for a moment, watching the full moon. The night sky was empty except for a single ribbon of cloud that formed a perfect circle around the moon. God’s eye. Tamas began to shiver again, violently, until the shivers turned to shudders. He gripped the wall with both hands until it passed.

He heard a familiar whine and looked down. “Hrusch,” he said to the hound. “I’m all right. Where’s Pitlau—” He stopped, the name disappearing in an involuntary cough. “Right. Sorry, boy.” He bent, offering the hound his hand. “I’ll take you on a hunt soon. Get your mind off things.”

Tamas found his slippers and ran fingers through his hair. He donned his dressing gown and opened the door to the hallway, blinking against the light. Olem stirred in a chair beside the door. Across from him, Vlora slept in another chair, leaning on her rifle, snoring softly. Farther down the hall a pair of guards waited beneath the lamplight. His commanders had doubled the guard after the Warden’s assassination attempt.

“Sir,” Olem said. He stubbed out a cigarette on the arm of his chair.

“Don’t you ever sleep?”

“No, sir. That’s why you hired me.”

“It was a joke, Olem.”

“I gathered.”

“Things quiet?” Tamas asked.

“Very, sir. Not a peep in the place.” Olem’s voice was quiet, subdued.

Tamas nodded at Vlora. “What’s she doing here?”

“Worried about you, sir.”

Tamas sighed.

“Are you OK, sir?”

Tamas gave a nod. “Bad dreams.”

“My grandmammie used to say bad dreams were bad omens,” Olem said.

Tamas glared at the soldier. “Thanks, that makes me feel much better. I’m going to get something to eat.” He shuffled down the hall.

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