gingerly move it down the front steps. “That’s not precisely true,” Prime said.
“It’s dogma,” Tamas said. “Charlemund reminded me so just the other day.”
“Just because something is church dogma does not make it true.”
“Well, certainly,” Tamas said, “any educated man…” He trailed off at Prime’s scowl.
“Educated men,” Prime said. “Bah. There were ten gods. Not one god and nine saints. Kresimir came initially, and then requested the help of his brothers and sisters to organize the Nine.”
“There’s ten gods?” Tamas said. He struggled to remember his history lessons. “I always thought Kez took Kresimir as their patron. Who is the tenth, then?”
Prime shook his head. “That’s the wrong question. You should be asking: If Mihali is a god, why is he here now?”
South Pike Mountain was hidden behind the House of Nobles, but they both turned in that direction. Tamas thought back to the warnings he’d received from Bo and Taniel. Ancient sorcerers trying to summon God. It was almost quaint, as if from a storybook. Fears generated from the stress of months of battle. Although, Tamas remembered, those first warnings came before the start of the siege. Tamas scratched at the top of his wounded leg. It began to hurt more, the pain returning like an ache long thought gone.
“Have you ever heard of Kresimir’s Promise?” Tamas said suddenly.
“Rubbish,” Prime said.
“Rubbish? You know of it? I was told it was a cabal secret, only known to the kings and their Privileged.”
“It is.” Prime mopped his forehead with a handkerchief.
Tamas was about to press him more when he heard a scream.
Another followed, and then another. A ripple of fear moved through the large crowd as a murmur of yells grew to a roar in moments. People rose from their places, their food forgotten, trying to see the source of the commotion.
“What’s going on?” Tamas snatched his crutch and struggled from his chair. “Find out what’s going on,” he told a guard. “Get inside,” he said to Prime. “Guards, take Lady Winceslav inside.” Tamas watched Mihali climb up onto a table, nimble despite his girth, and strain to see what was happening.
“Calm down!” Mihali shouted. His voice carried over the crowd with surprising force. “Please, return to your seats.” People paused, half-risen, unsure of what to do. Those in line seemed to hesitate, unwilling to lose their places but concerned by what could be happening. Everyone remembered the dragoons on Election Day.
Tamas could still see nothing. The commotion seemed to be coming from the far end of the tables. Some people ran, struggling against those who tried to get closer and see.
“My pistol,” Tamas said. He noticed Prime had gotten to his feet and was craning his neck for a better look. Lady Winceslav waited beside the door to the House of Nobles with her bodyguard.
“Get inside,” Tamas said again. “I don’t want you killed by a fear-stricken mob.”
Prime ignored him.
“Suit yourself,” Tamas growled, taking one of his dueling pistols from a guard. He checked that it was primed and loaded before scanning the crowd.
“There,” Prime said, pointing.
Tamas caught sight of a man several hundred paces away. The crowd had backed away from him. He looked to be holding something in his hand. Tamas bit into a powder charge and swayed as the full force of a powder trance hit him. He took a few shallow breaths and straightened, sharpening his gaze on the man.
The man was dressed as a Barber. He wore a white shirt and dark pants under a white apron. The apron itself was stained with blood. There was a body at his feet, with the long, blond hair of a woman. He wiped the blade of his razor on his apron and sprinted toward the crowd.
“The Black Street Barbers,” Tamas said slowly. “What the pit…”
More screams. Tamas swiveled his gaze. There were dozens of them. They dashed into the feast, throwing down platters of food, cutting down men and women and children with impunity, razors flicking the air like a master’s brush painting a bloody masterpiece.
“To arms!” Tamas bellowed. His first shot took a Barber between the eyes at a hundred paces. He didn’t need his sorcery for that. “Can you reload this?” Tamas said, dropping the pistol into Prime’s hands. “Bullets!” One of his guards paused in aiming to give him a handful of round balls and another of powder charges. Tamas flicked one bullet in the air and ignited a powder charge with a thought. Another Barber dropped, then another.