need this?” Prime said, handing him the loaded pistol.
“Better accuracy,” Tamas said, surprised that an academic could reload a pistol so quickly. The crowd began to writhe and move, people moving like a panicked herd of cattle at the sound of pistol shots. Tamas steeled himself as he noted some of the crowd looking toward the open doors of the House of Nobles.
“Get those doors closed,” he told a guardsman. He raised his pistol. “Make sure Lady Winceslav is inside.”
“There!” Prime said. The old man nudged Tamas’s pistol toward Mihali. Tamas saw the Barber come out of the crowd near the chef. Tamas pulled the trigger. The man dropped like a stone.
“Novi’s frosted toes!” Tamas said. “Sabon was supposed to take care of the Barbers. Mihali! Get out of there!”
The chef did not hear him. He still stood on a table, waving his arms and shouting, seemingly unaware of the dead Barber nearby.
“Another,” Prime said, pointing. “They’re going for Mihali.”
“Why?” Tamas said. He handed the pistol back to Prime and flicked a bullet in the air. The shot glanced off a Barber’s shoulder and into the crowd, where a man clutched at his side. Tamas grimaced. “We’re too far. I can’t help him much without more weaponry.” He dug into his pockets for more bullets. He was out. “Shit. God or madman, he may be on his own now. Get me more rounds!”
“No.” Prime slowly shook his head. “We can’t leave him alone.”
“We damn well have to. We won’t get through that rabble.” The crowd was now on the move. They fled sluggishly, seemingly swayed by Mihali’s entreating them to remain calm, but his shouts could not fully quell the boiling fear of a mob.
“We have to try,” Prime said. “Come on, bring your guards.” He grabbed Tamas’s arm.
Lady Winceslav appeared on his other side. Tamas stifled a curse. “Lady, you need to get inside!”
“I won’t leave my soldiers out here alone,” Lady Winceslav said. She clenched her fists. “Get me a rifle. We’ll fight our way to the chef and—”
Prime’s gasp startled Tamas. “It’s him. Open your third eye!”
“How do you…” Tamas didn’t have to open his third eye. He felt the sorcery wash over him with the strength of the coming tide.
“Adom,” Prime said. “He’s dropped his disguise.”
“What is he doing?” Tamas felt numb, helpless. He’d never experienced sorcery like this before. If feeling a Privileged do magic was like the heat of a candle, this was as if he stood in a smith’s furnace.
“He’s channeling a spell!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Channeling! The few moments it takes a sorcerer to create sorcery, to pluck at the auras of the Else. He’s not tearing down a building or destroying a battalion. He’s been channeling all week! This food, these people. They are all part of it. He is weaving auras into the very city. If the Barbers reach him, it’ll destroy everything he’s worked for!”
“How do you know all this?”
“We haven’t time!” Prime let go of Tamas’s arm as the edge of the crowd moved toward them. One of Tamas’s guards was tossed to the ground, nearly trampled underfoot before he was pulled out of harm’s way. The crowd began to writhe like an animal. They’d all be swept away, guards or not. This was not something soldiers could tame.
“We need to get inside, sir.” Olem was at Tamas’s side, rifle in hand. He’d been out among the tables when the whole thing started.
Tamas glanced between Olem and Prime. They needed to retreat, let the panic die down. He would take care of the Barbers later. They were finished. He took a step back, gripping his crutch. What the pit was Prime blathering on about? Channeling spells? Tamas would have sensed it. “Bar the doors to the House. I don’t want this rabble getting in.”
“Sir?”
“We’re going after Mihali.”
“That’s suicide, sir.”
“Troop, form up!”
His bodyguard fell in around him. Soldiers joined them from the House of Nobles. He had thirty men within a few moments. Thirty men would do nothing against the mad rush of a hundred thousand.
“Lady, you should go inside,” Tamas said for the final time.
Someone had given Lady Winceslav a rifle. She looked like she knew how to handle it. Her eyes held no fear. Tamas respected that.
“No bayonets, men,” Tamas ordered. “Shove with the stock. Where’s Prime?”
“There,” Olem said.
Tamas looked over. Prime stood several feet outside his men, the packed rush of the mob only fingers from the front of his coat. “Someone get him!” Tamas snapped. “Old bastard