“And miss the look on Charlemund’s face when you tell him the charges? Bloody pit, no. I’ll hobble my ass up those front steps with the rest of you.”
“He may put up a fight,” Olem said.
Tamas fingered his pistol. “I hope so.”
“You’re willing to risk his bodyguard having a few air rifles?” Olem said. “It only takes one.”
“You ruin my fun, Olem. You really do.”
The carriage stopped again after a few minutes. Sabon opened the carriage door. “The house and yards are surrounded. Our men checked the chapel and most of the outlying buildings. His carriage is in the carriage house. He is likely inside.”
Sabon did not look happy.
“And?” Tamas said.
“No sign of workers anywhere. It’s a nice day. They should be in the vineyards working the fields, exercising the horses. The place is like a ghost town. I—”
Sabon’s next words were cut off by a bullet as it entered his left temple. He fell without a sound, blood spraying across the inside of the carriage.
The popping sound of air rifles was followed by the shouts of ambushed soldiers. A bullet ripped through the carriage over Tamas’s head. A horse screamed. He struggled toward the door.
“Oh no, sir,” Olem said, grabbing his coat.
Tamas pushed Olem away and leaned over the edge of the carriage. Sabon lay in the mud, dead eyes staring up blankly.
“Bugger that,” Tamas said. He swung out the door, analyzing the villa in a second. It sprawled across his view. The whitewashed stucco front was immaculate and the high, narrow windows and thick brick of the ancient style gave the defenders the advantage. There were at least fifty windows on the front of the building. The air rifles could have been firing from any—or all—of them. Tamas caught sight of the barrel of an air rifle and fired his weapon at that window. He pulled himself in, the sound of bullet impacts and ricochets too loud for comfort. He began to reload. “What the pit…?”
Olem leapt from the carriage. He turned around and grabbed Tamas by the coat, pulling him after, onto his shoulder, and ran toward the vineyards.
“To the pit with you!” Tamas said. He grunted as he was thrown to the ground and felt the pain lance up his leg. Olem dropped down beside him, panting hard, rifle in one hand. They were in a ditch, mud squelching under Tamas’s boots. His leg burned horribly, the pain wrecking his mind. Tamas snatched a powder charge from his pocket and tore it open, emptying the contents into his mouth. He crunched down, chewing the grit with rage, ignoring the taste of sulfur and the pain in his teeth.
“What was that?” Tamas demanded.
Olem glanced over the edge of the ditch. “Carriage has taken seven or eight hits since we left,” he said.
Tamas didn’t reply. The powder trance was coming on quickly. The world spun for a moment and he gripped the grass to keep from falling off. His senses righted themselves. The crack of rifle shots reached him as his men began returning fire. The sound was chased by the smell of black powder. Tamas gasped it in, deepening his powder trance, willing away the pain in his leg.
“They have more than a few air rifles,” Olem said. He sneaked a peek over the edge of the ditch, then brought his rifle up, aimed, and fired. “At least twenty. Probably more,” he said, dropping down. “And Wardens.”
“You sure?”
“Just saw an ugly brute in the window.”
Tamas finished reloading his pistol. The pain from his leg had begun to fade to the back of his mind. “Wardens,” he said. “I hate Wardens.” He looked over the hill. The front of the villa looked normal enough, but the windows were open, rifle barrels sticking through. He could see the grotesque shape of Wardens within, aiming down their rifles, as well as the bright colors of Charlemund’s bodyguard. He fired his pistol, burning half a powder charge to nudge the bullet where he wanted. One of the rifles fell inside.
“Who tipped them off?” Tamas snarled. “There’s a spy among my own men. Among my elite!”
“We should worry about whether we brought enough men,” Olem said. “We have less than a hundred. If he’s got any number of Wardens in there along with his own bodyguard, we could be in trouble.”
Vlora suddenly dropped down beside him. “Sir,” she said. “We need to retreat. We’re taking heavy losses. I lost two from my carriage just trying to get to cover.”