Charlemund hesitated. The reins were in his hands, and though he obviously wanted to snap them and make a run for it some kind of morbid curiosity held him back.
Adamat forced himself to his feet. He stumbled, winced at the pain, his head feeling light. He snagged the horse’s bridle. “No,” he said.
Charlemund barely seemed to notice him. The arch-diocel’s eyes were on Tamas.
“I see you’ve taken care of the good duke,” Charlemund said. He stood up, dropping the reins, and jumped from the driver’s bench. He landed in a crouch, stood up, and straightened. Adamat felt his heart beat faster.
Tamas seemed unimpressed. “He’s still alive,” he said. “He wishes he wasn’t. I have a lot of plans for him.” Tamas took the steps down into the garden slowly, leaning on the air rifle. “For you, too,” he said.
Charlemund drew his sword. “You’re out of powder,” he said. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be talking. You’re not afraid of my title, of the repercussions. You’d have put a bullet in my head from inside the house. Did Nikslaus use up all your reserves?”
Tamas’s face was iron.
“If you had any honor at all,” Charlemund said, “you’d be on your way to South Pike right now to sacrifice yourself to Kresimir in hopes of saving this country.”
“That’s rich,” Tamas said. “Coming from a traitor.”
“What are you going to do to me, Tamas?” Charlemund said. “On your best day you aren’t the swordsman I am.” Charlemund broke into a sudden sprint, rushing headlong toward Tamas, arms thrown back like the wings of a bird of prey.
Tamas let the air rifle drop from beneath his arm. He drew his sword, planting his bad leg back, wincing as he did so. Adamat took a sharp breath. That leg had been shattered. Tamas wouldn’t be able to maneuver. On a good day, he may have come close to matching Charlemund. As it was, a duel would be laughable.
Charlemund lunged forward, thrusting savagely as he closed with Tamas. Tamas parried, their blades crossed, and Charlemund was behind Tamas, spinning to give a death-dealing blow before Tamas could bring himself around on the bad leg. Charlemund’s shout of victory died in his throat, his eyes falling toward his sword.
The black smoke of gunpowder hung in the air by Tamas’s off hand. He opened his fist and let the burned wrappings of a powder charge fall to the ground, next to the blade of Charlemund’s sword. Charlemund stared at his swordless hilt. His face twisted in fury, eyes alight. He threw the hilt and leapt toward Tamas, who’d turned slowly to face him.
The thrown hilt hit Tamas’s forehead, leaving a shallow cut. He blinked, and thrust forward once, his off hand on his hip in a duelist’s pose. Charlemund’s own momentum carried him a handspan onto the steel. Tamas pulled back, stabbed again, then again. Charlemund stumbled away, clutching at the wounds, the crimson soaking into his pristine uniform. He staggered up against the carriage, one hand reaching, grasping at nothing. He slid down onto the gravel.
Adamat swallowed hard. Charlemund’s wounds didn’t look fatal, but there were several of them. He’d bleed out slowly, painfully—if Tamas let him. Tamas didn’t make any move to help, nor call out for his soldiers. He simply watched as Charlemund tried to stem the blood flow, hands shaking. Tamas wiped the blood from his sword on Charlemund’s discarded cape and sheathed it.
Adamat’s own wounds were bad, but he judged them survivable if he bound them better. He shrugged the thought off and went to squat down beside Siemone’s limp body. The priest’s neck had been broken in the fall. His eyes stared sightlessly off into a pasture, mouth open in a cry of despair. Adamat closed the eyes with his fingertips. He stood up and walked around to the other side of the carriage.
Olem and Tamas leaned upon each other, heads together in a conference. Tamas once again held the air rifle as a cane. They both looked to Adamat. “Olem says you delayed Charlemund just long enough for him to catch up.” Tamas gave him a slow nod. “You have my thanks.”
Adamat licked dry lips. Neither had a look of suspicion, an accusation on their lips. Why not? Adamat’s warning to Lord Vetas had just caused the deaths of a number of Tamas’s soldiers. They had yet to realize why he was there at all.
“Sir,” Adamat said. “I’m sorry. But my family…”
Tamas returned to the inside of the manor. Wardens and Church guards