and despite the fact that you assigned Vlora to your staff, you’re still too angry to even speak to her. I won’t leave you without another mage.” He gestured toward the barricades. “The Kez ambassador will be here within a week, and you’ve still got this mess to clean up. Do we even know if the Barbers were successful?”
“You’re worried about me?” Tamas said. “That’s your excuse?”
“Worried that you’ll bugger it all up and need someone to clean up things after you.” Sabon paused. They could both hear shouting from beyond the barricade. “Perhaps we should help them,” he said.
“Damned Barbers can do it themselves,” Tamas said. “I won’t fret if they all get themselves killed. Don’t try to change the subject. Vadalslav said they’ve already found seven candidates with a little talent. They say three of them have potential.”
“It takes years to fully train a powder mage,” Sabon said. “They need to be taught to control their powers and how to be a soldier all at the same time.”
“That’s why I want you there,” Tamas said. “You trained Taniel and Vlora practically single-handed. Now Taniel is the best marksman in the world, and Vlora can detonate a keg of powder from half a mile.”
“That’s not the same, and you know it.” Sabon was angry now, his dark eyes glinting dangerously. “Taniel has been shooting since he could hold a gun. Vlora… well, she’s just a prodigy.”
“You don’t have to go recruiting,” Tamas said. “But I want you to start a school. You’ll have a line of credit and will have say over all happenings. You’ll never be more than a few hours away from me. If I need help, I’ll summon you immediately.”
“I have your word?” Sabon said.
“You have my word.”
Sabon stuffed the envelope in his pocket. “I want to be here when the Kez ambassador arrives.”
“Certainly.”
“And don’t look so pleased.”
Tamas stifled a smile.
“Sir!” Olem returned. He pointed toward the barricades.
A figure was slowly picking his way over the barricades and then down into the street, where he maneuvered among the untouched earthquake rubble. He wore a long white apron over a white shirt and black trousers. The apron front was covered in red.
The man headed straight toward them. He snapped open a razor, the blade glinting in the sunlight. Tamas saw Olem tense. The razor was touched to the man’s forehead in a mock salute.
“Teef, sir, of the Black Street Barbers,” the man said. “The barricades are yours.”
“The royalist leaders?”
“Dead or captured,” Teef said. “But mostly dead.”
Tamas snorted. “Women and children?”
The man snapped his razor shut and opened it again. He nervously ran the flat of the blade gently along his own throat. “Uh, there were a few bad occasions. Some of my boys have problems, sir. I, uh, dealt with it permanently.”
Tamas squeezed his hands into fists. This has been a mistake. “And General Westeven?”
“He was dead, sir. As you said he’d be.”
Tamas had hoped that the wound Westeven had taken in the brief melee after the parley had been just that: a wound. But his whole arm had been gone, and Westeven was old and no powder mage. “Olem, see that the Black Street Barbers are rounded up and kept safe until we have a chance to pay them.”
“Now, look here,” Teef said, taking a step toward Tamas. Olem was between them in a second, his bayonet a hair from Teef’s bloody apron. Teef swallowed.
Tamas gestured for the closest mercenary captain. “Don’t worry, Teef,” Tamas said. “If you kept your side of the bargain, I will keep mine. I’d love to throw you into Sabletooth, but I’m a man of my word. And… you may prove useful in the future.”
Tamas left Teef behind and approached the barricades with Sabon, Olem, and an entire company of the Wings of Adom. Tamas reached out with his senses, looking for powder charges. He sensed a small munitions dump near the barricade and a scattering of discarded powder.
Tamas climbed to the top of the barricade and looked around. From the few barricades they’d captured he knew what to expect: the semblance of a soldier’s camp, the street clear of debris, makeshift flags hung above the doors of homes and shops that’d been turned into barracks.
The streets were filled with people. Far more of them than Tamas had expected. Hundreds of women and children. Far fewer men. Their faces were painted with fear, with dejection, with loss. The faces of people who awoke to find their husbands, their friends, and their