place behind a divan and approached Pitlaugh, whining lightly, nuzzling him. Pitlaugh’s back was twisted sharply, his rear legs sticking off at an odd angle. He opened his eyes as Tamas gazed upon him, looking up pitifully.
“You did well, boy,” Tamas said softly. He stepped toward the door, then stopped when Pitlaugh tried to follow, dragging his legs behind him, whining loudly. Tamas felt his eyes burn.
It took him some time to reach the upper levels of the House of Nobles carrying Pitlaugh. Tamas found Dr. Petrik playing cards with some officers on the second floor. They stared at him as he entered the room, covered in blood, the wolfhound in his arms, Hrusch close on his heels.
Some time later Pitlaugh lay stretched out on a sofa. Petrik examined him while dozens of soldiers crowded the doorway, trying to see inside the room. A few loud curses made them move out of the way, then Olem appeared. He froze when he saw Tamas. Olem’s face was red, his eyes wide.
“Sir,” Olem said. His hands shook as he reached out to touch Tamas, as if making sure he was still alive. He wouldn’t look into Tamas’s eyes. “I’ve failed you,” he said.
“It’s not your fault,” Tamas said. “You couldn’t have known. I slipped off.”
“I should have been there.” Olem’s gaze fell on Pitlaugh. “I’m sorry, sir. By Kresimir, I…”
“You never failed,” Tamas said firmly. “You weren’t even there. Now I need you close by. Get messengers. I want every member of the council here within the hour. I don’t give a damn if they have to sprout wings to do it. Go. I want them to meet me in the room beneath the House of Nobles.”
Dr. Petrik approached. “There’s nothing I can do for him. Not even a skilled veterinarian could help him now.”
“Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”
Tamas took a pistol from Olem and went to the dog’s side. He ran his fingers gently between Pitlaugh’s eyes. “It’s all right, boy. Have peace.”
He felt something jolt inside him when the shot rang through the room. He knelt by Pitlaugh’s side for a few minutes, ignoring the commotion of guards checking on the pistol shot.
Tamas got to his feet and picked out a soldier at random. “Find me a hammer and spikes. Now.”
In the room below the House of Nobles, Tamas waited. He stared at the Warden’s broken body. These things were strong and difficult to kill, but the Kez had to know that Tamas could deal with one. It was only bad luck he’d not had powder on him when he was attacked. What was the purpose? To sow distrust? To bring chaos into Tamas’s inner circle?
If that was their aim, they’d succeeded.
His council came in, one by one, and he directed them to chairs on one side of the room, ignoring protests and questions until every one of them had arrived. He stood before them, hands folded, still in his blood-covered shirt. The Warden hung from the wall behind him by a spike in one wrist, crimson drops falling from his body to splatter on the stones below.
“One of you has betrayed me,” Tamas said. “I will find out who.”
He left them there to contemplate the Warden’s corpse.
Adamat felt a shadow fall across his shoulders and sensed a man standing over him. He touched the cane leaning against his knee and set his tea on the iron café table. He watched the shadow for a moment, remembered the sound the fall of approaching boots had made on the cobbles, and moved his hand away from the cane.
“Field Marshal,” Adamat said without looking up.
Tamas tossed a newspaper down next to Adamat’s tea and took the seat opposite. He held up his hand for a waiter.
“How’d you know it was me?”
“Military boots, military step,” Adamat said, taking a sip of his tea. “I’ve not done work for anyone else in the military in ten years.”
“It could have been an aide, sent to find you.”
Adamat shrugged. “Each person has a particular cadence to their step. Yours is well defined.”
“Fascinating. I trust Ondraus gave you enough money to help with your debts?”
Adamat wasn’t surprised that Tamas knew he had debt problems. Adamat made a quick study of the field marshal; there were bruises on his face, a few cuts. It looked like he’d been in a fistfight. He looked tired, spent.
“Certainly,” Adamat said. Though not enough, he thought. If he received a dozen good jobs by the end of the month, he might be