Free Promise of Blood by Brian McClellan Page A

the riots. Proclamations will be made. My soldiers will put down the rioters with one hand and give food and clothing to the poor with the other, and I will restore order.”
    The six members of his council stared back at him silently. Lady Winceslav had paled, and Ricard joined the eunuch in a study of the bottom of his glass. Tamas would let them think on that. Let them consider what he would do to protect his country, to see that justice is done and order restored.
    “You are a dangerous man,” the arch-diocel observed.
    “You speak as if you can control a mob,” the eunuch said. There was disdain in his voice.
    “Mobs can’t be controlled,” Tamas said. “But they can be unleashed. I’m willing to accept the consequences. If you must object, then do so now, but I tell you: These people need blood.”
    The rest of them remained silent. After a few moments Tamas continued. “We’ve many other things to discuss.”
    Tamas took a seat in the corner and did more watching than talking as his coconspirators argued over the details of the coming months. Governors had to be appointed, laws rewritten, workers paid. They had a long, hard road ahead of them. He gave a low whistle, summoning the dogs, then rested a hand on each of their heads as he listened.
    Tamas raised his head when the door to the balcony opened and he suddenly realized he’d been dozing.
    “Sir,” Olem said. “It’s time.”
    Tamas stood up, shaking the sleep from his head. He went to the door, holding it open for Lady Winceslav. “My lady.”
    The group filed out onto the balcony. Tamas looked out over the Garden and the sight took his breath away. Not a single cobblestone could be seen between the pack of bodies below. People stood shoulder to shoulder, the murmur of voices sounding like the lap of waves on the beach. The crowd filled the King’s Garden to excess and poured out into the five connecting streets. There was no end to the throng for as far as the eye could see.
    “Sir,” Olem said.
    Tamas forced himself to look away from the crowd. He prided himself on being a man who felt little fear, but the size of such a throng made him feel small. He wondered briefly if he was mad. No one could control that writhing mass. The looks on the faces of his companions assured him that they shared his awe—even dry, annoyed Ondraus was speechless.
    Tamas adjusted his hat to block out the noonday sun and ran a hand across his cheek. He realized he hadn’t shaved in two days and the stubble was thick on his jaw. Hardly appropriate for a field marshal in a dress uniform.
    The sound below them had sunk to a barely audible whisper. He turned and felt a surge of his heart when he realized that every face was directed at him.
    “Never have I seen a crowd so large. An audience so willing,” Tamas murmured. “Is everything ready?” he said to Olem.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Tamas scanned the rooftops of the surrounding buildings. His powder mages and his best marksmen lined those rooftops, rifles sighted into the crowd. Tamas tried to picture the face of the Privileged who’d ripped apart his mages the night before. Weathered, older, with gray in her hair. Wrinkles in the corner of her eyes, and a robe that smelled of dust. He wondered if she’d show here in a bid to rescue the king. Up at Skyline Palace, visible on the horizon to the east, Taniel and the mercenaries were picking up her trail.
    Tamas glanced at his companions on the balcony and wondered what they’d say if they knew they were bait for a Privileged. He could sense that Olem’s third eye was open and examining the crowd.
    “Give the signal,” Tamas said.
    Olem lifted a pair of red signal flags. He waved them twice.
    The gates to Sabletooth opened with a grinding shriek heard for half a mile around. The crowd turned away from Tamas, bodies twisting in giant waves as their attention was fixed to the opposite side of the King’s Garden. Tamas leaned forward, heart ringing like a hammer in