Promise of Blood by Brian McClellan Page A

main administration building. The mighty oak doors, banded with iron, were unlocked. Inside he passed by many office doors. He paused at a painting of the current vice-chancellor. Prime Lektor had been ugly, even in his youth, with a purple birthmark obstructing a third of his face. It was said he was an unrivaled scholar. Adamat continued on past the vice-chancellor’s office to the next door down.
    It was a small door, propped open with a wedge of wood, and it could very well have been a janitor’s closet for all its bareness. From the hall Adamat could hear the scratching of an old-fashioned quill.
    Adamat knocked twice on the open door. A young-looking man sat behind a plain desk in the corner of a cramped room. One might expect clutter in the office of the assistant to the vice-chancellor, but every scrap of paper, every book and scroll, was in its place and every surface dusted daily. Adamat smiled. Some things never changed.
    “Adamat,” Uskan said. He set his pen in its holder and blew on the ink before setting the paper to one side. “A pleasant surprise.”
    “I’m glad you’re here, Uskan,” Adamat said, “and not watching the execution.”
    A shadow flickered across Uskan’s face as he rounded his desk and came forward to clasp Adamat’s hand. “One of my understudies has a very creative pen. I told her to write down everything for posterity.” Uskan made a disgusted face. “I have work to do. What need do I have for bloody spectacle?”
    Adamat examined Uskan. His friend did indeed look young, far younger than forty-five years. He had the pinched face of a man who squints a lot, reading by too little light. “It’s the spectacle of the century,” Adamat said.
    “Of the millennia,” Uskan said. He returned to his desk and offered Adamat the only other chair in the room. “Never in the history of the Nine, since their founding by Kresimir and his brothers, has a king been dethroned. Not once. I don’t even… I don’t even know what to say.” He brushed the worried look from his face like a mote of unwanted dust. “How is Faye?”
    “Out of town with the children, thankfully.”
    “A stroke of luck.”
    “Yes.”
    Uskan perked up. “How’s the printing press working? I’ve been knee-deep in work for so long I haven’t even thought to send you a letter. Must be exciting to see it work. The first steam-powered press in all of Adro!”
    “You hadn’t heard?” Adamat grimaced.
    Uskan shook his head.
    “It exploded.”
    Uskan’s mouth fell open. “No.”
    “Killed an apprentice and destroyed half the building. I’d stepped out for a cup of tea and when I came back…” Adamat mimicked an explosion with his hands. “No more Adamat and Friends Publishing.”
    “Surely you were insured.”
    “Of course. They refused to pay. I sued for damages. They found it cheaper to bribe the magistrate than to cover all my expenses.”
    Uskan’s mouth kept working silently. “I can’t believe it. That had all the makings of fame and fortune. You’d be a wealthy man now if that had succeeded. Why, I’ve just read in the papers that eleven bookstores have opened in Adopest alone in the last six months. Reading is becoming very fashionable. Poetry, novels, history. The industry is booming!”
    “Don’t rub it in.”
    Uskan cringed. “Adamat. I’m so sorry.”
    Adamat waved a hand. “Things happen. It was nearly a year ago. Besides, I’m not here to talk about my troubles. I’m working.”
    “An investigation? At least you have that to fall back on.”
    “Yes.”
    “Anything I can do to help,” Uskan said.
    “I hope it won’t be a bother. I need to know about something called ‘Kresimir’s Broken Promise,’ or ‘Kresimir’s Promise.’”
    Uskan leaned back and frowned at the ceiling. “It sounds…” he said after a few moments. “Something on the edge of my memory. But I do not recall. Not everyone has your gift.” He stood up. “Let’s go look.”
    They left the