by Brent Weeks
Andross Guile, on the other hand, would never trust anyone more than himself.
Gavin and Ironfist returned after sunset, sculling the last leagues to hide the skimmer. They didn’t return to the Chromeria, though. Instead, they met the first ships of the invasion force.
Ironfist went off to check where his Blackguards were berthed, while Gavin went to find the generals. He briefed them on everything he’d found and ignored their questions about how he’d learned the exact locations of enemy ships, in real time, halfway across the sea.
Worse, he could tell that the fools didn’t believe him.
Gavin made sure a secretary wrote it all down. “Just keep two sets of plans,” Gavin said. “In one, do whatever you were already planning to do with what limited intelligence you have.” Gavin meant it both ways, of course. “In the other, plan as if everything I say is true. Soon enough, you’ll know which to use.”
He left them then, and went to the cabin some noble had been evicted from as soon as the men on the ship saw Gavin arrive. Tomorrow, he would go back out and sink as many ships as possible. It was a damned thing, war. He didn’t like killing merchants, and he liked killing the slaves forced to row their ships even less, but that which strengthens your enemy must be denied him.
Orholam, if you existed, if you walked the earth as a man, what would you do?
There was a knock at the door. Orholam was fast some days.
It was Kip. “Kip?” Gavin said, surprised.
“Yes, sir.”
“I didn’t mean I’d forgotten who you were,” Gavin said.
“Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Of course not.”
Gavin smiled, though he was exhausted, and beckoned the boy in.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, sir,” Kip said. “The runts—I mean the Blackguard inductees—”
“I know what they call inductees, Kip,” Gavin said. He smiled. It took a long time to gain respect among the Blackguard. Scrubs, runts, wobs, nunks—they had plenty of derogatory names that didn’t stop until the last vows. Even then, the first year for a full Blackguard was usually hell.
“Yes, sir, of course.” Kip blushed. “The commander said war’s coming, and there’s no way to prepare for war like being close enough to smell its breath, sir. We’re to help move supplies and civilians. We’ll be off the front lines, but not quite safe, he said.”
He said it with such an adult tone and assurance that Gavin looked at his brother’s bastard son with new eyes. Four months had changed the boy. He was still chunky—maybe always would be—but as only young men can do, he’d dropped at least a seven already. It was like watching a man emerge from himself. The fat that had rounded and softened his features was receding. The strong line of his jaw and brow was all Guile. He was broad-shouldered, and his arms, though still shapeless, were huge. His confidence was soaring today, of course, his having just gotten into the Blackguard. It would crumple again—a dozen times. Boys, especially athletes, can look like a man in a day—but it takes them longer to reconcile themselves to themselves. But this Kip, this was a glimpse of the Kip who could be.
And Gavin liked that Kip.
It takes some of us a great deal longer to reconcile ourselves to ourselves, does it?
Looking at his brother’s son, Gavin was pierced with sorrow. He would never have his own son. Not even if he achieved his impossible goal, and that was looking less and less likely with every passing day.
Aware that he had paused too long, Gavin said, “It’s a good plan. Tell the rest of the runts that we’re going to lose this city, so they shouldn’t get any heroic ideas in their heads. Heroism is a fine thing, but heroism wasted means you can’t be there to help on the day you can make a difference.”
“Yes, sir. Trainer Fisk has been saying the same thing to us. Except the part about losing.” Kip frowned. “But thank you. For telling me the truth.”
Thank you for telling me the truth. Now, if there wasn’t some bitter irony in that statement, Gavin was a marsh mug.
“I want to go with you tomorrow,” Kip said.
“And what makes you think I’m going anywhere tomorrow—other than the fact that all of us are already traveling, so you’ll be going with me by default?”
“You’re the promachos, sir. Whether they call you that or not. I want to fight with you.”
So ready to fight. But was I any different? How many men did I kill before I really understood what it meant to kill? Gavin rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I’m going to kill men tomorrow, Kip. Men who don’t precisely deserve killing. It’s one thing to kill a wight, or a murderer, or pirates, or a man invading your city or your home, ready to rape and murder and steal. It’s another to kill a merchant whose goods will bring death, but who is himself simply trying to make a living. A man like that has children back home, a wife you’re making a widow, and a destitute one at that.”
“We all pick sides,” Kip said.
“Simple as that?” Gavin asked.
Kip shifted from foot to foot, but nodded.
“We’ve heard from four different spies that Liv Danavis is with the Color Prince now. Part of his army. So tell me, Kip, if we see Liv Danavis on the deck of one of those ships, about to toss a grenado at us, you’ll kill her? Without hesitation, before she can kill us?”
Kip swallowed. “Orholam’s… beard, sir. I… I hope he would defend me from having to make such a choice.”
“If Orholam defended us from such choices, we wouldn’t be here, Kip.”
“How could she go with them, sir? They’re monsters. Literal, real, flesh and luxin monsters.”
“Idealists mature badly. If they can’t outgrow their idealism, they become hypocrites or blind. Liv has chosen blindness, fixating so much on the Chromeria’s flaws that she believes those who oppose us must be paragons. That we’re not perfect says nothing about our enemies, Kip. Nothing. As it turns out, they’re mostly bad. Bad enough that their rule would be a cataclysm, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have some good points about us. It doesn’t mean that every fool who works for them is evil. It simply means they have to be stopped. By killing them, if necessary. That’s the life you’re stepping into here, Kip. I leave tomorrow at dawn. I’ll get permission from your commander for you to join me, but if you can’t kill Liv if you need to, don’t show up. I won’t hold it against you as a man, but as a soldier, I won’t want you covering my back either.”
Kip didn’t answer immediately, and Gavin respected him the more for it.
“Thank you, sir,” Kip said eventually. “I don’t like it, but I appreciate your honesty.”
Honesty? When I tell the truth about this and lie about all else? Appreciate something else, boy. I’m a liar to the core.
Chapter 98
Dawn found Kip on the deck, waiting for his father. It was cold and the seas were choppy, but his Blackguard’s runt clothes were warm enough. At least when combined with his fat. He pulled the gray cloak around himself, stamping his feet. He hadn’t gotten much sleep. The idea of killing Liv—or of being killed by her—had kept him from that.
But Liv had made her choices. She’d believed the lies she wanted to believe. She’d gone over to the side of madmen. How could she be so stupid?
Maybe Kip hadn’t known her at all.
The thought made him sick to his stomach. He thought of her smile. Her laugh when she’d made him think the walkway between the towers was snapping, the fine curves of her body as she’d walked in front of him.
The knot in his stomach eased when he saw his father come out of his room onto the deck, already speaking with Commander Ironfist.
The commander was in the lead, speaking over his shoulder. “Do you know what your wife will do to me if I let anything happen to you?” he asked.
“Wife?” Kip asked.
Commander Ironfist scowled quickly. “My apologies, my lord, I didn’t—”
“It’s not a secret, Commander,” Gavin said smoothly. “I married K
arris before we left, Kip.”
“You wha—Oh, oh,” Kip said. Clearly that relationship had been a little different than Kip had thought in the little slivers of it he’d seen. Which had included curses and slapping and jumping off a boat rather than be near Gavin. Kip closed his mouth, then realized not saying anything might look like he was passing judgment. He couldn’t help but feel left out. That he hadn’t deserved to hear about it right away, that his father was still holding out on him. “Uh, congratulations, sir?”
“Why thank you, Kip. And I’m very glad to see you this morning. I’ve asked you to fight not as a boy, but as a man, and you’ve responded. And I can tell you haven’t slept, so you’ve responded appropriately. Well done, son.”
Well done, son. The words were what Kip had ached to hear for his whole life, and doubly so since learning Gavin Guile was his father. But they were delivered perfunctorily, as if Gavin were checking items off a list, without emotion, without attention.
“Now, as we go this morning,” Gavin said, “I want you to tell me about the assassination attempt.”
Kip hadn’t really thought of what happened in the alley that way, but Gavin said it so blithely that Kip knew he had to be right. Lucia had died because of Kip. Had stepped into the line of fire. It was, oddly, exactly what Blackguards were supposed to do, but she’d done it on accident. Kip wasn’t sure if that made it better, or worse.
They walked to the stern and Kip saw that they weren’t going alone. At the bottom of a pair of rope ladders, a dozen Blackguards stood on a skimmer the likes of which Kip had never seen. It was, of course, bigger so that it could hold seventeen of them, but it was also shaped differently, like a large flying wing, with eight scoops. Every Blackguard was armed with a bow and a large quiver and bandoliers of grenadoes. Some had spare spectacles. From there, each was armed according to his fancy and expertise. A couple had bucklers. One carried a notched sword-breaker. Most had a pistol. One had a bich’hwa like Karris often carried. And others had the forward-bent ataghans or the sweeping scimitars. The skimmer itself had grapnels and ropes aplenty.
Plus, every Blackguard was himself a considerable weapon.
Kip’s awe and hesitancy must have shown on his face, because Gavin said, “Kip, you can’t become who you need to be if I’m not willing to risk losing you. You still want to come?”
Cruxer was down there. Cruxer was coming! He saw Kip and lifted his chin in greeting. He looked pretty excited that he was being allowed to come.
It pained Kip to say it, but he said, “I don’t bring much to the table, sir.”
“Not yet. But you’re about to learn from the best.”
They climbed down the ladder and onto the huge skimmer. Gavin began giving the Blackguards instructions. “Biggest risk is you’ll tear your arms off. You can’t go from a standstill to full speed in a breath. If you have the skill, you can narrow the pipes at first. The luxin needn’t be focused. This is one place you can be sloppy, whatever is the easiest band for you to draft will work.” He continued, while Kip settled into his place.
They released the ropes holding the skimmer to the galleon and Gavin and Ironfist manned the pipes on the main platform, and soon Kip heard the familiar whoop, whoop, whoop. Soon, half of the other Blackguards joined in, while Gavin and Ironfist gave instructions, and thenceforth the men and women spoke back and forth to each other, giving tips and hints.
Gavin taught them how to do turns and showed how sharply they could do it. And Kip saw the same look of delight steal over the Blackguards’ faces that had crept over his own the first time he’d experienced the wind and waves and the sheer, unbelievable speed.
Then, when things settled down, Kip told his father the whole story of the assassination attempt as they sped across the waves. This skimmer was modified to enclose the front, so the wind didn’t obliterate their conversations.
“This… this is different than the skimmer before,” Kip said. “Didn’t you just make this up a little while ago?”
Gavin shrugged. “War always moves forward, and if you’re not at the leading edge of what’s possible, you might not live long enough to regret it.”
They saw many ships, but didn’t close with any of them until after noon. Gavin stopped, motioning to Ironfist to do the same, and peered at the horizon. He brought out a large glass binocle, which was odd. The last time he’d needed to see into the distance, he’d simply drafted disks of perfect blue luxin. Maybe the clarity of this glass was better.
“It’s flying their flag,” Gavin said. “Broken chains on a black background.” He handed the binocle to Ironfist.
Ironfist was quiet. “That isn’t just a big ship,” he said.
“It’s a great ship,” Gavin said.
“I can’t even count how many guns it has. They’re not just on one deck,” Commander Ironfist said.
Gavin said, “Forty-three heavy guns, one hundred and forty-one light guns, fifty-two paces long, holds up to seven hundred men.”
“Are you joking?” Commander Ironfist asked. “You couldn’t possibly have counted…”
“It’s Pash Vecchio’s flagship,” Gavin said. “If he’s brought his flagship here, he’s thrown in with the Color Prince. He wouldn’t have hired out that ship.”
Kip understood that this was Not Good. “Pash Vecchio?” he asked.
“The pirate king,” Commander Ironfist said.
“One of four,” Gavin said. As if that made it less impressive.
“The most powerful of the four,” Commander Ironfist said dryly.
“Could have sworn that ship was going down the last time,” Gavin said.
“You’ve fought Pash Vecchio before?” Kip asked.
“No. I killed the previous owner of that ship and set it on fire. He was a pirate king, too,” Gavin said pointedly. “Good news: we won’t be killing innocents.”
“Great,” Kip said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Did you say one hundred and eighty-four guns?”
“Relax, there’s only eighteen on the stern,” Gavin said.
Comforting.
“What do you think they’re bringing?” Ironfist asked.
“Guns, or men, or just coming to blockade our ships from getting into Ruic Bay. Regardless, big obstacle. Needs removing.”
“You always did love a simple impossible challenge, didn’t you?” Ironfist said. He didn’t sound like he thought he had a chance of dissuading Gavin.
Which, Kip knew, he didn’t.
“Why do you think I let you bring so many Blackguards?” Gavin asked.
“Thought that was too easy,” Ironfist grumbled.
Gavin turned to the Blackguards. “Ready to see what you can do?” he asked.
He got grins in return. The Blackguards were like children with a new toy.
“I should have given you more time to train with the… what are we calling them, Commander?” Gavin asked.
“Sea chariots.”
Gavin nodded acquiescence. “Lots of guns, and let’s guess that there’ll be drafters on board, maybe numerous. Maybe wights. They’ll have tricks you’ve never seen. Expect the guns to be loaded already, though we may get lucky with how fast we’ll be on top of them. Staggered approach, try to cut their lines and set fire to the sails early. We circle sunwise so we don’t have collisions. Sinking the great ship is the primary target. If any other ships join the fight, they’re targets of opportunity, not worth dying for. Speed is your best defense, but expect to miss your first few shots. It’s hard to adjust your aim to this much speed at first. You figure it out. If you slow too much, you’ve given away your advantage and you’ve become one drafter against a ship full of musketeers for all we know. There are blindages on every deck, so until those are set afire or removed, don’t expect to toss grenadoes up top and have much effect. Four crow’s nests big enough to hold multiple archers or drafters. Eight large guns pointed to stern, including two that can aim down far enough to hit close targets. Ten smaller gunport doors that
won’t open until they’re ready to fire. Oh, and her name’s the Gargantua. Questions?”
“Where and when do we regroup?” a skinny woman with hard eyes and dreadlocks asked.
“Roughly, here, in one hour. If more ships rush in, one league east of the eastmost ship. Ironfist and I have the binocle, we’ll find you. If we go down, Watch Captain Blunt has another pair. If you’re completely separated, work your way down the Atashian coast until you can find safe passage back to the Chromeria. Asif?”
A young man with a shaven head said, “Sir, I assume that every drafter we see is a target of opportunity as well? To keep knowledge of the sea chariots out of their hands?”
There was a pause, and Kip realized what the young man was asking. Did they specially set out to kill every drafter, because there was no way to take them prisoner—you couldn’t disarm a drafter.
“Just seeing the chariots won’t be enough for them to mimic them easily. Don’t put yourselves at risk. Low priority, but yes. Each of you is more valuable to me alive than having fifty of them dead. Got it?”
They understood. They weren’t primarily elite warriors, they were elite guards whose ranks had been decimated by the battle at Garriston. The Blackguard itself needed them alive.
“Then let’s go sink some pirates.”
The Blackguards gave a cheer, only Cruxer forgetting to join in, looking wide-eyed and tight-strung.
Gavin drew his priceless dagger-pistols and turned to Kip. “Would you hold these for me?”
Kip scowled, remembering how he’d nearly dropped them into the sea last time.
“Joking, Kip. Joking.”
Kip grinned.
“This is for you.” Gavin handed Kip a bundle.
Unwrapping it, Kip found it was a belt with a pouch meant to be worn across one hip, like a holster. In the pouch were seven spectacles, in spectral order, each in its own velvet-lined half-pocket. There were little runes in silver sticking out next to each pocket so that you could tell by feel which spectacles you were about to draw.
