by Brent Weeks
Kip took the case and opened it. There was a dagger inside, double-edged, of an odd material, starkly white like ivory, with a thread of black winding down the center to the point, and no other adornment save for seven diamonds embedded in the blade itself. It was the most beautiful thing Kip had ever seen, and he didn't care. He had no idea what the blade was worth, but the case it had come in alone would have paid for a month of his mother's binges. "Mother, what is this?"
"And I thought Sanson was slow," she said, hard, sneering, dying, afraid. "Put it in his rotten heart. Make that bastard suffer. Make him pay for this."
"Mother, what are you saying?" Kip asked, despairing. Me, kill King Garadul?
She laughed, and the motion made a fresh wash of blood spill down her head. "You're a stupid, stupid boy, Kip. But maybe a dull sword can go where a sharp one wouldn't be allowed." Her head bobbed. Her breathing was getting labored. Her head drooped to her chest, and Kip thought she was dead, but her eyes opened once more, only one focusing, locking Kip in her glare. Her fingernails dug into his forearm painfully. "You go, go train to be a drafter, go to the…" She seemed to be searching for the word "Chromeria," but couldn't find it. She noticed, looked furious, afraid. It was evidence she really was dying. "You learn what you need, but don't you forget me. Don't you forget this. Don't listen to him, you hear me? He's a liar. You will not fail me in this, Kip. You learn, and then you kill him, you understand?"
"Yes, mother." She was talking like she knew King Garadul. How could she have known him?
"Kip, if you ever loved me, avenge me. Swear it by your worthless soul, Kip. Swear it, or I swear to Orholam I'll haunt you. I won't… let…" She lost her train of thought.
Kip looked over at Sanson, who stared back silently, horrified. Kip's mother's fingernails dug in deeper, and her seeing eye seemed almost aflame, demanding his attention, his promise. He said, "I swear to avenge you, mother, by my very soul."
Something like peace stole over her features, softening the hard planes. Then she laughed quietly, satisfied, somehow cruel-until her laughter stopped. Her hand dropped from Kip's forearm, leaving bloody tracks. "I won't let you down, mother, I'll go right-"
She's dead.
Kip stared at her woodenly, inexplicably numb. He closed her awful, bloodshot eyes. "Are you hurt?" Kip asked.
"Huh?" Sanson asked. "Me?"
Kip stared at him, "No, genius, I'm talking to the dead person." It was cruel, thoughtless.
Sanson's eyes welled up with tears. "I'm sorry, Kip. I tried to get her out. I was too late." He was right on the verge of breaking down. Kip was an ass.
"No, Sanson. No, I'm sorry. Don't talk like that. It's not your fault. Listen to me. We need to act right now, not think. We're in danger. Are you hurt?"
Sanson's eyes cleared and his chin lifted. He met Kip's gaze. "No, this blood is all-no, I'm fine."
"Then we need to go right now, while it's dark and raining. They've got dogs. They can track us. It's our only chance."
"But Kip, where are we going to go?" Odd. Just like that, Kip was the leader. Was it that he'd found some new well of strength, or was Sanson just that weak? No, don't even think like that, Kip. He trusts you. Can't that be enough?
What if I'm not worthy of trust?
"I'm going to be a drafter," Kip said. "I guess. So we need to get to the sea. We should be able to find a ship in Garriston that's going to the Chromeria."
Sanson's eyes widened, obviously thinking about what Kip's mother had sworn him to, but he said nothing but, "How do we get to Garriston?"
"We float the river first." Kip realized then that he'd lost the purse Master Danavis had given him. He didn't even know when. So even if they made it down the river, they wouldn't be able to pay for the trip to the Chromeria.
"Kip, the soldiers were in a big circle around the whole town. If they're still like that, we'll have to cross through their line twice. And the town's still on fire. The river could be blocked."
Sanson was right, and for some reason that made Kip suddenly furious. He stopped himself. This wasn't Sanson's fault. Kip's eyes felt hot. It was so hopeless. He blinked rapidly. "I know it's stupid, Sanson." He couldn't look his friend in the eyes. "But I don't have any other ideas. Do you?"
Sanson paused for a long moment. "I saw some dead wood on the bank that might work," he said finally, and Kip knew it was his way of telling Kip he trusted him.
"Then let's go," Kip said.
"Kip, do you want to… I don't know, say goodbye?" Sanson nodded in the direction of Kip's mother.
Kip swallowed, holding the knife-case in a white-knuckled grip. And say what? I'm sorry I was a failure, a disappointment? That I loved you, even if you never loved me? "No," he said. "Let's go."
Chapter 12
The boys crept out of the cave. Kip went first. Apparently that was the price of becoming the leader. Kip had been under these same stars on the river dozens of times, but tonight there was hunger in the cool air. The wind had changed direction, and now the smells of the light, misting rain opening the earth mingled with woodsmoke and the faint, fresh fragrance of the oranges ripening on the trees. Always before, that scent had cheered Kip. Tonight it was faint, ephemeral, as fragile as Kip's chances.
They made it to the river's edge without seeing any soldiers. They'd floated the river before, all four of them grabbing a few planks of wood for extra buoyancy, but mostly just lying back and letting the current carry them. But they'd always waited until late fall, when the river was lower. Even then, they'd all sported dozens of scrapes and bruises from the rocks they couldn't avoid. It was the middle of summer now, and though the river was lower than in the spring, it was still high and swift. That meant they would be able to float over rocks that would scrape them in the fall, but the rocks they couldn't avoid they would hit much faster.
Sanson found the sticks he'd seen before while Kip waited anxiously, trying to peer downriver for any hint of the soldiers. The clouds over the village were glowing orange, lit by the fires below them. Sanson returned with a few branches, not enough for both of them. The boys looked at each other. "You take them," Kip whispered. "I float better than you."
"What do we do if they see us?" Sanson asked.
Kip's nerve almost failed him as he thought about it. What could they do? Run away? Swim away? Even if they made it to the banks of the river, where could they go? The town was on fire and there were only fields around town. Men on horses with dogs helping them would find Kip and Sanson in no time.
"Play dead," Kip said. After all, we shouldn't be the only bodies in the water. Actually that wasn't true; this far upstream, they should be the only bodies in the water. If any of the soldiers realized that, the boys would quickly become real corpses.
The water was cold even this far from the mountains, but it wasn't freezing. Kip sat down in it, and the current began pulling him toward town. Sanson followed. They were pulled around the first bend and approaching the spot where Kip had first come to the river when he saw the flaw in his plan.
To play dead meant that in the sections of river that were most dangerous, the places where he and Sanson would most want to see or listen to find out if they'd been discovered, they'd have to keep their ears submerged and their eyes fixed on the clouds above. If they were discovered, Kip's plan guaranteed that they wouldn't know it until too late.
They should get out of the water. He couldn't do this. Kip glanced back. Sanson was already lying back, floating on his back, ears covered, limbs loose. He'd been pulled over to the other side of the river, and the current had already brought his lighter body even with Kip. Kip's heart hammered. If he got out now, Sanson wouldn't know it. Kip wouldn't be able to grab his friend without making so much noise that it would rouse anyone within hundreds of paces.
A voice spoke out of the gloom on the riverbank. "Yes, Your Majesty. We think the drafter climbed up into that tree. The dogs tracked him that far and lost him."
Kip saw the torch first. So
meone was approaching the bank of the river, not five paces downstream. His first thought-to run like hell-would get him killed. He swept his arms once, twice, paddling downstream, then he lay back. The cold water closed over his ears, muffling all sound except the desperate thumping of his pulse.
The bank here was raised a pace and a half, high enough that even lying back, Kip could see the man. Kip wasn't two paces away, and the torch the man held illuminated an imperious face in its flickering orange light. Even warmed in torchlight, there was something fundamentally cold about that face, an unpleasant smirk hiding in the corner of that mouth. The king-for Kip had no doubt, even in half a second of seeing him, that this man was King Garadul-was not yet out of his twenties but already half bald, with the rest of his hair combed to his shoulders. He had a prominent nose over a tight, immaculate beard and thick black brows. The king stared upstream, a vein on his forehead visible even in the torchlight, gazing at the opposite bank where Kip had crossed. His angry question was barely more than a murmur through the water closed around Kip's ears.
Then the king turned just as Kip was starting to get downstream of him. And he turned left, toward Kip. Kip didn't move a muscle, but it wasn't because he was being smart. He felt warmth blooming in the cold water between his legs.
It was only the torch directly between the king and Kip that saved the boys. His eyes went right over them, but blinded by that light in the darkness, he saw nothing. He turned, swore something, and disappeared.
Kip floated down the river, head back, almost disbelieving that he was alive. The water was cold around him, the stars were pinpricks in Orholam's mantle above. They were more beautiful than he'd ever realized. Each star had its own color, its own hue; brilliant rubies, startling sapphires, and even here and there an elusive emerald. For perhaps twenty paces, Kip floated in utter peace, enrapt by the beauty.
Then he hit a rock. It struck his foot first and spun him around so he was floating sideways. Then another rock, mostly submerged, caught his shirt and flipped him facedown in the water. He gasped and flailed, freezing with fear as his head came clear of the water and he realized how loud he'd been.
A little way down the river, Sanson had pulled his head out of the water and was staring at Kip with horror. How could Kip make so much noise? Kip looked away, ashamed. They floated in silence for a long minute, staring into the darkness, waiting to see if any soldiers would appear. They did their best to avoid the rocks, legs pointed downstream, hands paddling in little circles to keep themselves afloat. But no one came.
They floated as close together as they could, though Kip knew it was unwise. Two bodies floating separately might not be remarkable, but two floating side by side? Still, he didn't move away. Silence settled over the boys as they came closer and closer to the bridge where their friends had died that morning. It seemed so long ago now.
And then Kip saw her, lying on the riverbank. The soldiers who'd murdered Isa had pulled their arrows out of her body. But aside from turning her over, they hadn't moved her corpse. She lay on her back, eyes open, head turned left toward Kip, dark hair waving in the river. One arm was raised over her head, not drifting in the current but instead stiff as a felled tree. The underside of her arm and even her face was a horrific dark purple with pooled blood.
Kip put his feet down on the slick rocks of the riverbed to go to her. He was about to stand when some sixth sense stopped him. He hesitated and, still lying in the water, looked around as much as he could.
There! Standing on the bridge, with only his head visible, the soldier kept watch. So they weren't stupid. They'd figured that whoever this drafter was that they'd run into earlier, he'd have the decency to come back and bury his friends.
The current was carrying Kip downstream. No decision was a decision.
But what could he do? Face soldiers? If there was one, there might be ten, and if ten, maybe a hundred. Kip was no fighter, he was a child. He was fat, weak. One man would be one man too many.
Kip turned away from Isa's corpse and lay back in the water once more. He didn't want to remember her like this anyway. A knot formed in his throat, so hard and so tight it threatened to strangle him. Only his fear of the soldier above kept him from crying as he floated under Green Bridge.
He didn't even think of the dagger in its ornate case strapped to his back until they were far downstream. He could've tried; he could've at least gotten out of the water and taken a look. Isa deserved more.
Soon they were drifting into town, where the river flowed in a narrower, deeper channel, lined on each side with great rocks and crossed at intervals by sturdy wood bridges.
Parts of the town were still on fire, though Kip didn't know whether that was because they were built of materials that were less flammable or because the fire had spread more slowly through some areas and was only reaching some buildings now. Soon they encountered their first corpse. A horse. Still harnessed to a wagon full of late-season oranges, it had been trapped in a section of the town that was now smoldering. Maddened by the fire, the mare had leapt into the river. The wagon had followed and either crushed or drowned it, spilling oranges everywhere.
Kip thought it might be the Sendina family's horse and wagon. Sanson, never overly sentimental, grabbed a few oranges from the wreckage of the wagon and stuffed them in his pockets.
Sanson was probably right. Kip hadn't eaten all day, not that he'd noticed until now, but he was starving. Despite feeling like he might throw up, he reached over the half-submerged horse and grabbed a few oranges too.
They came closer to the water market, and it kept getting hotter. Kip heard strange screams. There were fires still burning ahead. The water market was a small, circular lake that was dredged regularly to keep a uniform depth. It was said that once both river and town had been much larger. The river, supposedly, had been navigable from below the falls all the way to the Cerulean Sea, and then from Rekton all the way to the mountains, bringing traders from all of the Seven Satrapies, hungry for Tyrea's famous oranges and other citrus fruits. Now, only the smallest flat-bottomed boats could make the trip downstream and the number of robbers happy to relieve traders of anything valuable convinced most farmers to send their oranges on the slower, heavily armed, and much less profitable caravans. Even the smallest, hardest, and thickest-skinned oranges sent by caravans over land would rot long before they could reach the distant courts where nobles and satraps would pay a fortune for such a delicacy. So almost every year some young farmer tried the river, and a few times they got through, all the way to Garriston, and came home with a fortune-if they managed to avoid the robbers again on the way back.
But for the most part, the trade for which the water market had been built was long dead. The townsfolk kept it for pride and for their own use. All the roads were already built around the water market, all their storehouses surrounded, so they maintained the barges and floated around the circle every market day according to rules and an etiquette that no outsider could hope to understand. In the middle of the water market was an island, connected by a drawbridge to the north shore.
As they came fully in sight of the island, Kip saw where the screams had come from. The drawbridge was down, and the island was filled with hundreds of animals trapped by the fires closing in around them. Even the drawbridge, straining with the weight of dozens of horses, sheep, pigs, and a grotesque carpet of rats, was smoking at one end. Eyes rolling in fear, the brick-maker's draft horse looked like it was on the verge of bolting, though where it would go was impossible to say. The animals filled the island to overflowing; they were packed shoulder to flank over the entire little circle and the bridge.
Kip was so absorbed in the spectacle that he began floating right into the middle of the river between the docks and the island.
"Master, it's so hot," a young voice said behind and above Kip.
Kip thrashed and turned. On the raised bank of the market circle stood a young man a little older than Kip. The young man wore only a red loincl
oth. His curly black hair and bare chest glistened with sweat. He was looking over his shoulder, apparently to a man behind him. Kip could see nothing of that man, but he didn't wait. Kip thought they must have heard him when he thrashed, but apparently the roar of the fires drowned out the sound.
Motioning to Sanson, Kip swam toward the wall. Sanson followed. The young man's master said something, but it was lost in the noise. Kip and Sanson clung to the wall with their bodies pressed as close to it as they could, looking up.
"Watch this," they heard the man say. A whirling lasso of fire spun into view over their heads and then flicked forward. It wrapped around one post of the drawbridge and stuck there. The rest of the rope flared out of existence, but that length stayed, smoldering, little wisps of flame escaping against the wood, splinters turning black and curling back, smoking.
Kip was at once horrified and captivated. In all the years he'd spent helping Master Danavis, the drafter had never done anything like this.
"Now you try," the man said.
For a moment, nothing happened. Kip looked over at Sanson. Both of them were stuck to the wall, arms spread wide to get good holds on the stone so they wouldn't have to tread water. Kip had the sudden feeling that they'd been set up. The drafter knew they were here; he'd just told his apprentice that so Kip and Sanson would stay in place. They were going around. He should swim, right now, as fast as he could.
He tried to breathe deeply, swallowing on his fear. Sanson returned his gaze, his own eyes worried, but not understanding what Kip was thinking.
Then a wheel of flame spun out above them. The animals on the bridge and the island shrieked in a hundred different ways. The wheel drew back and unraveled, becoming a whip, somewhat like what the master drafter had sent out just a minute before-but much, much larger. This was the youth's work?
