by Brent Weeks
Kip said, “There will have been at least one scout stationed to see if the trap worked. The pit was to kill Tallach. The black powder was to kill me and as many of the rest of us as possible. So… two scouts, at least.” Kip looked around. He couldn’t see the hills in the darkness, but he’d memorized the map of this area. If the White King had been expecting a huge explosion, his scouts wouldn’t need to be close. But if you wanted to see how many of the enemy you killed in that explosion, you had to have a sight line. “Send the hounds over to that hill there, and get the war dogs going up Tenling Rise over there. Send some mounted men with them, in case it’s a long pursuit. The one on the rise will be mounted, trying for speed.”
The orders were relayed, and Cruxer said, “Now will you please get your ass away from here, Breaker?”
“You forgot to say ‘milord,’” Winsen said, his yellow-veined eyes sarcastic. Carelessly he flipped back the canvas covering the wagon’s payload. It revealed cannonballs and stones and iron nails all tied tight around a dozen casks of black powder.
“Yep, that’s a trap all right,” he said blithely.
“Are you insane!?” Ben-hadad shouted at Winsen. “That canvas could have been booby-trapped! It should have been booby-trapped! You idiot!”
“Uh, yeah, let’s get to a safe distance,” Kip said. “No ‘milords’ necessary.”
But in the back of his mind, the danger wasn’t Winsen. The White King had been willing to sacrifice several hundred men, half a dozen wights, and many casks of black powder just to kill Kip and Tallach.
So they knew about Tallach. He was always going to be the first secret that slipped, of course. People on either side would love to talk about a giant grizzly.
But that the Blood Robes had thought it was worth losing many men to kill Tallach? That meant the raiding phase of Kip’s war was well and truly finished. Kip’s raiders needed to become an army now. That meant giving up sapping the enemy’s strength, and trying to destroy him directly.
Kip had hoped that eventually some other satrapy would send in its men to do the large-scale killing and dying while he simply weakened the Blood Robes. That fantasy was dead now. No one was going to help them. This was their fight alone.
They’d won here tonight, but they’d come damn near a disaster. If all the White King had to do to lure Kip in was put some supplies in danger, he was going to get him eventually.
In a way, it was encouraging. A leader wouldn’t spend that many lives and that much matériel to try to take out two enemies if he could kill them more cheaply.
That meant the White King didn’t have any zealots willing to trade their lives for Kip’s, or any professional assassins in Kip’s army. Yet.
Which likely meant the next attempt would be a while. But when it came, Kip might have just made himself worth the expense of hiring a Shadow from the Order of the Broken Eye.
“Cruxer,” Kip said.
“Mm?”
“Remind me to give you a medal.”
“Sure,” Cruxer said. What had once been thin streaks of blue in his eyes were now perfectly horizontal and vertical bars that nearly glowed with amusement despite the strict professionalism of his expression.
“Wait, no, remind me to make up a medal first, so I can give it to you.”
“Uh-huh,” the commander said, using a rag to clean the gore off his spear and hands.
“Order of the Skewer, maybe?” Kip suggested.
Finally Cruxer cracked an unwilling smile. He shook his head. “You know, you can just say thanks.”
“Thank you for saving my life, Commander,” Kip said gravely.
“No thanks required, sir.”
It was Kip’s turn to smile. “That’s it. You’re getting that damn medal.”
Chapter 56
Teia was surprised that they hadn’t been thrown in a dungeon after witnessing the Nuqaba’s fury reach such crescendos that Teia froze up. The Nuqaba had actually spat on them.
It was only after the first storm had passed that Teia realized she’d missed a perfect opportunity to fake a heart attack for the Nuqaba rather than the much older satrapah. She readied her paryl in case the Nuqaba started shouting again—the woman was an erratic moving target, though, and Teia wasn’t fast enough with paryl to penetrate the skin, find a good blood vessel, and tie off a solid crystal all while the woman moved.
And then the satrapah calmed her, at least temporarily. The Nuqaba stormed out of the room, and as the supplicants and courtiers in the hall erupted in speculation, Tilleli Azmith came forward and spoke quietly to Anjali Gates. “You will stay the night.”
“I was instructed to head back to the Chromeria immediately,” Anjali Gates said.
“Would you insult us more?” she asked. “Besides, we may have an answer for you by morning, and we’ve no way to get the reply back as fast as you can. Your person will be respected; we’re not barbarians here. As a representative of the Chromeria, you’re invited to dinner tonight. It’s ‘āsōr Imbarken, which means—”
“The Blessed Ones. A feast in honor of the first ten captains to join Lucidonius, yes, I know,” Anjali Gates said. “Is it minor enough that it will be canceled?”
Her interruption wasn’t, perhaps, the deference due to a satrapah, but then, technically, Tilleli Azmith wasn’t one anymore.
“I was going to say it means another party. And no, it shan’t be canceled. The Nuqaba never shirks her religious duties. You’re invited to dinner, but I’d advise you not to attend.”
“Of course not,” Anjali said.
So they were staying. Teia was half-relieved and half-terrified. That meant she’d have a chance to complete her mission. It also meant she’d have to complete her mission.
“Chamberlain, rooms and provisions for these two,” the former satrapah said.
“If I may?” Anjali interjected. “Can you see to it that someone takes provisions to our crew? The men expected to head back today, and will instead have to stand watch all night. Some meat and wine would be a kindness.”
The satrapah looked sad. “In ordinary times, I would take offense on behalf of my city that you think your crew needs to stand watch all night in my port. But these are no ordinary times, are they?”
Do not like this woman, Teia. Don’t like her.
“May such times return,” Anjali said, “and quickly.”
“Indeed. See to their men’s needs, Chamberlain. Thank you.”
“My lady?” Teia said, speaking for the first time. “Um, I’ve never been to Azûlay before, and… the city is beautiful. May I… if we’re to be sitting in our rooms all night… I would love to have a chance to get out and see the city. Is that acceptable? Or should I stay here?”
She smiled. “It is a beautiful city, isn’t it? You’re no prisoner. You’ll find yourself followed at a discreet distance while you explore the city. To watch you, of course, but also to watch over you. Last thing we need right now is for something terrible to happen to a Blackguard and have the White believe we had a hand in it. Mm? So please avoid the neighborhoods east of the docks.”
“Thank you.”
“As you will.” She nodded and left.
After the Chamberlain got them situated in a large suite and a neighboring servants’ room, Anjali Gates said, “Please leave ascertaining whether we’re prisoners to me, would you?”
“I wasn’t—”
Anjali’s eyes were as forgiving as steel. “By forcing the question, you could have pushed the woman into a position we didn’t want. By speaking to her unbidden at all you invited punishment. You let me decide when to push and when to hold back. Understood?”
Teia was stung. “I—yes, Mistress.”
“Good. Now get out of here for an hour. I’ll write my report, and then you’ll take it to our men at the docks. You give them instructions that if they’re threatened, they’re to head out immediately with my report. Just in case the Nuqaba decides something unfortunate for us.”
Teia n
odded. Starting a conversation with a satrapah as if they were equals? Who did she think she was? Too much time with Kip and the Blackguard had somehow made her forget what she was to others. How could she, of anyone, forget?
“Adrasteia?” Anjali said. “Did you notice anything peculiar about her?”
Teia thought. “No wine on her breath,” she said.
Anjali smiled. “See? They don’t make Blackguards out of just anyone.”
“I won’t step out of place again,” Teia promised.
Of course, my place is as an assassin—excuse me, I mean as a shield edge being brought down on some poor women’s necks.
“Please close the door behind you.” Anjali Gates sat down at the deck in front of a nice window overlooking the cliffs and the sea, and pulled out her scrolls and quill. “One hour,” she said without turning.
The door was still cracked open. Teia threw her hood up, let the lodestone clasps click the mask shut, and stepped into the hall, invisible. She shut the door behind her. Anyone watching the room would think that Teia was still inside.
But there was no one watching the room.
Teia ghosted through the halls, getting her bearings. Karris had shown her a map of the palace, but she hadn’t had long to study, and Teia was embarrassingly terrible with maps. By the time she figured out which rooms belonged to the Nuqaba—well, those were obvious, being huge and crawling with Tafok Amagez—and which were the satrapah’s rooms, her hour was nearly up.
The great hall was being set up for dinner, musicians tuning instruments and white-clad slaves setting the tables, when Teia passed back through. She came to her hall and saw a servant in nondescript clothing leaning against the wall where he could watch the entire hall. But he was obviously bored, and he was flirting with one of the dancers who was limbering up in a thin bodysuit nearby.
Teia took her time. It seemed that the dancer had figured out that he couldn’t leave his spot, so she was teasing him. “Well, why don’t you come over here and show me?”
“Ah, later, I will. I promise.”
“Later? Later I’ll have some lordling wanting me to sit on his lap. Can you compete with that?” She stuck her chest out and then rolled backward to form a bridge, kicked into a handstand, scissored her legs, and stood.
Teia actually stopped. That was amazing muscular control and flexibility.
But the man groaned aloud, his mind obviously on other things. Teia moved past him and missed whatever he said to the dancer as she turned the key in her door’s lock.
But he missed the clacking of the lock as well.
“I’ve been known as a girl of easy religion,” the dancer said, winking, “but I only worship at one shrine a day.” The woman slid smoothly into a full split on the floor and bounced on the ground suggestively.
But Teia didn’t wait to see what the man said. His eyes were stuck. She slipped into her room.
Empty. She threw her cloak back and opened the door again. She locked her door behind her and walked next door openly, as if she’d been in her own room the whole time. She knocked and went in.
“Perfect timing,” Anjali Gates said. “I’m just finishing up.” She blew on the warm wax sealing a scroll and then slid it into a leather scroll case. She also had a sheathed table knife on the table.
Anjali handed Teia the scroll case. “That’s the decoy. Filled with happy nothings about how well we were received and so forth. The real report is written in superviolet and wrapped around the blade of this knife. If you’re taken, make sure you rattle that blade around inside its sheath well to break up the superviolet script, understood?”
“Understood. Can I run with it?”
“Absolutely. This knife’s seen duty all over the world. You won’t destroy my note by accident. When you get to the skimmer, one of the reedsmen will ask if he can borrow a knife for his dinner. Give it to him. You can eat before you go, if you like.” She gestured to the wine, bread, cheese, and meats that had been delivered.
Teia shook her head. “Sooner started, sooner finished. I’ve been needing a run anyway.”
Minutes later, she was heading out the front door of the palace. A young Tafok Amagez fell in behind her. She turned and looked at him, amused.
Then she took off at an easy run. She’d left her sword behind, though she still had her knives and the rope spear around her waist. He, on the other hand, carried a decorative heavy spear and wore a gladius in addition to a brocaded burnous more fit for standing around looking pretty than for running.
So Teia took it easy on him—and ran as fast as she could. Blackguard Archers always had something to prove, and they treasured the chip on their shoulders as a birthright.
Teia made the pass at the skimmer with no problem. She took a draught of watered wine, didn’t offer any to her escort, who was pretending unsuccessfully to not be winded, and then, on hearing that no one was bothering the reedsmen, she ran back to the palace.
This time she took the long way, going up the winding grand boulevard just to add distance.
When she got to the Tafok Amagez at the palace door, her guard was fifty paces back. Teia dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief as if it had been an easy jog. “Tell your man it’s really sweet that he let me win, but I’m the slowest of the Blackguards, and I know I wouldn’t beat one of you in a real race.” Teia winked at the captain, who scowled, and patted his shoulder as she went past.
After she got inside, she finally took the deep, leaning-over-and-heaving breaths her body demanded.
It had all been the kind of thing she would have done if she were a real Blackguard, here on innocent duties, but to Teia it was something more than reinforcing her cover: it was a farewell. That girl Blackguard who teased other soldiers with her prowess was the girl she could have been. Maybe it was the girl she should have been. Like all soldiers, the Blackguards had hours of boredom to fill, and like all soldiers, they filled them with pranks and the breaking of silly rules.
She didn’t get to be that girl. The candor and winsome integrity of a Commander Ironfist would never be hers. She could play at it, but it sat on the other side of a glass, the reflection of a girl she would never get to be.
Teia reported in to Anjali Gates, who gave her food and told her there was a bath waiting in her room. Teia pretended to be more tired than she was, and said she’d probably retire for the night unless Anjali needed her. The diplomat said she’d not go out to keep from antagonizing anyone—the party had already started, and the Nuqaba insisted everyone drink heavily at her parties. “I know you might be curious to go to the great hall, have some fun, drink too much, maybe kiss a boy, I understand. But anything you do may have repercussions beyond yourself. And after the White’s message, there will be those eager to pick a fight with you. Winning such fights would be as bad as losing them.”
“I understand,” Teia said.
Naturally, she headed out to the great hall immediately.
Chapter 57
There was nothing but time here. Time and the lure of insanity.
The dead man spoke to him whenever he opened his eyes, so he often sat in a torpor to gain a measure of peace. But when torpor yielded to sleep, there was a different kind of torture.
“Go on, sleep,” the dead man said. “I’ll be here when you wake.” And he laughed.
Gavin tore his heart open, and it tore him in turn. His fingers ripped on the thorns, bled. Blood flew in frantic gray splatters to fall to the luminous white marble of the tower’s roof. But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
The storm bore down upon him, thunder rolling within the gathering clouds, all streaming toward the judging hands of the colossus who stood over him, towering over the tower, examining him with the intensity of a man stooping over a tantruming child, and at the same time so vast that the whole earth was his footstool.
Gavin threw aside dark thorns and chunks of his own skin and flesh, heedless, but he wasn’t fast enough, couldn’t be fast enough.
The gather
ed clouds massed around the great figure’s fist, and rose, all together, rose, rose over his head, with a great sucking sound of all the winds twisting together. His fist rose in preparation to strike, to shatter, to smash, to judge, to obliterate the stain that was Gavin Guile.
His heart was full of murder, murder, murder. He broke the thorns off one by one. Wrath. Denial. Manipulation. Pride. And lies. Everywhere lies. Shame and bitterness and cowardice and lies. His oarmate-prophet Orholam had warned him to quit his lying. But he couldn’t quit his lying. His whole heart was dark with it.
Everywhere he tore off thick black veins, glimpsing febrile gray muscle palpitating beneath them—gray because it was starving, dying.
He was a liar, Gavin Guile. He was so inveterate a liar that he didn’t know his own face in the mirror anymore.
He was weeping, weeping from the pain, weeping from memories half-seen, fully shunned.
He saw his brother, standing over him on the egg-shaped hill—the Great Rock before it had become Sundered Rock—and his brother said, ‘Dazen, Dazen, Dazen. You could never beat me. Not in magic, not in muscle. Never. Not in cunning, not in counsel, not in stratagems or seductions. Not once in all our years. How did you think you would beat me now?’
The real Gavin had picked up a spear and limped toward where Dazen lay concussed, delirious, immobile.
‘Brother,’ the eldest said, his voice softening as he approached, steps slow, ‘did you think I would give up this life? Do you even know what I paid to be here?’
And the elder brother, even as he lofted that spear and prepared to kill him, wept. How had Dazen forgotten that? The real Gavin’s tears had fallen on barren, smoking ground.
Crying? Dazen had barely thought his big brother could.
But his tears didn’t stop him from advancing. He didn’t want to kill Dazen, but he was going to.
No, no, no.
It didn’t matter. He broke the heart into its last pieces. From a distance, it looked gray. It wasn’t gray. There were no shades of gray. Life was white and black streaked together so intimately that the two couldn’t be untangled. If he tore out what was corrupted, it tore out everything.