The Black Prism
Page 107
With the biggest grin on his face, Kip held it in his palms. How had Gavin shot out luxin? Kip had seen Ironfist do it too. He wrinkled his nose. Maybe I just will it.
A tiny part of his mind was protesting: You can’t assault the governor! He’s the governor, for Orholam’s sake. You think his bodyguards are going to appreciate that you don’t really mean to hurt him?
But in the grip of green, words like “governor” were bled of meaning. What was that? What was the difference? The trappings of human rituals and human titles seemed artificial, thin.
Kip willed the ball to shoot out of his hands. Still seated, grinning like a fool, he could feel energy coiling up behind the ball. How long did he let that build before he let it go? Oh well, that felt like long enough. A muffled crack and the ball jetted out of Kip’s hands, fast.
Still seated on the ground, he was blasted ass over elbows.
Rolling to his knees, laughing, Kip looked to see what had happened to the yapping man.
The governor was laid out, and apparently the green luxin ball had bounced around some, because the palanquin was collapsing, two of the slaves tumbling away from it. The palanquin dropped right on top of the governor, and Kip heard him shrieking—but his view was blocked as one of the bodyguards charged Kip, sword out.
Spectacles askew, Kip couldn’t draw any more green, but he still had a good amount in his body. He began drawing another, smaller ball. Too slow, too slow!
The air shimmered between him and the swordsman as he raised his hands. There was a crack from his hands and a tiny green ball shot out, snapping both hands back painfully from the kick.
A wall of blue luxin unfurled between Kip and the swordsman in the blink of an eye. The swordsman’s sword struck the blue wall in midlunge toward the kneeling boy. The blade screeched as it was forced downward, peeling off layers of blue. The swordsman himself smacked bodily into the blue a split second later, grunting. There was a sound like glass cracking, and a high-pitched whine.
The swordsman recovered, then stopped. The blue luxin right in front of his face was cracked from Kip’s shot, spiderwebs centered where his head would have been, a musket-ball-sized crater in the blue luxin.
“Enough,” Gavin said. He didn’t raise his voice, just injected it in a moment of silence. His blue wall had saved both of them.
Kip felt shaken, weak. Oh, shit. What did I just do?
The governor, still protesting, was pulled from the fallen palanquin by two of his bodyguards. He stood, nose bleeding, face flushed from embarrassment rapidly giving way to rage, and stormed over to Gavin.
“Your slave has assaulted me, I demand satisfaction!” The governor drew the decorative blade hanging at his hip and pointed it at Kip.
A muscle jumped in Gavin’s jaw. “That’s no slave. Kip is my natural son.”
“This, this is your bastard?”
Stony silence from Gavin. Finally, “Kip, apologize.”
Kip swallowed and stood, unable to conceal his trembling. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I was practicing drafting for the first time. I really didn’t know what I was—”
“An apology? No, Lord Prism, first you assault me, and now this outrage? I demand satisfaction.”
“You’ll demand nothing,” Gavin said. He never broke eye contact. “You’re corrupt if not treasonous, Governor Crassos. You’ve been colluding with King Garadul, and if I can find just a little more evidence of it, I swear when you return to Ruthgar, your head will have a pike waiting for it. Unless Satrapah Ptolos decides to hand you over to the Parians instead. You’re incompetent, contemptible, a liar, a thief, and a coward. If you want satisfaction, you can duel with me. Sword to sword. On my word of honor I won’t draft, but we’ll do it right now.”
The governor blinked and the sword point trembled. He blinked again. Sheathed his blade. “I’ll leave brawling with swords to the benighted.” He snarled and turned on his heel, storming off.
Kip became aware that someone was right behind him. He turned and saw Ironfist looming over him. “How long have you been there?” he asked.
“Long enough to protect you from your foolishness, if not long enough to stop it. I wasn’t aware you had your family’s knack for getting into trouble in the blink of an eye.”
Oh, the blue wall had been Ironfist’s. Was that twice over now that Kip owed his life to the huge Blackguard?
“Commander,” Gavin said, “I need you to go speak with our spies. Crassos is rattled. He may run. Make sure the crews manning the cannons at the harbor’s entrance are men who will obey the order to fire, if it comes to that. And that he doesn’t plunder the treasury. I need to be able to pay our army.”
Ironfist frowned. “I’d prefer not to leave Kip. I’m a Blackguard, Lord Prism, not a messenger. My duty is here.”
Gavin said, “I can’t do it. Kip can’t do it. It needs doing. This is my fault for forbidding you to bring more Blackguards, but the point remains.”
Commander Ironfist hesitated only one second more. “Very well, Lord Prism.” He bowed and headed for the horses someone had brought for them.
When he had gone, there was a conspicuous silence. Dozens of workmen had seen what had happened, and humiliating the governor had clearly earned Gavin some goodwill, but no one appeared to want to come close either, lest Gavin was angry. Gavin rubbed his forehead. “You’re probably wondering why we’re going to fight a war for assholes like that governor,” he said.
Actually, the thought hadn’t occurred to Kip, but now that Gavin brought it up, it did seem odd.
“Because Rask Garadul had the stench of a fanatic, Kip. That’s all. Hundreds, or if we’re unlucky, thousands of people will die because I met Rask for a few minutes and I thought he was crazy.” Gavin expelled a breath. “He wants this city, and honestly, he’s got a right to it. If I could simply give this city back to Tyrea’s people, I would. They deserve it. They—you—have paid too high of a price for a war in which they took the only side they could. If there were anyone else who would take over after we left, I’d do it, and damn the Spectrum. But with Rask in power… It’s a little more complicated than that, of course, but that’s why I’m here, and my presence is what will make this a near thing. If we left, Rask would march in unopposed, close the harbor before the Parians could land, and that would be pretty much the end of it. The Parians would be furious, but the profits here aren’t so great that they want to march an army here. Eventually, Rask would offer an exclusive shipping contract on all the citrus from Garriston for a few years, and they’d take it. What do you think? Is it worth it?”
He’s asking me like my opinion is worth something. Kip hadn’t had that many adults care what he thought. “I think King Garadul should die and save us all this trouble.”
Gavin laughed ruefully. “If only. Maybe Karris will work a miracle and do just that.”
“You really miss her, don’t you?” Kip asked before he could stop himself.
Gavin looked at Kip sharply. Then he looked away. Relented. After a minute, he expelled a long breath, and it was like Kip was watching Gavin’s hope leak out of him. “That obvious, huh?” Gavin asked.
“You think they’ll kill her?” Kip asked.
A tiny part of his mind was protesting: You can’t assault the governor! He’s the governor, for Orholam’s sake. You think his bodyguards are going to appreciate that you don’t really mean to hurt him?
But in the grip of green, words like “governor” were bled of meaning. What was that? What was the difference? The trappings of human rituals and human titles seemed artificial, thin.
Kip willed the ball to shoot out of his hands. Still seated, grinning like a fool, he could feel energy coiling up behind the ball. How long did he let that build before he let it go? Oh well, that felt like long enough. A muffled crack and the ball jetted out of Kip’s hands, fast.
Still seated on the ground, he was blasted ass over elbows.
Rolling to his knees, laughing, Kip looked to see what had happened to the yapping man.
The governor was laid out, and apparently the green luxin ball had bounced around some, because the palanquin was collapsing, two of the slaves tumbling away from it. The palanquin dropped right on top of the governor, and Kip heard him shrieking—but his view was blocked as one of the bodyguards charged Kip, sword out.
Spectacles askew, Kip couldn’t draw any more green, but he still had a good amount in his body. He began drawing another, smaller ball. Too slow, too slow!
The air shimmered between him and the swordsman as he raised his hands. There was a crack from his hands and a tiny green ball shot out, snapping both hands back painfully from the kick.
A wall of blue luxin unfurled between Kip and the swordsman in the blink of an eye. The swordsman’s sword struck the blue wall in midlunge toward the kneeling boy. The blade screeched as it was forced downward, peeling off layers of blue. The swordsman himself smacked bodily into the blue a split second later, grunting. There was a sound like glass cracking, and a high-pitched whine.
The swordsman recovered, then stopped. The blue luxin right in front of his face was cracked from Kip’s shot, spiderwebs centered where his head would have been, a musket-ball-sized crater in the blue luxin.
“Enough,” Gavin said. He didn’t raise his voice, just injected it in a moment of silence. His blue wall had saved both of them.
Kip felt shaken, weak. Oh, shit. What did I just do?
The governor, still protesting, was pulled from the fallen palanquin by two of his bodyguards. He stood, nose bleeding, face flushed from embarrassment rapidly giving way to rage, and stormed over to Gavin.
“Your slave has assaulted me, I demand satisfaction!” The governor drew the decorative blade hanging at his hip and pointed it at Kip.
A muscle jumped in Gavin’s jaw. “That’s no slave. Kip is my natural son.”
“This, this is your bastard?”
Stony silence from Gavin. Finally, “Kip, apologize.”
Kip swallowed and stood, unable to conceal his trembling. “I’m terribly sorry, sir. I was practicing drafting for the first time. I really didn’t know what I was—”
“An apology? No, Lord Prism, first you assault me, and now this outrage? I demand satisfaction.”
“You’ll demand nothing,” Gavin said. He never broke eye contact. “You’re corrupt if not treasonous, Governor Crassos. You’ve been colluding with King Garadul, and if I can find just a little more evidence of it, I swear when you return to Ruthgar, your head will have a pike waiting for it. Unless Satrapah Ptolos decides to hand you over to the Parians instead. You’re incompetent, contemptible, a liar, a thief, and a coward. If you want satisfaction, you can duel with me. Sword to sword. On my word of honor I won’t draft, but we’ll do it right now.”
The governor blinked and the sword point trembled. He blinked again. Sheathed his blade. “I’ll leave brawling with swords to the benighted.” He snarled and turned on his heel, storming off.
Kip became aware that someone was right behind him. He turned and saw Ironfist looming over him. “How long have you been there?” he asked.
“Long enough to protect you from your foolishness, if not long enough to stop it. I wasn’t aware you had your family’s knack for getting into trouble in the blink of an eye.”
Oh, the blue wall had been Ironfist’s. Was that twice over now that Kip owed his life to the huge Blackguard?
“Commander,” Gavin said, “I need you to go speak with our spies. Crassos is rattled. He may run. Make sure the crews manning the cannons at the harbor’s entrance are men who will obey the order to fire, if it comes to that. And that he doesn’t plunder the treasury. I need to be able to pay our army.”
Ironfist frowned. “I’d prefer not to leave Kip. I’m a Blackguard, Lord Prism, not a messenger. My duty is here.”
Gavin said, “I can’t do it. Kip can’t do it. It needs doing. This is my fault for forbidding you to bring more Blackguards, but the point remains.”
Commander Ironfist hesitated only one second more. “Very well, Lord Prism.” He bowed and headed for the horses someone had brought for them.
When he had gone, there was a conspicuous silence. Dozens of workmen had seen what had happened, and humiliating the governor had clearly earned Gavin some goodwill, but no one appeared to want to come close either, lest Gavin was angry. Gavin rubbed his forehead. “You’re probably wondering why we’re going to fight a war for assholes like that governor,” he said.
Actually, the thought hadn’t occurred to Kip, but now that Gavin brought it up, it did seem odd.
“Because Rask Garadul had the stench of a fanatic, Kip. That’s all. Hundreds, or if we’re unlucky, thousands of people will die because I met Rask for a few minutes and I thought he was crazy.” Gavin expelled a breath. “He wants this city, and honestly, he’s got a right to it. If I could simply give this city back to Tyrea’s people, I would. They deserve it. They—you—have paid too high of a price for a war in which they took the only side they could. If there were anyone else who would take over after we left, I’d do it, and damn the Spectrum. But with Rask in power… It’s a little more complicated than that, of course, but that’s why I’m here, and my presence is what will make this a near thing. If we left, Rask would march in unopposed, close the harbor before the Parians could land, and that would be pretty much the end of it. The Parians would be furious, but the profits here aren’t so great that they want to march an army here. Eventually, Rask would offer an exclusive shipping contract on all the citrus from Garriston for a few years, and they’d take it. What do you think? Is it worth it?”
He’s asking me like my opinion is worth something. Kip hadn’t had that many adults care what he thought. “I think King Garadul should die and save us all this trouble.”
Gavin laughed ruefully. “If only. Maybe Karris will work a miracle and do just that.”
“You really miss her, don’t you?” Kip asked before he could stop himself.
Gavin looked at Kip sharply. Then he looked away. Relented. After a minute, he expelled a long breath, and it was like Kip was watching Gavin’s hope leak out of him. “That obvious, huh?” Gavin asked.
“You think they’ll kill her?” Kip asked.
