The Blinding Knife
Page 134
“White Oak,” she said, grinning.
“Ah, yes! But I find redemption here!” He grabbed a cheap clay cup and a fresh wedge of onion and ladled hot kopi into it. He poured out some of the steaming hot liquid into a clean saucer, swirled it, put it back into the cup, and repeated the saucering until the kopi was the perfect temperature. Then he fished out the onion wedge and spooned in half a spoonful of Ilytian sugar.
“Brilliant,” Karris said. “You remembered.”
“A kopi man never forgets.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger thrice, thinking. “Ah, ah!” Then he produced the kind of small sweet roll that Karris liked. “Yes?”
She smiled. “You’re a wonder.” It was perfect. Exactly as she’d had years ago, and the kopi was wonderful.
She paid, feeling enlivened by the stimulant and the food, and headed toward Ebon’s Hill. There was an estate there that had a gorgeous view of the bay and the rising sun. Dazen had shown it to her when they were first courting.
He hadn’t knocked on the door or anything so civil. Instead, he’d shown her how to climb up onto the fence, and from there onto the bulbous dome roof of a neighbor’s house. It was quiet, peaceful, and for a young teenage girl, it had felt naughty.
They’d kissed there for the very first time, after holding hands all night, talking.
How was she going to broach the topic, though? “Gavin, you big idiot, I’ve known you’re Dazen for months”? No. She’d merely sit down next to him, watch the sun rise, and then say, “I remember our first kiss here.”
The thought of throwing Gavin so far off kilter was more than a little pleasing.
Truth was, they were going to have to do a lot of work. A lot of the lies he’d told her made sense to her now, but not all of them, and knowing why someone had lied to you was different than understanding it, different by far than forgiving it.
But still, she was eager to start living. Scary as it was. Besides, he’d said he loved her, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like she was going out on a limb.
She rounded the last corner and found herself on her ass, sitting on the ground. It took her a moment to realize she’d been hit in the face. And then a gang of men gathered around her, hitting, hitting, hitting.
She kicked, she swung, she screamed, but her training did little for her. There were a dozen men, all big, and they’d sealed off any form of escape. Her speed was no use to her on the ground. Her weapons expertise no good with her weapons torn away.
Her rage was undercut by humiliation, fear. She was a Blackguard. How could she let herself be taken off guard? How could she be so terrified? She tried to punch, tried to kick, but each of her limbs was trapped. She thrashed. A foot caught her in the kidney. Black stars exploded in white skies. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid; men were supposed to fear her. A face leaned close, saying something, and she whipped her head forward, shattering his nose, making his blood explode all over her. She twisted an arm, shattered a man’s elbow. Then her head rebounded off the paving stones from a blow she never even saw. And then all emotions faded as she lost her grip on consciousness—and still the beating continued, continued, continued.
Chapter 90
“Blackguards die. Death is our companion,” Commander Ironfist said, addressing the scrubs in one of their little training buildings. “Yesterday, one of our own was killed. Lucia.”
The remaining twenty scrubs had been given the night off after Lucia’s death, but they had been told to be here in formation, first thing in the morning, or be kicked out. All had come.
“Lucia had little chance of making it into our company.” The commander paused, letting that sink in. “That’s right. In the harsh light of death, other people lie. Other people lie because they fear death, and fear that when they die, others will speak the truth about them. Our challenge is to live in such a way that the truth is no embarrassment. Lucia wasn’t a great fighter, but she was brave and she was honorable and she didn’t deserve to be murdered by some coward with a musket. We’ll find him. We’re out looking for him now. And when we find him, we’ll kill him. In the meantime, we have work to do. We’re the Blackguard. We always have work to do. Trainer?”
Trainer Fisk came before the class, but Kip looked over to Cruxer. The boy’s face was like iron.
“War will be your teacher,” Trainer Fisk said. “We’re going to war. As some of you may know, the Spectrum has decided to send us to defend Ru. We’ve seen it coming. Now it’s here. We’d planned to have two more weeks of training before we selected the trainees out of your class. Especially after Lucia was killed. But Blackguards don’t stand still. Better we don’t, anyway. The final round of testing is today. I know that some of you might be beat up from fighting yesterday. Sorry. Tough. Your class is down to twenty. Fourteen will become Blackguard trainees.” He paused.
“Those of you who get cut, you can try again next season. And I hope you will. Despite that we’re taking twice as many initiates as we usually do, this has been an unexpectedly fine class. Your odds to pass next time are very good. You’ll be seeded at the top of that class, above the legacies.” He scowled. “Now, all of you, to the grounds, double-time!”
When they arrived, jogging smartly in line, Kip saw that there were perhaps two thousand spectators ready to watch them. Of those, maybe only a third were full Blackguards or Blackguard trainees in the years ahead of Kip’s class. Kip realized that he wasn’t winded from the jog. He was a long way from the physical condition the best students were in, but he was getting stronger. Slowly.
He was also glad that Teia had told him today would probably be the final test. Kip had been able to hide the dagger in the Prism’s training room, so he didn’t have to wear it on his ankle. And no one could get in there.
As always, they took their places, and Trainer Fisk stood before them to give them the rules. “You pick your colors. No spectacles. No weapons. As before, you can challenge three places above you. You win their token, you can challenge again. Those at the bottom get to challenge first. Mercy or unconsciousness, as judged by me. We know you want to win, and that everything is riding on these fights for some of you, but anyone who maims an opponent during testing will be kicked out. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the scrubs said in unison. There was a current in the air, like before a lightning storm. This test separated scrubs from Blackguards. Even if they washed out or got injured before final vows, if they made it through today, they would forever have that rare badge of honor: Blackguard. Those who were slaves who made it through today’s test would have their contracts put in escrow by the Chromeria itself. Nothing would be allowed to interfere with their training until they washed out or stood to take their final vows and had their price paid by the Chromeria itself. The price they commanded would make their masters wealthy, but the sale itself wasn’t voluntary. They would be instantly in a different class. They would, of course, still owe their obedience to the Blackguard, and would serve until retirement. But even a Blackguard slave was a Blackguard. Internally, there was no difference in duties or in privileges: a woman from a hundred generations of nobles like Karris White Oak served on exactly the same schedule as Pan Harl, whose ancestors had been slaves for eight of the last ten generations.
“Ah, yes! But I find redemption here!” He grabbed a cheap clay cup and a fresh wedge of onion and ladled hot kopi into it. He poured out some of the steaming hot liquid into a clean saucer, swirled it, put it back into the cup, and repeated the saucering until the kopi was the perfect temperature. Then he fished out the onion wedge and spooned in half a spoonful of Ilytian sugar.
“Brilliant,” Karris said. “You remembered.”
“A kopi man never forgets.” He tapped his forehead with his index finger thrice, thinking. “Ah, ah!” Then he produced the kind of small sweet roll that Karris liked. “Yes?”
She smiled. “You’re a wonder.” It was perfect. Exactly as she’d had years ago, and the kopi was wonderful.
She paid, feeling enlivened by the stimulant and the food, and headed toward Ebon’s Hill. There was an estate there that had a gorgeous view of the bay and the rising sun. Dazen had shown it to her when they were first courting.
He hadn’t knocked on the door or anything so civil. Instead, he’d shown her how to climb up onto the fence, and from there onto the bulbous dome roof of a neighbor’s house. It was quiet, peaceful, and for a young teenage girl, it had felt naughty.
They’d kissed there for the very first time, after holding hands all night, talking.
How was she going to broach the topic, though? “Gavin, you big idiot, I’ve known you’re Dazen for months”? No. She’d merely sit down next to him, watch the sun rise, and then say, “I remember our first kiss here.”
The thought of throwing Gavin so far off kilter was more than a little pleasing.
Truth was, they were going to have to do a lot of work. A lot of the lies he’d told her made sense to her now, but not all of them, and knowing why someone had lied to you was different than understanding it, different by far than forgiving it.
But still, she was eager to start living. Scary as it was. Besides, he’d said he loved her, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like she was going out on a limb.
She rounded the last corner and found herself on her ass, sitting on the ground. It took her a moment to realize she’d been hit in the face. And then a gang of men gathered around her, hitting, hitting, hitting.
She kicked, she swung, she screamed, but her training did little for her. There were a dozen men, all big, and they’d sealed off any form of escape. Her speed was no use to her on the ground. Her weapons expertise no good with her weapons torn away.
Her rage was undercut by humiliation, fear. She was a Blackguard. How could she let herself be taken off guard? How could she be so terrified? She tried to punch, tried to kick, but each of her limbs was trapped. She thrashed. A foot caught her in the kidney. Black stars exploded in white skies. She wasn’t supposed to be afraid; men were supposed to fear her. A face leaned close, saying something, and she whipped her head forward, shattering his nose, making his blood explode all over her. She twisted an arm, shattered a man’s elbow. Then her head rebounded off the paving stones from a blow she never even saw. And then all emotions faded as she lost her grip on consciousness—and still the beating continued, continued, continued.
Chapter 90
“Blackguards die. Death is our companion,” Commander Ironfist said, addressing the scrubs in one of their little training buildings. “Yesterday, one of our own was killed. Lucia.”
The remaining twenty scrubs had been given the night off after Lucia’s death, but they had been told to be here in formation, first thing in the morning, or be kicked out. All had come.
“Lucia had little chance of making it into our company.” The commander paused, letting that sink in. “That’s right. In the harsh light of death, other people lie. Other people lie because they fear death, and fear that when they die, others will speak the truth about them. Our challenge is to live in such a way that the truth is no embarrassment. Lucia wasn’t a great fighter, but she was brave and she was honorable and she didn’t deserve to be murdered by some coward with a musket. We’ll find him. We’re out looking for him now. And when we find him, we’ll kill him. In the meantime, we have work to do. We’re the Blackguard. We always have work to do. Trainer?”
Trainer Fisk came before the class, but Kip looked over to Cruxer. The boy’s face was like iron.
“War will be your teacher,” Trainer Fisk said. “We’re going to war. As some of you may know, the Spectrum has decided to send us to defend Ru. We’ve seen it coming. Now it’s here. We’d planned to have two more weeks of training before we selected the trainees out of your class. Especially after Lucia was killed. But Blackguards don’t stand still. Better we don’t, anyway. The final round of testing is today. I know that some of you might be beat up from fighting yesterday. Sorry. Tough. Your class is down to twenty. Fourteen will become Blackguard trainees.” He paused.
“Those of you who get cut, you can try again next season. And I hope you will. Despite that we’re taking twice as many initiates as we usually do, this has been an unexpectedly fine class. Your odds to pass next time are very good. You’ll be seeded at the top of that class, above the legacies.” He scowled. “Now, all of you, to the grounds, double-time!”
When they arrived, jogging smartly in line, Kip saw that there were perhaps two thousand spectators ready to watch them. Of those, maybe only a third were full Blackguards or Blackguard trainees in the years ahead of Kip’s class. Kip realized that he wasn’t winded from the jog. He was a long way from the physical condition the best students were in, but he was getting stronger. Slowly.
He was also glad that Teia had told him today would probably be the final test. Kip had been able to hide the dagger in the Prism’s training room, so he didn’t have to wear it on his ankle. And no one could get in there.
As always, they took their places, and Trainer Fisk stood before them to give them the rules. “You pick your colors. No spectacles. No weapons. As before, you can challenge three places above you. You win their token, you can challenge again. Those at the bottom get to challenge first. Mercy or unconsciousness, as judged by me. We know you want to win, and that everything is riding on these fights for some of you, but anyone who maims an opponent during testing will be kicked out. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” the scrubs said in unison. There was a current in the air, like before a lightning storm. This test separated scrubs from Blackguards. Even if they washed out or got injured before final vows, if they made it through today, they would forever have that rare badge of honor: Blackguard. Those who were slaves who made it through today’s test would have their contracts put in escrow by the Chromeria itself. Nothing would be allowed to interfere with their training until they washed out or stood to take their final vows and had their price paid by the Chromeria itself. The price they commanded would make their masters wealthy, but the sale itself wasn’t voluntary. They would be instantly in a different class. They would, of course, still owe their obedience to the Blackguard, and would serve until retirement. But even a Blackguard slave was a Blackguard. Internally, there was no difference in duties or in privileges: a woman from a hundred generations of nobles like Karris White Oak served on exactly the same schedule as Pan Harl, whose ancestors had been slaves for eight of the last ten generations.
