The Blinding Knife
Page 136
It was a good reminder. Kip thought he was at the center of everything. Everything was about Kip—and there were tragedies and comedies passing right before his eyes that he didn’t even see.
Nineteen was up next, and given that she was directly below Kip, he figured he’d get a rest. Nineteen was a girl named Tufayyur, and she was ranked appropriately, so far as Kip and Teia could guess. So she’d try for sixteen and then thirteen. Getting lucky twice was a lot more likely than getting lucky three or four times.
Kip took his place in the numbered line, starting to plot his own line of challenges. He wished that he had gotten to stand next to Teia, so he could talk it over with her. She understood this all better than he did. But then Tufayyur came to stand in front of him. “I challenge Kip,” she said.
What? Kip looked at her in disbelief and she shrugged. He followed her eyes to who was above him—Barrel and Balder. A flash of understanding illuminated the outlines of something bigger going on, but Kip lost it.
He was the sensible challenge, he supposed. Again. He’d been planning on skipping Barrel and Balder himself. Neither of them should have been placed so low. He thought they should both be in the top fourteen.
But he had to go out to the middle of the ring again. If he lost once, he was out. Just like that.
The crowd didn’t even fall silent for these early fights. Kip couldn’t blame them, watching the worst fighters who won’t even make it in isn’t terribly interesting.
They went to the hellstone, and then took their place. The spotlights came on, blue and green, but Tufayyur wasn’t interested in drafting. She charged. She aimed a kick at the side of Kip’s head and he saw an opening to go for the knee of her other leg with a sharp low kick of his own—but that was a crippling blow. He hesitated. He absorbed her kick instead, his hesitation earning him ringing ears.
She used the opening to punch him in the face twice, light and fast, but enough to stun him.
Kip staggered backward. She hit him in the stomach, kicked for his groin—he barely deflected the latter with a knee but still took the shot in his thigh. She punched for his face again, but he ducked into the blow and her fist smashed against his forehead.
She yelped, but didn’t stop. As he hunched, she threw flurries of blows at him. Then she snagged his arm and went for a submission hold.
Kip rushed into her and they both fell, as graceful as mating turtles.
Tufayyur went for a scissor submission with her legs, but her legs weren’t long enough to get around Kip’s girth and lock easily. Kip rolled on top of her, angling the whole of his body weight onto her torso. He grabbed one of her arms with both of his and then simply lay across her face.
The girl bucked, kicking her feet up to try to roll Kip off of her, but she wasn’t strong enough. With her free hand, she went for Kip’s nuts, but he pressed his hip down, and she wasn’t strong enough to burrow underneath. She jerked, trying to get her hand away, failing.
Then she panicked, unable to breathe, flailing—and the whistle shrilled again.
There was a smattering of applause and laughter as Kip stood and offered her a hand, but she snarled at him and stormed away. “Way to go, fatty!” one of the older Blackguard trainees shouted.
Kip walked back to his spot, already tired, and was surprised to see Commander Ironfist himself waiting for him at the rail.
Oh, thank Orholam. Now that Gavin was back, the commander was going to march in and say, “Breaker is a special case. He’s in, regardless,” and Kip wouldn’t have to go through the humiliation of getting his ass beat by fighters who weren’t even going to be in the Blackguard.
As usual, the scrubs leaned in toward him, but the commander gave flat looks to a few and they all melted back. Kip came to stand before him. The commander’s jaw was set and he looked so quietly intense that Kip swallowed.
“You think it’s different because he’s back?” the commander asked, clearly referring to Gavin, but not so much as gesturing toward the tower. Others would be watching. “It’s not. You’re still on your own,” Ironfist said. Then he left.
Kip licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”
And Kip was up next. He looked at the lineup. Some good luck, anyway, right? A tiny bit. He could skip over Barrel and Balder and take on Yugerten at fifteenth place. If anything, Yugerten should have been nineteenth or twentieth. Kip had a good chance, right? Sure.
Taking his challenge token, Kip brought it to Yugerten and set it on the rail in front of the boy, who didn’t look surprised at all.
Kip took his time getting out to the circle, trying to catch his breath. He saw Teia scowling, thinking.
“We got a lot of fights today, Breaker. Get a move on,” Trainer Fisk said.
Yugerten was tall but gangly and awkward, a monochrome blue. The boys took their spots, weighing each other. Then the lights went out—and back on, blue and green.
Kip drafted green as quickly as he could, and Yugerten seemed content to stand back and draft, too. But when Kip shot out a green ball, Yugerten dodged and straightened a moment later, having drafted a pair of t-batons. Kip had never fought with those weapons, but it was clear Yugerten had. With the handles in hand, he swung the batons in a quick circle and brought them to rest along his forearms.
Then the boy came at Kip fast, in order not to give him time to draft anything else.
Kip kicked at his leg, but Yugerten blocked, cracking a t-baton across Kip’s shin, hobbling him. He stepped and punched for Kip’s stomach. The other end of the baton extended beyond his fist, and it stabbed Kip’s stomach hard.
Heaving forward, Kip deflected the follow-up punch and it only grazed his jaw rather than tearing his head off, and Yugerten lost one of the t-batons.
He let it go and punched Kip again. Kip tried to keep his balance and failed; he fell and Yugerten was on top of him in a moment, sitting on his chest, using his remaining baton to choke him.
Kip got one hand in front of his neck, but Yugerten was using both of his hands and all his weight to press down. Kip kept hoping the blue would shatter. Blue wasn’t supposed to be good for this, but it didn’t. He punched with his free hand, caught a shoulder. Punched, glanced off Yugerten’s forehead. Punched, weaker.
The world was turning dark, stars blooming in Kip’s vision. He couldn’t breathe. He was staring into the spotlight—
He flooded blue luxin around the entirety of Yugerten’s t-baton. He found the seals on the baton and opened them. The baton dissolved suddenly in a small cloud of chalk and resin.
Without the thing he’d been putting all of his weight on, Yugerten pitched forward, straight into Kip’s forehead, and instantly went limp.
Kip rolled the boy off of him and stood.
When Yugerten was revived, there was applause. He’d just been knocked out, but he’d be fine. Kip walked over and grabbed the boy’s challenge token. Still bronze, fifteenth place. This one depicted a man with crossed swords sheathed behind his back, unlimbering both.
Aram was at fourteenth, and was one of the best boys in the class. Tala, a yellow/green bichrome named after the hero of the False Prism’s War, was at thirteen. She wasn’t the greatest fighter, but she was an excellent drafter. Kip hoped she made it in.
That meant Kip had to go for number twelve, Erato, one of Aram’s friends. Erato was actually the worst fighter out of Aram’s friends, quick but unimaginative, so it was strange that she was the highest-ranked.
Nineteen was up next, and given that she was directly below Kip, he figured he’d get a rest. Nineteen was a girl named Tufayyur, and she was ranked appropriately, so far as Kip and Teia could guess. So she’d try for sixteen and then thirteen. Getting lucky twice was a lot more likely than getting lucky three or four times.
Kip took his place in the numbered line, starting to plot his own line of challenges. He wished that he had gotten to stand next to Teia, so he could talk it over with her. She understood this all better than he did. But then Tufayyur came to stand in front of him. “I challenge Kip,” she said.
What? Kip looked at her in disbelief and she shrugged. He followed her eyes to who was above him—Barrel and Balder. A flash of understanding illuminated the outlines of something bigger going on, but Kip lost it.
He was the sensible challenge, he supposed. Again. He’d been planning on skipping Barrel and Balder himself. Neither of them should have been placed so low. He thought they should both be in the top fourteen.
But he had to go out to the middle of the ring again. If he lost once, he was out. Just like that.
The crowd didn’t even fall silent for these early fights. Kip couldn’t blame them, watching the worst fighters who won’t even make it in isn’t terribly interesting.
They went to the hellstone, and then took their place. The spotlights came on, blue and green, but Tufayyur wasn’t interested in drafting. She charged. She aimed a kick at the side of Kip’s head and he saw an opening to go for the knee of her other leg with a sharp low kick of his own—but that was a crippling blow. He hesitated. He absorbed her kick instead, his hesitation earning him ringing ears.
She used the opening to punch him in the face twice, light and fast, but enough to stun him.
Kip staggered backward. She hit him in the stomach, kicked for his groin—he barely deflected the latter with a knee but still took the shot in his thigh. She punched for his face again, but he ducked into the blow and her fist smashed against his forehead.
She yelped, but didn’t stop. As he hunched, she threw flurries of blows at him. Then she snagged his arm and went for a submission hold.
Kip rushed into her and they both fell, as graceful as mating turtles.
Tufayyur went for a scissor submission with her legs, but her legs weren’t long enough to get around Kip’s girth and lock easily. Kip rolled on top of her, angling the whole of his body weight onto her torso. He grabbed one of her arms with both of his and then simply lay across her face.
The girl bucked, kicking her feet up to try to roll Kip off of her, but she wasn’t strong enough. With her free hand, she went for Kip’s nuts, but he pressed his hip down, and she wasn’t strong enough to burrow underneath. She jerked, trying to get her hand away, failing.
Then she panicked, unable to breathe, flailing—and the whistle shrilled again.
There was a smattering of applause and laughter as Kip stood and offered her a hand, but she snarled at him and stormed away. “Way to go, fatty!” one of the older Blackguard trainees shouted.
Kip walked back to his spot, already tired, and was surprised to see Commander Ironfist himself waiting for him at the rail.
Oh, thank Orholam. Now that Gavin was back, the commander was going to march in and say, “Breaker is a special case. He’s in, regardless,” and Kip wouldn’t have to go through the humiliation of getting his ass beat by fighters who weren’t even going to be in the Blackguard.
As usual, the scrubs leaned in toward him, but the commander gave flat looks to a few and they all melted back. Kip came to stand before him. The commander’s jaw was set and he looked so quietly intense that Kip swallowed.
“You think it’s different because he’s back?” the commander asked, clearly referring to Gavin, but not so much as gesturing toward the tower. Others would be watching. “It’s not. You’re still on your own,” Ironfist said. Then he left.
Kip licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”
And Kip was up next. He looked at the lineup. Some good luck, anyway, right? A tiny bit. He could skip over Barrel and Balder and take on Yugerten at fifteenth place. If anything, Yugerten should have been nineteenth or twentieth. Kip had a good chance, right? Sure.
Taking his challenge token, Kip brought it to Yugerten and set it on the rail in front of the boy, who didn’t look surprised at all.
Kip took his time getting out to the circle, trying to catch his breath. He saw Teia scowling, thinking.
“We got a lot of fights today, Breaker. Get a move on,” Trainer Fisk said.
Yugerten was tall but gangly and awkward, a monochrome blue. The boys took their spots, weighing each other. Then the lights went out—and back on, blue and green.
Kip drafted green as quickly as he could, and Yugerten seemed content to stand back and draft, too. But when Kip shot out a green ball, Yugerten dodged and straightened a moment later, having drafted a pair of t-batons. Kip had never fought with those weapons, but it was clear Yugerten had. With the handles in hand, he swung the batons in a quick circle and brought them to rest along his forearms.
Then the boy came at Kip fast, in order not to give him time to draft anything else.
Kip kicked at his leg, but Yugerten blocked, cracking a t-baton across Kip’s shin, hobbling him. He stepped and punched for Kip’s stomach. The other end of the baton extended beyond his fist, and it stabbed Kip’s stomach hard.
Heaving forward, Kip deflected the follow-up punch and it only grazed his jaw rather than tearing his head off, and Yugerten lost one of the t-batons.
He let it go and punched Kip again. Kip tried to keep his balance and failed; he fell and Yugerten was on top of him in a moment, sitting on his chest, using his remaining baton to choke him.
Kip got one hand in front of his neck, but Yugerten was using both of his hands and all his weight to press down. Kip kept hoping the blue would shatter. Blue wasn’t supposed to be good for this, but it didn’t. He punched with his free hand, caught a shoulder. Punched, glanced off Yugerten’s forehead. Punched, weaker.
The world was turning dark, stars blooming in Kip’s vision. He couldn’t breathe. He was staring into the spotlight—
He flooded blue luxin around the entirety of Yugerten’s t-baton. He found the seals on the baton and opened them. The baton dissolved suddenly in a small cloud of chalk and resin.
Without the thing he’d been putting all of his weight on, Yugerten pitched forward, straight into Kip’s forehead, and instantly went limp.
Kip rolled the boy off of him and stood.
When Yugerten was revived, there was applause. He’d just been knocked out, but he’d be fine. Kip walked over and grabbed the boy’s challenge token. Still bronze, fifteenth place. This one depicted a man with crossed swords sheathed behind his back, unlimbering both.
Aram was at fourteenth, and was one of the best boys in the class. Tala, a yellow/green bichrome named after the hero of the False Prism’s War, was at thirteen. She wasn’t the greatest fighter, but she was an excellent drafter. Kip hoped she made it in.
That meant Kip had to go for number twelve, Erato, one of Aram’s friends. Erato was actually the worst fighter out of Aram’s friends, quick but unimaginative, so it was strange that she was the highest-ranked.
