The Blinding Knife
Page 138
He knew instantly what she meant. She’d let him win. He’d get in. It’s who you know, not how good you are. Kip wanted to get in with his whole heart. They were going to bury him. But if he got in by cheating, it would taint everything he ever achieved. He would be no better than Aram and his friends.
And if Kip and Teia got caught cheating—which the trainers always looked for when partners sparred—both of them would get bounced. For him, it would be embarrassing. For Teia, it would be a total disaster.
Yet she’d offered. She was a friend. A real friend. Better than he deserved.
Kip stepped forward and challenged number eleven, Rig.
“Kip!” Teia said.
He ignored her, didn’t look toward her at all even after he got into the ring. He asked for superviolet and blue for his colors. Rig had red and orange, but Kip knew he was finished. Red and orange weren’t helpful in the kind of training fights the Blackguard did, because there was no safe way to light an opponent on fire. The training was naturally biased against Rig, which meant that he could only be ranked so highly because he was a great physical fighter.
It wasn’t until Kip stepped into the ring that he realized an even worse blunder than picking Rig. He should have declared all colors. He had nothing to lose now. The whole point of not declaring the colors was so he could use them on his last fight, and in his rash idiocy and false heroism, he’d blown it. Teia had been trying to tell him—and he’d thought she was going to praise him for his nobility or something.
The whistle blew, and it went just as Kip expected. Rig would dart in and disrupt Kip every time Kip tried to draft, and soon he closed and they grappled. Rig slipped behind Kip, keeping his face down and batting aside every attack Kip tried with blue luxin until Kip was empty. Then Kip did the only thing he could think of: he filled Rig’s mouth and nose with superviolet while imprisoning his hands.
But the boy didn’t panic, didn’t move: he snapped the superviolet with his tongue and teeth and choked Kip out.
And just like that, Kip’s future was out of his own hands. He was twelfth out of fourteen. Rig helped him stand up. “Nice try there, Breaker. Best of luck making it in.”
But Kip knew he’d already lost.
Chapter 91
~The Master~
Tap. Tap.
Hurtled into the pitch blackness of the chamber, Kip still somehow knew exactly where everything was.
I memorized the room. That was it.
Tap. Tap. Tap. And in. Boom.
Kip? Something about Kip? Why did that pass through my mind? I cock my head to the side. Odd. Doubtless, the whelp is asleep on the deck, recovering.
I take my gloves off and try to suppress the rage that floods me at the sight of my hands.
Damn them. Damn them all.
Thin threads of red luxin glimmer in the darkness, veins of fire through the dross of my skin. I push back my hood.
Where is the boy hiding it? I’d had his room searched, hired pickpockets to jostle his tubby body. Nothing.
Rage crests and I ball my fists, clamping my eyes shut. I can feel the room growing brighter, hotter. I’m going to make it to Sun Day. To hell with it.
I’m going to go now and find him. I’ll beat the boy to death, injured as he is, if I have to. Maybe it is madness.
My hand is on the door before I remember my gloves and cloak. I pull on the gloves and snarl at the brief reflection of a man limned in red fire in the mirror. I pull the hood down and step into the hall.
“Captain!”
Chapter 92
Kip went to stand by Teia and Cruxer. At their prodding, he explained his conspiracy theory, and then, together, they watched it play out, exactly as he’d foreseen. Balder fought and beat Yugurten, then he fought and beat Tala, and for a moment Kip thought the boy would challenge him—and give him another chance—but instead, sneering, the boy challenged eleven and won.
That eleventh fight took a lot out of Balder, though, and he got smashed against nine. They reordered, and with Balder now at eleventh, Kip was moved down to thirteenth place.
Then Barrel was up. He fought as Kip had expected, too, skipping Aram and taking on fighters who were already out, and then skipping Kip, who spat at his feet. Barrel made it to twelfth, and lost to ninth.
Kip shuffled down to fourteenth. Aram challenged three up from himself, fifteenth, which was Erato. She was already out no matter what, so she conceded without fighting.
All Aram had to do was win one more fight, and if he did, Kip was out. He came up to the bar and looked over the prospects, standing almost directly in front of Kip.
“You coward,” Kip said. “You’re not smart enough to figure this out. Who did it? How much did they pay you to do this?”
A flash of fury came over Aram’s face, quickly smoothed away.
“You cheater,” Kip said. “What did you think, that you’re some modern-day Ayrad? Ayrad didn’t take money for what he did. He didn’t use a team. You’re shit compared to him. You’re going to skip me. Me. The one you were hired to block. You think you’re the best in the class, you think you’re better than Cruxer, but you’re afraid to take me on.”
“I’ve got a lot of fights to win today, Kip. I don’t need to tire myself on unnecessary—”
“So fighting me will tire you out? Thought you were amazing. Didn’t Ayrad fight everyone in the class on his way up? And you won’t even fight one fatty at fourteenth place. You’re a legend all right, Aram. Aram the Unready, we’ll call you. Aram the A-rammed.” Kip had no idea what the latter meant, he just made it up. “Aram the—”
Aram slammed down his token in front of Kip. “I’m going to kill you,” he said. He strode off into the middle of the circle.
Cruxer was at Kip’s side an instant later. “Brilliant, now, Kip, after the back kick, Aram likes to throw a roundhouse punch, either stomach or face. He gets a lot of power into that thing, but if you can sidestep and come in, he’ll be wide open.”
“I’ve seen it,” Kip said. “I’m just not fast enough to take advantage of it.”
“Time!” Trainer Fisk announced. “Come forward.”
“Anything else?” Kip asked Cruxer. “Please.”
“He’s a fast drafter, too,” Cruxer said weakly. “Watch out for that… You’re lucky, though, right, Breaker?”
“Very.”
“Breaker, forward or out!” the trainer shouted.
“That’s something then,” Cruxer said.
“I didn’t say it was good luck.”
Kip turned to walk into the center of the circle. Then he saw the worst thing in the world. A ripple of recognition passed through the assembled Blackguards and trainees as someone came to the front rows to watch. Gavin. Gavin was here. Prism Gavin Guile himself had come to see his son test.
And Kip was about to fail.
Of course he’d come now. Of course he couldn’t have come early enough to see Kip win the earlier fights. To see Kip do clever things. No, he came now, when Kip was out of ideas and out of luck. Just in time for Kip to shame him.
“Are you ill, Breaker?” Trainer Fisk asked.
Oh, and of course the Prism sat next to Commander Ironfist. Might as well let everyone down at once. Beautiful.
“I’m envisioning a great victory,” Kip said.
And if Kip and Teia got caught cheating—which the trainers always looked for when partners sparred—both of them would get bounced. For him, it would be embarrassing. For Teia, it would be a total disaster.
Yet she’d offered. She was a friend. A real friend. Better than he deserved.
Kip stepped forward and challenged number eleven, Rig.
“Kip!” Teia said.
He ignored her, didn’t look toward her at all even after he got into the ring. He asked for superviolet and blue for his colors. Rig had red and orange, but Kip knew he was finished. Red and orange weren’t helpful in the kind of training fights the Blackguard did, because there was no safe way to light an opponent on fire. The training was naturally biased against Rig, which meant that he could only be ranked so highly because he was a great physical fighter.
It wasn’t until Kip stepped into the ring that he realized an even worse blunder than picking Rig. He should have declared all colors. He had nothing to lose now. The whole point of not declaring the colors was so he could use them on his last fight, and in his rash idiocy and false heroism, he’d blown it. Teia had been trying to tell him—and he’d thought she was going to praise him for his nobility or something.
The whistle blew, and it went just as Kip expected. Rig would dart in and disrupt Kip every time Kip tried to draft, and soon he closed and they grappled. Rig slipped behind Kip, keeping his face down and batting aside every attack Kip tried with blue luxin until Kip was empty. Then Kip did the only thing he could think of: he filled Rig’s mouth and nose with superviolet while imprisoning his hands.
But the boy didn’t panic, didn’t move: he snapped the superviolet with his tongue and teeth and choked Kip out.
And just like that, Kip’s future was out of his own hands. He was twelfth out of fourteen. Rig helped him stand up. “Nice try there, Breaker. Best of luck making it in.”
But Kip knew he’d already lost.
Chapter 91
~The Master~
Tap. Tap.
Hurtled into the pitch blackness of the chamber, Kip still somehow knew exactly where everything was.
I memorized the room. That was it.
Tap. Tap. Tap. And in. Boom.
Kip? Something about Kip? Why did that pass through my mind? I cock my head to the side. Odd. Doubtless, the whelp is asleep on the deck, recovering.
I take my gloves off and try to suppress the rage that floods me at the sight of my hands.
Damn them. Damn them all.
Thin threads of red luxin glimmer in the darkness, veins of fire through the dross of my skin. I push back my hood.
Where is the boy hiding it? I’d had his room searched, hired pickpockets to jostle his tubby body. Nothing.
Rage crests and I ball my fists, clamping my eyes shut. I can feel the room growing brighter, hotter. I’m going to make it to Sun Day. To hell with it.
I’m going to go now and find him. I’ll beat the boy to death, injured as he is, if I have to. Maybe it is madness.
My hand is on the door before I remember my gloves and cloak. I pull on the gloves and snarl at the brief reflection of a man limned in red fire in the mirror. I pull the hood down and step into the hall.
“Captain!”
Chapter 92
Kip went to stand by Teia and Cruxer. At their prodding, he explained his conspiracy theory, and then, together, they watched it play out, exactly as he’d foreseen. Balder fought and beat Yugurten, then he fought and beat Tala, and for a moment Kip thought the boy would challenge him—and give him another chance—but instead, sneering, the boy challenged eleven and won.
That eleventh fight took a lot out of Balder, though, and he got smashed against nine. They reordered, and with Balder now at eleventh, Kip was moved down to thirteenth place.
Then Barrel was up. He fought as Kip had expected, too, skipping Aram and taking on fighters who were already out, and then skipping Kip, who spat at his feet. Barrel made it to twelfth, and lost to ninth.
Kip shuffled down to fourteenth. Aram challenged three up from himself, fifteenth, which was Erato. She was already out no matter what, so she conceded without fighting.
All Aram had to do was win one more fight, and if he did, Kip was out. He came up to the bar and looked over the prospects, standing almost directly in front of Kip.
“You coward,” Kip said. “You’re not smart enough to figure this out. Who did it? How much did they pay you to do this?”
A flash of fury came over Aram’s face, quickly smoothed away.
“You cheater,” Kip said. “What did you think, that you’re some modern-day Ayrad? Ayrad didn’t take money for what he did. He didn’t use a team. You’re shit compared to him. You’re going to skip me. Me. The one you were hired to block. You think you’re the best in the class, you think you’re better than Cruxer, but you’re afraid to take me on.”
“I’ve got a lot of fights to win today, Kip. I don’t need to tire myself on unnecessary—”
“So fighting me will tire you out? Thought you were amazing. Didn’t Ayrad fight everyone in the class on his way up? And you won’t even fight one fatty at fourteenth place. You’re a legend all right, Aram. Aram the Unready, we’ll call you. Aram the A-rammed.” Kip had no idea what the latter meant, he just made it up. “Aram the—”
Aram slammed down his token in front of Kip. “I’m going to kill you,” he said. He strode off into the middle of the circle.
Cruxer was at Kip’s side an instant later. “Brilliant, now, Kip, after the back kick, Aram likes to throw a roundhouse punch, either stomach or face. He gets a lot of power into that thing, but if you can sidestep and come in, he’ll be wide open.”
“I’ve seen it,” Kip said. “I’m just not fast enough to take advantage of it.”
“Time!” Trainer Fisk announced. “Come forward.”
“Anything else?” Kip asked Cruxer. “Please.”
“He’s a fast drafter, too,” Cruxer said weakly. “Watch out for that… You’re lucky, though, right, Breaker?”
“Very.”
“Breaker, forward or out!” the trainer shouted.
“That’s something then,” Cruxer said.
“I didn’t say it was good luck.”
Kip turned to walk into the center of the circle. Then he saw the worst thing in the world. A ripple of recognition passed through the assembled Blackguards and trainees as someone came to the front rows to watch. Gavin. Gavin was here. Prism Gavin Guile himself had come to see his son test.
And Kip was about to fail.
Of course he’d come now. Of course he couldn’t have come early enough to see Kip win the earlier fights. To see Kip do clever things. No, he came now, when Kip was out of ideas and out of luck. Just in time for Kip to shame him.
“Are you ill, Breaker?” Trainer Fisk asked.
Oh, and of course the Prism sat next to Commander Ironfist. Might as well let everyone down at once. Beautiful.
“I’m envisioning a great victory,” Kip said.
