The Blinding Knife
Page 139
“You arrogant little shit,” Aram said, sneering.
“I didn’t say it was mine,” Kip said.
“Huh?”
“Not my… victory. Look, jokes don’t work when you have to explain the—Forget it.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” Aram asked.
Um, no, but shoe fits.
“I am going to punish you, Kip.” Aram said it in such a way that he clearly intended using Kip’s birth name to be offensive. Which it wasn’t.
“I think we really don’t understand each other at all,” Kip said.
“Enough!” Trainer Fisk said. “Colors?”
“Green and yellow,” Aram said.
“All colors,” Kip said. No reason to hold back now.
“You’re claiming to be a full-spectrum polychrome, Breaker?” Trainer Fisk asked.
There was a right answer here. “Um. Yes?” Kip asked.
“Bad time to announce that,” Trainer Fisk said.
“What?” Kip asked. He’d thought it was the perfect time to announce it.
“Full-spectrum polychromes have such advantages over normal drafters that the Blackguards long ago established that to test their actual ability to be a Blackguard, they must be limited to share whatever colors their opponent chooses, plus one.”
“What?” Kip said. “So by my saying I could draft more colors, you give me less?”
“Precisely.”
“Well that’s bull—” Kip stopped, barely.
Trainer Fisk arched an eyebrow.
Kip scowled. “That’s very hard to take,” he said. He cleared his throat. “And I don’t think it’s fair.”
“I don’t think it’s fair, the Prism’s bastard says. You little bitch,” Aram said. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“Aram, I don’t know who bought you off, but I’m going to crush your face,” Kip said. “You’re going to beat me today. No doubt. But I’ll be back.”
“I’m going to hurt you, Kip. I’m going to make you blubber like the fat little piggy you are.”
“Fuck you,” Kip said.
“Breaker,” Trainer Fisk said, “you are right on the line. Say one more word and you lose your extra color.”
“Word,” Kip said.
“Orholam damn you!” Trainer Fisk shouted. He grabbed Kip by his collar, and Kip heard the crowd gasp. “That’s it! You lose your extra color. You know, boy, you have a choice: are you going to be Kip the Lip, the loser who always has the last word, or are you going to be Breaker? I think you’ve made your choice for today. Maybe when you come back in six months you’ll be grown up enough to choose differently.” Trainer Fisk was seething. He turned to the crowd. Why was he so angry? Why was he so hostile suddenly?
Kip the Lip. He’d said Kip the Lip. Where—
Andross Guile. That would also explain why Trainer Fisk was so angry. He wasn’t angry at Kip; he was angry about Kip. Andross Guile was forcing Trainer Fisk to make it as hard as possible for Kip to pass—forcing Trainer Fisk to betray his oaths. It didn’t matter how. What mattered was that Kip was making what Andross Guile had asked Trainer Fisk to do all too easy. The trainer didn’t even look at Kip now, as he announced, “Kip Guile has claimed to be a full-spectrum polychrome. There hasn’t been one of those in the Blackguard for seventy years. There are rules. We’ve consulted them. Because of their innate advantages, full-spectrum polychromes get to choose only one color in addition to what their opponent chooses. For foul language, Breaker loses that choice. The colors for this bout will be green and yellow.”
Ironfist’s gaze was like a millstone. Kip looked away, and found his father’s. Gavin Guile looked disappointed already.
Damn me. Damn me. Kip the Lip. I played right into his hands. Kip Almost.
That’s who I am. Almost. I almost beat the Threshing, but I gave up. I was almost a hero, but I chose cowardice instead. I almost saved my village. I almost saved Isa. I almost saved Sanson. But I didn’t even almost save my mother. Hell, almost is generous. I haven’t almost avenged her. I swore I would. I took some little steps, telling myself I had to make it to the Blackguard to get access to the records in the library, but really, I’ve been happy to forget her. Some son. Some loyalty.
They might have conspired to keep me out of the top fourteen, but could I have really made it on my own? Probably not. Would I have made the top seven? Definitely not. The only good things in my life are the things that have been given to me. No wonder they hate me. I haven’t earned anything.
“Why little Kip the Lip, are you crying?” Aram said.
“I’m going to kill you, you motherfucker,” Kip said.
A backhand cracked across Kip’s jaw, staggering him. Trainer Fisk said, “Kip, one more word, and I’ll spare you the beating you’re about to get and revoke your chance to try again in six months.”
This time, Kip said nothing. He didn’t even spit out the blood in his mouth, lest Trainer Fisk misinterpret it.
“Trainer,” Aram said. “I’d like to withdraw one of my colors. I only need green.”
The trainer nodded and gave the order. Then he said, “Hands.”
Each boy in turn let his finger be pressed firmly on the hellstone and then took their places, illuminated only in white light.
Then the lights were shuttered.
“And…” Trainer Fisk said. Kip started running forward. He thought he had the timing just about perfect—“Go!”
Kip was already airborne as the lights came blazing on. Flying side kick. And miraculously, Aram was still standing right in line.
The boy’s eyes went wide and Kip’s foot slammed into his shoulder and chest. It launched Aram backward.
Kip fell, but popped back up to his feet in a moment. Aram had been shot all the way out of the circle. He rolled over, coughed, and for one moment Kip thought he’d knocked the wind out of his opponent. If Aram wasn’t able to breathe for five seconds, Kip would win, just like that.
“One!” Trainer Fisk shouted, starting the count.
Aram jumped back to his feet and rushed back into the circle. Kip met him at the edge, determined to keep him out.
“Two!”
Back kick. It was fast. So fast Kip was lucky to jump backward out of its reach, which also meant he was safe from the follow-up punch, which also meant Aram got into the circle with no problem.
And there goes my chance.
Aram was still in pain, though, Kip could tell. Unless he was faking it to lure Kip into some kind of trap. On the other hand, why would he need to lure Kip into a trap? He had his color, speed, strength, and a lot more training.
As Kip moved in closer, Aram lashed out. A lightning-fast pop to Kip’s nose. Too fast to stop. It wasn’t hard, but it stunned Kip. Then Aram was on top of him. Kip didn’t see the move that cut his feet out from under him, but he fell on his side, hard.
Kip had gotten halfway up when Aram hit him with a green luxin baton across the back.
“Come on, Breaker!” someone shouted.
Kip struggled up to his knees again. And grunted as another baton cracked across his back. But he didn’t go down.
He saw the thought cross Aram’s mind: he could crack that baton across Kip’s head and put him out. But a shot to the head might leave Kip an idiot, and that would get Aram barred from the Blackguard forever.
“I didn’t say it was mine,” Kip said.
“Huh?”
“Not my… victory. Look, jokes don’t work when you have to explain the—Forget it.”
“Are you calling me stupid?” Aram asked.
Um, no, but shoe fits.
“I am going to punish you, Kip.” Aram said it in such a way that he clearly intended using Kip’s birth name to be offensive. Which it wasn’t.
“I think we really don’t understand each other at all,” Kip said.
“Enough!” Trainer Fisk said. “Colors?”
“Green and yellow,” Aram said.
“All colors,” Kip said. No reason to hold back now.
“You’re claiming to be a full-spectrum polychrome, Breaker?” Trainer Fisk asked.
There was a right answer here. “Um. Yes?” Kip asked.
“Bad time to announce that,” Trainer Fisk said.
“What?” Kip asked. He’d thought it was the perfect time to announce it.
“Full-spectrum polychromes have such advantages over normal drafters that the Blackguards long ago established that to test their actual ability to be a Blackguard, they must be limited to share whatever colors their opponent chooses, plus one.”
“What?” Kip said. “So by my saying I could draft more colors, you give me less?”
“Precisely.”
“Well that’s bull—” Kip stopped, barely.
Trainer Fisk arched an eyebrow.
Kip scowled. “That’s very hard to take,” he said. He cleared his throat. “And I don’t think it’s fair.”
“I don’t think it’s fair, the Prism’s bastard says. You little bitch,” Aram said. “You shouldn’t even be here.”
“Aram, I don’t know who bought you off, but I’m going to crush your face,” Kip said. “You’re going to beat me today. No doubt. But I’ll be back.”
“I’m going to hurt you, Kip. I’m going to make you blubber like the fat little piggy you are.”
“Fuck you,” Kip said.
“Breaker,” Trainer Fisk said, “you are right on the line. Say one more word and you lose your extra color.”
“Word,” Kip said.
“Orholam damn you!” Trainer Fisk shouted. He grabbed Kip by his collar, and Kip heard the crowd gasp. “That’s it! You lose your extra color. You know, boy, you have a choice: are you going to be Kip the Lip, the loser who always has the last word, or are you going to be Breaker? I think you’ve made your choice for today. Maybe when you come back in six months you’ll be grown up enough to choose differently.” Trainer Fisk was seething. He turned to the crowd. Why was he so angry? Why was he so hostile suddenly?
Kip the Lip. He’d said Kip the Lip. Where—
Andross Guile. That would also explain why Trainer Fisk was so angry. He wasn’t angry at Kip; he was angry about Kip. Andross Guile was forcing Trainer Fisk to make it as hard as possible for Kip to pass—forcing Trainer Fisk to betray his oaths. It didn’t matter how. What mattered was that Kip was making what Andross Guile had asked Trainer Fisk to do all too easy. The trainer didn’t even look at Kip now, as he announced, “Kip Guile has claimed to be a full-spectrum polychrome. There hasn’t been one of those in the Blackguard for seventy years. There are rules. We’ve consulted them. Because of their innate advantages, full-spectrum polychromes get to choose only one color in addition to what their opponent chooses. For foul language, Breaker loses that choice. The colors for this bout will be green and yellow.”
Ironfist’s gaze was like a millstone. Kip looked away, and found his father’s. Gavin Guile looked disappointed already.
Damn me. Damn me. Kip the Lip. I played right into his hands. Kip Almost.
That’s who I am. Almost. I almost beat the Threshing, but I gave up. I was almost a hero, but I chose cowardice instead. I almost saved my village. I almost saved Isa. I almost saved Sanson. But I didn’t even almost save my mother. Hell, almost is generous. I haven’t almost avenged her. I swore I would. I took some little steps, telling myself I had to make it to the Blackguard to get access to the records in the library, but really, I’ve been happy to forget her. Some son. Some loyalty.
They might have conspired to keep me out of the top fourteen, but could I have really made it on my own? Probably not. Would I have made the top seven? Definitely not. The only good things in my life are the things that have been given to me. No wonder they hate me. I haven’t earned anything.
“Why little Kip the Lip, are you crying?” Aram said.
“I’m going to kill you, you motherfucker,” Kip said.
A backhand cracked across Kip’s jaw, staggering him. Trainer Fisk said, “Kip, one more word, and I’ll spare you the beating you’re about to get and revoke your chance to try again in six months.”
This time, Kip said nothing. He didn’t even spit out the blood in his mouth, lest Trainer Fisk misinterpret it.
“Trainer,” Aram said. “I’d like to withdraw one of my colors. I only need green.”
The trainer nodded and gave the order. Then he said, “Hands.”
Each boy in turn let his finger be pressed firmly on the hellstone and then took their places, illuminated only in white light.
Then the lights were shuttered.
“And…” Trainer Fisk said. Kip started running forward. He thought he had the timing just about perfect—“Go!”
Kip was already airborne as the lights came blazing on. Flying side kick. And miraculously, Aram was still standing right in line.
The boy’s eyes went wide and Kip’s foot slammed into his shoulder and chest. It launched Aram backward.
Kip fell, but popped back up to his feet in a moment. Aram had been shot all the way out of the circle. He rolled over, coughed, and for one moment Kip thought he’d knocked the wind out of his opponent. If Aram wasn’t able to breathe for five seconds, Kip would win, just like that.
“One!” Trainer Fisk shouted, starting the count.
Aram jumped back to his feet and rushed back into the circle. Kip met him at the edge, determined to keep him out.
“Two!”
Back kick. It was fast. So fast Kip was lucky to jump backward out of its reach, which also meant he was safe from the follow-up punch, which also meant Aram got into the circle with no problem.
And there goes my chance.
Aram was still in pain, though, Kip could tell. Unless he was faking it to lure Kip into some kind of trap. On the other hand, why would he need to lure Kip into a trap? He had his color, speed, strength, and a lot more training.
As Kip moved in closer, Aram lashed out. A lightning-fast pop to Kip’s nose. Too fast to stop. It wasn’t hard, but it stunned Kip. Then Aram was on top of him. Kip didn’t see the move that cut his feet out from under him, but he fell on his side, hard.
Kip had gotten halfway up when Aram hit him with a green luxin baton across the back.
“Come on, Breaker!” someone shouted.
Kip struggled up to his knees again. And grunted as another baton cracked across his back. But he didn’t go down.
He saw the thought cross Aram’s mind: he could crack that baton across Kip’s head and put him out. But a shot to the head might leave Kip an idiot, and that would get Aram barred from the Blackguard forever.
