The Broken Eye
Page 73
“Than?” Andross asked.
“Than an old spider bloated with poison,” Kip said flatly, as if it might or might not apply to Andross himself.
Andross gave him, surprisingly, no reaction to that at all. Turning to the game, he set his cards attacking—all of them, abandoning any hope of defense. Kip moved his hand to his counters, hesitated.
“No,” Andross said. “They attack each other.” And so, instead of attacking Kip to bring his life down to one counter, Andross’s six wights tore each other to shreds.
“Oh hell,” Kip said.
“Your turn.”
Kip’s sea demon attacked first, and lacking any opponents, had to attack Kip’s heavy galleon. It sank it easily. Kip looked at his cards. He had nothing. But that didn’t mean it was over. The card that Andross needed was Burning Focus to equip to the Flawless Mirror. That card was in the deck, and Andross was playing like he had it, but that didn’t mean he did.
“Do you want to resign?” Andross said.
“Never.” Kip had just drawn Amun-Tep, but with the sun waning, it would take him two turns to draw the power needed to play the character. Damn! He played a hulking duelist in mirror armor instead: Grath Hrozak. From his studies, Kip knew the real man had murdered hundreds personally, not counting the deaths he’d ordered. He’d served the Tyrean Empire, long before Lucidonius. He’d been yanked in and out of command because he was so brutal. He’d never taken a city but that he’d killed most everyone in it through crucifixion or flaying or both.
It was Andross’s turn. He looked at the cards and sighed. “Take this lesson to heart, grandson.” He played Burning Focus, equipped it to the Flawless Mirror. With the sun counters still just off noon, it gave him enough damage to go through Grath Hrozak, absorb what little damage was reflected by the mirror armor, and kill Kip.
“And what lesson is that?” Kip asked, barely able to contain himself. That had been a lucky sequence. “That you sometimes have to sacrifice all your men in order to win? That sometimes even a beast like Grath Hrozak can’t save you? That I should never play the mighty Andross Guile in Nine Kings?”
“I’ll bring your brother here, as soon as I can recover him. And recover him I shall. I can’t do everything our family needs to do alone. I need a right hand. Other options … haven’t panned out. There is only Zymun … and you. I will make one of you the next Prism. From what you’ve told me of Zymun, if I choose him instead, it will cost you your life. He will not want a rival at his back.”
Kip felt a chill. He remembered Janus Borig saying, ‘I keep trying to draw you as the next Prism, and I can’t. You won’t be the Prism, Kip.’ He lifted his chin, sneered. “So, that’s what this is? You expect me to curry your favor now? You think adding a lump of sugar to the whip is going to change everything? You’ve tried to kill me before.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve talked about that little misunderstanding—”
“—and failed. Don’t forget that, old man.”
Andross Guile’s lips were a tight white line. A dangerous silence followed. “This warning was a courtesy. I gave it in part because of that misunderstanding. I’m not looking for a puppet or a sniveling lackey, Kip. For the most part, I was deeply satisfied with your father’s leadership. A weak man a poor Prism makes. To proffer me your respect is no sign of servility, grandson, it’s a sign of wisdom.” Andross Guile walked to his desk, scribbled a note, and handed it to Kip. “Make yourself strong, Kip. You have little time. You’re dismissed. Give that to Grinwoody on your way out.”
“How do I convince you that I should be the next Prism?” Kip asked. Not that he cared. Not that he was afraid.
“I’ll give you a task after you return my stolen cards—”
“I thought you believed me that I didn’t—” Kip stopped as he saw the ugly look that passed across Andross Guile’s face at being interrupted. “Sorry.”
“I believe you didn’t steal them. Probably the thief was my dear son. Unless you’re a better liar than I think. Regardless, I want them back—and I want the new cards. Make it your mission. You have until Sun Day. Naming a Prism-elect will wait no longer. If you don’t give me the cards—all of them—it won’t be you.”
“You really have given up on my father.”
“A great strategist once said every military disaster could be summed up in two words: ‘Too late.’ When a plan fails, you don’t wring your hands, you move to the next one.”
My father was merely a plan that failed?
Kip felt no rage, which surprised him. Instead, he thought: That’s your son. That’s your son, and that’s all you can say? Was it so simple and cold for his grandfather, or was there a heart, somewhere deep inside him, hidden, broken?
Instead of speaking it now, he asked, “What was the lesson? From the game, I mean.”
“Was there a lesson, or were there many?” Andross asked, as if to himself. “Here’s one: you back a man into a corner and show him no way out? When a man is utterly in your power but not yet dead? That’s when you watch him closest.” Andross tugged several cards out of his sleeves and tossed them onto the table.
They were all the best cards in his deck. “Now get out…” He turned his back before he finished the sentence. “…grandson. Send in that Malargos girl. Tisis? I’m going to see just how badly she wants to be the next White. If I don’t miss my guess she’ll be dressed to please.”
Chapter 37
Kip wasted little time going to the restricted library. His only stop on his way was to get his bag and blank papers, and to grab those of the squad who were in the barracks. The nunks had enforced study times, two hours a day. Each squad was generally required to be in the same place, though Cruxer could sign off for them if they had some excuse, which it seemed Teia often did.
But the rules never specified where the squad had to study, and if Kip was going to steal any hours from the day, those were about the only ones possible, unless he wanted to give up a meal.
Unthinkable.
Besides, the note was broadly worded: “Kip is about my business in the libraries. Don’t impede him. —Promachos Guile.” Kip was just sorry that it had mentioned ‘in the libraries.’ If it hadn’t, it would have been a writ to do whatever he wanted.
He gathered up the squad, though Teia was gone again. They were all eager for the prospect of seeing an area that was forbidden. Nor were they disappointed when they sailed past the librarian guarding the door. The man took one look at the note, paled, and let Kip and the squad in without a word.
This forbidden library took up almost half a floor of the blue tower. It was all gleaming hardwoods and burnished copper and arm chairs. Luxurious desks with comfortable chairs, and slaves to attend to every need—each had a copper necklace with two black stones pendent, carved with a Parian rune Kip didn’t recognize. He asked about them.
“They’re all illiterate and mute,” Ben-hahad said under his voice. “So they can’t spy on what you’re reading.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about that,” Ferkudi said loudly, excited. “Some slaves have their tongues cut out specifically so they can serve. Now that must be a real flesh protuberance.”
“Than an old spider bloated with poison,” Kip said flatly, as if it might or might not apply to Andross himself.
Andross gave him, surprisingly, no reaction to that at all. Turning to the game, he set his cards attacking—all of them, abandoning any hope of defense. Kip moved his hand to his counters, hesitated.
“No,” Andross said. “They attack each other.” And so, instead of attacking Kip to bring his life down to one counter, Andross’s six wights tore each other to shreds.
“Oh hell,” Kip said.
“Your turn.”
Kip’s sea demon attacked first, and lacking any opponents, had to attack Kip’s heavy galleon. It sank it easily. Kip looked at his cards. He had nothing. But that didn’t mean it was over. The card that Andross needed was Burning Focus to equip to the Flawless Mirror. That card was in the deck, and Andross was playing like he had it, but that didn’t mean he did.
“Do you want to resign?” Andross said.
“Never.” Kip had just drawn Amun-Tep, but with the sun waning, it would take him two turns to draw the power needed to play the character. Damn! He played a hulking duelist in mirror armor instead: Grath Hrozak. From his studies, Kip knew the real man had murdered hundreds personally, not counting the deaths he’d ordered. He’d served the Tyrean Empire, long before Lucidonius. He’d been yanked in and out of command because he was so brutal. He’d never taken a city but that he’d killed most everyone in it through crucifixion or flaying or both.
It was Andross’s turn. He looked at the cards and sighed. “Take this lesson to heart, grandson.” He played Burning Focus, equipped it to the Flawless Mirror. With the sun counters still just off noon, it gave him enough damage to go through Grath Hrozak, absorb what little damage was reflected by the mirror armor, and kill Kip.
“And what lesson is that?” Kip asked, barely able to contain himself. That had been a lucky sequence. “That you sometimes have to sacrifice all your men in order to win? That sometimes even a beast like Grath Hrozak can’t save you? That I should never play the mighty Andross Guile in Nine Kings?”
“I’ll bring your brother here, as soon as I can recover him. And recover him I shall. I can’t do everything our family needs to do alone. I need a right hand. Other options … haven’t panned out. There is only Zymun … and you. I will make one of you the next Prism. From what you’ve told me of Zymun, if I choose him instead, it will cost you your life. He will not want a rival at his back.”
Kip felt a chill. He remembered Janus Borig saying, ‘I keep trying to draw you as the next Prism, and I can’t. You won’t be the Prism, Kip.’ He lifted his chin, sneered. “So, that’s what this is? You expect me to curry your favor now? You think adding a lump of sugar to the whip is going to change everything? You’ve tried to kill me before.”
“Yes, yes, we’ve talked about that little misunderstanding—”
“—and failed. Don’t forget that, old man.”
Andross Guile’s lips were a tight white line. A dangerous silence followed. “This warning was a courtesy. I gave it in part because of that misunderstanding. I’m not looking for a puppet or a sniveling lackey, Kip. For the most part, I was deeply satisfied with your father’s leadership. A weak man a poor Prism makes. To proffer me your respect is no sign of servility, grandson, it’s a sign of wisdom.” Andross Guile walked to his desk, scribbled a note, and handed it to Kip. “Make yourself strong, Kip. You have little time. You’re dismissed. Give that to Grinwoody on your way out.”
“How do I convince you that I should be the next Prism?” Kip asked. Not that he cared. Not that he was afraid.
“I’ll give you a task after you return my stolen cards—”
“I thought you believed me that I didn’t—” Kip stopped as he saw the ugly look that passed across Andross Guile’s face at being interrupted. “Sorry.”
“I believe you didn’t steal them. Probably the thief was my dear son. Unless you’re a better liar than I think. Regardless, I want them back—and I want the new cards. Make it your mission. You have until Sun Day. Naming a Prism-elect will wait no longer. If you don’t give me the cards—all of them—it won’t be you.”
“You really have given up on my father.”
“A great strategist once said every military disaster could be summed up in two words: ‘Too late.’ When a plan fails, you don’t wring your hands, you move to the next one.”
My father was merely a plan that failed?
Kip felt no rage, which surprised him. Instead, he thought: That’s your son. That’s your son, and that’s all you can say? Was it so simple and cold for his grandfather, or was there a heart, somewhere deep inside him, hidden, broken?
Instead of speaking it now, he asked, “What was the lesson? From the game, I mean.”
“Was there a lesson, or were there many?” Andross asked, as if to himself. “Here’s one: you back a man into a corner and show him no way out? When a man is utterly in your power but not yet dead? That’s when you watch him closest.” Andross tugged several cards out of his sleeves and tossed them onto the table.
They were all the best cards in his deck. “Now get out…” He turned his back before he finished the sentence. “…grandson. Send in that Malargos girl. Tisis? I’m going to see just how badly she wants to be the next White. If I don’t miss my guess she’ll be dressed to please.”
Chapter 37
Kip wasted little time going to the restricted library. His only stop on his way was to get his bag and blank papers, and to grab those of the squad who were in the barracks. The nunks had enforced study times, two hours a day. Each squad was generally required to be in the same place, though Cruxer could sign off for them if they had some excuse, which it seemed Teia often did.
But the rules never specified where the squad had to study, and if Kip was going to steal any hours from the day, those were about the only ones possible, unless he wanted to give up a meal.
Unthinkable.
Besides, the note was broadly worded: “Kip is about my business in the libraries. Don’t impede him. —Promachos Guile.” Kip was just sorry that it had mentioned ‘in the libraries.’ If it hadn’t, it would have been a writ to do whatever he wanted.
He gathered up the squad, though Teia was gone again. They were all eager for the prospect of seeing an area that was forbidden. Nor were they disappointed when they sailed past the librarian guarding the door. The man took one look at the note, paled, and let Kip and the squad in without a word.
This forbidden library took up almost half a floor of the blue tower. It was all gleaming hardwoods and burnished copper and arm chairs. Luxurious desks with comfortable chairs, and slaves to attend to every need—each had a copper necklace with two black stones pendent, carved with a Parian rune Kip didn’t recognize. He asked about them.
“They’re all illiterate and mute,” Ben-hahad said under his voice. “So they can’t spy on what you’re reading.”
“Oh, I’ve heard about that,” Ferkudi said loudly, excited. “Some slaves have their tongues cut out specifically so they can serve. Now that must be a real flesh protuberance.”
