“It’s an honor, High Lady,” Fisk said. “Please do.”
Karris addressed them somberly. “Prisms don’t break the halo like the rest of us, but they do go mad after their allotted time. Some of them. Others can’t handle what the Freeing demands of them. Others, when the end of their term comes, and they know they’re going to die, try to escape.”
Teia had never heard of that. She saw some of the others were rattled by it, too. Who could imagine being called upon to kill a Gavin Guile?
Then she realized she hadn’t heard of it because the Blackguard was that competent. Prisms who shamed themselves by breaking their oaths and trying to flee were always quietly killed. Word never got out. Who could escape the Blackguard?
Teia asked, “But how do they know that they’re going to die? If Gavin Guile made it to his third term, how would another Prism not know if they might not have a second or a third term themselves? Or is that it? They don’t know, so they flee?”
“They know. Somehow they know.” But Karris looked troubled, as if there were parts of this she didn’t understand, either.
Orholam have mercy, had that been in the papers Teia had helped steal?
“Do we know, too?” another asked. “Is there some warning?”
Commander Fisk said, “The Colors and the Magisterium will tell you when it’s likely. But it’s always possible. None of the Blackguard now serving have ever had to hunt a Prism, and we pray we never do, but ours is the long watch. Do you have any other questions before we continue?”
Teia shook her head.
Karris said, “Your duty is hard, but this I promise you: you shan’t be asked to betray your honor.”
It was an answer to the question Teia couldn’t ask with all the others there: will my attempted infiltration of the Order of the Broken Eye compromise my oaths?
But it wasn’t an exact answer, was it?
I won’t have to betray my honor, but I may have to break—or appear to break—my oaths. Would Karris thread so narrow a needle’s eye with her words?
Karris White Oak wouldn’t have. Would Karris White?
Why had Karris come up here? To bond the Blackguards further to her, to wish a former pupil well, or to make sure that Teia did take the oaths?
All of the above, no doubt. We are warriors, and this is our lot.
“Commander,” Karris said, “may I continue with you?”
“We would be honored, High Lady. Though one may be called to other duties, one never ceases being a Blackguard,” he said, and then he turned to Teia and the others. “The Blackguard forms an unbroken chain extending back to the time of Lucidonius himself. At induction, we recite the stories of our forebears to remind us who we have been, who we are, and to what we should aspire. At the end, we each name a Blackguard who inspires us, a patron whose qualities will help us become the best Blackguard we can be. High Lady White, will you start for us?”
“I remember Karris Shadowblinder, Lucidonius’s wife and widow, and a Prism. Though our order wasn’t established until after her death, it was built on the foundation she laid. Dancer, poet, theatre mummer, and, when times demanded it, finally a warrior-drafter of unmatched ferocity, she swore an oath to marry no man who couldn’t beat her in will, wit, and weapons. Lucidonius failed twelve times, on twelve successive months, until she admitted he at least equaled her in will. He cheated at the contest of wits, drugging her beforehand, which she agreed showed a wit of its own. And last, with weapons, she lost—though some argue that was intentional.
“Karris Shadowblinder would later save Lucidonius’s life three times, and fail on the fourth. Karris is precious to me because the heart of the Blackguard is love. Love for the Seven Satrapies, love for this brotherhood, and in the best of times love for the leader we protect. Karris Shadowblinder reminds me that in this mortal realm, even if we love perfectly, we may fail still.”
The White stepped back.
A tall, shaven-headed Blackguard named Asif stepped forward. “I remember Finer. He was a Blackguard during the time of Prisms Leonidas Atropos and Fiona Rathcore. He struck down the Bandit King in the Battle of Ghost Flats. Handsome, funny, and loved by everyone, it was widely expected that he would one day be the commander of the Blackguard. Instead he went wight and fled. He killed four of his brothers before he could be put down. Finer reminds me of the importance of duty, and that all fame and renown count for nothing if we don’t uphold our oaths.”
His cousin, Alif, stepped forward next. “I remember Commander Ayrad, who sat quiet, judging until the time came to act. In his testing fights, he placed each time last. Forty-ninth at the end of the first week, then thirty-fifth at the end of the second, then twenty-eighth, then fourteenth, and on the last week, he fought from place fourteen to thirteen, thirteen to twelve, twelve to eleven, then to ten, to nine, to eight, to seven, to six, five, four, three, two, one. Never in our history has man or woman fought so many times or won so authoritatively. Because of his intelligence, Ayrad didn’t fight harder, he isolated the weakness of each opponent, and took him or her out efficiently. Later in life, that intelligence would raise him to commander of this hallowed body, and it would save the lives of four Prisms.
“And yet,” Alif said, “yet Commander Ayrad himself would fall to poison. The culprit was never found. Even Ayrad with all his intellect had blind spots, as do we all. I learn from him that we can never, never be off our guard.” He took a step back.
Tlatig, an Archer, stepped forward. She was not a handsome person. Her mouth turned down, eyes squinted, skin blemished, body with fewer curves than the seven towers, only when she picked up a bow did a grace came upon her. She was then a wonder as is a swallow in flight. Surreal, prescient, a walking miracle with a bow. On the training field, Tlatig wore a tiny chemise, tied tight, to show off the knotted muscles of her shoulders and the V of her back.
“I remember Commander Dauntless. She gave up her noble connections and her family’s aspirations in order to serve the Seven Satrapies. She had two dreams, to be a Blackguard and to be a mother, and she sacrificed the latter to be the former. When she retired after a long and storied career—whose details I would tell you had not Commander Fisk asked us to be brief today—she tried to have a family, and, that late in life, she could not. She reminds me of the heavy price of duty, and that our forebears paid it, and lived in honor. Commander Dauntless lived in duty, and died with honor, though it cost her grievously. I remember her, and strive to meet her standard.”