Teia looked at Tlatig with new eyes. Tlatig wanted a family? That was her greatest longing, and the price she was willing to pay for this family? Tlatig had never seemed like the mothering type. On the other hand, from Tlatig’s slightly embarrassed look, Teia could tell that she felt exposed from having shared so much—but that she shared anyway, when sharing made her feel so awkward, told Teia that she was being given something precious.
Another Archer, Piper, stepped forward. She wore her hair pulled into a knot at the back of her head, and had the straining halos and lined face of a woman on her last year before Freeing. “I remember Massensen, and Ikkin, and Gwafa, and Mennad. Massensen defeated three great-horned iron bulls on the Melos Plain in the Jadmar Rebellion. Ikkin Dancing Spear killed the Jadmar’s war chief, the giant Amazul. Gwafa demolished the Nekril, the will-casting coven that laid siege to Aghbalu. Mennad gave his life saving the Prism in Pericol when he was there to sign the Ilytian Papers. All these heroes were one man. Massensen took a new name every time he performed another act that would make any other man a legend. Where others would take a name that celebrated their heroic act to remind people of it forever, Massensen did the opposite. He took a new, plainer name each time, and refused to become even a watch captain. He believed that all glory should be reflected to Orholam, and that his own fame should be shared with his companions and his Prism. He was simply a Blackguard, and any Blackguard was his equal.
“Massensen reminds me that we wear black that we may serve in obscurity. We wear black that the light may shine the brighter. Massensen reminds me of duty with excellence.”
For some reason, it was only as Piper spoke that Teia finally stopped thinking about her bladder and was pulled into the words. These were some of the greatest heroes in history. These were people who had altered the course of satrapies, crushed kingdoms, saved Prisms and Colors, and fought monsters out of legends. This was the company she was being invited into. As an equal.
This was what she’d wanted since she could remember. All the misgivings and questions about herself faded. They would call her a slave, but she is not a slave who chooses to serve.
As she thought, heart swelling, a tear cold in the wind on her cheeks, the normally quiet Nerra had stepped forward. She smiled shyly. “I remember Thiyya Tafsut. She served all her days quietly, and was to retire at Sun Day on her fortieth year. She sought and received permission to become pregnant, as there was little light left for her. Pregnant, on the day before Sun Day, she hurled herself at a wight attempting the murder her Prism. She was killed, and she did not kill the wight in turn, but she slowed it enough that others did. Others in those circumstances would have hesitated, saved themselves, saved their baby. She did not. She reminds me that even those who are not great themselves can, through great sacrifice, change history.”
And that was the cost to join this company. What made them fearsome was the totality of their dedication, their readiness to pay all one could pay.
But in return, they bought a life that mattered.
Even a slave girl from the far reaches of the empire could matter.
Yes, her soul breathed, yes.
It was not that these heroes hadn’t failed; it was that they had: all of them, sooner or later, in public or private. They were heroes despite their failures, for they had striven with their whole hearts toward the light. The Blackguard was strong because it didn’t feel threatened by those failures. This was a company that would live in the light.
And by some grace, Teia didn’t think how she would be a spy. She soaked up the light of the dawn, and the light of clear purpose and bedrock devotion. She only wished Kip and the rest of the squad could share this with her.
Gavin Greyling had stepped forward to be the seventh and final speaker.
“I remember Gavin Guile.”
“Gavin Guile was never a Blackguard,” Fisk snapped. “Great though he was. Is, High Lady. My apologies. Pick another, Greyling.”
“I beg to differ, Commander,” Gavin Greyling said. “Respectfully. Just before the Battle of Ru, when he sank the great ship Gargantua, Gavin Guile was given a Blackguard name by Commander Ironfist himself. Among us, Gavin is known as Promachos.”
“Neither you nor even Commander Ironfist had the authority to name a promachos,” Fisk said. “And though our esteemed emperor held that position, he surrendered it back to the Spectrum many years ago. You’re embarrassing—”
“Your pardon, sir, but it was not meant as a title, but instead as a Blackguard name that, in accordance with our best traditions, reflects the essence of the man. Earned hard and given true, it is not our way to strip a Blackguard—even an honorary one—of his name if he hasn’t forfeited the right to it by acting dishonorably. Are you suggesting Gavin Guile acted dishonorably?” Gavin Greyling was pushing it, but he did so with such glee it was hard to be mad at him.
“Watch your tongue, son.” Even for Commander Fisk, apparently.
“Yessir.”
Commander Fisk hesitated, looked around, and pursed his lips. “No one speaks of this. This circle is closed,” he barked. “Go.”
With no small amount of swagger, Gavin Greyling said, “I remember Gavin fucking Guile, who won the False Prism’s War, who outwitted the Thorn Conspirators and ended the Red Cliff Uprising. Gavin Guile, who brought low pirate kings and bandit lords, who ended the Blood Wars with his wits and one deadly wave of his hand, who brought justice to the Seven Satrapies. Gavin Guile, who hunted wights and criminals, who built Brightwater Wall in less than a week, who aborted the births of gods, destroyed at least two bane, and killed a god full fledged at Ruic Head. Gavin Guile, who faced a sea demon and lived, saving all the people of Garriston and the Blackguard, too. Gavin Guile, who sank Pash Vecchio’s great ship Gargantua with a rat. Gavin Guile, who armed us for war and gave the Blackguard the seas entire with our sea chariots and hull wreckers. Gavin Guile, heart of our heart, our Promachos, the one who goes before us in war, who came and conquered and will come again.”
The Blackguards couldn’t help it; they cheered.
They’d already been out looking for him on the skimmers, Teia’d heard. Sometimes on duty, sometimes off. And they would never give up. “For such a man, I would die twice,” Gavin Greyling said.
“Hear, hear!” a number of voices called out.
But Teia was looking at Karris. Her head was bowed, and Teia saw her swallow once, hard. But when Karris opened her eyes, her face was clear, with no hint of crying there. She nodded regally to the Blackguards.
“Thank you,” Karris said.
Commander Fisk said, brusquely, “We’ve all got duties awaiting us this day, nunks. We are a storied company, but we are also slaves, nunks, though some of us are slaves with ears unshorn. We serve a term, almost like indentured servants, but our term may be extended at will by our commander, and our eventual retirement may be requested, but granting that is the commander’s decision alone. Even if you save the money to buy out your papers, your commander need not accept them. We are honored slaves, but slaves. For warrior-drafters as we all are, there is no higher calling, no greater service, no possibility to rise higher than this shining company. But our lives are short and hard and lived at the direction of others.
“Teia, having taken vigil to reflect on your life and this calling, have you selected a patron to whose example you would aspire?”
“Yes,” Teia said. “I choose Commander Ironfist, who alone silenced the artillery at the Battle of Garriston, saving countless lives, who led this company with honor and bravery, and in the end was expelled for no good reason whatsoever. Ironfist reminds me that we join the Blackguard to serve, not for our own gain. He reminds me to be as vigilant of those who wield orders as those who wield swords.”