Chapter 92
“How long do we have?” Ironfist asked Kip.
“An hour.” Kip had told Ironfist only that there was a deal with Andross—and that relieving Ironfist of his position hadn’t been part of it.
Ironfist nodded, not wasting words on the obvious. They had to move fast.
They walked quickly into the Blackguard barracks. Teia met them at the door, playing it off to the squad like she’d just arrived from downstairs. Almost all the Blackguards were on shift today. There was so much work to do on a Sun Day that even the nunks had been pressed into crowd patrol and guard duty and overwatch. There were only four or five Blackguards in the barracks, and those were napping for a half hour or grabbing a quick meal before heading out for more shifts.
Most surprising though, was seeing Ben-hadad. “Oh, thank Orholam,” he said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you all. What is all this stuff? Coin sticks? Weapons? Writs of—”
“Shut it, Ben-hadad,” Kip said. “Not now.”
“I can’t wait to tell you where I’ve been! I was—” Ben-hadad started.
“Ben!” Cruxer said.
“Meet me here in three,” Ironfist said, not even slowing.
The squad scattered, each going toward their own bunks and chests.
“Wait,” Kip said. He already had all his stuff. “What are you all doing?”
The sleeping Blackguards perked up instantly. “What’s happening, Commander?” Stump called, sitting up.
“I’m not your commander anymore,” Ironfist said, not even slowing as he went to his own room. “I’ve been relieved of duty.”
He might as well have hit them with lightning. “What?” Lem asked.
“What the hell!?” Stump asked.
But Ironfist didn’t answer. Kip followed him. “Sir, how much should I tell you?” he asked.
Ironfist didn’t turn. He started loading a pack. “Is what you’re doing right?”
“It’s … not wrong. It’s smart. It’s for the good of my squad and the satrapies.”
“Sounds right to me, then.”
“Will you come with me?” Kip asked. “Even just as far as the docks?”
Ironfist paused. There was a small bag sitting on his desk. He picked it up, looked inside. “Andross. That old fox.” He breathed out again, then he walked over to the painting he kept of a young Parian woman. Took out his knife and slit down the canvas next to the frame. He reached in and pulled out a ceramic tube. He smashed it on his desk. Inside was a slip of paper.
“What’s that?” Kip asked.
“Orders,” Ironfist said. He read them. “From the White. One in the event of her natural death, one in case of her murder. But, no, Kip, I can’t go with you. If I do, whoever it is your grandfather is trying to fool won’t believe it for a second. He has a falling-out with you, and with me at the same time, and I go wherever you go and protect you? It’s too convenient.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Kip said.
“Your grandfather doesn’t understand personal loyalty. He would never guess that I would want to protect you if there wasn’t something in it for me, the old fool.”
Kip’s eyebrows raised. He’d never heard Ironfist speak ill of any of the Colors, even when he clearly thought it.
“Not a Blackguard anymore,” Ironfist said, winking. But the strain on his face was clear. “I can’t go with you. Not after what’s happened.”
“You don’t mean what happened upstairs, do you?” Kip asked, confused.
“Kip. Karris and I rescued your father. He’s back on the Jaspers.”
“He’s back?” Kip said. “He’s alive! I knew it!”
“Quiet! He’s hurt. Badly. Maybe crippled. Maybe unable to … serve as Prism.”
“I have to go to him. I—how can I help?”
“Help by not going to him.”
“What? Why? He’s my father!” Kip’s squadmates were busy with their things, and he wanted to ask them what they were doing, but—his father!
“Because you’re about to be pursued by his enemies. Enemies who don’t even know that he lives.”
“But I want to—”
“Doing what you want will put him in danger. What’s more important to you?”
I wanted to save him myself, Kip couldn’t say. It was what he’d promised to do. Maybe he’d been involved by prompting his grandfather to send more people looking, but maybe Andross would have done that anyway, and Kip had done nothing at all. Another oath failed. Just like he’d failed to find damning information on Klytos Blue, as his father had asked, what? A year ago?
There were too many things happening at once. Too many thoughts and too much pressure. “Where was he? How’d you find him?” Kip asked. “I didn’t even realize you were gone.”
“We saved him from my sister. The Nuqaba. She was having him blinded.”
“Your sister? I didn’t even know you had a—” Kip looked at the painting. It was of a pretty young woman, hair strung with jewels and piled high, vibrant brown eyes lit with orange halos. “The Nuqaba’s your sister?!”
But Ironfist ignored that. He said, “And Andross is right, many or most of the Blackguards would join me if I went with you—even as far as the docks. Think of what happens if you split the Blackguard. What would victory be? If our half killed the others, what would we do then? Murder Andross and then what? Lay down our arms and be executed? Seize control? Rule the Chromeria ourselves? That isn’t who we are.”
“So what do we do? Just let him win?” Kip was furious. He was doing exactly what that murdering spider wanted him to do, but there didn’t seem to be any way out. He couldn’t even go to the one man who might be a match for Andross Guile. His father was finally here—and Kip had to leave? Now? Before he even saw him?
Kip said, “He planned this! He’s doing it on Sun Day on purpose. What everyone will be talking about will be Sun Day and this year’s party, and the new Prism-elect and what does anyone know about him, and there’ll be tributes to the White who everyone loved and speculation on who’ll replace her. Normally it would be a huge scandal that he stripped your commission, but this … That you and me got kicked out … Anything else that happens today will just be buried under the other news, right?”
“If you’re looking for justice, look not to earth, Breaker.” Ironfist looked up suddenly to the crystal embedded in the wall. It strobed yellow, then red, then yellow. The crystals were rarely used—the system was delicate and difficult to fix. It was only normally used for initiation day to announce the colors of new drafters coming through the Threshing—and for emergencies. Only the higher luxiats and Blackguards were supposed to have access to them.
“That’s not one of our codes,” Ironfist said.
“What?” Kip asked, but Ironfist was already on his way out of the room.
“Who’s going with Breaker?” Ironfist asked. “Quick! I can’t. My path is different.”
Slight Daelos seemed to be gathering his courage, and he spoke quickly. “My parents would die if I left, Breaker. This is all they’ve ever wanted for me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for myself. Sorry.”
“I’m not blaming you, Daelos, but he only meant getting me to the docks—” Kip started.
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Ironfist said. “You go with Breaker, you’re out of the Blackguard. Permanently. The promachos has spoken.”
“I’ll go,” Cruxer said. His voice was steady, but he looked like he was dying.
“Cut the stitching on the side of your insignia,” Ironfist said.
“Wait. What?!” Kip said. “Cruxer, what are you saying?”
“I’ll go,” Ferkudi said.
“In,” Big Leo rumbled.
“Wait, what is this?” Kip said.
“Same here,” Goss said.
“Wouldn’t be anywhere else,” Teia said.
Winsen shrugged. “Sounds fun. I’m in.”
“No time!” Ironfist said. “Line up now. You each found a paper in your pack. Sign it.”
“Stop it!” Kip shouted. “What are you doing? You’ve worked your entire lives to be Blackguards. You’re this close. I have to go, but me going means you can stay. Me going means I won’t ever have to fight you.”
“Breaker,” Cruxer said. “Don’t you understand? We’re all good enough to be Blackguards. The commander has offered promotions to every last one of us. But we wanted to be Blackguards not because we wanted to have the clothes and the admiration—”
“I thought the clothes and the admiration were pretty great,” Teia said.
“I like the clothes and admiration,” Ferkudi said.
“Ferkudi!” Cruxer said.
“Wha—she just said the same—ow! Ben, what’d you elbow me for?”
“All the trappings are wonderful,” Cruxer said. “But we all wanted to be Blackguards because we wanted to serve a high purpose.”
“But what if I’m not the—” Kip said.
“It doesn’t have to do with that,” Cruxer said, but Kip wasn’t sure the rest of the squad agreed. “What purpose is there in us serving evil men?”
Ben-hadad asked, “What good are the trappings of honor if the honor itself is dead?”
“I still like the trappings,” Ferkudi murmured. He was mournfully turning his gold inductees’ fight token over in his hand.
“Breaker,” Teia said. “We love it here. We don’t want to go. But we want to go with you.”
Just when he thought he was going to lose it all. Kip felt warmth suffusing him, like his body was filling with light.
“You’ll find two pairs of blacks in your bags,” Ironfist said. “I heard some of you only joined up in the first place because you wanted the clothes.” But no one laughed. The blacks were not just a gift rich beyond imagining, stretchy-soft and comfortable, luxurious and useful, they were the ultimate symbol of the elite Blackguard and what the squad was giving up. That their commander gave them the blacks anyway told them that he thought they were worthy of the honor and the brotherhood they were choosing to sacrifice. Ironfist growled, “What, am I gonna have to requisition handkerchiefs? Line up!”
Kip could barely see through his brimming eyes. But the squad lined up immediately, and he took his place at the end.
“You’re Blackguards no more,” Ironfist said. He walked down the line, took each signed release, and ripped the Blackguard insignia and rank off their sleeves. Kip was the last. It felt as if Ironfist tore his heart out.
“Lem,” Ironfist said. “Take these papers down to the secretaries’ desk and have them copied in triplicate and put on file.” He handed over the papers and simple Lem disappeared.
Ironfist dug into a bag. “You can call yourselves whatever you want now. Make your own patches if you don’t like these. The promachos called you the Mighty.” Ironfist went down the line again and slapped an insignia on each person’s left shoulder. It was of a powerful man in black silhouetted on a red field, standing with feet planted, head bowed, arms straight out to either side, and force radiating from each hand. It reminded Kip of his time in the jungle, when he’d expelled the leeches.
Ironfist said, “Now go, go with Orholam, and may I see you again. If not on these mortal fields, then in paradise.”
They went to the door, and Kip turned as the rest of them went into the hall. “Commander, if I may, where’d you get the patches?”
“Andross Guile had them made.”
“That many?” Kip asked.
Ironfist nodded. “And the weapons. And the supplies. Minus the blacks.”
Unbelievable. Just when Kip felt comfortable hating that old murderer, Andross had given him his squad back. Andross had not only given them weapons and gear, he’d arranged the writs of release so they wouldn’t have to pay back the signing monies that all of them had spent or given to their families or previous owners. Andross Guile, generous?
“Sir,” Kip said, “where are you going?”
“A different front of the same war.”
“Halt!” an unfamiliar voice shouted from the hall where the rest of the squad was. “Which one of you is Kip?”
“That’s me,” Goss said loudly. “What’s it to you?”
A musket shot rang out.