The Broken Eye (41 page)

I’m a turtle-bear, not a weasel. “Of course,” Kip said irritably.

“And the if?” Andross asked.

“You’re going to send out Blackguard on skimmers, looking for my father.”

“Sea chariots,” Andross corrected. “Yes, of course.”

Something about his tone told Kip it was half a lie. Andross hadn’t been planning on sending the Blackguards out—or if he had, he’d been planning to send them to look for something else. But now, called on it, he would send them. So that was a victory, Kip guessed. “I get to go with them.”

“You’ve too much to learn here. It’s what your father would have demanded for you.”

“I won’t be moved on this. If I have to, I’ll make my own skimmer and search for him by myself.”

Andross pursed his lips. Kip was testing his patience. “You may go once. On the time of my choosing.”

“And you swear they’ll be looking for him?”

Pique flashed through Andross Guile’s eyes. Kip had caught him. He’d already said he would do it, so holding back would expose the lie.

“Done. I so swear,” Andross Guile said.

“And done,” Kip said.

“Now, tell me what you know, and let me see how good of a deal I’ve made blind.”

“Zymun was alive, last I saw him,” Kip said. “He captured me, after the Battle of Ru, after Gunner threw me back into the sea. Zymun found me on the beach and took me prisoner. He was fighting for the Color Prince, you know.”

“I do. I’ll claim I sent him to spy, if it suits me.”

Kip already felt like he’d got the worse end of things. What if he didn’t find anything in the libraries?

He told his grandfather the whole story of his capture and his time on the boat with Zymun. “And he’s a serpent. There is no human kindness in him. He mimics feelings as if he had them, but he is nothing inside. He is thinner than parchment, and more evil than—”

“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.”

“They’re not
deaf
, Ferk,” Ben-hadad muttered.

“Oh, sorry,” Ferkudi said, lowering his voice. “Wait, why am I apologizing to slaves?”

He glowered at a slave, and when the others weren’t looking, Kip saw the slave waggle a stub of a tongue at Ferkudi, who flinched. The next moment, when the others turned to see why Ferkudi had shrunk back, the slave was standing placidly, as if he’d never moved.

Ferkudi was cursing under his breath, but he made no move at retaliation.

Ben-hadad went over to a stack of books and looked at the titles. It took him a while, but no one intervened. Ben-hadad would accept help when he needed to absorb a lot of text, but could get angry otherwise. He said, “This place looks like the High Luxiats have used it as their own private lounge. These books aren’t forbidden. I think the venerable magisters simply don’t like sitting on the same hard benches the rest of us do.”

“Does that slave have wine?” Daelos asked. “You think I could…”

“No,” Ben-hahad, Kip, Cruxer, and Big Leo said.

Other than four slaves and the luxiat who was watching the door, this restricted library was empty. The squad drew together a couple of the desks, moving furniture with the impunity of the young, or of Blackguards, or of the friends of a young lord with a special writ from his grandfather. It felt great, but Kip clutched the writ close, certain someone was going to yell at them at any moment.

They’d settled down to study quickly, though. Cruxer wouldn’t stand for less. Only Kip was released to browse the shelves. He grabbed books blindly, bound leather inscribed with faded runes and filled with delicate script that at first he didn’t realize was in a language he could read. An account of some village he’d never heard of, filled with vocabulary that had to be of foreign origin. Another scroll that seemed to be about farming methods. Another entirely in Old Parian. Another in some language Kip had never laid eyes on. Another in runes.

An account of the pygmies—not of Blood Forest, nor of the archaic Blood Plains, but of Tyrea. Tyrea? Sounded fascinating, though the dates listed were some abbreviation that Kip hadn’t seen, so he had no idea how long ago this had been written—and it was written about a time several hundred years before it?

He had no idea how this part of the library was organized, and picking up scrolls randomly was never going to help him find something useful. Kip headed to the front to find the guardian librarian standing out in the hall. As he got close, he heard urgent whispers. “No!” someone said. Using the shelves to hide his approach, Kip crept closer until he saw the original librarian, speaking to some younger luxiats, “—and report to the High Luxiat that he can’t send any more … I can let him know when these spies are gone, but—”

“Can’t make us carry these all the way back. Can’t the slaves—”

Kip stepped forward and saw four young luxiats-to-be flinch guiltily. Each was carrying a stack of scrolls or books. “What’s going on here?” Kip asked.

They all looked at the older luxiat, and Kip knew he was going to hear lies. “Simply routine work, scrolls in need of mending being returned.” He turned to the young luxiats-in-training. “Thank you, you may deposit those and go.”

“But before you go,” Kip said. “You’re to tell me your names.”

They looked again at the librarian.

Kip sighed, putting on a pretty good pretense of exasperation. “Who is the Highest Luxiat?” he asked. He didn’t wait for the man to say, the Prism. “That’s my father. And who is in charge of all the Chromeria during his absence? The promachos. That’s my grandfather. Who has told you to aid me as I go about his work. Do you think he sees not what you do?”

The librarian blanched. “Tell him your names,” he said.

They did, and Kip said, “Good, now I want each of you to go looking for a luxiat named Quentin Naheed. You are to demand that he attend me here, immediately. It’s an order from the promachos’s own hand. Understood?”

They scattered. It left Kip with a very uncomfortable librarian. Kip just stared at the man, trying to put some Andross Guile into his expression. The librarian looked away, and Kip broke out into a big grin. It worked!

He tried to recapture the fierceness, but even as the minutes passed, he could only get as close as dour.

“Hey, Kip! You feeling well? You look constipated,” Quentin Naheed said, coming into the library.

Kip winced.

“How’d you find— Oh, greetings, Brother Anir.”

The librarian scowled and moved to speak. “Brother Anir,” Kip said, “you’re dismissed back to your post.”

The man went, and Quentin looked at Kip, surprised that he had power over a luxiat.

“I need your help,” Kip said. “Not just today.” Kip showed him the writ.

“I would have helped without that,” Quentin said. “I was thinking about before, and … you’re right, I did lie to you, and that’s beneath a luxiat of Orholam. It shall not happen again, not ever. This I swear in the light and by my hope of eternity. You will have the truth of me, no matter the cost.”

Kip raised an eyebrow. What a strange young man. But Quentin was deadly serious. Kip supposed that those who became luxiats had to be a bit peculiar by definition, though.