The Blinding Knife (9 page)

“Uh, will you tell my magister that I’ve been summoned?” Kip asked.

Grinwoody looked at him, expressionless.

Kip felt foolish. Like he couldn’t take one step, poke his head in the door himself, and say, “I’ve been summoned.” He opened his mouth to explain himself, remembered Gavin’s orders: Remember who you are.

He was going to apologize, or say please, but he stopped himself.

After another moment of weighing Kip, Grinwoody acquiesced. He rapped on the door and stepped into the classroom. “Luxlord Guile requires Kip’s presence.”

He didn’t give Magister Kadah a chance to respond, though Kip would have given his left eye to see the expression on her face. Grinwoody was a slave, but a slave authorized to do his duty by one of the most powerful men in the world. Nothing the magister said mattered. Grinwoody was a man who remembered who he was.

The real question was, who was Kip? Grinwoody had referred to him only by his first name. It hadn’t been, ‘Luxlord Guile requires his grandson.’

What had Gavin said? ‘We’ll count it a victory if you avoid wetting yourself’?

Kip cleared his throat. “Uh, you mind if we stop by the privies on the way?”

Gavin smiled as he stepped off the skimmer onto Seers Island. Karris had her
ataghan
drawn, and was pointing her pistol at the nearest man.

The people stood in an unruly mob, but they were armed with
swords and muskets, makeshift spears. There were few commonalities between them: they had come from all seven satrapies, light-skinned and dark, dirty and clean, dressed in silk and wool. Several had an extra eye drawn on their forehead with coal. Though even among those, some had exquisitely drawn, others rough, lopsided.

What these men and women had in common was only this: each one had the religious devotion to cross reefs in a small outrigger canoe to get here, and every one of them was a drafter.

A woman stepped through the crowd. She was little, barely taller than Gavin’s waist, arms and legs short, her trunk the size a woman of average height would have. She had a flaring eye tattooed exquisitely on her forehead.

“You will not draft here,” she said.

“I’ll decide that,” Gavin said.

Instead of looking irritated, she smiled. “It is as foretold.”

Seers. Excellent. “Someone foretold that I’d say that?” Gavin asked.

“No, that you’d be an asshole.”

Gavin laughed. “I think I’m going to like this place.”

“You’ll come with us,” she said.

“Sure,” Gavin said.

“It wasn’t a request.”

“Yes it was,” Gavin said. “When you don’t have power to compel obedience, by definition you’re making a request. What’s your name?”

“Caelia. When I tire, you’ll carry me,” she said, unimpressed.

“Happy to.”

The sound of a cocking hammer interrupted them. Karris pointed her pistol straight at Caelia’s third-eye tattoo. There was a rattle as the other men pointed their muskets at Karris, cocked them.

“Try anything,” Karris said, “and I’ll hollow out your skull.”

“The White Blackguard. We were told you’d be
forceful
.”

Karris uncocked her pistol and tucked it away, sheathed her sword.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Gavin said. “Who are you taking me to see, and how far away is she?” The “she” was a guess. He knew little about the Seers’ religious belief, indeed, he thought there was no unified belief here, but when faced with biological facts, cultures had to make their own interpretations. Female drafters tended to draft more successfully because more of them could see colors more accurately, and they tended to live longer than male drafters. Those cultures that
had decided this meant Orholam favored women didn’t like it being assumed that they would be led by a man.

“The Third Eye resides at the base of Mount Inura.”

Gavin pointed to the tallest mountain. It was green, not so tall that it had a tree line, but still quite a walk. “What is that, a five-hour walk from here?”

“Six.”

“Don’t suppose you have horses?” Gavin asked.

“We have some few horses, but one walks when one goes to see the Third Eye. It is a pilgrimage. It gives one time to reflect and prepare the soul for the meeting.”

“Uh-huh. Well, when the Third Eye comes to see me, she can ride. I want her to be in the right frame of mind.”

Caelia appeared to be chewing on the insides of her cheeks. “So it was foretold.”

“She foretold I wouldn’t come?” Gavin asked.

“No, still the asshole part.” Her men chuckled.

“If it helps, I’m not being capricious. I’ve work to do. I’ll be here, doing it.”

Caelia looked around at the two hundred armed men who surrounded Gavin and Karris. “I could insist, you know. These men are not just armed, they are drafters, too.”

“I’m the Prism,” Gavin said, like she just wasn’t getting it. “Do you think two hundred men can keep me from doing what I Will?”

Caelia hesitated. “I think you seek out conflict needlessly.”

“Hear, hear,” Karris said under her breath.

Sometimes Gavin thought the world was full of morons. Power could be a knife, but often it had to be a bludgeon. A man like Commander Ironfist could speak gently, because simply by standing he overawed other men with his physical presence. Gavin had to draw lines and enforce them, because he didn’t trust others to do it for him. He had to do it because if others were allowed to start basing their decisions on the assumption that he was weak, it would take blunt force to get them to change their minds. Deterrence is cheaper than correction.

But what he’d said about Will wasn’t thrown in heedlessly. Drafters always imposed their will on the world. The most powerful drafters always included more than their share of madmen, bastards, divas,
and assholes. And because everything depended on them, they were tolerated. Gavin most of all.

But the more power you have, the harder it is to recognize what’s beyond your power.

And there was a pleasure in seeing others do what you want. Gavin felt it now as Caelia gave orders, rounding up her men and leaving. He could tell himself that it was important to establish the power dynamic because of what he had to do, and to prepare the Seers for the bitter pill that they were going to have to swallow. That was true, but he had to watch himself, too.

Before they were even gone, Gavin headed back down the beach. He’d left the skimmer sealed.

“We have one week,” he told Karris. “This bay is too wide, so we’ll need to build seawalls off that point and from there to there. I’m going to have to clear out the reefs. I’m thinking of clearing them in a zigzag pattern so that if an invading navy comes here, they’ll be destroyed, but we’ll have marked the safe way so that the locals can direct traffic. Buoys that can be moved? I also haven’t decided how wide the safe path should be. If it’s too narrow, you keep supplies from getting into the city and it simply becomes too expensive for many people to live here, but too open and the reefs no longer serve as a deterrent. So your thoughts are more than welcome. Other than that, I’ll need your help prioritizing what things I need to build to give my people a running start. Do we clear the jungle—and if so, how? Do we need to build a wall against the native animals, against the native people? Should we try to build any houses, or would that be too much work?”

Karris was just looking at him. “You know, every time I think I know you… You’re really doing this, aren’t you? You’re founding a city. Not just a village. You’re planning for it to be a major center.”

“Not during my life.” Gavin smiled.

“You know, if you keep changing everything you touch, nothing’s going to be the same five years from now.”

Five years. It was supposed to be the remainder of his term as Prism. But he was already dying, and pretty soon Karris would notice. “No,” he said, “I hope it’s not.”

Five years, and five great purposes left. Except now he only had one year.

The only thing this place needs to make it creepier is cobwebs blowing in the wind. Kip stared into the pitch black of Lord Andross Guile’s room with something less than glee.

“You’re letting in light,” Grinwoody said. “Are you trying to kill my lord?”

“No, no, I’m—” I’m always apologizing. “I’m coming in.” He stepped forward, through several layers of heavy tapestries that blocked light from the room.

The air inside the room was stale, still, hot. It reeked of old man. And it was impossibly dark. Kip began sweating instantly.

“Come here,” a raspy voice said. It was low, gravelly, like Lord Guile hadn’t spoken all day.

Kip moved forward with little steps, sure he’d trip and disgrace himself. It was like a dragon’s den.

Something touched his face. He flinched. Not a cobweb, a feathery light touch. Kip stopped. He had somehow expected Andross Guile to be an invalid, seated in a wheeled chair perhaps, like a dark mirror of the White. But this man was standing.

The hand was firm, though with few calluses. It traced Kip’s chubby face, felt the texture of his hair, the curve of his nose, pressed his lips, went against the grain of Kip’s incipient beard. Kip winced, terribly aware of the pimples he had where his beard was coming in.

“So you’re the bastard,” Andross Guile said.

“Yes, my lord.”

Out of nowhere, something nearly tore Kip’s head off. He crashed into the wall so hard he would have broken something if it hadn’t been covered in layers of tapestries, too. He fell to the carpeted floor, his cheek burning, ears ringing.

“That was for existing. Never shame this family again.”

Kip stood unsteadily, too surprised to even be angry. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but a blow out of the darkness hadn’t been it. “My apologies for being born, my lord.”

“You have no idea.”

There was silence. The darkness was oppressive. Whatever you do,
Gavin had said, don’t make him an enemy. Could it get any hotter in here?

“Get out,” Andross Guile said finally. “Get out now.”

Kip left, having the distinct feeling that he’d failed.

The Color Prince was rubbing his temples. Liv Danavis couldn’t take her eyes off of him. No one could. The man was practically carved of pure luxin. Blue plates covered his forearms, made spiky gauntlets for his fists. Woven blue luxin made up much of his skin, with yellow flowing in rivers beneath the surface, constantly replenishing the rest. Flexible green luxin made up his joints. Only his face was human, and barely at that. His skin was knotted with burn scars, and his eyes—halos so broken as to be absent—were a swirl of every color, not just his irises, but the whites as well. Right now, those sclera swirled blue, then yellow as he sat on the great chair in the audience chamber of the Travertine Palace, deciding how to split up the city he’d just conquered—and found nearly empty.

“I want the twelve lords of the air to oversee redistribution of the city. Lord Shayam will preside. First, the plunder. Those who fled Garriston took almost nothing with them—it’s all here. Some of it will travel with the army, but the rest shouldn’t be left to rot. Sell what can be sold, and distribute the rest in the most equitable way possible among the remaining Garristonians. The twelve lords are to decide who among the new settlers will be given leases to which properties. The richer areas and homes will require a fee up front; the poorer will be allowed six months before they begin paying.

“Lady Selene,” he said, turning to a blue/green bichrome who hadn’t yet broken the halo. She was Tyrean, with wavy dark hair and a dusky complexion, striking but odd, eyes too far apart, small mouth. She curtsied. “You’re in charge of all the greens until we leave the city. Six weeks. In that time, I expect you to dredge the key irrigation canals and repair the locks on the river. I want this city to flower
next spring. The first rains of autumn may come any day. Consult with Lord Shayam. New plants will need to be brought in, perhaps soil as well. Do what you can with the labor provided in the time we have.”

Lady Selene curtsied deeply and left immediately.

And on it went, all morning. Liv sat among five advisers to the Color Prince’s left. Other than those advisers, no one else was allowed into the great hall. The prince wanted few people to see the entirety of his plans. Why Liv was one of the privileged few, she had no idea. She was the daughter of General Corvan Danavis, and the Color Prince had made no secret of the fact that he hoped he could recruit Gavin’s old enemy to his side, but Liv thought it was more than that. She’d switched sides before the Battle of Garriston, even fighting for the army trying to reclaim the city—but she’d done it in return for the Color Prince saving her friends. She didn’t deserve this kind of trust.

But she did find the whole thing fascinating. Often, the prince would call forth a courtier to give him more information on some point. He cared nothing for previous laws, and little for how things had been done traditionally, but he showed a keen interest in commerce and trade and taxation and agriculture: all the things needed to provide for his people and his army.