The Burning White (152 page)

“Why go on at all?”

“Because there’s a whole lot you can do, you moron. Not for yourself. For everyone else. If you had a scrub who loused up a hundred times but finally figured out what to do, and then he decided to volunteer for the Freeing because he believed those hundred mistakes made him a fuckup forever, would you send him off to the luxiats to die?”

“This is different.”

“You thinking you’re so different is what got you here.”

“You just don’t get it,” Ironfist said.

“Fine. You know who did?”

“You mean who did get it?”

“Yeah. Your brother,” Dazen said.

“I’m not sure I want you talking about him.”

“He couldn’t balance the scales. He was the Butcher of Aghbalu! By your logic, because he couldn’t take away all the misery he caused, everything he did in the years between that massacre and his dying—including his dying for Kip and those boys—
all of it
was worthless. Because he couldn’t balance the scales.”

“I never said that.”

“You’re measuring yourself by a standard that’d make you furious if anyone used it on your own brother.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“My point exactly. It should be. You want to be a man of integrity? Start by having one set of weights and measures for others and yourself.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You’re seriously going to tell me how higher moral standards should apply to
you
than to your brother, who was a better man than you by far?
You
are getting up on your moral high horse? Ironfist, you’re a liar and a traitor and an apostate and a pagan, a man who ordered murders and a coward. So that’s a little rich, isn’t it?”

Angry clouds gathered in Ironfist’s brow, but they sat there and then receded some as Ironfist nodded.

Dazen said, “Arrogance is a ladder, and your ladder got you to the top of the mountain. The top of the Blackguard. You know what you find on mountaintops? An amazing view—and no life. No food, no water, no shelter, no companionship. Maybe it’s time you come down. Life isn’t a climb; it’s a marathon. If you want to make it across the desert sections, you should run carrying water, not a ladder. Your arrogance got you here. Maybe it’s time you left it behind. Maybe it’s time you pick up some water and join the race. Your arms are strong from climbing; now they can carry extra water for others. You’ll find stragglers along the way who need it, I think. But get your ass
moving
, because you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Ironfist sat with that for a few moments, and Dazen couldn’t tell how much was sticking. Then Ironfist said, “Hearing this from you is a bit much.”

“Who better to teach a lesson than one who had to learn it?” Dazen asked. “I’m not saying I’m ahead of you in this particular race. I’m saying you won’t be running alone.”

“You’re some real motivational motherfucker, aren’t you?”

“Watch it. A Blackguard guards his tongue.”

“I’m not a Blackguard anymore.”

“Yeah, about that . . .” Dazen said.

“What about it?” Ironfist asked suspiciously.

“We’ve got space in the newest cohort. Could use a good nunk.”

Ironfist laughed. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know. It’s why you always liked me.”

“No, no, I never did.”

“At the end you did.”

Ironfist grunted. It might have been an admission.

Dazen decided to take it for one anyway.

“Actually, a space did open up,” Dazen said. “Commander Fisk had some things go real sideways in the battle. He’s asked to retire. Said he’ll give us one more year as a trainer, though, more maybe, if we can get the right replacement as commander. And we
really
need him as trainer with the state the ’guard is in.”

“You’re asking me to be the commander of the Blackguard again?” Disbelief.

“Seems like.”

Ironfist’s jaw tightened with suppressed emotion. “There are others who can do the job.”

“Oh, I know, you’re not that special,” Dazen said. “But I already offered it to all of them. Every last one said they’d love the job, but they’d rather serve
under you
instead. Threatened to resign en masse if you didn’t get it, actually. So if you don’t take the post, the Blackguard is
finished
. It’ll be a hundred years before it recovers. If ever.”

Ironfist’s lips compressed, and his forehead tightened. He whispered, “They didn’t really . . .”

“They did. But honestly, I don’t think they like you
that
much. I think they just really want a chance to hit you with one of those Blackguard Names. You know, one of those sort-of-respectful, more-kind-of-mocking things?”

“They want to change my Name?”

“Yeah, I dunno, maybe Ironfist’s too flashy and original for ’em. I don’t know if they conspired on this or what—they’re so insubordinate sometimes—but you’d have to accept the new Name if you came back.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“I think they’re gonna call you ‘Rex.’ ”

Ironfist laughed, then winced. “ ‘Commander
Rex
’? Those little shits!”

But the man seemed to glow. He was suddenly soaking all of this up, a great treasure of joy that he would examine later. His Blackguards meant so much to him, and that they loved him still was favor he didn’t believe he merited. It was precious to him beyond all words.

Then he pressed his lips together, and his eyes hollowed. “I miss ’em,” he said. “All of ’em we lost the day you made this.” He gestured to the white luxin. “And since. My sister. And my brother most of all.”

“Me, too,” Dazen said quietly.

“So is that it?”

“There is a condition,” Dazen said, taking Ironfist’s acceptance for granted.

“Yeah, I figured,” Ironfist said. “Several, I guessed. You are still a Guile.”

The truth was, if Dazen hadn’t been at least a little bit of an asshole as he delivered his offer, he knew that Ironfist would get stuck in his own head, and might actually have turned it down. Being an asshole about it directed Ironfist’s gaze outward, to the job, to the people who needed him, to the personalities he saw himself needing to rein in.

But that was fine. Dazen could pretend to be an asshole when required.

Pretend.

He said, “There’s just the one condition—well, for me. A few other people have to sign off on this, and they might really need convincing, but you know what? I
am
really convincing.”

“Hadn’t noticed that about you,” Ironfist said.

“So here’s the thing,” Dazen said as if it pained him. “I need you to get up, like, right now, while everyone’s distracted with the big wedding spectacle, and come do that thing with me.”

“ ‘That thing’?” Ironfist asked, sitting up more in bed. He was trying to look irritated, but Dazen could tell he was on the hook already. A man like Ironfist needed to be needed, needed to be active, or he’d just die. “You mean that adventure? I thought you were joking.”

“Nope. Has to be you. Has to be now, while everyone’s distracted.”

Ironfist hesitated. “What are you going to do with the Blinding Knife while everyone’s distracted?”

“We, you mean. As in ‘What are
we
going to do?’ ”

“No, I meant
you
. I’m not touching that thing.”

“Right, agreed. That’s fine. And
I
meant you’re going to help me get there to do what I have to do. So you can parse that as us doing it or as me doing it while you help me, I mean, whatever floats your—”

“Gavin!”

“Dazen.”

“Whatever!”

“Well, here’s the thing. You’ve been there, too, like I have. And there’s no one else I can trust to not succumb to them. And we’ve only got one chance to do this. Any other time, and I’m afraid they’d have allies show up. I know you don’t feel well right now. And regardless of how good I look, I’m not at my full strength, either, so I guess we’ll just be wounded warlords together.”

“ ‘Wounded
warriors
,’ you mean?”

“Eh, you and me? Come on. We’re a bit more than just ‘warriors,’ don’t you think?”

“Just shut up and tell me.”

Dazen finally got serious. “It’s now or never. I’ve always been proud, Harrdun. I’ve always wanted my greatness to be known, to be acknowledged. This? This will be the greatest thing I ever do, and no one will ever know it. That’s my penance. Or at least my way of showing I’ve changed. Maybe you’ll find some penance in it, too.”

“Gavin,” Ironfist said, low and dangerous. He was halfway out of his bed now. “What are we gonna do with the Blinding Knife?”

“The wedding’s a huge spectacle, not just on the mortal side but this . . .
librarian
? I dunno. One of them who likes Kip has arranged some spectacle on the immortal side, too. The truth is, both the mortal and the immortal spectacles are merely a distraction for two old warlords—one of whom is the last person you’d expect to go all hooded-man-sneaky—to go quietly to do something only they could possibly do, right under the noses of hundreds of watching immortals, while hoping that the right half of them are watching the wrong thing. We’ll have no allies with us, none. No help whatsoever. It’ll just be you and me, against the eight of
them
. We’ll take them one at a time, though, at least if we’re lucky.”

“Wait. Uh-uh. Gavin, you are
not
going back down to those cells to face those—”

“Oh, yes I am. And unless you want to explain to my widow afterward why you made me go alone,
Commander
, you are, too.” Dazen gave him the big smile that he knew Ironfist hated. “Ironfist, buddy! C’mon! We’re gonna kill us some gods.” He spun the scintillating sword on its point. “You in or what?”

Wait a second, are you one o’ them curious readers who reads acknowledgments? Even though you
know
your name isn’t going to be here? You shouldn’t be here! Book’s over! Scram!

Fine. One more paragraph. I know you’re a fast reader, and it’s hard to not read a little bit more than you meant to, but after this one, stop.

There are few authors who have nearly a million and a half words’ worth of riveting story to tell. The jury’s out on whether I’m one of them, and that jury includes
you
. So my first thanks goes to you—even though you don’t listen so well. Many of you first discovered me with my Night Angel trilogy and might’ve frowned at seeing that my next trilogy wasn’t even set in the same world. Worse, the trilogy then became a tetralogy, then a pentalogy. (The man can’t even count to three?!) But you gave Lightbringer, and me, a chance.

I’ve given my all to repay those acts of faith with these books. I will never take such trust for granted. I hope and strive to bring you joy and more.

Thank you for your graciousness as this final book took an extra year. For me it was worth the ink, sweat, and tears to present you with something I can be proud of.

Thank you to my editor, Brit Hvide, who took on a series after it was already a million words long—and an author who had difficulties understanding the term ‘deadline.’ Thank you for working to give this project the time and space and the pacing and polish it needed. Few authors understand the complexities of your job, but thank you for all you do.

Thanks to Bryn A. McDonald for taking on the mammoth task of producing a book of this size and complexity, and to my heroic copy editers. (Hi! Yep, I’m totally stetting that!) Thanks to Lauren Panepinto and your team for consistently brilliant covers and so much more besides. No one finds out what’s in a book if they never pick it up, so pretty much all my success is because of you. (Bring this up the next time you ask for a raise.) Thank you to Laura, Ellen, Alex, Paola, Nivia, and to the rest of the team at Orbit US, UK, and AUS.

Thank you to my translators. I can’t even tell how ingenious you are, because I are American and thus more polygluttonous than polyglotinous, yet I know from my brief, bruising encounters with little Latin and less Greek how much effort goes into your work. I
do
think of you when I write plays on words—and usually just laugh. Writing is pain. Should translation not be? (But seriously, sorry for the Gunner chapters.)

Thank you to my beta readers: John, Tim, Elisa, Heather, and John again for also being my gamma reader, and Keith for being my alpha to omega reader.

Thank you to my agent, Donald Maass. You have been a tireless advocate and a straight shot of sanity. Thanks to Katie for all the follow-up e-mails to foreign publishers and for the continual education on a complex business.

Thank you to Simon Vance, my audiobook narrator. With your skills, you bring all the benefits of adding talents together and none of the drawbacks. I am so glad you were brought to this project under false pretenses.

Thanks to Joseph Mondragon. I came across your synopses of Lightbringer online and realized to my great chagrin and greater delight that they were
better
than mine. (Turns out that writing a huge book and describing briefly what happens in it are different skills. Who’da thunk?) So I did what people do on the Internet and stole your work. I hope you never read this. Please don’t sue me. (I’m kidding. I got his permission.) Joseph’s (somewhat edited) work appears here. Any errors are mine—but would be seriously ironic.

Thank you to my assistant, the Dread Pirate CAPSLOCK. Though your predecessor should have most likely killed you in the morning, I’m flabbergasted by your unending brilliance and towering intellect. You’re a paragon of strength, resilience, humility, and hilarity. Thank you for being the person who makes those last-second edits and additions to the manuscript that sometimes even I don’t see before they show up in print.

Going a bit further afield now—no, no, go ahead, you can quit reading anytime! Thank you to Dante Alighieri, for literally writing a character named ‘Dante’ meeting the greatest poets of all human history in the afterlife and having them welcome him to join them at their fire as an equal. Whenever I worry my pride may be getting the better of me, I think of your—

Dante: Hey! It’s not arrogance if it’s accurate!