Now, wine sipped down to the lees, the glass slipped from drunken fingers, spun from control, and shattered—an explosion of lies, glimmering now in the light, sharp, dangerous. He stooped to pick them up, ashamed.
He picked up the shards with tremulous fingers, and they cut him. Gifted ingrate. Liar. Impostor. Murderer. Thief. Filicide. Betrayer. Villain. Blood and wine were watered with tears on the broken flagstones of his mind. False teacher, false prophet, false king. Bloody-minded, benighted, black hearted, black drafter, black Prism. Black Prism.
Chapter 20
“So, uh, Your Ladyship, what’s this town called?” Winsen asked.
The Mighty were skimming up the Great River as they had been for more than a week. Winsen had been peppering Tisis with seemingly innocuous questions since they’d shot past the harbormasters at Rath.
“I don’t know what this one’s called, but we should be getting to a town called Verit soon. It’s right at the base of Thundering Falls,” she said. “It’s where the Great River and the Akomi Nero come together—or, well, for us—split as we go upriver beyond the falls. The Akomi Nero originates in the Ruthgari Highlands.”
“Huge landmark, huh?” Winsen said.
“Huge,” she said. She was trying to play it off like Winsen’s questions didn’t bother her, but it was obvious to Kip that they did.
“Good to know our guide knows the big landmarks at least, I guess,” he said, not quite under his breath.
She flushed, her pale skin doing her no favors as she seethed. But she never said a rude word. Kip had asked her, awkwardly, if he was supposed to do something to defend his wife from his own friends, and she’d said no, that she had to win certain battles on her own.
But he wasn’t entirely sure she meant it, and Winsen usually managed to walk right on the line where he wasn’t rude, but he was calling her value into question.
“I mean, you have been down this river a few times, right?” Winsen asked.
“Winsen,” Cruxer interrupted. “Are you being an asshole?”
The smaller young man said, “No, sir. It is my specific intent not to be an asshole.”
“Is it also your specific intent to come as close to the line as possible?” Cruxer asked.
Winsen hesitated. One didn’t lie to Cruxer. Winsen had been insubordinate once early on. Cruxer threw him off the skimmer. He’d swum ashore—through waters where alligators were known to live—and had to walk through the afternoon and night to catch up with the skimmer.
When he’d arrived, only an hour before they had to depart, Cruxer had chastised him for being late for his shift on watch. He’d stayed up, and taken his turn on the reeds, too.
“Yes, sir, it was,” Winsen said. “Did I miscalculate, sir?”
“Oh, I don’t know if you were right up to the line or over it, Win. Orholam judges the heart, and so do I. Keep your mouth shut until we make camp, why don’t you?”
Winsen saluted—silently—and that was that. For now.
It didn’t help that Tisis hadn’t really been able to answer any of his questions. She’d told him she didn’t know the lower river. He’d said, ‘But surely you know it better than the rest of us, who’ve never been here, right?’
Seeing that they wouldn’t make it to the top of Thundering Falls that night, they made camp early to avoid staying in Verit or any of the outlying towns.
The Blue Falcon was a wonder yet again. This would have been most of a day’s journey if they’d traveled conventionally.
They’d not only passed the authorities easily, but also avoided river pirates, easily glided over snags that would have otherwise required a pilot with current charts, and been able to hunt from the deck as well.
They’d slowed their pace after getting stuck in sandbars half a dozen times, though. With drafting and a lot of muscle, they were always able to escape, but they lost hours every time. Ben-hadad had already been working on a design for the next Blue Falcon, and he added a shallower draft, camouflage, and a depth gauge to his designs.
That night, as he had several times before, Kip went with Tisis to a nearby village to get the news. Even this far from the fighting, Ruthgari and Forester villagers knew a lot about the world. The Great River was by far the largest arterial for goods and news between Green Haven, the Floating City of Dúnbheo, and Rath—and thence to the rest of the satrapies. Tisis usually learned whatever they knew.
Though she used aliases, the villagers always accepted her as a Forester. In the simplicity of his Tyrean village, Kip had always thought blonde hair and light skin must be pure Ruthgari traits, but the Great River made those who lived on its banks nearly as diverse as any people on the Cerulean Sea’s coastlines.
Tonight they stopped at a beaten-down farm with children’s playthings in the yard but no garden. As ever, they brought game with them, a sure way to find welcome at the subsistence farms they visited, and they called a hello a good distance away to announce themselves unthreateningly.
There was no lady of the house here, only a veteran of the Blood Wars and his twelve-year-old son who seemed less than well mentally, staring into the cookfire and laughing at odd moments, squawking or shrieking suddenly and then giggling, and talking nonsense, sometimes loudly.
Tisis showed no fear of the boy, though, and ended up holding one of his hands in hers, and not minding when he sniffed her hair.
When the veteran saw they wouldn’t have any cruel words regardless of how his boy acted, he warmed to them. He gave them a concise analysis of the military disposition of the upper river cities, and the venues of attack the White King would likely take, given what they knew of his forces.
It was the first time Kip had heard the term.
Apparently ‘the White King’ was what the Color Prince was calling himself now.
By the end of the evening, Kip had asked the man to join them, but Deoradhán Wood shook his head. “You seen my boy. His mother weren’t well, neither. Different than him, but not well. In the head. Or perhaps the heart. She walked into the river two years back. You understand? Walked into the river. Didn’t even leave me a body to bury, a grave to visit. Damn near killed me, too, when she done that. I live for my boy now.”
The man was suffering, but Kip couldn’t help but feel that it was needless. “You’ve got a clear mind and a strong back still. I’d have a place for you. A place of honor and a purpose. Is there none who can take care of the boy for a time? Six months? A year, maybe? We have gold to help, if feeding him and all is a burden.”
“Nah, he’s worth his grub. Good helper,” Deoradhán Wood said. “But I can’t go. My lot ain’t easy, but it’s good. I’ll carry this load until the Highest frees me of it one way or th’other.”
“If someone doesn’t stop the White King,” Kip said, “no one will be able to sit on their farm and live quietly, doing right.”
“I’m no coward, son. No tired old man. But big causes and crowds of strangers? What kinda man sacrifices his own son for that? Besides,” he continued, “I gave my word that I would never leave him, no matter what. A foolish oath, perhaps, but better men have abided by worse. Orholam light your paths and guide your arrows, young warriors.”
When they got back to camp, everything was set up and a fire cheerily burning. They ate and shared what they’d learned. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to help them make the next decision.
At Thundering Falls, they had to decide whether to pay to use the great locks to raise the boat to the level of the river above the falls, to pay for porters, to attempt to port the Blue Falcon themselves, to sell it, or to sink it and build a new one.
They had enough money to pay for portage or the locks, but Cruxer thought they might need the coin later, and porters would be able to inspect the boat closely—the first step to the Chromeria’s losing its secret advantage. The Blue Falcon was too heavy for them to carry easily, especially because the porters were known to sabotage those who eschewed their services, loosening steps and rearrangi
ng signs to point hikers up dead-end paths constructed to take them to places where it was impossible to turn around.
It was the kind of near banditry that the Chromeria had never stamped out, and probably never would. It still pissed Kip off.
But what the old veteran turned farmer had told them let them know they’d be moving up the river a lot. It was worth it to build yet another skimmer. It broke their hearts a little to unseal the luxins and let the boat dissolve into dust, but such a military secret wasn’t something to simply hand over to anyone who had the coin for it.
They made the climb easily and quickly. The porters even seemed friendly. Perhaps Big Leo’s permanent glower encouraged their deference.
When they reached the top of the falls, they hiked on another couple of leagues until they found a nice secluded spot. Ben-hadad was excited to build a new ship, even if working with so much luxin meant hastening them all to the end of their halos.
“Might as well,” Big Leo said, his eyes tiger-striped red and sub-red, “it’s not like any of us are going to live long enough to worry about breaking our halos.”
It took them all day.
That night, around the campfire, Winsen started up again. “So, Mighty Guide Lady, what’s next?
“Things get different now,” she said. “On the coasts of Blood Forest and on the lower river are many kinds of folk, and I love them dearly. But they are more citizens of the Seven Satrapies than they are Foresters. Here, up where it isn’t easy for foreigners to come, the land is wild. There are pockets of civilization here, even the two great cities, but they’re lamps in the forest’s night. You may see people with forked ears or a blue cast to their skin. Say nothing. They are the last of the pygmy blood, less than half-bloods. Quarters. Eighths. Don’t inquire.”
“Why not?” Ben-hadad asked.
“It’s never a happy story,” Tisis said.
“How so?” Winsen pressed. “We’re less likely to blunder if we know what the blunder would be.”
“You’re asking me like you think I don’t know,” she said calmly.
“You’re damn right,” he said.
“Winsen,” Cruxer said, “are you—”
“No, sir. Not at all this time. I’m just trying to get an honest take on what our strengths are here. Does our guide really know anything more than what you’d read out of a book in the Chromeria’s libraries, because see here, I realized something the other day.”
He waited.
“Oh, please, do go on,” Ben-hadad said sarcastically. “We’re on tenterhooks.”
“You said you grew up among these people. But… you’re Ruthgari, not a Forester. And you’ve been a hostage of the Chromeria as long as I’ve known you or known of you. I mean, I don’t mind that you’re just here to entertain Lord Guile at night, but if that’s all you are, I’d rather we all not pretend you’re anything other than the royal sword swallower.”
Kip was halfway across the circle before anyone could blink, but he was intercepted before he could lay out Winsen by none other than Tisis herself, who threw herself bodily against him.
“No!” she said. “No. Let me handle this.”
Kip looked around at his friends, and saw she was right. Dubious glances met his.
“Hey,” Ben-hadad said, shrugging. “Leadership should come with some perquisites, but Winsen’s not all wrong. We deserve to know what she brings to the table—and if it’s only our leader’s happiness, great! But maybe if that’s it, then she shouldn’t be leading us…? Why are you looking at me like I’m the asshole?”
“Fuck you,” Kip said. “You think I’d lie to you all?”
“Kip, Breaker,” Tisis said. “Please let me explain. Let this be between me and them.”
Kip backed off. What was he supposed to do? Let his friends tell his wife she was only good for what she could do on her back? He’d not spoken of her too kindly before he married her, granted. Orholam’s balls, this would make it a hundred times worse if they found out that the one thing they thought she was good for was actually not working out at all, at all.
“After Gavin Guile ended the Blood Wars,” Tisis said, “by his decree all the leading families of both sides had to surrender certain lands, and were given equal lands on the other side of the river. I was raised on the new Malargos lands deep inside Blood Forest. It was my assignment from the very beginning to become one of the Foresters, so that my family might hold that land, and inspire loyalty. At ten I was selected to be a hostage of the Chromeria—”
“Ten years old!” Winsen said.
“But four months of the year I’ve been allowed to rotate back into my own lands while my cousin Antonius took my place as hostage. I’ve spent the bulk of those months in the Forest, and some part in Rath, and yes, Win, I’ve spent a lot of my time at the Chromeria learning about the home I’ve adopted.
“So yes, I’m useless in a fight. I’ve never pretended otherwise. I can load and fire a musket, but that’s about the extent of my martial skills. But I know lots of arcane history that even most Foresters might not. Like—as you asked when you were trying to prove me a pretender, why you shouldn’t ask pygmies their lineage. The answer is that it implies that you think they have human blood.”
“And that’s bad why?” Kip asked.
“Because pygmy women can take a man’s seed, but they couldn’t bear his children. You understand?”
The young men looked at each other.
“No?” Kip said.
“It actually sounds kind of perfect if you like ’em small,” Ferkudi said.
They all looked at him.
“I mean, if you liked really, really small women—oh, hey, not like children! I didn’t mean it like that! And not me! I’m not—I meant no pregnancies, right?”
“No, no,” Tisis said. “What I meant was, they can get pregnant by men, but they die in childbirth. Every time. Of course, pygmy men could breed human women no problem. But in the next generation, any half-blooded daughters had the same problem. Even two half-bloods marrying often ended in the woman’s death, if not on the first child, then often on the second. Even a half-blood marrying a pygmy ran a risk. The pairings were soon banned by both sides, called cursed. So the half- or quarter-bloods you see now are either the children of taboo love or the product of something my dear, lovely, may-he-burn-in-the-fires-of-all-nine-hells ancestor Broin the Cruel called ‘retributive rape.’
“Now, male and female alike, mixed bloods are welcomed to communities—some even think they’re good luck, as they’ve obviously dodged death—but they’re utterly shunned in marriage and romance, for who would willingly pass a death curse onto their children? Even naturally tall pygmy men and women find it difficult to find partners, as everyone suspects they might have falsified their genealogies.”
“I lost you back at ‘retributive rape.’ What the hell?” Kip asked.
“Broin the Cruel lost a horse race and claimed the pygmy’s jockey—a child—didn’t weigh enough, and was thereby cheating. He started a war over it. He said the only way to purge the pygmies of their deceitful nature was rape. Only from virtuous blood—his and his men’s, of course—could come virtuous seed, to bear virtuous fruit in befouled soil—the pygmy women. Thus he tried to make a sacrament of rape. It wasn’t for his men’s pleasure, you see, by his perverse doctrine, rape was for the pygmies’ salvation. So they gelded the men and raped the women and condemned half the next generation—the daughters—to death as well. To say that the effects of that murderous asshole have been far reaching would be an understatement. It was partly to escape his legacy that my own ancestors left the Forest and went to Ruthgar. And now you understand why we decided to work doubly hard to fit in as Foresters again.”
Big Leo breathed a curse. “My parents traveled the Forest for ten years, and they never spoke of such a thing.”
“It’s not really something we speak of,” Tisis said. “Many of the pygmies withdrew to the Deep Forest after that. Some hundred years ag
o now. It’s said free tribes of them still exist, and where we’re going, we may find them. They wear a permanent smile, part of the bone structure of their faces. But they’ll tear your throat out if you insult them, and it’s said their will magic can turn the forest itself against their enemies. So if we meet any, Winsen, you watch your sloppy undisciplined leaky anus of a mouth for once, or your short bitter life may come to a violent end and none of us are going to start a war over it. You understand?”
He looked at her for a few moments, then broke off his gaze. “Yes, Lady Guile.”
Miracle of miracles, for the first time Kip could remember, the young man actually sounded a tiny bit chastened.
Chapter 21
It was a tradition that the newest Blackguard would get some onerous duty to celebrate his or her swearing in. Teia was so exhausted that she was seriously considering asserting Archer privilege here. She was cramping, but the other women hated it when a girl used her moon blood to shirk unpopular duties.
“’S time,” Commander Fisk barked. The other Blackguards on the roof were standing at ease, laughing and telling jokes, but Teia snapped to attention, only a little late.
Opting out of anything would be a terrible way to start. The new person was always considered useless until he or she proved otherwise. Regardless of how she’d done in training, this was a fresh start. Which was great if training hadn’t gone well and you needed to show you belonged. But it was terrible if what you wanted was to take all the goodwill you’d earned in training and for once, just this one time, for Orholam’s sake, by all that was holy, you really needed to go to bed, cry for approximately ten seconds, and then fall asleep.
“Got a special assignment for you, Teia,” Commander Fisk said. “You and I rose together, didn’t we? I was your trainer when you were a scrub. I’ve seen you. And I know a shirker when I see one.”
Ah hells. It was so unfair. She never did less than anyone!
T. Now’s the time to opt out, quick. If you wait until he says what the duty is, you’ll really look bad.