“What?!” Trainer Fisk demanded. “What are you talking about?”
“Aram’s the second best fighter in our class,” Cruxer said. “He took money to finish low. He took money to keep Breaker out.”
“He’s Tyrean!” Aram shouted. “He’s a bastard! I would have done it for free! He’s not one of us!”
“You would have done it for free? So you did do it for money,” Trainer Fisk said, aggrieved, disbelieving. He shot a look over at Commander Ironfist. A straight admission of guilt. How stupid was Aram?
“He’s not one of us!” Aram shouted.
“You mean, one of you,” Commander Ironfist said, low and dangerous, stepping forward. “Because you’ll never be one of us, Aram. Unlike Breaker.”
The last word sent a shock through Kip.
“Breaker!” Trainer Fisk barked. “You heard the man. We got room for fourteen, and I only see thirteen up here. Get in line! Double time! Someone get this trash out of here.”
“No! Noo!!” Aram shouted. But the chirurgeons were there instantly and they carried him away, blubbering.
Kip limped over to the line, not even close to double time, but he felt like he was floating all the way. How much poppy had that chirurgeon given him?
No, this wasn’t the poppy.
Commander Ironfist stood in front of Kip. He took Kip’s gold fight token and snapped it into a pendant. The front of the pendant was a black flame. “This is the Flame of Erebos. It symbolizes service and sacrifice. As a candle takes on flame and is consumed to give light and heat, so is a man who takes on duty. Day by day, we give our lives to serve Orholam and his Prism. Will you take this sacred duty, Kip Guile, Breaker?”
“I will.” Kip felt little shivers.
“And will you forswear other loyalties, and have loyalty first to this body, to Orholam, and to his Prism?”
“I will.”
“Then I declare you, Breaker, a trainee in the Blackguard.”
“Break-er! Break-er!” the crowd chanted.
Ironfist let them go on for a few more seconds, then quieted them and worked his way down the line.
The rest of the ceremony passed like a dream. Each scrub was sworn in, and then the older trainees and the full Blackguards gathered around them to congratulate them.
They eventually decided to go to a tavern that the Blackguards preferred—all drinks on the new trainees, of course. Before he let himself be swept out into the evening, Kip looked for his father.
Gavin Guile was standing where Kip had left him, ignoring for the moment a messenger who’d come to him with something or other. He had eyes only for Kip. The Prism wore a bemused smirk, but maybe it was more than bemused. Maybe it was a little proud.
Chapter 93
Karris was dimly aware of the men leaving. She laid her face on the paving stones, praying they wouldn’t come back, hoping for unconsciousness. It didn’t come. She lifted her face and saw a pool of blood where her mouth had been. Her left eye was rapidly swelling shut, and the right doing the same, more slowly.
She felt sick from the blow to her head. There was a foul taste in her mouth along with the flat metal taste of blood. She realized they’d rolled her onto her side so she wouldn’t drown on her own vomit.
Messily, she vomited again. She got it all over herself, but the spasms in her stomach kept her curled into a ball. She was heaving just to breathe, and heaving her guts up.
The spasms passed slowly, but her head still felt barely connected to her body, moving at its own pace, sloshing. She rolled onto her stomach again and somehow started crawling.
She could crawl. Good. Part of her noted that she hadn’t broken either her arms or legs. Good, good. Her hands were slick with blood and worse, and the paving stones cut her knees. Her ribs ached every time she took a breath, but if any ribs were broken, they were merely cracked. She’d had broken ribs before, and that hurt worse than this.
Unless, of course, her body was masking the pain. Bodies did that. Damned things. Something caught in her throat and she spat up blood.
Still had her teeth, but she’d bit the hell out of her tongue. Something was burning around her neck. She was afraid to touch it, though. Couldn’t, and still crawl.
She reached the intersection five or ten minutes, or a year, later.
What street was this? She’d just come down it, but she couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember what part of town she was in. Not a busy street, though.
But she couldn’t go any farther. Her right eye was completely shut now. She realized her butt hurt. They’d kicked the hell out of her butt. And her legs were starting to cramp up.
She retched again. Dry-heaved.
When she opened her one good eye, she saw someone walking toward her down the street.