The Broken Eye(310)

“I—”

“What did you think? That I’d shield you because you’re my grandson? No. And I’ve heard what you’ve done with this squad of yours. I don’t know how you turned the best of the Blackguard recruits, but I won’t tolerate anyone making a private army on my watch. What is it you call yourselves? The Mighty?”

Of course they called themselves no such thing. Kip’s head was spinning.

“I didn’t … I wasn’t…” he started to protest.

“Hold!” a voice shouted from the door at the back of the audience chamber. It was Commander Ironfist. It was like watching the axle rattle loose on a carriage. There was nothing Kip could do to stop it. There was no way the commander knew this was prearranged.

The commander was sweating freely, his chest heaving as if he’d run leagues to get here. “Kip was under my authority at all times. High Lord Promachos, there was no—”

“Yes!” Andross Guile interjected, cutting him off. A hint of a grin curled the side of his mouth but disappeared before he turned back toward the chamber, and Kip’s heart sank.

He’d seen that look before. That look was the look Andross gave when Kip had made a mistake playing Nine Kings. It was the look of a child being given an unexpected gift, as if the world stunned him at times with its sheer stupidity. Andross hadn’t planned that Commander Ironfist be here, but he knew what to do now that he was.

“Yes, Ironfist, he was under your command. And your negligence grieves me. You have served long and hard, and I am loath to hold your failures against you, Commander, but you have done your term of service honorably, if poorly in this last year. Commander Ironfist, you are hereby relieved of your command and your commission. You will retire with full honors and stipend, effective immediately.”

Kip felt like he’d been hit in the face with a shovel. One part of him saw the art in the lies, the questions spawned by Andross’s words. People were suddenly wondering, in what ways had Commander Ironfist failed? Many of them knew that Ironfist and Andross Guile hadn’t gotten along, but Andross’s apparent grief at having to relieve Ironfist of command, and the way he seemingly honored the man even as he kicked him out—his very grace in victory made it seem obvious that whatever the conflict had been, it had been Ironfist’s fault.

Ironfist looked gutted. He seemed like he didn’t even know where to look, glancing from Andross Guile to Kip, even at Grinwoody.

Kip wanted to throw up. He wanted to kill Andross Guile.

“And you, Kip,” Andross said. He turned, as if suddenly aware of how public this had become. “Everyone, I’m terribly sorry you had to see this. Kip, I will not shield you because you are family. The evidence, though far from certain, is quite suggestive. Kip, you’re expelled from the Chromeria, expelled from the Blackguard, and exiled from the Jaspers. Effective immediately. If any of your Mighty go with you, they, too, are expelled and exiled. Begone, grandson.”

“I—”

“Begone! Before I change my mind! Out!” he roared.

Kip trembled with rage. Not for himself, but that he’d let Ironfist get caught up in this. And suddenly, Gill Greyling and Kalif were very close behind him.

To protect Andross Guile against him.

No, no. Not like this.

In a daze, Kip went out. The squad and even Commander Ironfist went out with him. The double doors closed, but before anyone could say anything, they opened once more, and Andross poked his head out. “Commander,” he said quietly. “I know how your Blackguards love you. If you lead a rebellion, I bet half would join you. So it’s your decision: is that what you want for either half of the Blackguard? Afterward, I’ll disband them. You’ll have ended your precious Blackguard.”

Then Andross disappeared back into the room. The doors closed after him.

Kip looked at Ironfist’s face, and was afraid. The huge warrior trembled with rage, his fists clenched hard at his sides. Kip never precisely forgot that Ironfist was huge and tall and perhaps the best fighter he would ever meet, but being reminded of it like this was something else altogether. He heard Ironfist breathing: in on a four count, hold for a four count, out for a four count, empty for a four count. It was the very calming technique he’d taught them to moderate the battle juice or to steady rage.

The commander turned to Kip. “So she’s dead, then?” His voice was controlled. He meant the White.

“By now. We saw her not ten minutes ago. She was passing quickly.” Kip wanted to say more, but the other Blackguards were still in the hall.

Ironfist started walking toward the lift, and they fell in behind him naturally.