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“If he manages to survive this battle,” Andross said, “and his sort always do, somehow—a death will have to be arranged. Make a note of it, Grinwoody. And notify me the next time any of his relations are up for any type of office anywhere. That family needs to end.”
Andross’s eyes flashed. “Didn’t you come here to beg some favor of me? Reconsider your attitude, boy.” “Look, old man!” Cruxer burst out, from nowhere. “Kip left a throne to come here to save you. Wealth, position, security? He gave those up out of loyalty to the Chromeria—and even to you. You sent no help to us when we were dying for the Seven Satrapies, and yet here he is. Because he’s a hundred times the man you are. So if anyone ought to check his attitude, it’s you.” Everyone was stunned to silence.
“The time for the Chromeria to ignore things they don’t like is over,” Kip said. “High Lord Promachos, I’ve got a genius for drafting a lot of different colors not only serially but simultaneously. And I’m almost as Will-full as you are. I’m a Guile, and there’s no one better equipped for this.” “Are you the Lightbringer?” Andross asked quietly. It seemed as if history itself pulled sharply at the air through clenched teeth. No one moved. Kip knew what he needed to say. Voice firm, level: “I am.” And everyone breathed differently. The course was set. They were committed. Whether Andross was
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“There’s a battle coming. This is all moot,” Kip said. “I like to plan for the future, even if it looks like there is none. That’s what makes us emerge from them stronger.”
“Are you going to cheat?” Kip asked. “Only if you let me,” Andross said.
They roam the seas, senescent, angry when roused from their near-immortal torpor.” “Reminds me of someone,” Kip said. “Damn, kid. I should beat you with my cane.” “You know interesting stuff,” Kip said. “Oh, high praise! You little shit. Have you decided yet?”
“I failed, brother,” he said, and the tears were hot and bitter. We all fail. It’s why we don’t walk alone. And for the first time in a long time, Ironfist didn’t feel alone. He felt himself lifted in strong arms. No one had lifted Ironfist since he was a young child. He clung to his brother like the lost, and wept, and he wept as a man weeps: weak and unashamed.
She was radiant, not just with her normal beauty and resolve, but there was an inner light, a deeper strength to her. There was nothing grim about her determination. She was, suddenly, a rock. All these events swirled around her, the stream diverting, but the rock unmoved.
“This is Felia’s dress, isn’t it?” Kip asked. Andross had merely had a tailor add the Mighty’s sigil to it. Andross pursed his lips. “I hate how you do that.” “So, do I get anything?” Kip said flippantly. “Oh yes,” Andross said, his eyes twinkling. “I spent a long time pondering if I should give you armor so fine you couldn’t turn it down but that would make you look like a raging asshole.” “Nice,” Kip said. Though I kind of do that on my own. “But I figured you already do that on your own.” I hate how he does that.
“Is there a weapon for me?” “I thought you’d enjoy going into battle armed with your wit,” Andross said. “But you’d not want me to go into battle defenseless.”
Just as Gavin had given up on finding Him, He was here—and He was angry. Fear threw shackles at Gavin’s heavy limbs, but he staggered forward. He would not be a man who cowered—not even before God Himself.
If Lucidonius got stronger as the sun rose, then would he not also weaken as it sank? Gavin would have to last through the entire day to find out. It was still two hours until noon. Of Sun Day. Gavin had chosen to fight a creature whose strength was tied to the intensity of the sunlight… on the longest fucking day of the year.
“Remind me never to piss you off,” Ben-hadad said. “Hey, Ben,” Winsen said. “Not right now, asshole,”
The words smote him like a giant’s fist crashing down around him. But instead of crushing him, he felt his dead heart stir once more, pounding for at least one moment again within its dark and thorny cage—life in him pulsing against the death garrisoned in his body. It was truth, smashing him as painfully as a man pounds a drowned swimmer’s chest, breaking ribs to save his life, making him gasp in pain in order to help him breathe at all.
To raise even one tower holding a Great Mirror from its great hiding place underground would have daunted any drafter in the world. Only Dazen—maybe—had the strength to raise them all. So he did it.
Orholam embraced him, and at first, Dazen was too stunned to even return it. For all that Orholam looked like a reedy old man, His hug redoled of an unstinting strength that was unmistakably maternal: a mother gathering her hurt child into her arms, fierce in defense, gentle in encouragement. “Never forget,” Orholam said softly. “I see you. I hold you in My eyes.” Then He threw Dazen off the side of the condor.
“I want you to know something, Andross. In all my years of working with spies and murderers and traitors and scum,” Grinwoody said, “I’ve never met a man who deserved betrayal more.”
The cosmetics, the clothes, the hair, the shaved and lotioned skin, the anointing oils, the posture, the dazzling bright colors and pleasing patterns: these were all the lampshades we settle over our light hoping to cast a hue and color others will find acceptable. We hope we’ll find it acceptable, too.
We see others not as they are but as we see. We see ourselves not as we are but as we see—and as we are seen, for we each cast our light on each other, too.
He was not, perhaps, a great man who shook the pillars of the earth, but he was her father, and for today at least, for this hour, his embrace blunted the jagged black edges of her hellstone thoughts.
“Look, they told me you were cranky, and I knew you were going to be too weak to come. But I just knew someone would be mad if I didn’t at least ask my old friend along.” “Friend?” Ironfist asked. He swallowed, but then growled, “I don’t even like you.” “A sadly common malady among my friends,” Dazen said.
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.
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