Again, the clouds boiled, but no thunderbolt struck.
“When one is in power, one must frequently deal with unsavory elements,” Andross said, “worse than assassins, even. Which is why sometimes one must hold one’s nose and deal even with traitors. But that doesn’t make one a traitor oneself, does it, Corvan?”
Corvan Danavis was quivering with the effort to contain himself. “A traitor? You refer to King Ironfist, I suppose?”
“He brought you here, didn’t he?”
“I’ve arrived here with an army, just in time, from what I hear. Without Ironfist’s fleet, we’d not be arriving for another two months.”
“Has your army disembarked, then?” Andross asked.
“No. I came on ahead. The White seemed eager that I should see the state of the defenses immediately—”
“And King Ironfist doubtless told you to go on ahead.”
“Yes,” Corvan said.
“Without your soldiers. Who are isolated on their own ships, perhaps? Ships disarmed, ostensibly so they have room for more soldiers?” Andross suggested.
Corvan froze as the implications dawned on him. “He . . . he wouldn’t.”
“You’ve not brought us an army, Satrap,” Andross said. “You’ve brought Ironfist ten thousand hostages. You were right, Grinwoody. All his years serving at the highest level, and Ironfist has no loyalty at all.”
“It grieves me to be right,” Grinwoody said. “He is of my own tribe, my lord.”
“Well, we’ll deal with all that presently,” Andross said. “First things first.”
“He’s disembarking himself to negotiate the surrender,” Corvan said. “Or . . . at least that’s what he told me.”
“He meant it. Only, he didn’t mean his surrender,” Andross said icily.
Corvan cursed under his breath.
“But he’s disembarking? When? Soon?” Kip asked. “Shit! We’ve got to finish this game quickly, grandfather. I’ve got to make sure my commander doesn’t find out Ironfist’s here.”
“I don’t imagine King Ironfist will have any trouble with one of your puppies,” Andross said.
“This one he might,” Kip said.
“You’re in the middle of something?” Corvan asked. “I’m sorry I interrupted with such bad news. You’re in the middle of . . . a game?” He didn’t bother to conceal a note of disbelief.
“Hardly,” Kip said, “but please stay. That is, if you don’t mind watching.”
“I’d be delighted to see the era’s greatest mind at work.”
“Thank you—” Kip and Andross said at the same time. They even sort of inclined their heads the same way. That was weird. Kip hadn’t been around this man at all growing up.
The blood is strong.
Corvan said, “Your pardon, my lords, a slip of the tongue. ‘Greatest minds.’ ”
“After I win,” Kip said, “I’d like to go over some ideas on the Jaspers’ defense with you.”
They took their seats, Grinwoody having already scuttled about on his little roach legs to provide a chair for the satrap.
Kip brushed the art on the cards with his fingertips in frustration. He had to settle for playing a Lightguard, though the sun was high enough he could have played a more powerful card if he’d had it.
Andross played the Red Bane.
Kip flopped Cannon Island onto the table. “This deck isn’t good enough. If Janus Borig had had time to complete—”
“No sniveling,” Andross said. “You had first choice of decks.”
“Here I could have been king of Blood Forest,” Kip muttered.
“I think we’ve had quite enough of kings,” Andross said. He dropped another bane, and attacked.
Kip didn’t defend, soaking up the damage like he was the damned Turtle-Bear.
“Why isn’t there a Turtle-Bear card?” Kip asked suddenly. Surely he had to be important enough to get a card, right?
“A what?” Andross asked, not that interested.
“Come on, you were looking at it earlier.” Kip put down his cards, pushing his chair back. He showed off his tattoo. Swapping spectacles of various colors, he quickly worked through the superviolet, which gave the edges their nice borders, then as he drew in blue light, zigzags of blue shot through his forearm, just above the wrist. A rounded rectangle. Kip drew green, and color suffused the outlines. Yellow, and the colors gained richness.
Corvan Danavis inhaled sharply. “What did you call that card?” he asked.
Kip ignored him until he finished, and the tattoo stood sharp and clear on his forearm. “ Turtle-Bear. I’m the Turtle-Bear,” Kip said.
“Where did you get that?” Andross asked easily.
“Fighting Abaddon,” Kip said, as if it were a small thing. “Like I told you.”
“The art style’s Atashian, isn’t it?” Corvan asked. “I recognize that creature, though I’ve never heard it called a turtle-bear.”
“What have you heard it called?” Kip asked, though now, in looking at it, it seemed different than he remembered. The Turtle-Bear that had been seared into his arm had been a fat, round little thing, furry in all the wrong places, awkward as Kip himself. Now it seemed elongated, stronger, not nearly so ridiculous, like a juvenile . . .
“My maternal grandmother was Atashian,” Corvan said. “She had this ancient brooch that looked like that. She told me Atashians believed men were born with two natures. One was usually symbolized by the monkey: the chattering dung-flingers of the forest—social, passionate, but all-reliant on the tribe, attacking those the group disliked without an independent thought in their heads, warm, caretaking, but always looking to the group for approval. The other nature was usually symbolized by the snake: cold, dispassionate, patient in ambush, not shaken from the truth by anyone or anything, but also uncaring, heartless, rejecting company heedlessly. They believed that only when one brought these natures together, not lukewarm but cold and hot in the appropriate times, fur and scale, could one be truly wise. Only by bringing the contrary animal natures together could one become fully human, whether monkey and snake, or dog and scorpion, or turtle and bear. And the greatest of these become dragons.”
“A Dragon would be helpful now,” Kip said lightly. He looked at Andross Guile, who was watching cold as an asp. “Don’t suppose you’ve got a Dragon in the deck I missed?”
Andross’s eyes glittered darkly.
“Luxin-reactive tattoo dyes. A nice parlor trick,” Andross said. “An art lost long ago. We’ll talk about who in Blood Forest holds this secret, if we live long enough. In the meantime, let’s finish the game, shall we? Here, this will drain your excess luxin.”
Andross handed Kip a little cylinder much like the testing sticks used in the Threshing. Kip pressed his finger firmly on the black point and watched his colors swirl down into the stick’s bone-white body. Unlike the ivory of the testing sticks, though, here the colors dyed the stick fully their color and then faded in turn, swirling away like smoke.
They all waited until every color was gone, and then a few more seconds.