“Maybe Orholam has something to say about that?” Dazen said, gesturing to the sword Ironfist had just fixed.
“I can’t explain that! But look, I can’t make up for what I’ve done. The misery I caused in my arrogance.”
“You’ll never balance the scales,” Dazen agreed. “So what?”
“I . . . I don’t follow.”
“Becoming a good man’s easy. Act like one, even if it’s an act. Some say, ‘Who you are is what you do.’ They’re wrong, but not all wrong. What you do forms who you are. Then who you are forms what you do. It’s a vicious cycle, or a virtuous one, depending. One act doesn’t undo all of who you are, but a thousand acts make you who you are. So it’s simple, though not easy: stop creating the wrong you. Stop trying to prove to yourself that you really are the bad man you believe you are despite what others say, and simply start doing good. Even if deep down you’re a bad man, if what you do every day for the rest of your life is good, you’ll be a bad man indistinguishable from a good one.”
“Why go on at all?”
“Because there’s a whole lot you can do, you moron. Not for yourself. For everyone else. If you had a scrub who loused up a hundred times but finally figured out what to do, and then he decided to volunteer for the Freeing because he believed those hundred mistakes made him a fuckup forever, would you send him off to the luxiats to die?”
“This is different.”
“You thinking you’re so different is what got you here.”
“You just don’t get it,” Ironfist said.
“Fine. You know who did?”
“You mean who did get it?”
“Yeah. Your brother,” Dazen said.
“I’m not sure I want you talking about him.”
“He couldn’t balance the scales. He was the Butcher of Aghbalu! By your logic, because he couldn’t take away all the misery he caused, everything he did in the years between that massacre and his dying—including his dying for Kip and those boys—all of it was worthless. Because he couldn’t balance the scales.”
“I never said that.”
“You’re measuring yourself by a standard that’d make you furious if anyone used it on your own brother.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“My point exactly. It should be. You want to be a man of integrity? Start by having one set of weights and measures for others and yourself.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re seriously going to tell me how higher moral standards should apply to you than to your brother, who was a better man than you by far? You are getting up on your moral high horse? Ironfist, you’re a liar and a traitor and an apostate and a pagan, a man who ordered murders and a coward. So that’s a little rich, isn’t it?”
Angry clouds gathered in Ironfist’s brow, but they sat there and then receded some as Ironfist nodded.
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. You’ll find stragglers along the way who need it, I think. But get your ass moving, because you’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”
Ironfist sat with that for a few moments, and Dazen couldn’t tell how much was sticking. Then Ironfist said, “Hearing this from you is a bit much.”
“Who better to teach a lesson than one who had to learn it?” Dazen asked. “I’m not saying I’m ahead of you in this particular race. I’m saying you won’t be running alone.”
“You’re some real motivational motherfucker, aren’t you?”
“Watch it. A Blackguard guards his tongue.”
“I’m not a Blackguard anymore.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” Dazen said.
“What about it?” Ironfist asked suspiciously.
“We’ve got space in the newest cohort. Could use a good nunk.”
Ironfist laughed. “You’re an asshole.”
“I know. It’s why you always liked me.”
“No, no, I never did.”
“At the end you did.”
Ironfist grunted. It might have been an admission.
Dazen decided to take it for one anyway.
“Actually, a space did open up,” Dazen said. “Commander Fisk had some things go real sideways in the battle. He’s asked to retire. Said he’ll give us one more year as a trainer, though, more maybe, if we can get the right replacement as commander. And we really need him as trainer with the state the ’guard is in.”
“You’re asking me to be the commander of the Blackguard again?” Disbelief.
“Seems like.”
Ironfist’s jaw tightened with suppressed emotion. “There are others who can do the job.”
“Oh, I know, you’re not that special,” Dazen said. “But I already offered it to all of them. Every last one said they’d love the job, but they’d rather serve under you instead. Threatened to resign en masse if you didn’t get it, actually. So if you don’t take the post, the Blackguard is finished. It’ll be a hundred years before it recovers. If ever.”
Ironfist’s lips compressed, and his forehead tightened. He whispered, “They didn’t really . . .”
“They did. But honestly, I don’t think they like you that much. I think they just really want a chance to hit you with one of those Blackguard Names. You know, one of those sort-of-respectful, more-kind-of-mocking things?”
“They want to change my Name?”
“Yeah, I dunno, maybe Ironfist’s too flashy and original for ’em. I don’t know if they conspired on this or what—they’re so insubordinate sometimes—but you’d have to accept the new Name if you came back.”
“Do you know what it is?”
“Yeah.”
“Well?”
“I think they’re gonna call you ‘Rex.’ ”
Ironfist laughed, then winced. “ ‘Commander Rex’? Those little shits!”
But the man seemed to glow. He was suddenly soaking all of this up, a great treasure of joy that he would examine later. His Blackguards meant so much to him, and that they loved him still was favor he didn’t believe he merited. It was precious to him beyond all words.
Then he pressed his lips together, and his eyes hollowed. “I miss ’em,” he said. “All of ’em we lost the day you made this.” He gestured to the white luxin. “And since. My sister. And my brother most of all.”
“Me, too,” Dazen said quietly.
“So is that it?”
“There is a condition,” Dazen said, taking Ironfist’s acceptance for granted.
“Yeah, I figured,” Ironfist said. “Several, I guessed. You are still a Guile.”