A pained expression crossed Degan’s face. “My covering your blinds is worlds different from calling in the Oath, Drothe.”
“You’ve made that painfully clear,” I said. “But, really, it all comes down to trust. I trust you. I trust your Oath. And if I thought there was any other way, I wouldn’t ask you to do this. But whether you take the Oath with me or not, I’m going to keep pressing, and that means I’ll likely come up against Iron Degan and his boss at some point. When that happens, I’d rather have you at my back than not.” I held out my hand, palm up. “I want to exchange the Oath with you, Degan.”
Degan stared at me so long, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“We’re both a couple of fools,” he finally said. “Fools of the first order.” His hand came down and clasped my forearm, even as mine closed on his. Then he let go. “Come on, then.”
“Where?”
“Where we won’t be interrupted when we exchange the damn Oath.”
I followed Degan through the streets of Ildrecca as the sun lightened the sky in the east. He didn’t seem to be searching for a specific location so much as walking off his frustration.
His disquiet almost made me want to stop, to say that we could forget the Oath, that I would manage on my own. Almost. But I didn’t think I could do this without him, especially if I was going to be facing Iron Degan. And what I had said was true—I trusted Degan. I had to believe that he wouldn’t let me take the Oath if it wasn’t worthwhile, that he wouldn’t betray me when it came time to pay. There was too much riding on it to believe otherwise.
We finally turned into a series of alleys called the Cloisters, running along the border between Stone Arch and Lady of the Roses cordons. The alleys were unique in that they had a series of peaked arches running across them at regular intervals, providing not only artistic support for the buildings on either side, but easy bridges for anyone running the roofs.
Degan led me down one alley, into another, then stopped. We stood beneath an ivy-covered arch. He turned around.
Degan drew his sword without preamble and held it by the blade, just below the guard, point down. He placed his other hand on the bronze-chased guard. I gathered I was supposed to do the same, and did so.
The metal was warmer than I expected. I wondered if it had picked up some heat from the sunlight and Degan’s body, or if there was another explanation. Then again, maybe my palms were just feeling chilled from the sweat gathering on them. Either way, it didn’t matter much at this point.
I looked up at Degan. He stood straight and formal, his eyes hooded in shadow. The look of near-amusement I was so used to seeing on his face was gone. Now he regarded me as he did everyone else on the street—without mercy or friendship. He was no longer my friend; he was Bronze Degan. For the first time in a long time, I remembered what that truly meant. I felt the fear he inspired in others, in those he did not call friend. I felt the weight of the Oath.
I swallowed and tried to clear my throat. It didn’t help. “So, how do we do this?” I asked.
“What is the service you wish me to perform?” he said.
Into it that quickly, then. I pulled my gaze away from his and stared at the sword while I ordered my thoughts.
Up close, I could see that the bronze inlays on the guard were immaculate. There was no hint of tarnish or greening there—even around the dents and scratches it had earned in hard service. Fine swirls and broad strokes intermixed in an almost-sylvan pattern against the steel of his guard, suggesting creeping vines, or maybe windtossed grasses. The blade itself had a milky quality to it, as if someone had just breathed on the steel and paused before wiping off the condensation. Below the seeming haze were tiny lines and arcs, slightly darker than the rest of the steel, running throughout the blade. Black Isle steel, forged at the monastery of the same name, renowned for its strength and near-legendary ability to hold an edge. It was the best steel that money—or anything else, for that matter—could buy.
I studied the sword and noticed for the first time that a faint teardrop had been etched into the blade, just between where Degan’s hand was holding it and where the steel met the guard. I looked back up at Degan.
“I need you to help me settle things in Ten Ways,” I said. “No matter who is involved or what the outcome, I need you to stand beside and protect me. And I need you to tell me what you know about what’s going on down there, and help me find out whatever we may not know.” I paused a moment, then added, “Basically, I need you to cover my blinds and keep my best interests at heart. Again.”
Degan clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times. “Is this all you require of me?” he said.
I thought about it. There was plenty more I could add, but I was afraid the more specific I got, the more limited my options might become. Better to keep things loose and mutable, rather than locking myself into something I couldn’t amend later. “Yes,” I said, “that’s all I require of you.”
Degan nodded. “Very well. I am willing to be so bound by my Oath as a degan to serve you, in faith as well as in deed. Are you willing to be bound likewise to my service, whenever I should request it and for whatever reason, unable to refuse or evade me? And will you honor this Oath with my brethren, should I perish before I am able to reclaim my payment?”
Visions of Iron Degan calling in my marker, a toothy grin on his broad face, ran through my mind. “You’d better not die,” I said to Degan. A small smile flickered onto his face, then vanished. “Yes, I’m willing to be bound by all that,” I said.
Degan nodded curtly. “Since the first days of the degans, through to the present, and until our Order is broken and its members turned to dust, so will it be. As I am bound to your service, so are you bound to mine. My sword stands as a symbol of this covenant.”
With that, he turned the sword in his hand so the point was facing up, brought it to his lips, and kissed the steel. Then he held it out to me. I followed suit. The metal was cool on my lips and tasted of oil.
“So be it,” said Degan. He wiped his blade on a sleeve and sheathed it.
We stood in silence.
“That’s it?” I said at last.
“That’s it,” said Degan.
“No clap of thunder, no lightning, no wailing spirits in the shadows? After all you told me, I expected something a little more dramatic.”
“Sorry to disappoint you. Next time I’ll hire a Mouth to fill the streets with fog and glowing lights.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “There won’t be a next time.”
“There usually isn’t,” said Degan.
I wiped my mouth on the back of my hand to remove the last lingering hints of honing oil. “So?” I said.
Degan turned and resumed walking down the alley, this time slowly. I fell in beside him.
“Iron Degan,” he said, letting the name hang on the air for several paces. “He’s proud. As a man, as a degan. He doesn’t exactly cozen to the idea of some members of the Order selling their swords for coin, rather than solely for the Oath. It’s something most of us have done at one point or another—you have to live, after all, and coin tends to spend better than reputation in the long run. But, except for one or two occasions, my brothers and sisters have been able to keep the distinction between paid work and the Oath separate.”
“ ‘One or two occasions’?” I said.
Degan glanced down at my rapier. “Funny,” he said. “That doesn’t
look
like a degan’s sword in your scabbard.”
I chuckled. “Right,” I said. “Mind my own damn business. So what would Iron Degan have the Order do?”
“Find a cause and fight for it. Serve a worthy master or mistress. Hold ourselves above petty squabbles and enforcement-for-hire. Iron had his share of clan wars and slaughter-for-profit when he was growing up; he wants to put that behind him. He’d rather serve the goal than the man.”
“So he’s seeking a higher road?”
“As much as anyone can who fights and kills for a living.”
“Which means he’s sworn himself to an idea or a cause, and not just a person, in Ten Ways.”
Degan shrugged. “It’s Iron. He’s given the Oath to someone he believes in. That person either
is
the cause for him, or his link to it. But whoever that is, they aren’t a run-of-the-mill Kin, or even a promising Upright Man. As I said, Iron is proud, and as a degan, he wouldn’t let himself serve a minor cause. Whoever he’s sworn to, it’s no small player.”
“Bigger than an Upright Man?” I said.
We stopped short of where the Cloisters let out onto Plank Street, keeping to the shadows for a little longer. Ahead of us, the street was filling up with morning light and foot traffic.
“That’s my guess,” said Degan.
I leaned back against the alley wall, feeling the sudden need for support. “Degan,” I said, “are you telling me we’re up against a Gray Prince in Ten Ways? A fucking
Gray Prince
?”
Degan kept his eyes locked on the street as he said, “Now you understand why I wanted you to walk away.”
I barely heard him. I was too busy contemplating the wall behind my head, wondering how hard, and how many times, I would need to bash my skull against it to make this all go away. No more than five, I decided—maybe six to be safe.
Go up against one of the Princes of the Kin? People talked about them in whispers, spoke about them as legends more than as flesh and blood. How the hell do you take on a legend? Even an Upright Man like Nicco knew better than to cross
that
line. And here was Degan, who seemed to have figured all of this out before me, agreeing to do it, anyhow—no, not just agreeing, but taking
an Oath
on it. My friend was insane.
But then what did that make me? Degan had been telling me to walk away, to let it go; yet my gut still told me to follow it through. Why?
Because of the Dark King; because if whoever was backing Iron Degan got his way, he’d bring the empire down on us all over again. I didn’t want to have to face the empire, to choose between fighting or hiding, to have to look over my shoulder for White Sashes for the next five years or give up the Kin life altogether.
And, ultimately, because I was a Nose, I wanted to know what the hell was going on, who was trying to play me, and make them pay. If the empire stepped in, that might never happen.
“Any idea which Prince it might be?” I said. I thought back to the sewers. “Was it the woman we heard with him in Ten Ways?”
“I don’t know,” said Degan. “Maybe, but that could just as easily have been a lieutenant. Gray Princes don’t usually run on raids from what I hear. But I do have a few avenues I can follow, now that I’m committed to the matter.”
There was a resigned note to Degan’s voice. I suspected he was going to tap his resources within his Order, to pry into his fellow degan’s business.
I knew how he felt; as a Nose, I couldn’t help but know. But as a Nose, I also knew that no amount of sympathy or comment on my part would make a difference. So I held my peace and instead pushed myself away from the alley wall.
“Good hunting,” I said.
“What about you?” said Degan.
I looked out on Plank Street again. More people, more light, shorter shadows; it was well into morning.
“I have to go see if I can keep my boss from being drawn into a war he can’t win,” I said.
“Good luck with that,” said Degan drily. I shrugged and headed deeper into the Cloisters. Degan stayed where he was for a moment, then walked in the opposite direction, out onto Plank Street.
A few blocks later, I found a Dancer’s Ladder—a collection of crates and refuse arranged to look like a random pile of garbage. In truth, there were hidden handholds and carefully arranged supports among the debris to allow for a quick ascent to the arches and roofs above. Even with the ladder, though, it wasn’t easy—between the fall down the stairs and the deep bruises and muscle knots Tamas’s rope had caused, I wasn’t moving as easily as I’d like. Every reach and pull and push burned in a different part of my body. When I got to the top, I was gasping.
At least the air up here was still heavy with the smells of the sea that surrounded the city on three sides. As the day wore on, it would be replaced by smoke and dust, but, for now, I took a deep breath and reveled in its freshness. Overhead, the sky was a deep blue, with only the slightest smudge of gray far to the west—rain, but whether it would make it here or not was another matter. The sea had a habit of fighting with the land when it came to who ruled the skies over Ildrecca.
I yawned and slipped another two ahrami into my mouth. They helped, but only just. I could feel the last several days looming behind me, waiting to pounce. Yesterday’s sleep had helped, but that was almost eighteen hours gone. I glanced off in the direction of Stone Arch and my home, then turned away.
One more thing, I promised myself. One more errand, and then I could sleep.
I made it across the Dancer’s Highway more out of habit than out of conscious effort. Peaks and gutters and roof gardens passed in a blur, and before I was fully aware of it, I was scrambling down a drain pipe into a back alley in Silver Disc cordon. I was sweaty, tired, and more than a little ready to say to hell with it. Except I knew I couldn’t.