Caine Black Knife

“Yeah. Fancy guns your armsmen carry. And that razor wire. And the searchlights and those coal-gas lamps at the Pens down there. How many Artans you got living in Purthin’s Ford, anyway?”

“In Purthin’s Ford?” Her eyes glinted. “None.”

“Sure, all right. Where do you keep ’em, then?”

“They have nothing to do with you.”

“Where I come from-what you call Hell, I guess; we just called it Earth-a lot of people wanted to work for the Company. The Overworld Company. I mean a lot. A lot more wanted to be Aktiri. Only the smartest, toughest, most ruthless bastards made the cut in the first place, and the ones who have survived here since Assumption Day aren’t just smart, tough, and ruthless, they’re goddamned lucky, too. Which makes them just about the most dangerous sonsofbitches you ever didn’t want to meet in a dark alley. I’ve spent three years making sure these rimjobs behave themselves. Or making them dead.”

Her eyes were cold as the space between stars. “They have nothing to do with you.”

I stopped myself from spitting on the floor. If I did, she’d probably belt me so hard I’d land in Thorncleft.

Maybe she didn’t understand what they were after. Hell, maybe I didn’t either; I could be wrong. After all, anybody Earthside would know Retreat from the Boedecken; they’d know better than to fuck around with Black Knives. Or with me. “All right. Let’s have it, then.”

“It?”

“Your pitch.” I rolled a hand. “Your offer. The deal.”

The starfire in her eyes smoked over. “You said this is why you came to Purthin’s Ford.”

“Yeah.”

“Yet now you require a fee?”

“I came here to dope-slap some sense into my brother. I sure as fuck didn’t come here to get the snot stomped out of me by Right Arm of God theofascists in the middle of some butt-raping terrorist insurgency. And I’m not real interested in having it happen again.”

The smoke in her eyes thickened. “Not money, then, nor land; you seek no reward.”

“Two. Well, one reward. One tool.”

She lifted her head. “The reward?”

“Orbek’s life.”

“It cannot be.”

“Then no deal.”

“Ask anything else. The Justice is ordained by Khryl Himself, and I have no authority to alter, gainsay, or refuse to answer. Orbek Black Knife made this Challenge; he has placed his fate under the Regard of Khryl, and that is where it lies.”

“What if he withdraws?”

She turned toward me. “Then he must make submission.”

“Let’s say that’s not a problem.”

“There is still the murder in Hell.”

“Let’s say that’s not a problem either.”

She offered a reluctant shrug. “Perhaps the Lord of Justice might be satisfied with exile, upon pain of death, from all His lands forever.”

“Done.”

“Then-granted your assertions-done. What tool do you require?”

I tried to look casual. “Authority.”

Her stare said she was pretty sure I was about to sprout horns and a tail and come after her with a red-hot pitchfork.

“Your authority comes straight from Khryl, right? That’s what I want. I want freedom of action. The next time some asswipe Tyrkilld takes a swing at me, I want to flip out the Holy Foreskin and tell him to suck it, I’m working for God’s Own Motherfucking Self.”

She gave me that pitchfork stare for a long time. When she finally decided to talk, her expression hadn’t changed. “It is said that you are a man without limits.”

“That was Ma’elKoth.”

“Boundaries, then. That there is no line you will not cross.”

“People say lots of shit about me.”

Sunset began to burn through the smoke that hooded her eyes. “You must understand that I am the same.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“In service to my Lord-in the defense of His Land and His Soldiers-I have no boundary.”

“I believe you.”

She idled back to the altar-block pedestal that protruded seamlessly from the cool smooth platinum on which we stood. She reached to lay her hand lightly on that angled handle, fingers curling gently around it in what was almost a caress.

The universe snapped into focus.

— the soft prickle of blood-rusted wool against skin drying tight and stretched-

— the damp-glazed chill of the platinum under feet colder than the breeze that smelled of coal smoke and rain-

— eyes shrouded with limp wet hair the same bleak brown as the robes-

— the swell of breath bringing small hard breasts up along the inner curve of fabric-

— both hands buzzing with the memory of knives-

Words came from me without volition-

“What the fuck did you just do?”

— because these were the words I always said now.

These were the words I’d been planning to say at this moment since the birth of the universe.

And by the time she spoke, I already knew-

“This,” she said softly, “is the second most sacred relic of our Order. It is all that remains of the Accursed Blade that struck off the Peaceful Hand of Our Lord of Valor.”

And it happened-

— the flash of grey steel and the jewel-spray of blood in firelight blossomed inside my head blazing the silent anguish of a wounded god-

— as it was going to happen five hundred years ago.

Again.

And again from my mouth came the words I always said now-

“What’s happening-? This is-this is-I’ve felt this before. .”

I knew her answer.

“You have not. It is the Regard of Khryl.”

The words echoed within me endlessly, as though she still had yet to say them, but they had been said long ago but were forever speaking now.

“The Gods exist beyond the grip of time. When we draw Their Eyes, They brush us with Their Power.”

“No,” I insisted forever. “No, I know this feeling. .”

She always said, “It is the echo of the future.”

“No. . no, I really have. .”

I have always been here because there is no past: all that exists of the past is the web of Flow whose black knots are the structure of the present. I will always be here because there is no future: everything that is about to happen never will.

Now is all there is.

I have always sat in the rubble of the Financial Block, facing down the length of God’s Way over