“You’re in the minority,” said Iron darkly.
“Numbers have nothing to do with right or wrong!” snapped Degan. “An Oath’s an Oath, whether you stand alone or you’re backed by a hundred others.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “An oath? As in, an Oath?” I scanned the bazaar, looking for large men with unique swords. Aside from the two near me, none were obvious. “Are you telling me there are more degans involved in this?”
“We’re an old Order,” said Degan, watching Iron. “Two hundred and eleven years since our founding. You don’t think we’ve stuck around that long just to trade promises for service, do you? Believe me, there are better ways to make a living.”
Iron moved a step closer. “That’s enough, Bronze. Let’s not talk out of school.”
Degan chuckled drily. “No, let’s.” He dropped the canvas sack at his feet, leaving his own hands free. His gaze never left the other degan. “We degans have a ‘higher’ purpose-one we were founded to uphold. Except we can’t seem to agree on exactly what that purpose is anymore. It seems things have gotten muddied over time. It seems,” he said, his voice growing hard, “that some people have decided it’s easier to become cowards than keep their honor intact.”
“Don’t confuse stubbornness with loyalty, Bronze,” said Iron. “There’s nothing cowardly in recognizing the truth.”
“And there’s nothing noble in destroying what you’re sworn to protect!”
I felt my stomach drop. “You’re talking about the emperor,” I said. “The degans are fucking sworn to protect the emperor?”
“No,” said Iron. “Not the emperor-the empire. There’s a difference.”
“Not in this case,” said Degan.
“Especially in this case,” said Iron.
“If you kill him, the empire will collapse,” said Degan.
“And if we don’t,” said Iron, “it will eat itself alive.”
Degan gritted his teeth and wrapped his hand around his sword’s grip. “You don’t know that.”
I’d seen that look before. He wasn’t going to give.
Crap.
“It’s a moot point,” I said to Degan. “I’ve made a deal with Solitude. For good or ill, it’s going to her.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You don’t understand,” I said. “I’ve-”
“No, you don’t understand,” he said. He took a deep breath and met my eyes. “I’m not giving you a choice in the matter. You’re giving me the journal. Now.”
I blinked. “Are you threatening me?” I said.
“No,” said Degan. “I’m calling in your Oath.”
And that was when Iron struck.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Iron surged past me, closing the distance between himself and Degan faster than I would have thought possible for such a large man. Degan caught the movement a fraction of a second later and began to draw his sword, but I could already see it was going to be too late. Damn, I had distracted him. Degan’s blade still wasn’t clear of its scabbard when Iron reached him.
Iron had come on empty-handed, opting for speed over carnage. Now, his left hand clamped on to Degan’s right, stopping the draw in midmotion. At the same time, Iron’s right fist connected with Degan’s jaw, sending his head rocking back. Three more savage punches followed with smooth, precise rhythm-head, throat, stomach. Degan rolled with them as best he could, bending his body and shifting his shoulders and hips. This moved him enough to make the last two punches go wide, so that they skidded along his shoulder and ribs instead of crippling him.
People near us were starting to shout now, some pushing to get away, others struggling to move in and get a better view.
My right hand instinctively went to my rapier even as I skipped two steps back to clear space for the draw. Then I stopped myself.
Who exactly did I want to help here?
Iron was pulling his arm back for another swing when Degan twisted his body, bringing his left hand toward the other degan’s face. Iron bobbed his head back. Degan’s hand sailed past, and I saw Iron begin to smile. That was when Degan’s elbow followed through and hit Iron’s face with an audible crack.
The two men came apart, Iron staggering back from the blow, Degan using the moment to wrench his hand free from the other’s grip. Then the steel came out.
Now the crowd surged as one, trying to get away from the bared blades. Merchants who had started announcing special fight prices now yelled for the Rags instead. Prigs and Palm Getters, who had begun maneuvering in for a choice lift, instead grabbed whatever spoils they could and faded away before things got truly dangerous.
And still I stood, hand on my own steel, unmoving. Try as I might, I couldn’t persuade myself to step into the fight. I didn’t care about Iron per se-he was just muscle, here to make sure I kept my end of the bargain. It was what he represented that gave me pause-my agreement with Solitude, the future of the empire, the security of my sister, and my own safety as well. If I helped cut him down, all of that went away. And, to be honest, I wasn’t ready to break yet another promise so soon after making it-that wound was still too raw.
Except I had a promise to keep with Degan, too. No, not a promise-an Oath. One he took so seriously, he had fought Shadow to keep up his end. Could I do any less? Could I look him in the eye and tell him my word to Solitude was any more valid than his promise to me? Hell, this was Degan-was any promise more important than the one I had made to him?
Son of a bitch. If only it weren’t the journal; if only it weren’t the empire.
And still, damn me, I hesitated.
Degan and Iron moved farther away from each other and began circling, slowly. Degan’s sword was longer than Iron’s by a good hand span, but Iron’s looked to be heavier and had a slight curve to it. Like Degan’s, its guard was chased in the metal of his name, steel wrought with cold iron in a flowing, arabesque pattern.
I took another step back. Until I knew what I was going to do, I wanted to keep well away.
Degan reached up to feel his jaw, shifting it back and forth in his hand. He chuckled and spit blood.
“Did I loosen anything?” asked Iron. Degan’s elbow had split the skin on his cheek. It was ragged and bleeding.
“Just the stones in my head,” said Degan, smiling. “My teeth are all there.”
“You’re slipping, to let me get in that close, lad.”
“Everyone gets one for free-that was yours.”
Iron shrugged and took a small step forward. His blade slid a hand’s breadth to the left. Degan countered by rotating the guard of his sword out and shifting his hips. Iron studied Degan for a heartbeat, then backed away.
“I remember that move from down in Byanthia,” said Iron. “You used it against the duke’s captain of the guard, didn’t you?”
“The duke himself, actually,” said Degan. Then, before the words had fully unfolded in the air, he was moving. Degan’s feet became a blur, his sword a line of silver fire in the dying sunlight. Two quick steps and Degan’s blade was inches from Iron, coming in a furious arc toward his shoulder. At the last moment, Degan compassed a small circle in the air with his sword’s tip, turning the cut into a sudden, rising thrust.
Iron stepped back and dropped to one knee. His sword came up, catching Degan’s blade along its edge. Steel hissed on steel as Degan’s point slid over Iron’s head. Then their guards met with a clang.
They were in close now; perfect dagger range, I noted, except neither of them had one to hand. Instead, Degan rammed his knee into Iron’s chest even as Iron slammed the pommel of his sword down on Degan’s opposite thigh, just above the other knee. Degan yelled, Iron gasped, and both men collapsed to the cobbles.
Degan moved first, rolling onto his hands and knees and levering himself upward. He met my eyes as he did, glanced at the sack he’d been carrying, then at me again.
I looked at the sack. It was amorphous enough to be anything. Had he already gotten what I’d come to fetch, to make sure I’d keep my end of the bargain? Was the journal in the bag, lying out in the middle of the street?