The Black Prism - By Brent Weeks Page 0,82

like so many other dispossessed young lords with everything to gain.

Karris had been fifteen years old, and she couldn’t remember Corvan personally at all. Which, she supposed, wasn’t too surprising, given all the attention she’d been getting from the Guile brothers. He’d been an adviser only for much of the war, but near the end of the war, Dazen had made him a general. Karris had heard Commander Ironfist credit that fact with Gavin winning the war—not calling Corvan Danavis incompetent, but the opposite. Commander Ironfist had said that if Corvan Danavis had been a general for the whole war, Gavin’s armies wouldn’t have even made it to the Battle of Sundered Rock. Ironfist had further said that if General Danavis hadn’t surrendered unconditionally after Sundered Rock, there might still be guerrillas fighting in half of the Seven Satrapies. Corvan’s grace in defeat had convinced his men to go home.

Dipping her fingers into the bowl of ointment, Karris gave Corvan a look. He appeared confused. She began lifting her long shirt, ointment on her fingers, and he got it. He cleared his throat and turned away. Karris smeared ointment gingerly on the scrapes on her chest, giving herself time to think.

With all that history, Karris expected Corvan Danavis would be some graybeard. This man was in his mid-forties, shaven except for a day or two’s stubble. His skin was lighter than most Tyreans, but much darker than Blood Forester pale, though he did perhaps have some freckles on his cheeks. His eyes were blue—no shock there, with the ludicrous amount of red he’d been able to draft. The luxin halo was only halfway through his irises—even less than Karris’s, despite his being probably twelve or fifteen years older than she was. There were perhaps red highlights in his dark hair, too, and his hair was wavy rather than kinky. And the general had been famous for his red mustache, which he’d kept trimmed except at the ends that dangled below his chin, where he’d tied red and gold beads. Maybe this was some other Corvan Danavis, or some man who’d taken his name, hoping to profit from the general’s good reputation. “They were on us before we knew what was happening,” Corvan said. “I’d counseled the village to send a boy or two for the levies but even I didn’t expect this kind of retribution. King Garadul came here not to teach us a lesson, but to teach the rest of Tyrea one. I’ve only run into his like once before.” General Delmarta, the Butcher of Ru, Karris guessed.

“You saw the pyramid?” Karris asked, turning back to him.

Corvan Danavis got very still. The side of his mouth ticked up in a snarl for the briefest instant. But when he turned his gaze to Karris, it was cool, in control. There wasn’t even a hint of fresh red luxin in his eyes, which spoke of astonishing control for a drafter his age. “I gathered those I could and pulled back to the church.” Was he hoping Garadul’s men would respect holy ground? “It’s the least flammable building in town” Corvan said, answering the unspoken question. “We fought, and we lost. The Delarias and the Sworrins couldn’t get the door to the basement open, and I was too busy fighting. Maybe I shouldn’t have fought at all. I think the chromaturgy just drew more soldiers. They overwhelmed us. I retreated downstairs.”

“Alone?”

He looked surprised at the question. “Everyone else was dead,” he said.

Except for one young family, not ten paces from the stairs. Had Corvan fought at all, or had he immediately retreated downstairs and locked the door behind himself, dooming the townsfolk to fiery death? The soldiers had carried away their dead, and the fires had obscured most of the evidence of battle in the temple, so Karris couldn’t know for sure.

“So this is where you tell me how you used the most flammable luxin to escape a fire,” Karris said.

“Do you know why you blow on a flame when you’re starting a campfire?” Corvan asked. He didn’t wait for Karris to answer. “Because fire needs to breathe. I’m a monochrome, Lady White Oak. We have to be more creative than near-polychromes like you.”

“Just tell me what you did,” Karris said. How did he know she was nearly a poly? She was still trying to decide if it was even possible that this could be General Danavis. In this backwater? And from a Blood Forester family? The eyes and freckles spoke of

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