Warbreaker (48 page)

Determination.

The three attacked. She had assumed—in her ignorance back in Idris—that Lifeless were like decaying skeletons or corpses. She’d imagined them attacking in waves, lacking skill, but having relentless, dark power.

She’d been wrong. These creatures moved with proficiency and coordination, just as a human might. Except there was no speaking. No yelling or grunting. Just silence as Clod fended off one attack, then rammed his elbow into the face of a second Lifeless. He moved with a fluidity she had rarely seen, his skill matching the brief moment of dazzling speed that Denth had displayed in the restaurant.

Clod whipped his sword around and took the third Lifeless in the leg. One of the others, however, rammed his blade through Clod’s stomach. Something clear squirted out both sides, spraying Vivenna. Clod didn’t even grunt as he brought his weapon around and took off a second head.

The Lifeless guard died, falling to the ground and leaving his weapon sticking from Clod’s stomach. One of the other guards stumbled away, leg bleeding clear blood, and then it fell backward to the ground too. Clod efficiently turned his attention to the last standing Lifeless, which did not retreat, but took an obviously defensive stance.

The stance didn’t work; Clod took this last one down in a matter of seconds, slamming his sword repeatedly against that of his opponent before spinning it around in an unexpected motion and taking off his enemy’s sword hand. That was followed by a blow to the stomach, dropping the creature. In a final motion, he efficiently rammed his blade through the neck of a fallen creature, stopping it from trying to crawl toward Vivenna, a knife in its hand.

The alleyway fell still. Clod turned toward her, eyes lacking emotion, square jaw and rectangular face set above a thick, muscled neck. He began to twitch. He shook his head, as if trying to clear his vision. An awful lot of clear liquid was pouring from his torso. He placed one hand against the wall, then slumped to his knees.

Vivenna hesitated, then reached out a hand toward him. Her hand fell on his arm. The skin was cold.

A shadow moved on the other side of the alleyway. She looked up, apprehensive, still in shock.

“Aw, Colors,” Tonk Fah said, running forward, outfit wet with clear liquid. “Denth! She’s here!” He knelt down beside Vivenna. “You okay?”

She nodded dully, only barely aware that she was still holding her skirt in one hand. That meant her legs—to just above her knees—were exposed. She couldn’t find it in herself to care. Nor did she care that her hair was bleached white. She just stared at Clod, who knelt before her, head bowed, as if worshiping at some strange altar. His weapon slipped from his twitching fingers and clanged to the cobbles. His eyes stared forward, glassy.

Tonk Fah followed her gaze, looking at Clod. “Yeah,” he said. “Jewels is
not
going to be pleased. Come on, we need to get out of here.”

Annotations for Chapter 31

Thirty-Two

Annotations for Chapter 32

He was always gone when Siri awoke.

She lay in the deep, well-stuffed bed, morning light streaming through the window. Already, the day was growing warm, and even her single sheet was too hot. She threw it off but remained on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

She could tell from the sunlight that it was nearly noon. She and Susebron tended to stay up late talking. That was probably a good thing. Some might see that she was getting up later and later each morning, and think that it was due to other activities.

She stretched. At first, it had been strange to communicate with the God King. As the days progressed, however, it was feeling more and more natural to her. She found his writing—uncertain, unpracticed letters that explained such interesting thoughts—to be endearing. If he spoke, she suspected that his voice would be kindly. He was so tender. She’d never have expected that.

She smiled, sinking back into her pillow, idly wishing for him to still be there when she awoke. She was happy. That, also, was something she’d never expected from Hallandren. She did miss the highlands, and her inability to leave the Court of Gods frustrated her, particularly considering the politics.

And yet there were other things. Marvelous things. The brilliant colors, the performers, the sheer
overwhelming
experience of T’Telir. And there was the opportunity to speak with Susebron each night. Her brashness had been such a shame and an embarrassment to her family, but Susebron found it fascinating, even alluring.

She smiled again, letting herself dream. However, real life began to intrude. Susebron was in danger. Real, serious danger. He refused to believe that his priests could bear him any sort of malice or be a threat. That same innocence which made him so appealing was also a terrible liability.

But what to do? Nobody else knew of his predicament. There was only one person who could help him. That person, unfortunately, wasn’t up to the task. She had ignored her lessons, and had come to her fate wholly unprepared.

So what?
a part of her mind whispered.

Siri stared at the ceiling. She found it hard to summon her customary shame at having ignored her lessons. She’d made a mistake. How much time was she going to spend moping, annoyed at herself for something done and gone?

All right
, she told herself.
Enough excuses. I might not have prepared as well as I should, but I’m here, now, and I need to do something.

Because nobody else will.

She climbed out of bed, running her fingers through her long hair. Susebron liked it long—he found it as fascinating as her serving women did. With them to help her care for it, the length was worth the trouble. She folded her arms, wearing only her shift, pacing. She needed to play their game. She hated thinking of it that way. “Game” implied small stakes. This was no game. It was the God King’s life.

She searched through her memory, dredging up what scraps she could from her lessons. Politics was about exchanges. It was about giving what you had—or what you implied that you had—in order to gain more. It was like being a merchant. You started with a certain stock, and by the end of the year, you hoped to have increased that stock. Or maybe even have changed it into a completely different and better stock.

Don’t make too many waves until you’re ready to strike
, Lightsong had told her.
Don’t appear too innocent, but don’t appear too smart either. Be average.

She stopped beside the bed then gathered up the bedsheets and towed them over to the smoldering fire to burn, as was her daily chore.

Exchanges
, she thought, watching the sheets catch fire in the large hearth.
What do I have to trade or exchange? Not much.

It would have to do.

She walked over and pulled open the door. As usual, a group of serving women waited outside. Siri’s standard ladies moved around her, bringing clothing. Another group of servants, however, moved to tidy the room. Several of these wore brown.

As her servants dressed her, she watched one of the girls in brown. At a convenient moment, Siri stepped over, putting a hand on the girl’s shoulder.

“You’re from Pahn Kahl,” Siri said quietly.

The girl nodded, surprised.

“I have a message I want you to give to Bluefingers,” Siri whispered. “Tell him I have vital information he needs to know. I’d like to trade. Tell him it could change his plans drastically.”

The girl paled, but nodded, and Siri stepped back to continue dressing. Several of the other serving women had heard the exchange, but it was a sacred tenet of the Hallandren religion that the servants of a god weren’t to repeat what they heard in confidence. Hopefully that would hold true. If it didn’t, then she hadn’t really given that much away.

Now she just had to decide just what “vital information” she had, and why exactly Bluefingers should care about it.

~

“My dear queen!” Lightsong said, actually going so far as to embrace Siri as she stepped into his box at the arena.

Siri smiled as Lightsong waved for her to seat herself in one of his chaise lounges. Siri sat with care—she was coming to favor the elaborate Hallandren gowns, but moving gracefully in them took quite a bit of skill. As she settled, Lightsong called for fruit.

“You treat me too kindly,” Siri said.

“Nonsense,” Lightsong said. “You’re my queen! Besides, you remind me of someone of whom I was very fond.”

“And who is that?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Lightsong said, accepting a plate of sliced grapes, then handing them to Siri. “I can barely remember her. Grapes?”

Siri raised an eyebrow, but she knew by now not to encourage him too much. “Tell me,” she asked, using a little wooden spear to eat her grape slices. “Why do they call you Lightsong the Bold?”

“There is an easy answer to that,” he said, leaning back. “It is because of all the gods, only I am bold enough to act like a complete idiot.”

Siri raised an eyebrow.

“My station requires true courage,” he continued. “You see, I am
normally
quite a solemn and boring person. At nights my fondest desire is to sit and compose interminably periphrastic lectures on morality for my priests to read to my followers. Alas, I cannot. Instead, I go out each evening, abandoning didactic theology in favor of something which requires true courage: spending time with the other gods.”

“Why does
that
take courage?”

He looked at her. “My lady. Have you
seen
how positively tedious they all can be?”

Siri laughed. “No, really,” she said. “Where did the name come from?”

“It’s a complete misnomer,” Lightsong said. “Obviously you’re intelligent enough to see that. Our names and titles are assigned randomly by a small monkey who has been fed an exceedingly large amount of gin.”

“Now you’re just being silly.”

“Now?” Lightsong asked. “
Now?
” he raised a cup of wine toward her. “My dear, I am
always
silly. Please be good enough to retract that statement at once!”

Siri just shook her head. Lightsong, it appeared, was in rare form this afternoon.
Great
, she thought.
My husband is in danger of being murdered by unknown forces and my only allies are a scribe who’s afraid of me and a god who makes no sense.

“It has to do with death,” Lightsong finally said as the priests began to file into the arena floor below for this day’s round of arguments.

Siri looked toward him.

“All men die,” Lightsong said. “Some, however, die in ways that exemplify a particular attribute or emotion. They show a spark of something greater than the rest of mankind. That is what is said to bring us back.”

He fell silent.

“You died showing great bravery, then?” Siri asked.

“Apparently,” he said. “I don’t know for sure. Something in my dreams suggests that I may have insulted a very large panther. That sounds rather brave, don’t you think?”

“You don’t know how you died?”

He shook his head. “We forget,” he said. “We awake without memories. I don’t even know what work I did.”

Siri smiled. “I suspect that you were a diplomat or a salesman of some sort. Something that required you to talk a lot, but say very little!”

“Yes,” he said quietly, seeming unlike himself as he stared down at the priests below. “Yes, no doubt that was it exactly...” He shook his head, then smiled at her. “Regardless, my dear queen, I have provided a surprise for you this day!”

Do I want to be surprised by Lightsong?
She glanced about nervously.

He laughed. “No need to fear,” he said. “My surprises rarely cause bodily harm, and never to beautiful queens.” He waved his hand, and an elderly man with an extraordinarily long white beard approached.

Siri frowned.

“This is Hoid,” Lightsong said. “Master storyteller. I believe you had some questions you wished to ask...”

Siri laughed in relief, remembering only now her request to Lightsong. She glanced at the priests below. “Um, shouldn’t we be paying attention to the speeches?”

Lightsong waved indifferently. “Pay attention? Ridiculous! That would be far too responsible of us. We’re gods, for the Colors’ sake. Or, well, I am. You’re close enough. A god-in-law, one might say. Anyway, do
you
really want to listen to a bunch of stuffy priests talk about sewage treatment?”

Siri grimaced.

“I thought not. Besides, neither of us have votes pertaining to this issue. So let us spend our time wisely. We never know when we will run out!”

“Of time?” Siri asked. “But you’re immortal!”

“Not run out of time,” Lightsong said, holding up his plate. “Of grapes. I
hate
listening to storytellers without grapes.”

Siri rolled her eyes, but continued to eat the grape slices. The storyteller waited patiently. As she looked more closely, she could tell that he wasn’t quite as old as he seemed at first glance. The beard must be a badge of his profession, and while it didn’t appear to be fake, she suspected that it had been bleached. He was really much younger than he wanted to appear.

Still, she doubted Lightsong would have settled for anyone other than the very best. She settled back in her chair—which, she noticed, had been crafted for someone of her size.
I should be careful with my questions
, she thought.
I can’t ask directly about the deaths of the old God Kings; that would be too obvious.

“Storyteller,” she said. “What do you know of Hallandren history?”

“Much, my queen,” he said, bowing his head.

“Tell me of the days before the division between Idris and Hallandren.”

“Ah,” the man said, reaching into a pocket. He pulled out a handful of sand and began to rub it between his fingers, letting it drop in a soft stream toward the ground, its grains blown slightly in the wind. “Her Majesty wishes one of the
deep
stories, from long before. A story before time began?”

“I wish to know the origins of the Hallandren God Kings.”

“Then we begin in the distant haze,” the storyteller said, bringing up another hand, letting powdery black sand drop from it, mixing with the sand that fell from the first hand. As Siri watched, the black sand turned white, and she cocked her head, smiling at the display.