Warbreaker Part 63

Lightsong stood up. They vote, but what good are their votes? he thought, walking out of his canopy. They hold no authority. Only two votes really matter.

More green. Flags flapped as priests ran down the walkways. The arena was abuzz with people. They could see the inevitable. To the side, Lightsong could see Llarimar following him. The man must be frustrated. Why didn't he ever show it?

Lightsong approached Blushweaver's pavilion. Almost all of the priests had gotten their answers, and the vast majority of them carried flags of green. Blushweaver's high priestess still knelt before her. Blushweaver, of course, wanted to wait upon the drama of the moment.

Lightsong stopped outside of her canopy. Blushweaver reclined inside, watching him with calm eyes, though he could sense her anxiety. He knew her too well.

"Are you going to make your will known?" she asked.

He looked down at the center of the arena. "If I resist," he said, "this declaration will be for naught. The G.o.ds can yell war until they are blue, but I control the armies. If I don't allow them my Lifeless, then Hallandren will not win any wars."

"You would defy the will of the Pantheon?"

"It is my right to do so," he said. "Just as it any of them have the same right."

"But you have the Lifeless."

"That doesn't mean I have to do what I'm told."

There was a moment of silence before Blushweaver waved to her priestess. The woman stood then raised a flag of green and ran down to join the others. This caused a roar of voices. The people must know that Blushweaver's political wranglings had left her in a position of power. Not bad, for a person who had started without command of a single soldier.

With her control of that many troops, she'll be an integral part of the planning, diplomacy, and execution of the war. Blushweaver could come out of this as one of the most important Returned in the history of the kingdom.

And so could I.

"I need to think about this some more," Lightsong said, turning to go.

"What?" Blushweaver demanded. "What about the vote?"

Lightsong shook his head.

"Lightsong!" she said as he left. "Lightsong, you can't leave us hanging like this!"

He shrugged, glancing back. "Actually, I can." He smiled. "I'm frustrating like that."

And, with that, he left the arena, heading back to his palace without giving his vote.

Chapter Fifty-One.

I'm glad you came back for me, Nightblood said. It was very lonely in that closet.

Vasher didn't reply as he walked across the top of the wall surrounding the Court of G.o.ds. It was late, dark, and quiet, though a few of the palaces still shone with light. One of those belonged to Lightsong the Bold.

I don't like the darkness, Nightblood said.

"You mean darkness like it is now?" Vasher asked.

No. In the closet.

"You can't even see."

A person knows when they're in darkness, Nightblood said. Even when they can't see.

Vasher wasn't certain how to respond to that. He paused atop the wall, overlooking Lightsong's palace. Red and gold. Courageous colors.

You shouldn't ignore me, Nightblood said. I don't like it.

Vasher knelt down, studying the palace. He'd never met the one called Lightsong, but he had heard rumors. The most flagrant of the G.o.ds, the most condescending and mocking. And this was the person who held the fate of two kingdoms in his hands.

There was an easy way to influence that fate.

We're going to kill him, aren't we? Nightblood said, eagerness sounding in his voice.

Vasher just stared at the palace.

We should kill him, Nightblood continued. Come on. We should do it. We really should do it.

"Why do you care?" Vasher whispered. "You don't know him."

He's evil, Nightblood said.

Vasher snorted. "You don't even know what that is."

For once, Nightblood was silent.

That was the great crux of the problem, the issue that had dominated most of Vasher's life. A thousand Breaths. That was what it took to Awaken an object of steel and give it sentience. Even Shashara hadn't fully understood the process, though she had first devised it.

It took a person who had reached the Ninth Heightening to Awaken stone or steel. Even still, this process shouldn't have worked. It should have created an Awakened object with no more of a mind than the ta.s.sels on his cloak.

Nightblood should not be alive. And yet he was. Shashara had always been the most talented of them. She'd been spurred on by the knowledge that she'd been shown up by Yesteel. She studied, learned, practiced. And she'd done it. She'd learned to forge the Breath of a thousand people into a piece of steel, Awaken it to sentience, and give it a Command. That single Command took on immense power, providing foundation for the personality of the object Awakened.

With Nightblood, she and Vasher had chosen a simple, yet elegant, Command. "Destroy Evil." It had seemed like such a logical choice. There was only one problem, something neither of them had foreseen.

How was an object of steel-an object that was so removed from life that it would find the experience strange and foreign-supposed to understand what 'evil' was?

I'm figuring it out, Nightblood said. I've had a lot of practice.

The sword wasn't really to blame. It was a terrible, destructive thing-but it had been created to destroy. It still didn't understand life or what that life meant. It only knew its Command, and it tried so hard to fulfill it.

That man down there, Nightblood said. The one in the palace. He holds the power to start this war. You don't want this war to start. That's why he's evil.

"Why does that make him evil?"

Because he will do what you don't want him to.

"We don't know that for certain," Vasher said. "Plus, who is to say that my will is best?"

It is, Nightblood said. Let's go. Let's kill him. You told me war is bad. He will start a war. He's evil. Let's kill him. Let's kill him.

The sword was getting excited; Vasher could feel it-feel the danger in its blade, the twisted power of Breaths that had been pulled from a living host and shoved into something unnatural. He could almost feel them breathing out, black and corrupted, twisting in the wind. Drawing him toward Lightsong. Pus.h.i.+ng him to kill.

"No," Vasher said.

Nightblood sighed. You locked me in a closet, he reminded. You should apologize.

"I'm not going to apologize by killing someone."

Just throw me in there, Nightblood said. If he's evil, he'll kill himself.

This gave Vasher pause. Colors, he thought. The sword seemed to be getting more subtle each year, though Vasher knew he was just seeing things. Awakened objects didn't change or grow, they simply were what they were.

It was still a good argument.

"Maybe later," Vasher said, turning away from the building.

You are afraid, Nightblood said.

"You don't know what fear is," Vasher replied.

I do. You don't like killing Returned. You're afraid of them.

The sword was wrong, of course. But, on the outside, Vasher supposed that his hesitance did look a little like fear. It had been a long time since he'd dealt with the Returned. Too many memories. Too many pains.

He made his way to the G.o.d King's palace. The structure was old, far older than the palaces that surrounded it. Once, this place had been a seaside watchplace, overlooking the bay. No city. No colors. Just the stark, black tower. It amused Vasher that it had become the home of the G.o.d King of the Iridescent Tones.

Vasher slid Nightblood into a strap on his back then jumped from the wall toward the palace. Awakened straps around his legs gave him strength, letting him leap some twenty feet. He slammed against the side of the building, smooth onyx blocks rubbing his skin. He twitched his fingers, and the straps on his sleeves grabbed hold of the ledge above him, holding him tight.

He breathed. The belt at his waist-touching his skin, like always-Awakened. Color drained from the kerchief tied beneath his trousers to his leg.

"Climb things, then grab things, then pull me up," he Commanded. Three commands in one Awakening, a difficult task for some. For him, however, it had become as simple as blinking.

The belt untied itself, showing it to be far longer than it looked when wrapped. The twenty-five feet of rope snaked up the side of the building, curling inside of a window. Seconds later, the rope hauled Vasher up and into the air. He released his ta.s.sel grips, then pulled Nightblood free as the rope deposited him inside the building.

He knelt silently, eyes searching the darkness. The room was unoccupied. Carefully, he drew back his Breath then wrapped the rope around his arm and held it in a loose coil. He stalked forward.

Who are we going to kill? Nightblood asked.

It's not always about killing, Vasher said.

Vivenna. Is she in here?

The sword was trying to interpret his thoughts again. It had trouble with things that weren't fully formed in Vasher's head. Most thoughts pa.s.sed through his mind like they did those of other people. Fleeting, momentary. Flashes of image, sound, or scent. Connections made, then lost, then recovered again.

Vivenna. The source of a lot of his troubles. His work in the city had been easier when he'd been able to a.s.sume that she was working willingly with Denth. Then, at least, he'd been able to blame her.

Where is she? Is she here? She doesn't like me, but I like her.

Vasher hesitated in the dark hallway. You do?

Yes. She's nice. And she's pretty.

Nice and pretty-words that Nightblood didn't really understand. He had simply learned when to use them. Still, the sword did have opinions, and it rarely lied. It must like Vivenna, even if it couldn't explain why.

She reminds me of a Returned, the sword said.

Ah, Vasher thought. Of course. That makes sense. He continued on.

What? Nightblood said.

She's descended from one, he thought. You can tell by the hair. There's a bit of Returned in her.

Nightblood didn't respond to that, but a part of Vasher could feel it thinking.

He paused at an intersection. He was pretty sure he knew where the G.o.d King's chambers would be. However, a lot of the interior seemed different now. The fortress had been stark, built with odd twists and turns to confuse an invading foe. Those remained-all the stonework was the same-but many of the open dining halls or garrison rooms had been split into many, smaller rooms, colored with decorations after the way of the Hallandren rich.

Where would the G.o.d King's wife be? If she were pregnant, she'd be under the care of servants. One of the larger quarters, he a.s.sumed, on a higher level. He made his way to a stairwell. Fortunately, it seemed late enough that there were very few people awake.

The sister, Nightblood said. That's who you're after. You're rescuing Vivenna's sister!

Vasher nodded quietly in the darkness, feeling his way up the stairs, counting on his BioChroma to let him know if he approached any people. Though most of his Breath was stored inside of his clothing, but he had just enough to awaken the rope and to keep him aware.

You like Vivenna too! Nightblood said.

Nonsense, Vasher thought.

Then why?

Her sister, he thought. She's a key to all of this, somehow. I realized it today. Vivenna mentioned that as soon as her sister arrived, the real move to begin the war surged. She's right. There's something going on.

Nightblood fell silent. That kind of logical leap was a bit too complex for him. I see, he said, though Vasher smiled at the confusion he sensed in the voice.

At the very least, Vasher thought, she's a very convenient hostage for the Hallandren. The G.o.d King's priests-or whoever's behind this-can threaten the girl's life, should the war go poorly for them. She makes an excellent tool.

One you intend to remove, Nightblood said.

Vasher nodded, reaching the top of the stairwell and slinking through one of the corridors. He walked until he sensed someone nearby-a maid servant approaching through one of the corridors.

Vasher Awakened his rope, stood in the shadows of an alcove, and waited. As she pa.s.sed, the rope shot from the shadows, wrapped around her waist, and yanked her into the darkness. Vasher had one of his ta.s.sel hands wrapped around her mouth before she could scream.

She squirmed, but the rope tied her tightly. He felt a little stab of guilt as he loomed over her, her terrified eyes tearing up. He reached for Nightblood and pulled the sword slightly out of its sheath. The girl immediately looked sick. A good sign.