Warbreaker Part 4

Llarimar shook his head. "You aren't hearing Pet.i.tions today, your grace. Remember?"

"No. I have you to remember things like that for me."

"Well, then," Llarimar said, flipping a page over, "consider it officially remembered that you have no Pet.i.tions today. Your priests will be otherwise employed."

"They will?" Lightsong demanded. "Doing what?"

"Kneeling reverently in the courtyard, your grace. Our new queen arrives today."

Lightsong froze. I really need to pay more attention to politics. "Today?"

"Indeed, your grace. Our lord the G.o.d King will be married."

"So soon?"

"As soon as she arrives, your grace."

Interesting, Lightsong thought. Susebron getting a wife. The G.o.d King would be the only of the Returned who could marry. Returned couldn't parent children-save, of course, for the king, who had never drawn a breath as a living man. Lightsong had always found the distinction odd.

"Your grace," Llarimar said. "We will need a Lifeless Command in order to arrange our troops on the field outside the city to welcome the queen."

Lightsong raised an eyebrow. "We plan to attack her?"

Llarimar gave him a flat look.

Lightsong chuckled. "Fledgling fruit," he said, giving up one of the Command phrases that would let others control the city's Lifeless. It wasn't the core Command, of course. The phrase he'd given to Llarimar would only allow a person to control the Lifeless in non-combat situations, and it would expire one day after its first use. Lightsong often though that the convoluted system of Commands used to control the Lifeless was needlessly complex. However, being one of the four G.o.ds to hold Lifeless commands did make him rather important at times.

The priests began to chat quietly about preparations and the new queen. Lightsong waited, still thinking about Susebron and the impending wedding. He folded his arms and rested against the side of the doorway.

"Scoot?" he asked.

"Yes, your grace?"

"Did I have a wife? Before I died, I mean."

Llarimar hesitated. "You know I cannot speak of your life before your Return, Lightsong. Knowledge of your past won't do anyone any good."

Lightsong leaned his head back, resting it against the wall, looking up at the white ceiling. "I... remember a face, sometimes," he said softly. "A beautiful, youthful face. I think it might have been her."

The priests hushed.

"Inviting brown hair," Lightsong said. "Red lips, three shades shy of pure, but with a deep beauty of their own. Dark tan skin."

A priest scuttled forward with the red tome, and Llarimar started writing furiously. He didn't prompt for more information, he simply took down Lightsong's words as they came.

Lightsong fell silent, turning away from the men and their scribbling pens. What does it matter? he thought. That life is gone. Instead, I get to be a G.o.d. Regardless of my belief in the religion itself, the perks are nice.

He walked away, leaving Llarimar. Yet, he was trailed by a fleet of servants and lesser priests who would see to his needs. Offerings done, dreams recorded, and pet.i.tions canceled, Lightsong was free to pursue his own activities.

He didn't return to his main chambers. Instead, he made his way out onto his patio deck and waved for a pavilion to be set up for him.

If a new queen was going to arrive today, he wanted to get a good look at her.

Chapter Four.

Siri's carriage rolled to a stop outside of T'Telir city, capital of Hallandren. She stared out the window and realized something very, very intimidating: her people had no idea what it meant to be ostentatious. Flowers weren't ostentatious. Ten soldiers protecting a carriage was not ostentatious. Throwing a tantrum in public wasn't ostentatious.

The field of forty thousand soldiers, dressed in brilliant blue and gold, standing in perfect rows, spears raised high with blue ta.s.sels flapping in the wind... that was ostentatious. The twin line of cavalrymen atop enormous, thick-hoofed horses, both men and beasts draped with golden cloth that shimmered in the sun. That was ostentatious. The ma.s.sive city, so large it made her mind numb to consider it, domes and spires and painted walls all competing to draw her attention. That was ostentatious.

She'd thought that she was prepared. The carriage had pa.s.sed through cities as they'd made their way to T'Telir. She'd seen the painted houses, the bright colors and patterns. She'd stayed at inns with plush beds. She'd eaten foods mixed with spices that made her sneeze.

She hadn't been prepared for her reception at T'Telir. Not at all.

Blessed Lord of Colors... she thought.

Her soldiers pulled in tight around the carriage, as if wishing they could climb inside and hide from the overwhelming sight. T'Telir was built up against the sh.o.r.es of the Bright Sea, a large, landlocked body of water. She could see it in the distance, reflecting the sunlight, strikingly true to its name.

A figure in blue and silver rode up to her carriage. His deep robes weren't simple, like the monks wore back in Idris. These had ma.s.sive, peaked shoulders that almost made the costume look like armor. He wore a matching headdress. That, combined with the brilliant colors and exaggerated layers of the robes, made Siri want to shrink back into her carriage. She felt her hair paling to a colorless white.

The figure bowed. "Lady Sisirinah Royal," the man said in a deep voice, "I am Tridees, high priest of his Grace, Susebron the Majestic, Returned G.o.d and King of Hallandren. You will accept this token honor guard to guide you to the Court of G.o.ds."

Token? Siri thought.

The priest was didn't wait for a response; Siri felt too unsettled to give one anyway. Tridees spun his horse and started back down the highway toward the city. Her carriage rolled after him, her soldiers marching uncomfortably around the vehicle. The jungle gave way to sporadic bunches of palm trees, and Siri was surprised to see how much sand was mixed with the dirt. Her view of the landscape soon grew obstructed by the vast field of soldiers who stood at attention on either side of the road.

"Austre, G.o.d of Colors!" one of Siri's guards whispered. "They're Lifeless!"

Siri's hair-which had begun to drift to auburn-snapped back to fearful white. He was right. Under their colorful uniforms, the Hallandren troops were a dull grey. Their eyes, their skin, even their hair: all had been drained completely of color, leaving behind a dull monochrome.

Those can't be Lifeless! she thought. They look like men!

She'd imagined Lifeless as skeletal creatures, the flesh rotting and falling from the bones. They were, after all, men who had died, then been brought back to life as mindless soldiers by BioChromatic Breath. But these soldiers that she pa.s.sed looked so human. There was nothing to distinguish them save for their lack of color and the stiff expressions on their faces.

As she watched closer, she noticed other differences. They stood unnaturally motionless. No shuffling, no breathing, no quivers of muscle or limb. Even their eyes were still. They seemed like statues, particularly considering their grey skin.

And... I'm going to marry one of these things? Siri thought. But no, Returned were different from Lifeless, and both were different from Drabs, which were people who had lost their Breath. She could vaguely remember a time when someone back in her village had Returned. It had been nearly ten years back, and her father hadn't let her visit the man. She did recall that he'd been able to speak and interact with his family, even if he hadn't been able to remember them.

He'd died again a week later.

Eventually, her carriage pa.s.sed through the ranks of Lifeless. The city walls were next; they were immense and daunting, yet they almost looked more artistic than functional. The walltop curved in ma.s.sive half-circles, like rolling hills, and the rim was plated with a golden metal. The gates themselves were in the form of two twisting, lithe sea creatures who curved up in a ma.s.sive archway. Siri pa.s.sed through them, the guard of Hallandren cavalrymen-who appeared to be living men-accompanying her.

She had always thought of Hallandren as a place of death. Her impressions were based on stories told by pa.s.sing ramblemen or by old women at the winter hearth. They spoke of city walls built from skulls, then painted with sloppy, ugly streaks of color. She'd imagined the buildings inside splattered with different clashing hues. Obscene.

She'd been wrong. True, there was an arrogance to T'Telir. A grandness. Each new wonder seemed as if it wanted to grab her attention and shake her about by her eyes. People lined the street-more people than Siri had seen in her entire life-crowding together to watch her carriage. If there were poor among them, Siri couldn't tell, for they all wore bright colored clothing. Some did wear more exaggerated outfits-probably merchants, since Hallandren was said to have no n.o.bility beyond its G.o.ds-but even the simplest of clothing had a cheerful brightness to it.

Many of the painted buildings were did clash to her eyes. Yet, none of it was sloppy. There was an eye for craftsmanship and art to everything from the storefronts, to the people, to the statures of mighty soldiers that frequently stood on comers. It was terribly overwhelming. Garish. A vibrant, enthusiastic garishness. Siri found herself smiling-her hair turning a tentative blonde-though she felt a headache coming on. She could almost see beauty in it all.

Maybe... maybe this is why Father sent me, Siri thought. Training or no training, Vivenna would have never been able to fit in, but I've always been far too interested in color.

It made sense. Strange sense, but everything about her life had been strange lately. Her father was a good king with good instincts. What if-after twenty years of raising and training Vivenna-he had come to the conclusion that she wasn't the right one to help Idris? Was that why, for the first time in their lives, Father had chosen Siri over Vivenna?

But what am I supposed to do? Siri thought as the carriage moved toward the southern section of the city. She knew that everyone feared that Hallandren would invade Idris. However, she couldn't see her father sending one of his daughters if he believed war were close. Perhaps he hoped that she'd be able to help tensions between the kingdoms?

She felt she was probably right in her guess, but that only added to her anxiety. Duty was something unfamiliar to her, and not a little unsettling. Her father had trusted her with the very fate and lives of his people. She couldn't run, escape, or hide.

Particularly from her own wedding.

As her hair twinged white with fear at what was coming, she turned her attention to the city again, trying to distract herself. That wasn't hard, considering how demanding the city's sights were. It was enormous, sprawling like a tired beast curled around and over hills. As the carriage climbed the southern section of town, she could see-through gaps in the buildings-that the Bright Sea broke into a bay before the city. T'Telir curved around the bay, running right up to the water, forming a crescent shape. The city wall, then, only had to run in a half-circle, ab.u.t.ting the sea, keeping the city boxed in.

It didn't seem cramped. There was a lot of open s.p.a.ce in the city-walkways and gardens, large swaths of unused land. Palms lined many of the streets and other foliage was common. Plus, with the cool breeze coming over the sea, the air was a lot more temperate than she had expected. The road led toward something of a sea-side overlook, a small hill plateau that had an excellent view. Except, the entire plateau appeared to be surrounded by a large, obstructive wall. Siri watched with growing apprehension as the gates to this smaller, city-within-a-city opened up to let the carriage, soldiers, and priests enter.

The common people stayed outside.

There was another wall inside, a kind of barrier to keep anyone from seeing in through the gate. The procession turned left and rounded the blinding wall, entering the Hallandren Court of G.o.ds: an enclosed, green-gra.s.sed courtyard. Several dozen enormous mansions dominated the enclosure, each one painted a distinct color. At the far end of the court was a ma.s.sive black structure, much taller than the other building.

The walled courtyard was quiet and still. Siri could see figures sitting on balconies, watching her carriage roll across the gra.s.s. In front of each of the palaces, a small fleet of men and women knelt prostrate on the gra.s.s. The colors of their clothing matched that of their building. Siri spared little time to study them. Instead, she nervously peered at the large, black building. It was pyramidal, with step-like blocks on the outside.

Black, she thought. In a city of color. Her hair paled even further. She suddenly wished she'd been more devout during her life. She doubted Austre was all that pleased with her outbursts, and she even had trouble naming the Five Visions most days.

But, he'd watch over her in the name of her people, wouldn't he?

The procession pulled to a stop at the base of the enormous, triangular building. Siri looked up through the carriage window, seeing the clefts and k.n.o.bs at the summit, which made the architecture seem top-heavy. She felt as if the dark blocks would come tumbling down in an avalanche to bury her.

The priest rode his horse back up to Siri's window. The cavalrymen waited quietly, the shuffling of their beasts the only sound in the ma.s.sive, open courtyard.

"We have arrived, Vessel," the man said. "As soon as we enter the building, you will be prepared and taken to your husband."

"Husband?" Siri asked uncomfortably. "Won't there be a wedding ceremony?"

The priest smirked. "A ceremony? The G.o.d King does not need ceremonial justification. You became his wife the moment he desired it."

Siri shivered. "I was just hoping that maybe I could see him, before, you know..."

The priest shot her a harsh look. "The G.o.d King does not perform for your whims, woman. You are blessed above all others, for you will be allowed to touch him-if only at his discretion. Do not pretend that you are anything other than you are. You have come because he desires it, and you will obey. Otherwise, you will be put aside and another will chosen in your place-which, I think, might bode unfavorably for your rebel friends in the highlands."

The priest spun his horse, then clopped his way toward a large stone ramp, leading up to the building. The carriage lurched into motion, and Siri was drawn toward her fate.

Chapter Five.

This will complicate things, Vasher thought, standing in the shadows atop the wall that enclosed the Court of the G.o.ds.

What's wrong? Nightblood asked. So the rebels actually sent a princess. Doesn't change your plans.

Vasher waited, watching, as the new queen's carriage crept up the incline and disappeared into the palace's maw.

What? Nightblood demanded. Even still, after all of these years, the sword reacted like a child in many ways.

She'll be used, Vasher thought. I doubt we'll be able to get through this without dealing with her. He hadn't believed that the Idris would actually send royal blood back to T'Telir. They'd given up a p.a.w.n of terrible value.

Vasher turned away from the Court, wrapping his sandaled foot around one of the banners that ran down the outside of the wall. Then he released his Breath.

"Lower me," he Commanded.

The large tapestry-crafted from wool threads-sucked hundreds of Breath from him. It hadn't the form of a man, and it was ma.s.sive in size. Vasher now had enough Breath to spend in such ways.

The tapestry twisted, a thing alive, and formed a hand, which picked Vasher up. Like always, the Awakening tried to imitate the form of a human-looking closely at the twistings and undulations of the fabric, Vasher could see outlines of muscles and even veins. There was no reason for them; the Breath animated the fabric, and no muscles were necessary for it to move.

The tapestry carefully lowered Vasher down, pinching him by one shoulder, placing his feet on the street. "Your Breath to Mine," Vasher Commanded. The large banner-tapestry lost its form immediately, life vanishing, and it fluttered back against the wall.

Some few people paused in the street. Yet, they were interested, not awed. This was T'Telir, home of the G.o.ds themselves. Men with upwards of a thousand Breaths were uncommon, but not unheard of. The people gawked-like peasants in other kingdoms might pause to watch the carriage of a pa.s.sing lord-but then they moved on with their daily activities.

The attention was unavoidable. Though Vasher still dressed in his standard outfit-ragged trousers, well-worn cloak despite the heat, a rope wrapped several times around his waist for a belt-he now caused colors to brighten dramatically when he was near. The change would be noticeable to normal people and blatantly obvious to those of at least the First Heightening.

His days of being able to hide and skulk were gone. He'd have to grow accustomed to being noticed again. That was one of the reasons he was glad to be in T'Telir. The city was large enough and filled with enough oddities-from Lifeless soldiers, to Awakened objects serving everyday functions-that he probably wouldn't stand out too much.

Of course, that didn't take Nightblood into account. Vasher moved through the crowds, carrying the overly-heavy sword in one hand, sheathed point nearly dragging on the ground behind him. The weapon drew its own reactions. Some people would shy away from it immediately. Others would watch it, eyes lingering far too long. Perhaps it was time to stuff Nightblood back in the pack.

Oh, no you don't, Nightblood said. Don't even start thinking about that. I've been locked away for too long.

What does it matter to you? Vasher thought.

I need fresh air, Nightblood said. And sunlight.

You're a sword, Vasher thought, not a palm tree.

Nightblood fell silent. He was smart enough to realize that he was not a person, but he didn't like being confronted with that fact. It tended to put him in a sullen mood. That suited Vasher just fine.

He made his way to a restaurant a few streets down from the Court of G.o.ds. This was one thing he had missed about T'Telir: restaurants. In most cities, there were few dining options. If you intended to stay for a while, you hired a local woman to give you meals at her table. If you stayed a short time, you ate what your innkeeper gave you.

In T'Telir, however, the population was large enough-and rich enough-to support dedicated food providers. Restaurants still hadn't caught on in the rest of the world, but in T'Telir, they were commonplace. Vasher already had a booth reserved, and the waiter nodded him to the spot. Vasher settled himself, resting Nightblood up beside the wall.

The sword was stolen within a minute of his letting go of it.