Warbreaker Part 67

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d..." Lightsong whispered.

"I need your Command Phrases," the priest said. "This is important. More important than you can understand."

"You can beat them out of me," Lightsong growled, feeling rage slowly overwhelm his shock.

"No," the priest said, shaking his head. "We're actually new to all of this. We don't know how to torture, Lightsong, and those who do know how to torture aren't being very cooperative right now. Never pay a mercenary before the job is done."

The priest waved, and the others left Blushweaver's corpse on the ground. Then they moved to Llarimar's cage.

"No!" Lightsong screamed.

"We are serious, Lightsong," the man said. "Very, very, serious. We know how much you care for your high priest. You now know that we will kill him if you don't do as we say."

"Why?" Lightsong said. "What is this even about? The G.o.d King could order us to move the armies if he wanted to! We'd listen to him. Why do you care so much about those Command Phrases?"

The priests forced Llarimar from his cage, then pushed him to his knees. One took out a knife.

"Red panther!" Lightsong yelled, weeping. "That's the Command Phrase. Please. Leave him be."

The priest nodded to the others, and they put Llarimar back in his cell. They left Blushweaver's corpse on the ground, face down in the blood.

"I hope that you haven't lied to us, Lightsong," the main priest said. "We are not playing games. It would be unfortunate if we discovered that you still are." He shook his head. "We are not harsh men. But we are working for something very important. Do not test us."

With that, he left. Lightsong barely noticed. He was still staring at Blushweaver, trying to convince himself that he was dreaming, or that she was faking, or that something would change to make him realize that it was all just an elaborate scam.

"Please," he whispered. "Please, no..."

Chapter Fifty-Four.

"What's the word on the street, Tuft?" Vivenna asked, siding up to a beggar.

He snorted, holding out his cup to those few who pa.s.sed in the early light. Tuft was always one of the first to arrive in the mornings. "Why do I care?" he said.

"Come on," Vivenna said. "You kicked me out of this spot on three different occasions. I figure you owe me something."

"I don't owe n.o.body nothing," he said, squinting at the street pa.s.sers with his one eye. The other eye was simply an empty hole. He didn't wear a patch. "Particularly don't owe you nothing," he said. "You were a plant all the time. Not a real beggar."

"I..." Vivenna paused. "I wasn't a plant, Tuft. I just thought I should know what it was like."

"Huh?"

"Living among you," she said. "I figured your life couldn't be easy. But I couldn't know-not really know-until I tried it for myself. So I came to the streets. Determined to live here for a time."

"Foolish thing to do."

"No," she said. "The fools are those who pa.s.s, without even thinking about what it must be like to live like you. Maybe if they knew, they'd give you something."

She reached into her pocket, pulling out one of the bright handkerchiefs. She placed one in the cup. "I don't have any coins, but I know you can sell that."

He grunted, eying it. "What do you mean by word on the street?"

"Disturbances," Vivenna said. "Ones that are out of the ordinary. Perhaps involving Awakeners."

"Go to the Third Dock Slums," Tuft said. "Maybe you'll find what you're looking for there."

Light peeked through the window.

Morning already? Vasher thought, head down, still hanging by his wrists.

He knew what to expect from torture. He was not new to it. He knew how to scream, how to give the torturer what he wanted. He knew how to not expend his strength in resisting too much.

He also knew that none of that was likely to do any good. How would he be after a week of torture? Blood dripped down his chest, staining his undershorts. A dozen small pains itched at his skin, slices that had been smothered in lemon juice.

Denth stood with his back facing Vasher, bloodied knives on the ground around him.

Vasher looked up, forcing a smile. "Not as fun as you thought it would be, was it, Denth?"

Denth didn't turn.

There's still a good man in there, Vasher thought. Even after all these years.

He's just been beaten down. Bloodied. Cut up worse than I have been.

"Torturing me won't bring her back," Vasher said.

Denth turned, eyes dark. "No. It won't." He picked up another knife.

The priests pushed Siri through the pa.s.sageways of the palace. They occasionally pa.s.sed bodies in the dark black hallways, and she could still hear fighting in places.

What is going on? Someone was attacking the palace. But who? For a moment, she hoped it was her people-Idris, coming to save her. She discarded that quickly. The men opposing the priests had Lifeless soldiers; that ruled out Idris.

It was someone else. A third force. And they wanted to free her from the grip of the priests. Hopefully, her calls for help would not go unheeded. Tridees and his men led her forward, taking her out of the hallways, entering the colorful rooms of the inner palace. They rushed her quickly through a few doors.

The white cuffs of Siri's dress suddenly began to bend with color. She looked up with hope as they entered a final room. The G.o.d King stood inside the room, surrounded by a group of priests and soldiers.

"Susebron!" she said, straining against her captives.

He took a step toward her, but a guard held his arm, pulling him back. They're touching him, Siri thought. All semblance of respect is gone. No need to pretend now.

The G.o.d King looked down at his arm, frowning. He tried to tug it free, but another soldier stepped up to help hold him Susebron glanced at this man, then at Siri, confused.

"I don't understand either," she said.

Tridees entered the room. "Bless the Colors," he said. "You've arrived. Quickly, we must go. This place is not safe."

"Tridees," Siri said, turning to glare at him. "What is going on?"

He ignored her.

"I am your queen," Siri said. "You will answer my question!"

He actually stopped, surprising her. He turned with an annoyed look. "A group of Lifeless has attacked the palace, Vessel. They are trying to get to the G.o.d King."

"I figured that much out, priest," Siri snapped. "Who are they?"

"We don't know," Tridees said, turning form her. As he did, a scream came from outside the room, distant. It was followed by the sound of fighting.

Tridees glanced toward the sounds. "We have to move," he said to one of the other priests. There were, perhaps, a dozen of them in the room, as well as a half-dozen soldiers. "The palace has too many doorways and pa.s.sages. It would be too easy to surround us."

"The back exit?" the other priest said.

"If we can get to it," Tridees responded. "Where is that squadron of reinforcements I demanded?"

"They're not coming, your grace," a new voice said. Siri turned to see Bluefingers, looking haggard, enter through the far door with a couple of wounded soldiers. "The insurgents have taken the east wing and are pushing this way."

Tridees cursed.

"We have to get his majesty to safety!" Bluefingers said.

"I'm well aware of that," Tridees snapped.

"If the east wing has fallen," the other priest said. "We won't be able to get out that way."

Siri watched, helpless, trying to get Bluefinger's attention. He met her eyes, then nodded covertly, smiling. "Your grace," Bluefingers said. "We can escape through the tunnels."

The sounds of fighting were growing closer. It seemed to Siri that their room was virtually surrounded by battle.

"Perhaps," Tridees said one of his priests rushed to the door to peek out. The soldiers who had come with Bluefingers were resting by the wall, bleeding. One of them seemed to have stopped breathing.

"We should go," Bluefingers said urgently.

Tridees was quiet. Then he walked over to one of the fallen soldiers and picked up the man's sword. "Very well, he said. "Gendren, take half of the soldiers and go with the scribe. Take his majesty to safety." He glanced at Bluefingers. "Seek the docks, if you can."

"Yes, your grace," Bluefingers said, looking relieved. The priests released the G.o.d King, and he rushed to Siri, taking her in his arms. She held him, tense, trying to sort through her emotions.

Bluefingers. Going with him made sense-the look in his eyes indicated that he had a plan to save her and the G.o.d King, get them away from the priests. And yet... something felt wrong to her.

One of the priests gathered three of the soldiers then moved to the far side of the room, peeking out. They waved to Siri and the G.o.d King. The other priests joined Tridees, taking weapons off of the dead guards, their expressions grim.

Bluefingers pulled on Siri's arm. "Come, my queen," he whispered. "I believe I made a promise before. Let's get you out of this mess."

"What about the priests?" she asked.

Tridees glanced at her. "Foolish girl. Go! The insurgents are moving this direction. We will let them see us, then we will lead them another direction. They will a.s.sume we know where the G.o.d King is." The priests with him did not look hopeful. If-when-they were caught, they would be slaughtered.

"Come on!" Bluefingers hissed.

Susebron looked at her, frightened. She slowly let Bluefingers tug her and the G.o.d King to the side, to where the solitary priest and three soldiers had been joined by a group of servants in brown. Something whispered in her mind. Something... Lightsong had told her.

Don't make too many waves until you're ready to strike, he had said. Sudden and surprising, that's how you want to do things. You don't want to appear too nonthreatening-people are always suspicious of the innocent. The trick is to appear average.

Average.

It was good advice. Advice that, likely, others knew. And understood. She glanced at Bluefingers, walking beside her, urging her forward. Nervous, as always.

The fighting, she thought. Several groups have been fighting back and forth, seizing control of my room. One force belongs to the priests. The second force-the one with the Lifeless-belongs to someone else. This mysterious third party.

Someone in T'Telir had been pushing the kingdom toward war. But who would have anything at all to gain from such a disaster? Hallandren, who would expend huge resources to quell rebels, fighting a battle that they would win-but likely at great cost? It didn't make sense.

Who would gain the most if Hallandren and Idris went to war?

"Wait!" Siri Said, stopping. Things were suddenly falling into place.

"Vessel?" Bluefingers asked. Susebron laid a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with confusion. Why would the priests sacrifice themselves if they were planning to kill Susebron? Why would they simply let us go, allow us to flee, if the G.o.d King's safety were not their prime concern?

She looked into Bluefinger's eyes, and saw him grow more nervous. His face paled, and she knew. "How does it feel, Bluefingers?" she asked. "You're from Pahn Kahl, yet everyone always just a.s.sumes that your people are Hallandren. The Pahn Kahl people were here first, in this land, but it was taken from you. Now you're just another province, part of the kingdom of your conquerors.

"You want to be free, but your people have no military of your own. And so, here you are. Unable to fight. Unable to free yourselves. Considered second-cla.s.s. And yet, if your oppressors were to get into a war with their enemies, it might give you an opening. A chance to break away..."

He met her eyes, then took off in a dash, fleeing from the room.

"What in the name of the colors?" Tridees said.

Siri ignored him, looking up into the G.o.d King's face. "You were right all along," she said. "We should have trusted your priests."

"Vessel?" Tridees said, stalking over.

"We can't go that way," Siri said. "Bluefingers was leading us into a trap."

The high priest opened his mouth to respond, but she met his eyes and turned her hair a deep red with anger. Bluefingers had betrayed her. The one person she'd thought that she could trust to help them.

"We go for the front gates, then," Tridees said, looking over their motley collection of priests and wounded soldiers. "And try to fight our way out."

It was easy for Vivenna to find the location her beggar friend had referenced. The building-a slum tenement-was surrounded by gawkers, despite the morning hour. People whispered, talking about spirits and death and ghosts from the sea. Vivenna stopped at the perimeter, trying to see what had drawn their attention.