Brandon Sanderson - Warbreaker

Vivenna glanced at the side of the plateau. There was a short rocky ledge running around the outside of the wall. With the guards so distracted by the people wanting in . . .

She slipped to the side. It was early in the morning yet, the sun not having crested the eastern mountains. There were guards on the wall above—she could feel them with her life sense—but she was below their angle of view as long as they looked outward. She might be able to sneak by them.

She waited until one patrol had passed, then Awakened one of the tapestries. “Lift me,” she said, dropping a drained handkerchief. The tapestry twisted into the air, wrapping around her, the top end still attached to the wall. Like a muscular arm, it lifted her up, twisting and depositing her atop the wall. She glanced around, recovering her breath. To the side, some distance away, a group of guards was pointing at her.

You’re not any better at this than Vasher is, Nightblood noted. You people can’t sneak at all! Yesteel would be so disappointed in you.

She cursed, Awakened the tapestry again and had it lower her into the court. She recovered her breath, then took off running across the grassy lawn. Few people were about, but that only made her stand out even more.

The palace, Nightblood said. Go there.

That was where she was going. However, the longer she held the sword, the more she understood that it said whatever came to its steely mind, whether or not its comments were relevant. It was like a child, speaking or asking questions without inhibition.

The front of the palace was very well guarded by a group of men who weren’t wearing uniforms. He’s in there, Nightblood said. I can feel him. Third floor. Where he and I were before.

Vivenna got an image of the room shoved into her head. She frowned. Remarkably useful, she thought, for an evil weapon of destruction.

I’m not evil, Nightblood said, voice not defensive, simply informative. As if reminding her of something she’d forgotten. I destroy evil. I think maybe we should destroy those men up ahead. They look evil. You should pull me out.

For some reason, she doubted that would be a good idea.

Come on, Nightblood said.

The soldiers were pointing at her. She glanced behind, and saw others rushing across the lawn. Austre, forgive me, she thought. Then, gritting her teeth, she threw Nightblood—blanket and all—toward the guards in front of the building.

They halted. To a man, they looked down at the sword as it rolled free of the blanket, silver sheath glistening on the lawn. Well, I guess this works too, Nightblood noted, voice feeling distant now.

One of the soldiers picked up the sword. Vivenna dashed past them, ignored by the soldiers. They started to fight.

Can’t go that way, she thought, eyeing the front entrance, not wanting to risk pushing her way through fighting men. So instead she ran to the side of the massive palace. The lower levels were made of the steplike black blocks that gave the palace its pyramidlike quality. Above these, it grew into a more traditional fortress, with steep walls. There were windows, if she could reach them.

She twitched her fingers, making the tassels on her sleeves clench and unclench. Then she jumped, her Awakened leggings tossing her up a few extra feet. She reached up and made the tassels grab the edge of the large, black block. The tassels just barely held, gripping the stone like footlong fingers. With difficulty, Vivenna pulled herself up onto the block.

Men yelled and screamed below, and she spared them a glance. The guard who had grabbed Nightblood was fighting off the others, a small trail of black smoke swirling around him. As she watched, he backed into the palace itself, the other men following him.

So much evil, Nightblood said, like a woman tisking as she cleaned cobwebs from her ceiling.

Vivenna turned away, feeling slightly guilty for giving the sword to the men. She jumped up and pulled herself onto the next block, continuing as the soldiers who had seen her from the walls arrived. They wore the colors of the city guard, and while a couple of them got caught up in the Nightblood fight, most of them ignored it.

Vivenna continued up.

To the right, Nightblood said distantly. That window on the third floor. Two over. He’s in there . . .

As his voice faded, Vivenna looked up at the window indicated. She still had to climb up a number of blocks, then somehow reach a window that was an entire story up a sheer wall. There did appear to be some decorative stonework that could serve as handholds, but she grew dizzy even thinking about climbing them.

An arrow snapped against the stone beside her, making her jump. Several guards below had bows.

Colors! she thought, pulling herself up to the next block. She heard a whoosh behind her, and cringed, feeling as if she should have been struck, but nothing happened. She pulled herself up onto the block, then twisted around.

She could just barely see a corner of her cloak holding an arrow. She started, grateful that she had Awakened it. It dropped the arrow, then returned to normal.

Handy, that, she thought, climbing up the last block. By the time she got on top of it, her arms were sore. Fortunately, her Awakened fingers were still gripping as well as ever. She took a deep breath, then began to climb straight up the upper wall of the black fortress, using the carvings as handholds.

And decided, for her own sanity, that she’d better avoid looking down.

LIGHTSONG STARED AHEAD. Too much information. To much was happening. Blushweaver’s murder, then Llarimar’s revelation, the betrayal of the God King’s priests all in such quick succession.

He sat in his cell, arms wrapped around himself, gold and red robes dirtied from crawling through the tunnel, then sitting in his cage. His thigh ached from where it had been struck with the sword, though the wound had not been bad, and it was barely bleeding anymore. He ignored the pain. It was insignificant compared to the pain inside.

The priests talked quietly on the far side of the room. Oddly, as he glanced at them, something caught his eye. He let his mind be diverted by the realization—he finally grasped what was bothering him about them. He should have seen it earlier. It had to do with color—not the color of their clothing, but the color of their faces. It was just slightly off. The deviation in one man would have been easy to ignore. But all of them together was a pattern.

No regular person could have noticed it. To a man with his Heightenings, it was obvious, once he knew what to look for.

These men were not from Hallandren.

Anyone can wear a set of robes, he realized. That doesn’t mean that they’re priests. In fact, judging by the faces, he realized the men must be from Pahn Kahl.

And then it all made sense to him, that quickly. They’d all been played for fools.

“BLUEFINGERS,” SIRI DEMANDED. “Talk to me. What are you going to do with us?”

The labyrinth of the God King’s palace was complex, and it was sometimes difficult even now for her to find her way around. They’d traveled down a stairwell but now were going up another one.

Bluefingers didn’t answer. He walked with his customary nervous ness, wringing his hands. The fighting in the hallways seemed to be decreasing. In fact, once they left the stairwell, this newest hallway was dreadfully quiet.

Siri walked with Susebron’s nervous arm around her waist. She didn’t know what he was thinking—they hadn’t been able to pause long enough for him to write anything. He gave her a comforting smile, but she knew that this all must be just as terrifying for him as it was for her. Probably more so.