Brandon Sanderson - Warbreaker

Parlin walked in, immediately stepping to the side and crouching, almost like a wolf, as he let his eyes adjust to the dimness. Vivenna gave the restaurant keeper the fake name Lemex knew to call her by. The restaurant keeper eyed Parlin, then shrugged and led the two of them to one of the tables on the far side of the room. Vivenna sat down; despite her training, she was a little uncertain what one did at a restaurant. It seemed significant to her that places like restaurants could exist in Hallandren—places meant to feed not travelers, but the locals who couldn’t be bothered to prepare their own food and dine at their own homes.

Parlin didn’t sit, but remained standing beside her chair, watching the room. He looked as tense as she felt. “Vivenna,” he said softly, leaning down. “Your hair.”

She started, realizing that her hair had lightened from the trauma of pushing her way through the crowd. It hadn’t bleached completely white—she was far too well trained for that—but it had grown whiter, as if it had been powdered.

Feeling a jolt of paranoia, Vivenna replaced the shawl on her head, looking away as the restaurant owner approached to take their order. A short list of meals was scratched into the table, and Parlin finally sat down, drawing the restaurant owner’s attention away from Vivenna.

You’re better than this, she told herself sternly. You’ve studied Hallandren for most of your life . Her hair darkened, returning to its brown. The change was subtle enough that if someone had been watching, they would have probably thought it to be a trick of the light. She kept the shawl up, feeling ashamed. One walk through the market, and she lost control?

Think of Siri, she told herself. That gave her strength. Her mission was impromptu, even reckless, but it was important. Calm once again, she put the shawl back down and waited while Parlin chose a dish—a seafood stew—and the innkeeper walked away.

“Now what?” Parlin asked.

“We wait,” Vivenna said. “In my letter, I told Lemex to check the restaurant each day at noon. We will sit here until he arrives.”

Parlin nodded, fidgeting.

“What is it?” Vivenna asked calmly.

He glanced toward the door. “I don’t trust this place, Vivenna. I can’t smell anything but bodies and spices, can’t hear anything but the chatter of people. There’s no wind, no trees, no rivers, just . . . people .”

“I know.”

“I want to go back outside,” he said.

“What?” she said. “Why?”

“If you aren’t familiar with a place,” he said awkwardly, “you need to become familiar with it.” He gave no other explanation.

Vivenna felt a stab of fear at the thought of being left alone. However, it wasn’t proper to demand Parlin stay and attend her. “Do you promise to stay close?”

He nodded.

“Then go.”

He did, walking from the room. He didn’t move like one of the Hallandren—his motions were too fluid, too much like a prowling beast. Perhaps I should have sent him back with the others . But the thought of being completely alone had been too much. She needed someone to help her find Lemex. As it was, she felt that she was probably taking too great a risk at entering the city with only one guard, even one as skilled as Parlin.

But it was done. No use worrying now. She sat, arms folded on the table, thinking. Back in Idris, her plan to save Siri had seemed simpler. Now the true nature of it lay before her. Somehow, she had to get into the Court of Gods and sneak her sister out. How would one accomplish something so audacious? Surely the Court of Gods would be well guarded.

Lemex will have ideas, she told herself. We don’t have to do anything yet. I’m—

A man sat down at her table. Less colorfully dressed than most Hallandren, he wore an outfit made mostly of brown leather, though he did have a token red cloth vest thrown over the top. This was not Lemex. The spy was an older man in his fifties. This stranger had a long face and styled hair, and couldn’t have been older than thirty-five.

“I hate being a mercenary,” the man said. “You know why?”

Shocked, Vivenna sat frozen, mouth opened slightly.

“The prejudice,” the man said. “Everyone else, they work, they ask for recompense, and they are respected for it. Not mercenaries. We get a bad name just for doing our job. How many minstrels get spat on for accepting payment from the highest bidder? How many bakers feel guilty for selling more of pastries to one man, then selling those same pastries to the man’s enemies?” He eyed her. “No. Only the mercenary. Unfair, wouldn’t you say?”

“W . . . who are you?” Vivenna finally managed to ask. She jumped as another man sat down on her other side. Large of girth, this man had a cudgel strapped to his back. A colorful bird was sitting on the end of it.

“I’m Denth,” the first man said, taking her hand and shaking it. “That’s Tonk Fah.”

“Pleased,” Tonk Fah said, taking her hand once Denth was through with it.

“Unfortunately, Princess,” Denth said, “we’re here to kill you.”

Vivenna’s hair instantly bleached to a stark white.

Think! she told herself. You’ve been trained in politics! You studied hostage negotiation. But . . . what do you do when you are the hostage?

Suddenly, the two men burst out laughing. The larger man thumped the table several times with his hand, causing his bird to squawk.

“Sorry, Princess,” Denth—the thinner man—said, shaking his head. “Just a bit of mercenary humor.”

“We kill sometimes, but we don’t murder,” Tonk Fah said. “That’s assassin work.”

“Assassins,” Denth said, holding up a finger. “Now, they get respect. Why do you suppose that is? They’re really just mercenaries with fancier names.”

Vivenna blinked, struggling to get control of her nerves. “You’re not here to kill me,” she said, voice stiff. “So you’re just going to kidnap me?”

“Gods, no,” Denth said. “Bad business, that. How do you make money at it? Every time you kidnap someone worth the ransom, you upset people a whole lot more powerful than you are.”

“Don’t make important people angry,” Tonk Fah said, yawning. “Unless you’re getting paid by people who are even more powerful.”

Denth nodded. “And that isn’t even considering the feeding and care of captives, the exchanging of ransom notes, and the arranging of drop-offs. It’s a headache, I tell you. Terrible way to make money.”

The table fell silent. Vivenna placed her hands flat on its top to keep them from quivering. They know who I am, she thought, forcing herself to think logically. Either they recognize me, or . . .

“You work for Lemex,” she said.

Denth smiled widely. “See, Tonk? He said she was a clever one.”

“Guess that’s why she’s a princess and we’re just mercenaries,” Tonk Fah said.

Vivenna frowned. Are they mocking me or not? “Where is Lemex? Why didn’t he come himself?”

Denth smiled again, nodding toward the restaurant owner as the man brought a large pot of steaming stew to the table. It smelled of hot spices, and had what appeared to be crab claws floating in it. The owner dropped a group of wooden spoons to the table, then retreated.

Denth and Tonk Fah didn’t wait for permission to eat her meal. “Your friend,” Denth said, grabbing a spoon, “Lemex—our employer—isn’t doing so well.”

“Fevers,” Tonk Fah said between slurps.

“He requested that we bring you to him,” Denth said. He handed her a folded piece of paper with one hand, while cracking a claw between three fingers of the other. Vivenna cringed as he slurped the contents out.