Brandon Sanderson - Warbreaker

Princess, the paper read. Please trust these men. Denth has served me well for some measure now, and he is loyal—if any mercenary can be called loyal. He and his men have been paid, and I am confident he will stay true to us for the duration of his contract. I offer proof of authenticity by virtue of this password: bluemask .

The writing was in Lemex’s hand. More than that, he had given the proper password. Not “bluemask”—that was misdirection. The true password was using the word “measure” instead of time. She glanced at Denth, who slurped out the insides of another claw.

“Ah, now,” he said, tossing aside the shell. “This is the tricky part; she has to make a decision. Are we telling her the truth, or are we fooling her? Have we fabricated that letter? Or maybe we took the old spy captive and tortured him, forcing him to write the words.”

“We could bring you his fingers as proof of our good faith,” Tonk Fah said. “Would that help?

Vivenna raised an eyebrow. “Mercenary humor?”

“Such that it is,” Denth said with a sigh. “We’re not generally a clever lot. Otherwise, we’d probably have selected a profession without such a high mortality rate.”

“Like your profession, Princess,” Tonks said. “Good lifespans, usually. I’ve often wondered if I should apprentice myself to one.”

Vivenna frowned as the two men chuckled. Lemex wouldn’t have broken under torture, she thought. He’s too well trained. Even if he had broken, he wouldn’t have included both the real password and the false one .

“Let’s go,” she said, standing.

“Wait,” Tonk Fah said, spoon to lips, “we’re skipping the rest of our meal?”

Vivenna eyed the red-colored soup and its bobbing crustacean limbs. “Definitely.”

LEMEX COUGHED QUIETLY. His aged face was streaked with sweat, his skin clammy and pale, and he occasionally gave a whispered mumble of delirious ramblings.

Vivenna sat on a stool beside his bed, hands in her lap. The two mercenaries waited with Parlin at the back of the room. The only other person present was a solemn nurse—the same woman who had informed Vivenna in a quiet voice that nothing more could be done.

Lemex was dying. It was unlikely that he would last the day.

This was the first Vivenna had seen Lemex’s face, though she’d often corresponded with him. The face looked . . . wrong. She knew that Lemex was growing old; that made him a better spy, for few looked for spies among the elderly. Yet he wasn’t supposed to be this frail stick of a person, shaking and coughing. He was supposed to be a spry, quick-tongued old gentleman. That was what she had imagined.

She felt like she was losing one of her dearest friends, though she had never really known him. With him went her refuge in Hallandren, her secret advantage. He was the one she had supposed would make this insane plan of hers work. The skilled, crafty mentor she had counted on having at her side.

He coughed again. The nurse glanced at Vivenna. “He goes in and out of lucidity, my lady. Just this morning, he spoke of you, but now he’s getting worse and worse. . . .”

“Thank you,” Vivenna said quietly. “You are excused.”

The woman bowed and left.

Now it is time to be a princess, Vivenna thought, rising and leaning over Lemex’s bed.

“Lemex,” she said. “I need you to pass on your knowledge. How do I contact your spy networks? Where are the other Idris agents in the city? What are the passcodes that will get them to listen to me?”

He coughed, staring unseeingly, whispering something. She leaned closer.

“. . . never say it,” he said. “You can torture me all that you want. I won’t give in.”

Vivenna sat back. By design, the Idrian spy network in Hallandren was loosely organized. Her father knew all of their agents, but Vivenna had only ever communicated with Lemex, the leader and coordinator of the network. She gritted her teeth, leaning forward again. She felt like a grave robber as she shook Lemex’s head slightly.

“Lemex, look at me. I’m not here to torture you. I’m the princess. You received a letter from me earlier. Now I’ve come to you.”

“Can’t fool me,” the old man whispered. “Your torture is nothing. I won’t give it up. Not to you.”

Vivenna sighed, looking away.

Suddenly, Lemex shuddered, and a wave of color washed across the bed, over Vivenna, and pulsed along the floor before fading. Despite herself, Vivenna stepped back in shock.

Another pulse came. It wasn’t color itself. It was a wave of enhanced color—a ripple that made the hues in the room stand out more as it passed. The floor, the sheets, her own dress—it all flared to vibrant vividness for a second, then faded back to the original hues.

“What in Austre’s name was that ?” Vivenna asked.

“BioChromatic Breath, Princess,” Denth said as he stood, leaning against the doorframe. “Old Lemex has a lot of it. Couple hundred Breaths, I’d guess.”

“That’s impossible,” Vivenna said. “He’s Idrian. He’d never accept Breath.”

Denth shot a look at Tonk Fah, who was scratching his parrot’s neck. The bulky soldier just shrugged.

Another wave of color came from Lemex.

“He’s dying, Princess,” Denth said. “His Breath is going irregular.”

Vivenna glared at Denth. “He doesn’t have—”

Something grabbed her arm. She jumped, looking down at Lemex, who had managed to reach up and take hold of her. He was focused on her face. “Princess Vivenna,” he said, eyes showing some lucidity at least.

“Lemex,” she said. “Your contacts. You have to give them to me!”

“I’ve done something bad, Princess.”

She froze.

“Breath, Princess,” he said. “I inherited it from my pre de ces sor, and I’ve bought more. A lot more. . . .”

God of Colors . . . Vivenna thought with a sick feeling in her stomach.

“I know it was wrong,” Lemex whispered. “But . . . I felt so powerful. I could make the very dust of the earth obey my command. It was for the good of Idris! Men with Breath are respected here in Hallandren. I could get into parties where I normally would have been excluded. I could go to the Court of Gods when I wished and hear the court assembly. The Breath extended my life, made me spry despite my age. I . . .”

He blinked, eyes unfocusing.

“Oh, Austre,” he whispered. “I’ve damned myself. I’ve gained notoriety through abusing the souls of others. And now I’m dying.”

“Lemex!” Vivenna said. “Don’t think about that now. Names! I need names and passcodes. Don’t leave me alone!”

“Damned,” he whispered. “Someone take it. Please take it away from me!”

Vivenna tried to pull back, but he still held on to her arm. She shuddered, thinking about the Breath he held.

“You know, Princess,” Denth said from behind. “Nobody really tells mercenaries anything. It’s an unfortunate—but very realistic—drawback of our profession. Never trusted. Never looked to for advice.”

She glanced back at him. He leaned against the door, Tonk Fah a short distance away. Parlin stood there as well, holding that ridiculous green hat in his fingers.

“Now, if someone were to ask my opinion,” Denth continued, “I’d point out how much those Breaths are worth. Sell them, and you’d have enough money to buy your own spy network—or pretty much anything else you wanted.”

Vivenna looked back at the dying man. He was mumbling to himself.

“If he dies,” Denth said, “that Breath dies with him. All of it.”

“A shame,” Tonk Fah said.

Vivenna paled. “I will not traffic in the souls of men! I don’t care how much they’re worth.”