Warbreaker Part 58

Some of the places were dark; the buildings currently held no G.o.ds.

What would happen if too many others Returned before we killed ourselves? he thought idly. Would they build more palaces? As far as he knew, there had always been enough s.p.a.ce.

At the head of the Court sat the G.o.d King's palace, tall, black. It had obviously been built so that it would dominate even the extravagant mansions of the others, and it threw a wide, warped shadow across the back wall.

Perfect. So perfect. The torches were arranged in patterns he could only see by standing up atop a building. The gra.s.s was kept perfectly manicured, and the ma.s.sive wall tapestries were replaced often so that they showed no wear, stains, or fading.

The people put forth such effort for their G.o.ds. Why? Sometimes it befuddled him. Then he thought of other religions and the beings they revered. What of those faiths? Faiths with no visible G.o.ds, only incorporeal imaginings or wishes. Surely those 'G.o.ds' did even less for their people than the Hallandren court, yet the still were wors.h.i.+pped.

Lightsong shook his head. Meeting with Allmother had reminded him of days he hadn't thought of in a long time. Calmseer. She had been his mentor when he'd first Returned. Blushweaver was jealous of his memories of her, but she didn't understand truth. Nor could he, really, explain it.

Calmseer had come closer to being a divinity than any Lightsong had seen. She'd done for her followers things such as Allmother now tried, but there had been genuine concern in Calmseer's regard for them. Not a worry that they would stop wors.h.i.+ping. Not an arrogance of presumed superiority, mixed with benevolence for those who were so far beneath them.

Real kindness. Real love. Real mercy.

Yet even Calmseer had felt inadequate. She had often said she felt guilty because she couldn't live up to what people expected. How could she? How could anyone? In the end, he suspected this was what drove her answer a Pet.i.tion. There had only been one way, in her estimation, to be the G.o.ddess everyone demanded she be. And that was to give up her life for her people.

They push us into it, Lightsong thought. They craft all of this splendor and wonder, they give us whatever we desire, then they subtly poke at us. Be a G.o.d. Prophesy. Maintain our illusion for us.

Die. Die so that we can keep believing.

He usually stayed off of his roof. He preferred to be down below, where the perspective made it so much easier to ignore the larger view. So much easier to focus on simple things, like his life in the moment.

"Your grace?" Llarimar asked quietly, approaching.

Lightsong didn't reply.

"Are you all right, your grace?"

"No man should be this important," Lightsong said.

"Your grace?" Llarimar asked, walking up beside him.

"It does strange things to you. We weren't built for it."

"You're a G.o.d, your grace. You were built for it."

"No," he said. "I'm no G.o.d."

"Excuse me, but you don't really get to choose. We wors.h.i.+p you, and that makes you our G.o.d." Llarimar spoke the words in his usual calm way. Didn't the man ever get upset?

"You're not helping."

"I apologize, your grace. But, perhaps you should stop arguing about the same old things."

Lightsong shook his head. "This is something different, today. I'm not sure what to do."

"You mean about Allmother's Commands?"

Lightsong nodded. "I thought I had it figured out, Scoot. I can't keep up with all of the things Blushweaver is plotting-I've never been good at details. I've gotten myself in too deeply."

Llarimar didn't respond.

"I was going to give it up," Lightsong said. "Allmother was doing a fantastic job of standing up for herself. I figured that if I gave her my Commands, then she'd know what to do. She'd understand if it's better to support Blushweaver or oppose her."

"You could still just let her," Llarimar said. "You gave her your Commands too."

"I know," Lightsong said.

They fell silent.

So, it comes down to this, he thought. The first of us who changes those Commands takes control of all twenty thousand. The other will be locked out.

What did he choose? Did he sit back and let history happen, or did he jump in and make a mess of it?

Whoever you are, he thought, whatever is out there that sent me back, why couldn't you just leave me be? I'd already lived one life. I'd already made my decisions. Why did you have to send me back? Couldn't I just be done?

He'd tried everything, and yet people still looked to him. He knew for a fact that he was one of the most popular Returned, visited by more pet.i.tioners and given more art than almost anyone else. Honestly, he thought. What is wrong with these people? Were they so in need of something to wors.h.i.+p that they chose him rather than worry that their religion might be false?

Allmother claimed that some did think that. She worried about the perceived lack of faith among the common people. Lightsong wasn't certain he agreed with her. He knew of the theories-that the G.o.ds who lived the longest were the weak ones because the system encouraged the best to kill themselves quickly. However, the same number of pet.i.tioners came to him now as when he first started. Plus, too few G.o.ds were chosen on a whole to support a theory that depended upon statistical dilution over time.

Or was he just distracting himself with irrelevant details? He leaned on the banister, looking out over the green as glowing pavilions.

This could be the crowning moment for him. He could finally prove himself to be an indolent, a man who avoided anything that resembled work. It was perfect. If he did nothing, then Allmother would be forced to take up the armies and resist Blushweaver.

But was that what he wanted? Allmother kept herself secluded from the other G.o.ds. She didn't attend many Court meetings and didn't listen to the debates. Blushweaver was intricately involved. She knew every G.o.d and G.o.ddess. She understood the issues, and she was very clever. Of all of the G.o.ds, only she had begun taking steps to secure their armies.

Siri is no threat, he thought. But if someone else were manipulating her? Would Allmother have the political savvy to understand the danger? Would she be capable of directing the surgings of popular opinion? And, without guidance, would Blushweaver see that Siri wasn't crushed?

If he did walk away, there would be a cost. He would be to blame, for he'd given up.

"Who was she, Llarimar?" Lightsong asked quietly. "The young woman in my dreams. Was she my wife?"

The high priest didn't answer.

"I need to know," Lightsong said, turning. "This time, I really need to know."

"I..." Llarimar frowned, then looked away. "No," he said quietly. "She was not your wife."

"My lover?"

He shook his head.

"But she was important to me?"

"Very," Llarimar said.

"And is she still alive?"

Llarimar wavered, then finally nodded his head.

Still alive, Lightsong thought.

If this city fell, then she would be in danger. Everyone who wors.h.i.+ped Lightsong-everyone who counted on him despite his best efforts-would be in danger. But, T'Telir couldn't fall. Even if there was war, the fighting wouldn't come here. Hallandren was not in danger. It was the most powerful kingdom in the world.

And what of his dreams?

I know I'm no G.o.d, he thought. Why should I let dreams bother me? There's nothing more to them than my own worried subconscious.

He had only been given one real duty in the Court. That of taking command of ten thousand Lifeless. Of deciding when they should be used. And when they should not be.

Still alive...

He turned and walked toward the steps.

The Lifeless Enclave was technically part of the Court of G.o.ds. The ma.s.sive building was built at the base of the Court plateau, and a long, covered walkway ran down to it.

Lightsong moved down the steps with his entourage. They pa.s.sed several guard posts, though he wasn't sure why they needed guards in a hallway leading from the Court. He had only visited the enclave a couple of times-primarily during his first few weeks as a Returned, when he had been required to give the security phrase to his ten thousand soldiers.

Perhaps I should have come more often, he thought. What would have been the point? Servants cared for the Lifeless, making certain their ichor-alcohol was fresh, that they exercised, and... did whatever else it was that Lifeless did.

Llarimar and several of the other priests were puffing from the long, brisk walk by the time they reached the bottom of the steps up. Lightsong, of course, had no trouble He was in perfect physical condition. There were some things about G.o.dhood that never made him complain. A couple of guards opened the doors into the compound. It was ma.s.sive, of course-it contained s.p.a.ce for forty thousand Lifeless. There were four large warehouse-like storage areas for the different groups of Lifeless, a track for them to run about, a room filled with various stones and blocks of metal for them to lift to keep their muscles strong, and a medical area where their ichor-alcohol was tested and administered.

They pa.s.sed through several twisting pa.s.sages, then approached a guard post set beside a large open doorway. Lightsong pa.s.sed the guard post, which was populated with human guards, and looked in at the Lifeless.

He'd forgotten that they kept them in the dark.

"There they are, your grace," Llarimar said, waving for a couple of priests to hold up lanterns. The door opened onto a viewing platform. The floor of the warehouse extended below, filled with line upon line of silent, waiting soldiers. They wore their armor and carried their weapons in sheaths.

"There are holes in the ranks," Lightsong said.

"Some of them will be exercising," Llarimar replied. "I have sent a servant to fetch them."

Lightsong nodded. The Lifeless stood with eyes open. They didn't shuffle or cough. Staring out over them, Lightsong suddenly remembered why he never felt any desire to return and inspect his troops. They were simply too unnerving.

"Everyone out," Lightsong said.

"Your grace?" Llarimar asked. "Don't you want a few priests to stay?"

Lightsong shook his head. "No. I will bear this phrase myself."

Llarimar hesitated, but then nodded, doing as ordered.

In Lightsong's opinion, there was no good way of keeping Command Phrases. Leaving them in the hands of a single G.o.d was to risk losing the Phrase through a.s.sa.s.sination. However, the more people who knew the Command Phrases, the more likely it was that the secret would be bribed or torture, out of someone.

The only mitigating factor was the G.o.d King. Apparently, with his powerful BioChroma, he could Break Lifeless more quickly. Still, taking control of ten thousand would weeks, even for the G.o.d King.

The choice was left to the individual Returned. They could to let some of their priests hear the Command Phrase so that if something happened to the G.o.d, the priests could pa.s.s the Phrase on to the next Returned. If the G.o.d chose not to give the Phrase to his priests, then he placed an even larger burden on himself. Lightsong had found that option silly, years before, and had included Llarimar and several others in the secret.

This time he saw wisdom in keeping the phrase to himself. Should he get the chance, he would whisper it to the G.o.d King. But only him. "Bottom line blue," he said. "I give you a new Command Phrase." He paused. "Red Panther. Red Panther. Step to the right side of the room."

A group of the Lifeless near the front of the crowd moved over to the side.

Lightsong sighed, closing his eyes. A part of him had hoped that Allmother had come here first, that she had already changed the Command Phrase.

But she hadn't. He opened his eyes then took the steps down to the warehouse floor. He spoke again, changing the phrase for another group. He could do about twenty or thirty at a time-he remembered the process taking hours the last time.

He continued. He would leave the Lifeless with their basic instructions to obey the servants when asked creatures to exercise or go to the infirmary. He'd give them a lesser command that could be used to move them about and make them march to specific locations, like when they had been placed in ranks outside the city to greet Siri. Another to make them go with members of the City Watch to provide extra muscle.

Yet there would only be one person with ultimate command of them. One person who could make them go to war. When he was done in this room, he would move on, taking utter command of Allmother's ten thousand as well.

He would draw both armies to him. And in doing so, he would take his place at the very heart of the fate of two kingdoms.

Chapter Forty-Eight.

Susebron didn't leave in the mornings anymore.

Siri lay in the bed beside him, curled slightly, her skin against his. He slept peacefully, chest going up and down, white bed sheets throwing out prismatic colors around him as they inevitably reacted to his presence. A few months back, who could have understood where she'd find herself? Not only married to the G.o.d King of Hallandren, but in love with him as well.

Part of her still thought it amazing. He was the most important religious and secular figure in the whole of the inner sea area. He was the basis for wors.h.i.+p of the Hallandren Iridescent Tones. He was a creature feared and hated by most people in Idris.

And he was dozing quietly at her side. A G.o.d of color and beauty, his body as perfectly sculpted a statue. And what was Siri? Not perfect, of that she was sure. And yet, somehow, she'd brought to him something that he needed. A hint of spontaneity. A breath from the outside, untamed by his priests or his reputation.

She sighed, head resting on his chest. There would be a price to be paid for their enjoyment of these last few nights. We really are fools, she thought idly. We only have to avoid one thing: giving the priests a child. We're pointing ourselves straight toward danger.

She found it hard to berate herself too soundly. She suspected that her act wouldn't have fooled the priests for much longer. They would grow suspicious, or at least frustrated, if she continued to go without producing an heir. She could see them interfering more if faced with more stalling.

Whatever she and Susebron did to change events, they would have to do it quickly.

He stirred beside her, and she twisted, looking at his face as he opened his eyes. He regarded her for a few minutes, stroking with her hair. It was amazing how quickly they had become comfortable in their intimacy.

He reached for his writing board. I love you.

She smiled. It was always the first thing he wrote in the mornings. "And I love you," she said.

However, he continued, we are probably in trouble, aren't we?

"Yes."