Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(169)

“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 god, Your Grace. You were built for it.”

“No,” he said. “I’m no god.”

“Excuse me, but you don’t really get to choose. We worship you, and that makes you our god.” Llarimar spoke the words in his usual calm fashion. 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.”

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 let me be? I’d already lived one life. I’d already made my choices. Why did you have to send me back?

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 petitioners 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 worship 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 gods who lived the longest were the weak ones because the system encouraged the best to sacrifice themselves quickly. However, the same number of petitioners came to him now as when he first started. Plus, too few gods were chosen on a whole for that to be statistically valid.

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

This could be the crowning moment for him. He could finally prove himself to be an indolent wastrel. It was perfect. If he did nothing, then Allmother would be forced to take up the armies and resist Blushweaver.

Was that what he wanted? Allmother kept herself isolated from the other gods. She didn’t attend many court assemblies and didn’t listen to the debates. Blushweaver was intimately involved. She knew every god and goddess well. She understood the issues, and she was very clever. Of all of the gods, 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? Without his concerned 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 worshiped Lightsong—everyone who counted on him despite his best efforts—would be in danger.

T’Telir couldn’t fall. Even if there were 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?

He had been given only one real duty in the government. 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 Gods. The huge 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 passed 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.