Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(170)

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. Lightsong, of course, had no trouble, as he was in perfect physical condition. There were some things about godhood that never made him complain. A couple of guards opened the doors into the compound. It was gigantic, of course—it contained space for forty thousand Lifeless. There were four large ware house-like storage areas for the different groups of Lifeless, a track for them to run around, 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 refreshed.

They passed through several twisting passages, designed to confuse invaders who might try to strike at the Lifeless, then approached a guard post set beside a large open doorway. Lightsong passed the living human guards and looked in at the Lifeless.

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

Llarimar waved for a couple of priests to hold up lamps. The door opened onto a viewing platform. The floor of the ware house 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 god was to risk losing the phrase through assassination. However, the more people who knew the Command phrases, the more likely it was that the secret would be bribed or tortured out of someone.

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

The choice was left to the individual Returned. They could let some of their priests hear the Command phrase so that if something happened to the god, the priests could pass the phrase on to the next Returned. If the god 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 God 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—those who could hear his voice—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 ware house 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 they asked the 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, as when they had been placed in ranks outside the city to greet Siri, and another to make them go with members of the city guard 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.

48

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, the 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 God King of Hallandren, but in love with him as well.

She 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 worship 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 god of color and beauty, his body as perfectly sculpted as 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 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 aiming ourselves straight toward disaster.