Warbreaker (Warbreaker #1)(185)

At the very least, Vasher thought, she’s a very handy hostage for the Hallandren. The God King’s priests—or whoever’s behind this—can threaten the girl’s life, should the war go poorly for them. She makes an excellent tool.

One you intend to remove, Nightblood said.

Vasher nodded, reaching the top of the stairwell and slinking through one of the corridors. He walked until he sensed someone nearby—a maid servant approaching.

Vasher Awakened his rope, stood in the shadows of an alcove, and waited. As she passed, the rope shot from the shadows, wrapped around her waist, and yanked her into the darkness. Vasher had one of his tassel hands wrapped around her mouth before she could scream.

She squirmed, but the rope tied her tightly. He felt a little stab of guilt as he loomed over her, her terrified eyes tearing up. He reached for Nightblood and pulled the sword slightly out of its sheath. The girl immediately looked sick. A good sign.

“I need to know where the queen is,” Vasher said, forcing Nightblood up so that his hilt touched her cheek. “You’re going to tell me.”

He held her like that for a time, watching her squirm, feeling unhappy with himself. Finally, he relaxed the tassels, keeping the sword against her cheek. She began to vomit, and he turned her to the side.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“Southern corner,” the girl whispered, trembling, spittle on her cheek. “This floor.”

Vasher nodded, then tied her up with the rope, gagged her, and took his Breath back. He pushed Nightblood back into the sheath then rushed down the hallway.

You won’t kill a god who plans to march his armies to war? Nightblood asked. But you’ll nearly choke a young woman to death?

It was a complicated statement for the sword. However, it lacked the accusation that a human would have put into the words. To Nightblood it really was just a question.

I don’t understand my morality either, Vasher thought. I’d suggest you avoid confusing yourself.

He found the place easily. It was guarded by a large group of brutish men who seemed rather out of place in the fine palace hallways.

Vasher paused. Something strange is going on here.

What do you mean? Nightblood asked.

He hadn’t meant to address the sword, but that was the trouble with an object that could read minds. Any thoughts Vasher formed in his head, Nightblood thought were directed at it. After all, in the sword’s opinion, everything really should have been directed toward it.

Guards at the door. Soldiers, not servants. So they had already taken her captive. Was she really even pregnant? Were the priests just securing their power?

That many men would be impossible to kill without making noise. The best he could hope for was to take them fast. Maybe they were far enough from anyone else that a brief fight wouldn’t be heard.

He sat for a few minutes, jaw clenched. Then, finally, he stepped closer and tossed Nightblood in amongst the men. He’d let them fight each other and then be ready to deal with any who weren’t taken into the sword’s influence.

Nightblood clanged to the stones. All of the men’s eyes turned toward it. And, at that moment, something grabbed Vasher by the shoulder and yanked him backward.

He cursed, spinning, throwing his hands up to wrestle with whatever had him. An Awakened rope. Men started to fight behind him. Vasher grunted, pulling out the knife in his boot, then slicing the Awakened rope. Someone tackled him as he got free, and he was thrown back against the wall.

He grabbed his attacker by the face with one of his arm tassels, then twisted the man back and threw him into the wall. Another figured charged him from behind, but Vasher’s Awakened cloak caught that one, tripping him.

“Grab things other than me,” Vasher said quickly, snatching the cloak of one of the fallen men and Awakening it. That cloak whipped about, taking down another man, whom Vasher then killed with a swipe of his dagger. He kicked another man, throwing him backward, opening a pathway.

Vasher lunged, making for Nightblood, but three more figures burst out the rooms around him, cutting him off. They were the same kind of brutish men that were now fighting over the sword. Men were all around. Dozens of them. Vasher kicked out, breaking a leg, but one man pulled Vasher’s cloak off with a lucky twist. Others piled on top of him. And then, another Awakened rope snapped out, tying his legs together.

Vasher reached for his vest. “Your Breath to—” he began, trying to draw in some Breath to use for an attack, but three men grabbed his hand and pulled it away. Within seconds, he was wrapped up in the Awakened rope. His cloak still fought against three men who were struggling to cut it up, but Vasher himself was pinned.

Someone emerged from the room to his left.

“Denth,” Vasher spat, struggling.

“My good friend,” Denth said, nodding for one of his lackeys—the one known as Tonk Fah—to move down the hallway toward the queen’s room. Denth knelt beside Vasher. “Very good to see you.”

Vasher spat again.

“Still as eloquent as ever, I see,” Denth said with a sigh. “You know the best thing about you, Vasher? You’re solid. Predictable. I guess I am too, in a way. Hard to live as long as we have without falling into patterns, eh?”

Vasher didn’t reply, though he did try to yell as some men gagged him. He noticed with satisfaction that he’d taken down a good dozen opponents before they’d managed to stop him.