Warbreaker Read Free

King’s torturers, Vasher—and I’ve withstood them for two weeks now.”
    “You’d be surprised. But that doesn’t matter. You
are
going to give me your Breath. You know you have only two choices. Give it to me, or give it to them.”
    Vahr hung by his wrists, rotating slowly. Silent.
    “You don’t have much time to consider,” Vasher said. “Any moment now, someone is going to discover the dead guards outside. The alarm will be raised. I’ll leave you, you
will
be tortured again, and you
will
eventually break. Then all the power you’ve gathered will go to the very people you vowed to destroy.”
    Vahr stared at the floor. Vasher let him hang for a few moments, and could see that the reality of the situation was clear to him. finally, Vahr looked up at Vasher. “That...thing you bear. It’s here, in the city?”
    Vasher nodded.
    “The screams I heard earlier? It caused them?”
    Vasher nodded again.
    “How long will you be in T’Telir?”
    “For a time. A year, perhaps.”
    “Will you use it against them?”
    “My goals are my own to know, Vahr. Will you take my deal or not? Quick death in exchange for those Breaths. I promise you this. Your enemies will
not
have them.”
    Vahr grew quiet. “It’s yours,” he finally whispered.
    Vasher reached over, resting his hand on Vahr’s forehead—careful not to let any part of his clothing touch the man’s skin, lest Vahr draw forth color for Awakening.
    Vahr didn’t move. He looked numb. Then, just as Vasher began to worry that the prisoner had changed his mind, Vahr Breathed. The color drained from him. The beautiful Iridescence, the aura that had made him look majestic despite his wounds and chains. It flowed from his mouth, hanging in the air, shimmering like mist. Vasher drew it in, closing his eyes.
    “My life to yours,” Vahr Commanded, a hint of despair in his voice. “My Breath become yours.”
    The Breath flooded into Vasher, and everything became vibrant. His brown cloak now seemed deep and rich in color. The blood on the floor was intensely red, as if aflame. Even Vahr’s skin seemed a masterpiece of color, the surface marked by deep black hairs, blue bruises, and sharp red cuts. It had been years since Vasher had felt such...
life
.
    He gasped, falling to his knees as it overwhelmed him, and he had to drop a hand to the stone floor to keep himself from toppling over.
How did I live without this?
    He knew that his senses hadn’t actually improved, yet he felt so much more alert. More aware of the beauty of sensation. When he touched the stone floor, he marveled at its roughness. And the sound of wind passing through the thin dungeon window up above. Had it always been that melodic? How could he not have noticed?
    “Keep your part of the bargain,” Vahr said. Vasher noted the tones in his voice, the beauty of each one, how close they were to harmonics. Vasher had gained perfect pitch. A gift for anyone who reached the Second Heightening. It would be good to have that again.
    Vasher could, of course, have up to the fifth Heightening at any time, if he wished. That would require certain sacrifices he wasn’t willing to make. And so he forced himself to do it the old-fashioned way, by gathering Breaths from people like Vahr.
    Vasher stood, then pulled out the colorless scarf he had used earlier. He tossed it over Vahr’s shoulder, then Breathed.
    He didn’t bother making the scarf have human shape, didn’t need to use a bit of his hair or skin for a focus—though he did have to draw the color from his shirt.
    Vasher met Vahr’s resigned eyes.
    “Strangle things,” Vasher commanded, fingers touching the quivering scarf.
    It twisted immediately, pulling away a large—yet now inconsequential—amount of Breath. The scarf quickly wrapped around Vahr’s neck, tightening, choking him. Vahr didn’t struggle or gasp, he simply watched Vasher with hatred until his eyes bulged and he died.
    Hatred. Vasher had known enough of that in