Read Online The Emperors Soul by Brandon Sanderson - Free Book Online
Authors: Brandon Sanderson
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sickly.
She could do that.
She found that she didn’t want to.
That wasn’t the challenge. That was the street thief’s version of a scam, intended for short-term gain. The Forger’s way was to create something enduring.
Deep down, she was thrilled by the challenge. She found that she wanted to make Ashravan live. She wanted to try, at least.
Shai lay back on her bed, which by now she had Forged to something more comfortable, with posts and a deep comforter. She kept the curtains drawn. Her guards for the evening played a round of cards at her table.
Why do you care about making Ashravan live? Shai thought to herself. The arbiters will kill you before you can even see if this works. Escape should be your only goal.
And yet . . . the emperor himself. She had chosen to steal the Moon Scepter because it was the most famous piece in the empire. She had wanted one of her works to be on display in the grand Imperial Gallery.
This task she now worked on, however . . . this was something far greater. What Forger had accomplished such a feat? A Forgery, sitting on the Rose Throne itself ?
No, she told herself, more forceful this time. Don’t be lured. Pride, Shai. Don’t let the pride drive you.
She opened her book to the back pages, where she’d hidden her escape plans in a cypher, disguised to look like a dictionary of terms and people.
That Bloodsealer had come in running the other day, as if frightened that he’d be late to reset his seal. His clothing had smelled of strong drink. He was enjoying the palace’s hospitality. If she could make him come early one morning, then ensure that he got extra drunk that night . . .
The mountains of the Strikers bordered Dzhamar, where the swamps of the Bloodsealers were located. Their hatred of one another ran deep, perhaps deeper than their loyalty to the empire. Several of the Strikers in particular seemed revolted when the Bloodsealer came. Shai had begun befriending those guards. Jokes in passing. Mentions of a coincidental similarity in her background and theirs. The Strikers weren’t supposed to talk to Shai, but weeks had passed without Shai doing anything more than poring through books and chatting with old arbiters. The guards were bored, and boredom made people easy to manipulate.
Shai had access to plenty of soulstone, and she would use it. However, often more elementary methods were of greater use. People always expected a Forger to use seals for everything. Grands told stories of dark witchcraft, of Forgers placing seals on a person’s feet while they slept, changing their personalities. Invading them, raping their minds.
The truth was that a soulstamp was often a Forger’s last resort. It was too easy to detect. Not that I wouldn’t give my right hand for my Essence Marks right now . . .
Almost, she was tempted to try carving a new Mark to use in getting away. They’d be expecting that, however, and she would have real trouble performing the hundreds of tests she’d need to do to make one work. Testing on her own arm would be reported by the guards, and testing on Gaotona would never work.
And using an Essence Mark she hadn’t tested . . . well, that could go very, very poorly. No, her plans for escape would use soulstamps, but their heart would involve more traditional methods of subterfuge.
Day Fifty-Eight
Shai was ready when Frava next visited.
The woman paused in the doorway, the guards shuffling out without objection as Captain Zu took their place. “You’ve been busy,” Frava noted.
Shai looked up from her research. Frava wasn’t referring to her progress, but to the room. Most recently, Shai had improved the floor. It hadn’t been difficult. The rock used to build the palace—the quarry, the dates, the stonemasons—all were matters of historic record.
“You like it?” Shai asked. “The marble works well with the hearth, I think.”
Frava turned, then blinked. “A hearth ? Where did you . . . Is this room bigger than it
She could do that.
She found that she didn’t want to.
That wasn’t the challenge. That was the street thief’s version of a scam, intended for short-term gain. The Forger’s way was to create something enduring.
Deep down, she was thrilled by the challenge. She found that she wanted to make Ashravan live. She wanted to try, at least.
Shai lay back on her bed, which by now she had Forged to something more comfortable, with posts and a deep comforter. She kept the curtains drawn. Her guards for the evening played a round of cards at her table.
Why do you care about making Ashravan live? Shai thought to herself. The arbiters will kill you before you can even see if this works. Escape should be your only goal.
And yet . . . the emperor himself. She had chosen to steal the Moon Scepter because it was the most famous piece in the empire. She had wanted one of her works to be on display in the grand Imperial Gallery.
This task she now worked on, however . . . this was something far greater. What Forger had accomplished such a feat? A Forgery, sitting on the Rose Throne itself ?
No, she told herself, more forceful this time. Don’t be lured. Pride, Shai. Don’t let the pride drive you.
She opened her book to the back pages, where she’d hidden her escape plans in a cypher, disguised to look like a dictionary of terms and people.
That Bloodsealer had come in running the other day, as if frightened that he’d be late to reset his seal. His clothing had smelled of strong drink. He was enjoying the palace’s hospitality. If she could make him come early one morning, then ensure that he got extra drunk that night . . .
The mountains of the Strikers bordered Dzhamar, where the swamps of the Bloodsealers were located. Their hatred of one another ran deep, perhaps deeper than their loyalty to the empire. Several of the Strikers in particular seemed revolted when the Bloodsealer came. Shai had begun befriending those guards. Jokes in passing. Mentions of a coincidental similarity in her background and theirs. The Strikers weren’t supposed to talk to Shai, but weeks had passed without Shai doing anything more than poring through books and chatting with old arbiters. The guards were bored, and boredom made people easy to manipulate.
Shai had access to plenty of soulstone, and she would use it. However, often more elementary methods were of greater use. People always expected a Forger to use seals for everything. Grands told stories of dark witchcraft, of Forgers placing seals on a person’s feet while they slept, changing their personalities. Invading them, raping their minds.
The truth was that a soulstamp was often a Forger’s last resort. It was too easy to detect. Not that I wouldn’t give my right hand for my Essence Marks right now . . .
Almost, she was tempted to try carving a new Mark to use in getting away. They’d be expecting that, however, and she would have real trouble performing the hundreds of tests she’d need to do to make one work. Testing on her own arm would be reported by the guards, and testing on Gaotona would never work.
And using an Essence Mark she hadn’t tested . . . well, that could go very, very poorly. No, her plans for escape would use soulstamps, but their heart would involve more traditional methods of subterfuge.
Day Fifty-Eight
Shai was ready when Frava next visited.
The woman paused in the doorway, the guards shuffling out without objection as Captain Zu took their place. “You’ve been busy,” Frava noted.
Shai looked up from her research. Frava wasn’t referring to her progress, but to the room. Most recently, Shai had improved the floor. It hadn’t been difficult. The rock used to build the palace—the quarry, the dates, the stonemasons—all were matters of historic record.
“You like it?” Shai asked. “The marble works well with the hearth, I think.”
Frava turned, then blinked. “A hearth ? Where did you . . . Is this room bigger than it
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