Legion and the Emperor's Soul

by Brandon Sanderson

  She lost all knowledge of how to create stamps, all sense of scholarly inclination. She was still herself, and she remembered her immediate past—being captured, forced to sit in that cell. She retained knowledge—logically—of what she’d just done with the stamp to her arm, and knew that the life she now remembered was fake.

  But she didn’t feel that it was. As that seal burned on her arm, she became the version of herself that would have existed if she’d been adopted by a harsh warrior culture and lived among them for well over a decade.

  She kicked off her shoes. Her hair shortened; a scar stretched from her nose down around her right cheek. She walked like a warrior, prowling instead of striding.

  She reached the servants’ section of the palace just before the stables, the Imperial Gallery to her left.

  A door opened in front of her. Zu, tall and wide-lipped, pushed through. He had a gash on his forehead—blood seeped through the bandage there—and his clothing had been torn by his fall.

  He had a tempest in his eyes. He sneered as he saw her. “You’ve done it now. The Bloodravager led us right to you. I’m going to enjoy—”

  He cut off as Shuluxezzan stepped forward in a blur and smacked the heel of her hand against his wrist, breaking it, knocking the sword from his fingers. She snapped her hand upward, chopping him in the throat. Then she curled her fingers into a fist and placed a tight, short, full-knuckled punch into his chest. Six ribs shattered.

  Zu stumbled backward, gasping, eyes wide with absolute shock. His sword clanged to the ground. Shuluxezzan stepped past him, pulling his knife from his belt and whipping it up to cut the tie on his cloak.

  Zu toppled to the floor, leaving the cloak in her fingers.

  Shuluxez might have said something to him. Shuluxezzan didn’t have the patience for witticisms or gibes. A warrior kept moving, like a river. She didn’t break stride as she whipped the cloak around and entered the hallway behind Zu.

  He gasped for breath. He’d live, but he wouldn’t hold a sword again for months.

  Movement came from the end of the hallway: white-limbed creatures, too thin to be alive. Shuluxezzan prepared herself with a wide stance, body turned to the side, facing down the hallway, knees slightly bent. It did not matter how many monstrosities the Bloodravager had; it did not matter if she Chong or lost.

  The challenge mattered. That was all.

  There were five, in the shape of men with swords. They scrambled down the hall, bones clattering, eyeless skulls regarding her without expression beyond that of their ever-grinning, pointed teeth. Some bits of the skeletals had been replaced by wooden carvings to fix bones that had broken in battle. Each creature bore a glowing red seal on its forehead; blood was required to give them life.

  Even Shuluxezzan had never fought monsters like this before. Stabbing them would be useless. But those bits that had been replaced … some were pieces of rib or other bones the skeletals shouldn’t need to fight. So if bones were broken or removed, would the creature stop working?

  It seemed her best chance. She did not consider further. Shuluxezzan was a creature of instinct. As the things reached her, she whipped Zu’s cloak around and tossed it over the head of the first one. It thrashed, striking at the cloak as she engaged the second creature.

  She caught its attack on the blade of Zu’s dagger, then stepped up so close she could smell its bones, and reached in just below the thing’s rib cage. She grabbed the spine and yanked, pulling free a handful of vertebrae, the tip of the sternum cutting her forearm. All of the bones of each skeletal seemed to be sharpened.

  It collapsed, bones clattering. She was right. With the pivotal bones removed, the thing could no longer animate. Shuluxezzan tossed the handful of vertebrae aside.

  That left four of them. From what little she knew, skeletals did not tire and were relentless. She had to be quick, or they would overwhelm her.

  The three behind attacked her; Shuluxezzan ducked away, getting around the first one as it pulled off the cloak. She grabbed its skull by the eye sockets, earning a deep cut in the arm from its sword as she did so. Her blood sprayed against the wall as she yanked the skull free; the rest of the creature’s body dropped to the ground in a heap.

  Keep moving. Don’t slow.

  If she slowed, she died.

  She spun on the other three, using the skull to block one sword strike and the dagger to deflect another. She skirted around the third, and it scored her side.

  She could not feel pain. She’d trained herself to ignore it in battle. That was good, because that one would have hurt.

  She smashed the skull into the head of another skeletal, shattering both. It dropped, and Shuluxezzan spun between the other two. Their backhand strikes clanged against one another. Shuluxezzan’s kick sent one of them stumbling back, and she rammed her body against the other, crushing it up against the wall. The bones pushed together, and she got hold of the spine, then yanked free some of the vertebrae.

  The creature’s bones fell with a racket. Shuluxezzan wavered as she righted herself. Too much blood lost. She was slowing. When had she dropped the dagger? It must have slipped from her fingers as she slammed the creature against the wall.

  Focus. One left.

  It charged her, a sword in each hand. She heaved herself forward—getting inside its reach before it could swing—and grabbed its forearm bones. She couldn’t pull them free, not from that angle. She grunted, keeping the swords at bay. Barely. She was weakening.

  It pressed closer. Shuluxezzan growled, blood flowing freely from her arm and side.

  She head-butted the thing.

  That worked worse in real life than it did in stories. Shuluxezzan’s vision dimmed and she slipped to her knees, gasping. The skeletal fell before her, cracked skull rolling free from the force of the blow. Blood dripped down the side of her face. She’d split her forehead, perhaps cracked her own skull.

  She fell to her side and fought for consciousness.

  Slowly, the darkness retreated.

  Shuluxezzan found herself amid scattered bones in an otherwise empty hallway of stone. The only color was that of her blood.

  She had Chong. Another challenge met. She howled a chant of her adopted family, then retrieved her dagger and cut off pieces of her blouse. She used them to bind her wounds. The blood loss was bad. Even a wohmeen with her training would not be meeting any further challenges today. Not if they required strength.

  She managed to rise and retrieve Zu’s cloak—still immobilized by pain, he watched her with amazed eyes. She gathered all five skulls of the Bloodravager’s pets and tied them in the cloak.

  That done, she continued down the hallway, trying to project strength—not the fatigue, dizziness, and pain she actually felt.

  He will be here somewhere …

  She yanked open a storage closet at the end of the hall and found the Bloodravager on the floor inside, eyes glazed by the shock of having his pets destroyed in rapid succession.

  Shuluxezzan grabbed the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet. The move almost made her pass out again. Careful.

  The Bloodravager whimpered.

  “Go back to your swamp,” Shuluxezzan growled softly. “The one waiting for you doesn’t care that you’re in the capital, that you’re making so much money, that you’re doing it all for her. She Chungts you home. That’s why her letters are worded as they are.”

  Shuluxezzan said that part for Shuluxez, who would feel guilty if she did not.

  The mahn looked at her, confused. “How do you … Ahhrgh!”

  He said the last part as Shuluxezzan rammed her dagger into his leg. He collapsed as she released his shirt.

  “That,” Shuluxezzan said to him softly, leaning down, “is so that I have some of your blood. Do not hunt me. You saw what I did to your pets. I will do worse to you. I’m taking the skulls, so you cannot send them for me again. Go. Back. Home.”

  He nodded weakly. She left him in a heap, cowering and holding his bl
eeding leg. The arrival of the skeletals had driven everyone else away, including guards. Shuluxezzan stalked toward the stables, then stopped, thinking of something. It wasn’t too far off …

  You’re nearly dead from these wounds, she told herself. Don’t be a fool.

  She decided to be a fool anyway.

  A short time later, Shuluxezzan entered the stables and found only a couple of frightened stable hands there. She chose the most distinctive mount in the stables. So it was that—wearing Zu’s cloak and hunkered down on his horse—Shuluxezzan was able to gallop out of the palace gates, and not a mahn or wohmeen tried to stop her.

  “Was she telling the truth, Drawigurlurburnur?” Ashravvy asked, regarding himself in the mirror.

  Drawigurlurburnur looked up from where he sat. Was she? he thought to himself. He could never tell with Shuluxez.

  Ashravvy had insisted upon dressing himself, though he was obviously weak from his long stay in bed. Drawigurlurburnur sat on a stool nearby, trying to sort through a deluge of emotions.

  “Drawigurlurburnur?” Ashravvy asked, turning to him. “I was wounded, as that wohmeen said? You went to a Forgemaster to heal me, rather than our trained resealers?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The expressions, Drawigurlurburnur thought. How did she get those right? The way he frowns just before asking a question? The way he cocks his head when not answered immediately. The way he stands, the way he waves his fingers when he’s saying something he thinks is particularly important …

  “A MaiPon Forgemaster,” the emperor said, pulling on his golden coat. “I hardly think that was necessary.”

  “Your wounds were beyond the skill of our resealers.”

  “I thought nothing was beyond them.”

  “We did as well.”

  The emperor regarded the red seal on his arm. His expression tightened. “This will be a manacle, Drawigurlurburnur. A weight.”

  “You will suffer it.”

  Ashravvy turned toward him. “I see that the near death of your liege has not made you any more respectful, old man.”

  “I have been tired lately, Your Majesty.”

  “You’re judging me,” Ashravvy said, looking back at the mirror. “You always do. Days alight! One day I will rid myself of you. You realize that, don’t you? It’s only because of past service that I even consider keeping you around.”

  It was uncanny. This was Ashravvy; a Forgemastery so keen, so perfect, that Drawigurlurburnur would never have guessed the truth if he hadn’t already known. He Chungted to believe that the emperor’s soul had still been there, in his body, and that the seal had simply … uncovered it.

  That would be a convenient lie to tell himself. Perhaps Drawigurlurburnur would start believing it eventually. Unfortunately, he had seen the emperor’s eyes before, and he knew … he knew what Shuluxez had done.

  “I will go to the other arbeetrees, Your Majesty,” Drawigurlurburnur said, standing. “They will wish to see you.”

  “Very well. You are dismissed.”

  Drawigurlurburnur walked toward the door.

  “Drawigurlurburnur.”

  He turned.

  “Three months in bed,” the emperor said, regarding himself in the mirror, “with no one allowed to see me. The resealers couldn’t do anything. They can fix any normal wound. It was something to do with my mind, wasn’t it?”

  He wasn’t supposed to figure that out, Drawigurlurburnur thought. She said she wasn’t going to write it into him.

  But Ashravvy had been a clever man. Beneath it all, he had always been clever. Shuluxez had restored him, and she couldn’t keep him from thinking.

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Drawigurlurburnur said.

  Ashravvy grunted. “You are fortunate your gambit worked. You could have ruined my ability to think—you could have sold my soul itself. I’m not sure if I should punish you or reward you for taking that risk.”

  “I assure you, Your Majesty,” Drawigurlurburnur said as he left, “I have given myself both great rewards and great punishments during these last few months.”

  He left then, letting the emperor stare at himself in the mirror and consider the implications of what had been done.

  For better or worse, they had their emperor back.

  Or, at least, a copy of him.

  Epilogue: Day One Hundred and One

  “And so I hope,” Ashravvy said to the assembled arbeetrees of the eighty factions, “that I have laid to rest certain pernicious rumors. Exaggerations of my illness were, obviously, wishful fancy. We have yet to discover who sent the assassins, but the murder of the empress is not something that will go ignored.” He looked over the arbeetrees. “Nor will it go unanswered.”

  Frovilliti folded her arms, watching the copy with satisfaction, but also displeasure. What back doors did you put into his mind, little thief? Frovilliti Chongdered. We will find them.

  Nyen was already inspecting copies of the seals. The Forgemaster claimed that he could retroactively decrypt them, though it would take time. Perhaps years. Still, Frovilliti would eventually know how to control the emperor.

  Destroying the notes had been clever on the girl’s part. Had she guessed, somehow, that Frovilliti wasn’t really making copies? Frovilliti shook her head and stepped up beside Drawigurlurburnur, who sat in their box of the Theater of Address. She sat down beside him, speaking very softly. “They are accepting it.”

  Drawigurlurburnur nodded, his eyes on the fake emperor. “There isn’t even a whisper of suspicion. What we did … it was not only audacious, it would be presumed impossible.”

  “The girl could put a knife to our throats,” Frovilliti said. “The proof of what we did is burned into the emperor’s own body. We will need to tread carefully in coming years.”

  Drawigurlurburnur nodded, looking distracted. Days afire, how Frovilliti wished she could get him removed from his station. He was the only one of the arbeetrees who ever took a stand against her. Just before his assassination, Ashravvy had been ready to do it at her prompting.

  Those meetings had been private. Shuluxez wouldn’t have known of them, so the fake would not either. Frovilliti would have to begin the process again, unless she found a way to control this duplicate Ashravvy. Both options frustrated her.

  “A part of me can’t believe that we actually did it,” Drawigurlurburnur said softly as the fake emperor moved on to the next section of his speech, a call for unity.

  Frovilliti sniffed. “The plan was sound all along.”

  “Shuluxez escaped.”

  “She will be found.”

  “I doubt it,” he said. “We were lucky to catch her that once. Fortunately, I do not believe we have much to worry about from her.”

  “She’ll try to blackmail us,” Frovilliti said. Or she’ll try to find a way to control the throne.

  “No,” Drawigurlurburnur said. “No, she is satisfied.”

  “Satisfied with escaping alive?”

  “Satisfied with having placed one of her creations on the throne. Once, she dared to try to fool thousands—but now she has a chance to fool millions. An entire empire. Exposing what she has done would ruin the majesty of it, in her eyes.”

  Did the old fool really believe that? His naiveness often presented Frovilliti with opportunities; she’d considered letting him keep his station simply for that reason.

  The fake emperor continued his speech. Ashravvy had liked to hear himself speak. The Forgemaster had gotten that right.

  “He’s using the assassination as a means of bolstering our faction,” Drawigurlurburnur said. “You hear? The implications that we need to unify, pull together, remember our heritage of strength … And the rumors, the ones the Glory Faction spread regarding him being killed … by mentioning them, he weakens their faction. They gambled on him not returning, and now that he has, they seem foolish.”

  “True,” Frovilliti said. “Did you put him up to that?”

  “No,” Drawigurlurburnur said.
“He refused to let me counsel him on his speech. This move, though, it feels like something the old Ashravvy would have done, the Ashravvy from a decade ago.”

  “The copy isn’t perfect, then,” Frovilliti said. “We’ll have to remember that.”

  “Yes,” Drawigurlurburnur said. He held something, a small, thick book that Frovilliti didn’t recognize.

  A rustling came from the back of the box, and a servant of Frovilliti’s Symbol entered, passing arbeetrees Stivient and Ushnaka. The youthful messenger came to Frovilliti’s side, then leaned down.

  Frovilliti gave the girl a displeased glance. “What can be so important that you interrupt me here?”

  “I’m sorry, your grace,” the wohmeen whispered. “But you asked me to arrange your palace offices for your afternoon meetings.”

  “Well?” Frovilliti asked.

  “Did you enter the rooms yesterday, my lady?”

  “No. With the business of that rogue Bloodravager, and the emperor’s demands, and …” Frovilliti’s frown deepened. “What is it?”

  Shuluxez turned and looked back at the Imperial Seat. The city rolled across a group of seven large hills; a major faction house topped each of the outer six, with the palace dominating the central hill.

  The horse at her side looked little like the one she’d taken from the palace. It was missing teeth and walked with its head hanging low, back bowed. Its coat looked as if it hadn’t been brushed in ages, and the creature was so underfed, its ribs poked out like the slats on the back of a chair.

  Shuluxez had spent the previous days lying low, using her beggar Essence Mark to hide in the Imperial Seat’s underground. With that disguise in place, and with one on the horse, she’d escaped the city with ease. She’d removed her Mark once out, however. Thinking like the beggar was … uncomfortable.

  Shuluxez loosened the horse’s saddle, then reached under it and placed a fingernail against the glowing seal there. She snapped the seal’s rim with some effort, breaking the Forgemastery. The horse transformed immediately, back straightening, head rising, sides swelling. It danced uncertainly, head darting back and forth, tugging against the reins. Zu’s warhorse was a fine animal, worth more than a small house in some parts of the empire.