“Here, now,” said one of the men looking through Vasher’s duffel. Of course, the change was so slight to the unaided eye that it would have been nearly impossible to pick out.

The guard didn’t notice the change in color-just as he hadn’t noticed back in the bar, when he and his buddies had picked Vasher up off the floor and thrown him in their cart. Vasher didn’t have much Breath remaining, and so his aura didn’t do much to the colors around him. The colors of his uniform brightened, as if he’d stepped into a stronger light. “You ignoring me?” the guard asked, stepping closer to the door. A thin slit at the top of one wall let in light, the stone walls dripped with water and moss, and a pile of dirty straw decomposed in the corner. The others, they’ll spend a night locked up. Either way, you should have known better than to strike a priest. “The bartender says you beat down some twenty men in the brawl.” The guard rubbed his chin. “They say you’re pretty tough,” the man said, sizing up Vasher. The large guard sauntered up to the cell door, leaving his friends to amuse themselves with Vasher’s belongings. This, however, was Hallandren: land of Returned gods, Lifeless servants, BioChromatic research, and-of course-color. I’ll have to get used to those again. In any other nation, the vibrant blues and yellows would have been ridiculous on soldiers. The guard was an oversized beast of a man with a shaved head and a dirty uniform that barely retained the bright yellow and blue coloring of the T’Telir city guard.īright colors, Vasher thought. While the bottom half of his cell door was solid wood, the top half was barred, and he could see the three guards open his large duffel and rifle through his possessions. Vasher stood and dusted himself off, rolling his shoulder and wincing. The guards laughed to one another, slamming the cell door shut with a clang. It’s funny, Vasher thought, how many things begin with my getting thrown into prison.

Warbreaker sanderson