Redemption by Brandon Sanderson
“The whole village?” Siris asked.
“It was awful. Whole place just . . . crumpled. Don’t know how to explain it any other way. I was just outside of town, riding as fast as I could. I swear I felt something straining to pull me into it. Like the darkness itself was alive.”
“Hell take me,” Siris said, looking at the gauntlet. Then he pressed it against the wall. His palm shook, but he knew, like always, how to control the element. It felt natural to him.
Even years ago, when he’d first attacked the God King, the Dark Self had protected him. It felt the same way now. Siris didn’t know how to manipulate the Incarnate Dark—but Ausar did. The corner of the wall crumpled, the steel straining and cracking. An opening formed before them. At the end, a small bead of metal—no bigger than a marble—dropped to the ground with a terribly loud thunk, as if it weighed far more than it appeared it should.
The process was louder than he’d have wanted. He nodded to Isa, who slipped through the opening, raising her crossbow. Sure enough, a guard peeked his head into the room just as Siris was following Isa through the hole.
He got a crossbow bolt in the forehead.
Siris caught him and hauled the body into the room. They waited a few tense minutes, but no other guards arrived.
“This really feels like a trap . . .” Siris said.
Isa nodded, peeking out into the fortress hallways. Stark, made of cold steel. Creating something like this would cost a fortune, but for most of Siris’s kin it was a fortune barely missed. Why build a fortress entirely of forged steel in the mountains?
Well, why not?
“I agree,” Isa said. “It’s too quiet, too easy. Do you want to withdraw?”
Siris shook his head. “If it is a trap, then someone already knows too much about us—and our rebellion is doomed anyway. Maybe it’s easy not because we’re expected, but because the Worker’s empire is in such a state of chaos.”
Isa nodded. Siris dug out his helm, slipping it on. Isa went without one, but Dynn and Terr both slid on helms, covering their faces. An old tradition, started by the Deathless.
“Dynn, watch our retreat,” Isa said. “Terr, with us.”
The three of them slipped into the corridors. They were poorly lit, the occasional window slit providing the only light. Siris and the others wound forward and downward through the fortress, but passed no guards. The place had an eerie feeling of having been abandoned.
They reached a crossroad, and Siris grabbed Isa’s arm, pointing to one side.
The gate is this way, she mouthed.
I know, he mouthed back, then led them the other direction.
She followed with a soft sigh of exasperation. However, it was possible a full assault wouldn’t be needed. Their target, the facility’s heart, was just around this way . . .
He reached a corner and peeked around it, expecting to see nothing. Instead, he found himself looking right at a guard.
Siris felt a moment of sudden panic, but held it in. He was looking at the back of a uniformed guard, one of the God King’s elite soldiers. An entire rank of forty or fifty stood here, facing the wrong way. Inward, toward the center of the facility.
What the hell? Siris thought, holding a finger to his lips and gesturing for Isa to look. She peeked, then looked back at him.
What the hell? she mouthed.
He shrugged, then gestured them back the other way. He wasn’t about to try to take an entire rank of elite soldiers on his own.
Once they were a good distance away, Isa took him by the arm. “They’re guarding the wrong way.”
He nodded.
“That’s a rebirthing chamber, right?”
He nodded. It was one—that, and something else he hadn’t yet told her about.
That room was the basis for this entire assault. Yes, the fortress had supplies they could steal—rations, weapons, Deathless technology. Their greatest advantage as a rebellion, however, was Siris himself. One of the Deathless. But to make full use of that advantage, they needed a rebirthing chamber.
Of course, that alone wasn’t going to be enough, not by a long shot. The Dark Self knew it. Siris had really come for something else in that room, another piece of ancient technology—one far more rare.
“Come on,” Siris said. “Whatever has drawn their attention, it’s to our advantage. Let’s break this place open like a walnut.”
The three of them continued on toward the front gates. They crossed almost the entire distance without incident—but then Siris heard a hissing from behind.
He spun, hand on his sword. The daeril must have been prowling the hallways on watch. It wore a mask—it was favored among its kind, then. The wicked, horned thing accompanied a body with twisted limbs, knotted like wood but colored red. It hissed again behind its mask, but raised its sword in a sign of challenge, after the ancient ideal.
“You hit it straight on,” Terr said, voice muffled by his helm. “I’ll come in from the left.”
“No,” Siris said, raising his sword to acknowledge the challenge. “I will face it alone.”
“Don’t be a fool,” Terr said. “I realize that you can’t die, but if you let the thing raise the alarm, we could be done for. We should fight it together—”
“No,” Siris snapped, striding forward. “It showed us honor. I must return that honor.”
“It’s a monster!”
Siris ignored him, falling into a dueling stance.
“This is ridiculous,” Terr hissed.
Honorless peasant, Siris thought, snarling softly. “Go on,” he said to Terr and Isa. “I stay to duel.”
They left, and Siris fought.
He’d practiced with the sword all his life. Fighting was something familiar to him, something noble—one of the few skills he felt that he had earned, rather than just inheriting from another self. True, he likely owed some of his prowess to his ancient self, but he had worked hard during his youth to grow, to progress. Whatever skill his former self had once possessed, he’d added to it during this lifetime.
The beast also fought with skill—it was indeed among the God King’s most elite of creations. The duel ended in the familiar way, however, with Siris slamming his sword into the beast’s chest, sinking it in deep. The thing growled softly, blood from its hidden lips spilling out through the front of the mask.
“You did well,” Siris said to the daeril. “You fought with honor and prowess.”
The thing sighed, almost seeming content as it slid off his sword and stopped moving. In some ways, he envied the creature, created for a single purpose and living its life simply, doing nothing but fulfilling that purpose. He doubted it had ever questioned its existence.
Siris wiped his blade clean as Isa returned.
“I’ve killed the bowmen in their watchposts,” she said. “Terr is at the gate.”
Something thumped in the near distance.
“Onward, then,” Siris said, rising and charging back toward the inner chamber where the God King’s soldiers awaited.
CHAPTER
THIRTEEN
ISA SURVEYED the dead, stepping carefully to avoid the blood, both human and daerilic. Old instincts itched at her to search the bodies, but she suppressed them. It had been a long, long time since she’d been forced to sink so low as to rob corpses. She held no illusions that she had grown beyond such things—you did what you needed to in order to survive—but this was not the day for looting.
This battle had been far too easy. It had felt like a trap up until the end. The soldiers had been crowded around the entrance to the rebirthing chamber, swords out—as if they fully expected the threat to come from inside. Lux and the troops had been able to take them with a surpising degree of ease.
They’d lost men, of course. That was part of what Isa hated about leading, and was why she had Lux perform the actual management of the troops. Isa avoided looking at the faces of the fallen. She would ask their names. Later. For now, she stepped into the rebirthing
Don’t deceive yourself, she thought. You might not be robbing bodies, but today is about plunder. You’re still a thief, you’re just a higher-class one.
That thought actually comforted her.
Siris sat inside, hands clasped before him, helm off, blood in his hair. Not his own. It had dried, crusting.
What was she to make of this man? Half the time he seemed so confident, as if he could stride off a cliff and not fall, gravity itself too intimidated to inconvenience him. And then there were the haunted times. Eyes that had seen too much. Shadows moving behind them.
She had a habit of preferring dangerous men. This one, however, was a different beast entirely.
She stepped up next to him, then ran her fingers along the edge of the tub device. Attuning Siris to this one would allow him to awaken here quickly, and would rejuvenate and strengthen him when needed. Dials, buttons, and wires connected it . . . things she didn’t understand, and didn’t really care to.
“We have our quiver,” she said, speaking in the blunt language of this island continent, where the God King ruled.
“Quiver?” Siris asked, looking up.
“You are the weapon, Whiskers,” she said, tapping the device. “This is just for reloading.”
He smiled wearily. “This was too easy, Isa. Why were the guards so frightened?”
“I know,” Dynn said from the doorway. “It’s actually quite obvious.”
“Is that so?” Siris asked. “What, then, were they so frightened of?”
“Me, clearly,” Dynn said.
Wait. Isa frowned. Dynn’s voice didn’t sound right.
Siris suddenly leaped to his feet and ran toward the soldier. Terr backed away, confused, as Siris and Dynn clashed.
No. Not Dynn at all. Someone laughed behind that helm with a familiar voice.
“You!” Siris said, swiping his sword at the impostor. “What did you do with the man who wore that armor?”
The laughter continued.
That was the God King’s voice.
Oh, hell, Isa thought, reaching for her sword.
“They were worried about me awakening in here,” the God King said, stepping back from Siris. “With good reason.” He held up a hand as Siris prepared to strike. “As much fun as it would be to kill you again, Ausar—and honestly, I’m already growing nostalgic for the experience—I can’t spare the time to indulge myself. Neither, I believe, can you.”
“Your empire is crumbling, Raidriar.”
“And your little rebellion is doomed. He’s planning something dangerous.”
“Have you figured out his endgame?” Siris asked.
Raidriar shook his head. “No. You?”
“No idea.”
“It’s big,” the God King said. “He tossed aside the Infinity Blade as if it were nothing. Whatever he’s working on, he doesn’t consider you, me, or this empire to be a priority.”
Siris hesitated. “Damn.” Finally, he lowered his sword. “Damn.”
Isa looked from one to the other, as they sheathed their swords and walked toward the other side of the room. Almost like old friends.
What, she thought, did I just miss?
She gestured for the other guards to secure the chamber. “Keep the door closed,” she ordered, “and see if you can find Dynn. He might be back in the room where we entered the complex.”
Terr ran off immediately. Others stood guard behind the door as Isa closed it. She went over to where the God King and Siris were talking.
“You need me,” Raidriar was saying.
“Hardly,” Siris replied.
“Oh? And the machinery in this chamber? You were going to move it on your own? Have you any knowledge of how to disassemble it, how to set it back up? Do you even know how to work it?”
“We could leave it here, make this our base.”
“And stay exactly where the Worker knows he can find you?” The God King left his helm on. He wouldn’t show his face to those he considered his lessers.
“Where is my soldier?” Isa demanded, stepping up next to Siris.
The God King looked her over. “He is alive,” he said. “I realized that Ausar would whine and moan if I killed one of his little rebels, even if they are all my subjects.”
“Where?” Isa demanded. “In the room where we entered?”
“Obviously,” the God King said with a wave of the hand. “Calm yourself, child. I barely even harmed him. He didn’t need that hand; he has two, after all.”
“You monster,” Isa said, lunging at him. Siris caught her by the shoulder and pulled her back.
“Honestly,” the God King said, “no need to fuss for something so minor. You mortals break so easily, one would assume you’d be accustomed to it by now.”
“You—” Isa started.
Siris took her by the shoulder. “He’s taunting you, Isa. Don’t rise to it.”
She cut herself off, fuming. If Dynn was dead . . .
“You do need me,” the God King said, turning back to Siris. “I brought one of my loyal Devoted, one of the few mortals I allowed to develop expertise in Deathless technology. He can disassemble the machinery here and set it up somewhere else. Some location you choose.”
“Fine,” Siris said. “Very magnanimous of you. And your part in it? What do you gain?”
“We defeat him, and I get my empire back.”
“Like hell you do,” Isa spat. “We’re not going to rebel against him, only to give everything back to you.”
“And him?” the God King asked, amused, waving toward Siris. “You think that giving the empire to Ausar here will be any different?”
“He won’t rule.”
“Oh?” the God King asked. “I find that . . . unlikely. He has always loved to rule. He’s never been good at it, granted, but he does love it. Don’t you, Ausar?”
Siris didn’t reply, his lips a tight line.
“Regardless,” the God King said, “it isn’t important now. First we need to defeat the Worker. Anyone’s rule would be better than the chaos and misery he has sewn since his return. Mortals or not, these are my people. I will not abandon them. We can discuss the nature of our . . . alliance later.”
“I don’t trust you, Raidriar,” Siris said.
“I should hope not! You’re a fool, but not that big a fool. But you also know that I will keep my word. So I vow to you that I won’t move against you, as long as the Worker rules. I will have my man set up this equipment as-is, installing no hidden subroutines, no Q.I.P. alteration algorithms. We will be allies until our common enemy falls.”
Siris met the God King’s eyes.
“You know this to be the right course,” Raidriar said. “Just as I knew you would come here. As soon as I considered, I knew where to find you.”
“Fine,” Siris said, holding out a hand. “But the equipment stays under my control. You swear not to use it without my approval.”
“Fine,” the God King said, sounding annoyed within his helm.
“We need a place the Worker won’t think to look for us,” Siris said. “Do you know of any such place? A place secret even from those who work with us, to preserve a layer of security.”
“Well,” the God King said as they clasped hands. “I do have a few hideouts that were not in my records. You can choose one of many.”
Isa stared at them both, horrified. “This can’t possibly be right, Siris,” she said.
The God King looked to her. “Isn’t she the one who killed you with that crossbow bolt, all those months ago?”
“Yes,” Siris said.
“I suppose I have to like her, then. I assume you’ve chosen her to be first.”
“First?” Isa said. “First what?”
“He didn’t tell you?” the God King said, sounding amused. “About this place?”
“What about this place?” Isa asked.
“Raidriar . . .” Siris
“First? First what?” Isa snapped.
“You were going to have to tell her eventually, Ausar,” the God King said, strolling through the room, nodding toward the rebirthing tub and equipment. “Best to get it over with quickly. Like an execution—one swift chop.”
Siris sighed.
Isa looked to him. “What’s he talking about?” she asked, feeling a chill.
“This isn’t just a rebirthing chamber, Isa,” Siris said. “It’s a Pinnacle of Sanctification.”
“A what?”
“A device for making new Deathless, child,” the God King said, his voice echoing in the metallic room as he turned toward her. “Your hero plans to create his own pantheon of immortals—and you are to be the first of their ranks.”
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
SIRIS WATCHED the fire flutter and shake as the sea winds blew across it. Behind him, a cliffside set with ancient blocks formed a doorway cut into the stone. Majestic, only the ruins of this place remained. Isa’s people had draped tents between the half-fallen rocks, creating a semblance of civilization.
Water lapped against the shore nearby. Siris did not know much of the ocean, even though he’d grown up on what was essentially a very large island. This sheltered location was not an area he had ever traveled. He got the sense that few came this way. The God King’s lair here, chosen by Siris from among those offered, was a hidden place he claimed that even the Worker wouldn’t know about. A location locked only in his own memory.
Soldiers huddled nearby around their own fire. Not all of their force, only a select few. They couldn’t hide a full army here; just the equipment. The majority of the troops would remain back at the village in the valley.
Siris looked them over. These men had been recruited and trained to attack the Deathless—but so far, they hadn’t fought any. They’d been joined by two instead. They had to be wondering, are we being manipulated? Is this rebellion all just another Deathless game?