Brandon SANDERSON - Infinity Blade - Redemption

He had finally reached the dungeons. Raidriar pushed through the doors, sliding his swords into sheaths at his sides as he did so. He’d stolen these off a particularly well-equipped daeril – one he’d been fond of, unfortunately. Despite his initial pleasure at the contest, this business of fighting through the place had left him depressed. He was like a master huntsman being forced to put down his own loyal hounds.

He counted out three cells in the dungeon, each of which was fitted with a thick, windowless door. Breaking down such a door was beyond him, even with his fit body; instead, he took off his ring. It was a simple loop – the type that fascinated his daerils. They carried his old castoffs and failed experiments with great pride. He looked at the small display on the inside of this one. Seven years and three months. Had he really needed that much healing? That would push this brand-new body to its mid-twenties already.

Normally, he wouldn’t care. He had bodies to spare, and this one – like his others – had been modified to restrict hair and nail growth so that healing would not leave him with an unsightly mangle of a beard.

Yet he didn’t know how many bodies he would have access to in the near future. He might need to keep this one fit, rather than running it ragged, healing it to the point that it grew to middle age in the course of an afternoon.

I will have to be more careful with healing, he thought. His body’s Deathless nature would heal him slowly on its own. Unfortunately, when surrounded by enemies and lacking his armor, he had often needed the ring for a quick burst of restoration.

He shook his head, tucking away his ring in a pouch he had tied at his waist. He then fished out his others. One teleportation ring. That could be useful; it separated into two different loops, and when one was activated, it would teleport the smaller ring to the larger. You could use it to summon a weapon in a moment of need, for example. Unfortunately, the process did not work on living flesh.

He tucked that one away and inspected the third. Constructed of black metal, it looked like iron fresh from the forge. He held it cautiously. They knew so little of the element they called Incarnate Dark. Even the Worker had always seemed wary of it, though he – and his scientists – spoke of it in their usual scholarly way, explaining its import in the universe and its influence on the movement of celestial bodies.

To Raidriar, Incarnate Dark was just another tool. A dangerous tool – in other words, the best kind.

He slid on the ring and summoned from it a small shield of force that fit his palm and fingers like an invisible glove. He felt only a faint tingling. An anticipation of energy to come.

He allowed a tiny amount of that energy to seep through, a fraction of a drop of Darkness Incarnate. His shielded skin reflected the energy – or the not -energy – outward. Raidriar pressed his hand against the wooden door.

The door crumpled.

The darkness pulled everything toward it, ripping the door to its fundamental pieces, sucking them inward. Wood cracked and popped, as if an invisible hand squeezed the sides in with an awful strength. In seconds, the Incarnate Dark had been expended, leaving the door in shambles, the greater portion of it simply . . . gone. It had been sucked through the tiny portal in his ring that was connected – like all of the rings – to a distant power.

The cell now open, Raidriar stepped inside.

URIEL ENTERED his house, laughing to himself. The storm would probably cover his entrance, wouldn’t it? Perhaps he should be more quiet.

He laughed anyway. Of course . He moved up the stairs, leaving wet steps. He pushed open the door to the bedroom. Mary screamed, reaching for blankets. Adram scrambled out of the bed in shock, falling to the floor.

Uriel took off his jacket, shaking the rain free. “You know, this makes sense,” he said, chuckling. “The world makes sense for once. I could actually have guessed this would happen!”

Adram – a look of sheer panic on his face – barreled out of the room, carrying his trousers. Mary was weeping. Why should she cry? She hadn’t been hurt.

Uriel sat down on the bed. “I stayed late too many times, I see. That’s a number. I can add that in a column and see what it creates. If it had been another person in the office talking about his wife, I probably would have noticed immediately what was happening.” He looked toward her. “But it wasn’t another man’s wife. It was you . The flaw was never in the numbers. It’s in me. I can’t see them when you are involved.”

“Uriel . . .” she said, reaching a trembling hand toward him. Below, Adram’s monster of a car roared to life.

“Now, now, don’t worry about me. I don’t have emotions, you see. Adram explained it all. I . . . I don’t . . .” That wetness on his cheeks. Rainwater, obviously. He took a deep breath. “Jori?”

She glanced wildly at the clock. “Jori!”

“I’ll go for him,” Uriel said, standing. “I hope he’s not riding home in this. And then, weren’t we going to have Thai? Something special. For me . . .”

Uriel walked toward the door.

“Uriel . . .” Mary said. “I’m sor–”

“Stop. You don’t get to say that.”

He walked out. Where had his smile gone? The situation really was amazing. Perfect, even. That he should be so oblivious. He–

Tires screeched outside.

TWO FIGURES – dirtied, blinking against the sudden light – huddled inside the cell that Raidriar entered. A stout, bald man stood up on trembling legs, raising a hand toward Raidriar. Then, the man fell to his knees and bowed himself.

“My God,” Eves breathed, “you have returned.”

Excellent. Eves, Raidriar’s High Devoted, head of his priesthood. “Ever known the truth,” Raidriar said, repeating a passcode set up between him and Eves should there ever be a question of Raidriar’s authenticity. Because of the possibility of Soulless copies, it seemed wise to have such a protocol in place.

Eves’s shoulders relaxed and he looked up. “It is you. Oh, great master. I have failed.”

“I noticed.” Raidriar waved for Eves and his companion, a younger man, to rise. “How complete is the impostor’s domination?”

“I do not know, great master. I was not suspicious of the creature at first. It wasn’t until the second day that I demanded the sign from him. When he could not produce it, I tried to raise the Devoted and Seringal against him. Great master, my rival among the Devoted – Macrom – was ready, and he turned them all against me.”

“Curious,” the God King said. “So he was informed of the plot ahead of time.”

“It seems that way.”

The Worker had found a way to communicate while imprisoned. Had he led Ausar to search him out there in the first place?

The answer was obvious. Of course he had.

“Macrom had been whispering poison to the others for some time,” Eves said. “We who remained loyal fought them, but most of the Seringal sided with the impostor. All that remain of your true Devoted are myself and young Douze. We have been imprisoned here for months upon months, great master. Perhaps years . . .”

Raidriar grunted. He had hoped that Eves would at least have some information for him.

“Great master?” Eves asked as the other Devoted bowed and gave obeisance. “Macrom . . . Did you slaughter him in a particularly painful way?” Eves sounded hopeful.

“Thin fellow?” Raidriar asked. “Upturned nose?”

“That’s him, great master.”

“Hmmm. I may have actually left that one alive. I don’t fully remember.”