Read Online Infinity Blade: Redemption by Brandon Sanderson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Brandon Sanderson
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any coordination between its pieces, local minor Deathless taking up dominion of their little fiefdoms and ignoring decrees from the fake God King, villages starving because shipping had broken down.
He could have fixed this easily, Siris thought, turning to the next report. It’s like he doesn’t care.
A knock sounded at the door. Siris looked up from his reports and maps. He sat in the top room of the command center. It had its own window, which he left open to the cool mountain breeze.
The newcomer was a woman in an apron and a dark grey cotton dress. Nice clothing, for a peasant. She was one of the cooks, likely someone who had run from direct Deathless employ.
“Mr. Deathless, sir?” she asked from the doorway.
“Don’t call me Deathless,” Siris said, smiling. “It’s nothing for me to be proud of. I’m Siris.”
“Siris, sir,” she said, then curtsied. She was one of several dozen who had come to him during the last few hours. Isa was sending them up, he assumed. Soldiers, grooms, the town chandler, and now a cook.
The Dark Self was furious at the interruption, but it adapted quickly. He would need the good will of his minions.
They aren’t minions, Siris told himself forcibly. Hell take him . . . the more he leaned upon the Dark Self, the more those kinds of thoughts crept into his mind.
“What can I do for you?” Siris asked.
“I just wanted to see you,” she said. “With my own eyes.” She looked at him adoringly.
The Dark Self was pleased.
“You’re really going to kill him?” the woman asked. “The God King?”
“I’ve killed him already,” Siris said. “Hundreds of times. I’m going to do something better. I’m going to free us all.”
And after that, he’d be the only remaining Deathless.
She withdrew, and Siris settled back, disturbed at the realization of how desperately he wanted to be the only living Deathless. How much could he trust himself? Once, he’d blamed these instincts on the Infinity Blade, assuming that it was corrupting him. The truth was far more disturbing. There was no corruption—no exterior object to blame. This was him.
The piece of him that knew how to lead, how to inspire men and make them eager to follow, was also the piece that had oppressed and destroyed.
Another sound distracted him from his reports, but this time it wasn’t someone at the door. It came from outside. Siris tried to work, but the boiling dread of the Dark Self—mixed with his frustration at the Worker’s unseen plots—kept him from being able to focus.
Instead, he rose and went to the balcony to investigate the sound—that of children playing. He stood up above, watching them for a time, then glanced at the steps going down. The balcony had its own set, of course. Isa ran this place. There would always be a back way out of any building she ordered built.
The Dark Self wanted him to get back to his studies. So, defiant, he did not.
He started down the steps instead.
ISA SHOVELED soup into her mouth, eating quickly. There was so much to do, now that Siris was actually back. So many people she needed to make sure he met, so many plans he needed to know.
She ate quickly. Little time could be spared for food, even good food like this. The rebellion ate well; she saw to that. She’d keep these people strong.
When the cook returned from upstairs, she sent the next man in line—the last one. A lanky soldier named Drel that the others looked up to. She’d found him raiding Deathless on his own, spreading stories of Siris. Now he’d get to meet the real thing.
She nodded, sending him up the steps. Before she could return to her food, however, she heard a familiar voice coming from the front of the building.
“Hereherehereherehere!” She could barely separate the words one from another. She smiled and stood as TEL scrambled into the room.
The thing—it wasn’t really a he , though she often thought of it that way—wore the shape of a rabbit. A rabbit made
He could have fixed this easily, Siris thought, turning to the next report. It’s like he doesn’t care.
A knock sounded at the door. Siris looked up from his reports and maps. He sat in the top room of the command center. It had its own window, which he left open to the cool mountain breeze.
The newcomer was a woman in an apron and a dark grey cotton dress. Nice clothing, for a peasant. She was one of the cooks, likely someone who had run from direct Deathless employ.
“Mr. Deathless, sir?” she asked from the doorway.
“Don’t call me Deathless,” Siris said, smiling. “It’s nothing for me to be proud of. I’m Siris.”
“Siris, sir,” she said, then curtsied. She was one of several dozen who had come to him during the last few hours. Isa was sending them up, he assumed. Soldiers, grooms, the town chandler, and now a cook.
The Dark Self was furious at the interruption, but it adapted quickly. He would need the good will of his minions.
They aren’t minions, Siris told himself forcibly. Hell take him . . . the more he leaned upon the Dark Self, the more those kinds of thoughts crept into his mind.
“What can I do for you?” Siris asked.
“I just wanted to see you,” she said. “With my own eyes.” She looked at him adoringly.
The Dark Self was pleased.
“You’re really going to kill him?” the woman asked. “The God King?”
“I’ve killed him already,” Siris said. “Hundreds of times. I’m going to do something better. I’m going to free us all.”
And after that, he’d be the only remaining Deathless.
She withdrew, and Siris settled back, disturbed at the realization of how desperately he wanted to be the only living Deathless. How much could he trust himself? Once, he’d blamed these instincts on the Infinity Blade, assuming that it was corrupting him. The truth was far more disturbing. There was no corruption—no exterior object to blame. This was him.
The piece of him that knew how to lead, how to inspire men and make them eager to follow, was also the piece that had oppressed and destroyed.
Another sound distracted him from his reports, but this time it wasn’t someone at the door. It came from outside. Siris tried to work, but the boiling dread of the Dark Self—mixed with his frustration at the Worker’s unseen plots—kept him from being able to focus.
Instead, he rose and went to the balcony to investigate the sound—that of children playing. He stood up above, watching them for a time, then glanced at the steps going down. The balcony had its own set, of course. Isa ran this place. There would always be a back way out of any building she ordered built.
The Dark Self wanted him to get back to his studies. So, defiant, he did not.
He started down the steps instead.
ISA SHOVELED soup into her mouth, eating quickly. There was so much to do, now that Siris was actually back. So many people she needed to make sure he met, so many plans he needed to know.
She ate quickly. Little time could be spared for food, even good food like this. The rebellion ate well; she saw to that. She’d keep these people strong.
When the cook returned from upstairs, she sent the next man in line—the last one. A lanky soldier named Drel that the others looked up to. She’d found him raiding Deathless on his own, spreading stories of Siris. Now he’d get to meet the real thing.
She nodded, sending him up the steps. Before she could return to her food, however, she heard a familiar voice coming from the front of the building.
“Hereherehereherehere!” She could barely separate the words one from another. She smiled and stood as TEL scrambled into the room.
The thing—it wasn’t really a he , though she often thought of it that way—wore the shape of a rabbit. A rabbit made
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