Ashimar looked up, meeting Raidriar’s eyes. Then the Deathless stood and pulled a sword from its sheath at his side.
An Infinity Blade.
ANOTHER INFINITY Blade.
Outside Siris’s cabin, the sky rumbled with distant thunder. The ship rocked back and forth, and he smiled. Then, he took out the small ring of teleportation. He could summon the Infinity Blade back in a heartbeat, leaving Raidriar unarmed and facing a weapon that could kill him for good.
The perfect betrayal. Vengeance, at long last. A conclusion to what he had been built to do, what he had been trained to do.
Defeat the God King.
He moved to activate the ring . . . but found himself hesitating.
On the screen, the fight began.
RAIDRIAR WAS not stunned to see a new Infinity Blade. He could not afford to be stunned. Lesser beings let surprises destroy them. Not him.
It could only mean one of three things. Ashimar’s Blade was a fake. Raidriar’s Blade was a fake.
Or the Worker had created more Infinity Blades.
You are a fool, Worker, he thought. A duel would solve this problem. He would need a Deathless soul to feed to his Blade to test it, and that meant he could no longer allow Ashimar to leave. A pity.
“I am sorry, old friend,” Raidriar said, entering a dueling stance.
“I am not,” Ashimar said, putting on his helm. “I can’t let myself die. Curse me, even still, I cling to life . . . I can barely remember the old days. The good days.”
The old days, good days? Perhaps putting poor Ashimar down would be an act of mercy.
Raidriar attacked.
Ashimar stood on the steps leading up to the throne’s dais, and that high ground should have given him the advantage. But his attacks were sluggish. Raidriar easily forced him up the stairs, using his shield like a bludgeon, keeping his opponent’s Infinity Blade away. He did not plan to test its authenticity with his own blood.
SIRIS WATCHED the fight.
Inside of him, another fight raged, more powerful. So strong, he could barely focus on the screen.
Betray Raidriar or not?
This monster had killed him hundreds of times. Siris could have the perfect revenge now. If he took the Blade at just the right moment, in the instant when Raidriar tried to parry, this enemy’s weapon would find Raidriar’s soul.
It would end him forever. Raidriar deserved it. He truly did.
And yet . . .
He didn’t kill me when he had the chance, Siris thought. He believes in honor. He’s a tyrant, a murderer. But he’s an honest one.
Could Siris really do this? The Dark Self wanted to lash out, wanted to see his ancient foe defeated.
The man that Siris had become fought back, clinging to his morality by his fingernails.
RAIDRIAR FORCED Ashimar up the last few steps and onto the dais above, then came in like a tempest. Raidriar threw aside his shield and attacked with overhand blows in rapid succession.
Ashimar was Deathless, and he was skilled, but Raidriar was among the best. Only one man had beaten him in recent times.
Ashimar floundered, dropping to the floor of the dais. He lunged in a desperate maneuver.
Raidriar moved to batter the weapon aside.
SWEAT SLICK on his brow, Siris watched.
The moment came.
And to his sorrow, to his shame, he activated the button and betrayed the God King.
Nothing happened.
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
SOMETHING CHIRPED in Raidriar’s helm—the chip that Ausar had embedded into his weapon, the one that would have teleported it away, had been activated. Raidriar had removed it, of course.
So, you decided betray me after all, Raidriar thought, surprised as he continued his swing and battered aside Ashimar’s weapon.
Raidriar’s blow threw the weapon from Ashimar’s hand. It clanged to the floor of the dais, skidding away, toward where the Worker sat, engaged by his screens.
Raidriar’s enemy slumped down, defeated.
Ah, Ausar, Raidriar thought. That move with the teleportation ring was clever. Just not clever enough. He activated his armor’s personal interference shield, as he knew that Siris would be watching remotely. That would inhibit the image, make it so that his old friend could no longer watch.
Raidriar should be angry at Ausar. Instead, he was impressed. That would have been a wonderful betrayal. Treachery worthy of the highest Deathless.
He still hated Ausar, of course. Deeply. But that didn’t matter right now. Secure that Ausar could no longer watch, he knelt and grabbed Ashimar by the throat, lifting him.
“Thank . . . you . . .” Ashimar whispered.
Raidriar nodded solemnly. “Goodbye, my friend.”
And with that he slammed the Infinity Blade into Ashimar’s chest. The proper flash of light followed, indicating the severing of the immortal bond, the end of a life thought endless. When Raidriar dropped the husk he knew that the Weapon he held was no fake.
SIRIS SAT back, his mirror greyed out.
He’d been outmaneuvered. Not just politically and technologically, but morally as well.
What have I done? he thought.
The Dark Self seethed.
I hate you, Siris realized. Even if you make me strong, I hate you. Far more than I hate him.
There was nothing to be done about it. For now, he admitted defeat.
He was the Dark Self.
RAIDRIAR PICKED up Ashimar’s weapon. It was, to Raidriar’s eyes, identical to the Infinity Blade he held.
“Why?” he called to the Worker, who was still tapping on the screens projected around his throne. Raidriar was only a few steps away by now.
“To occupy them,” he said. “And to make certain I could replicate the device.”
“Foolish,” Raidriar said, striding forward. “That gives them a chance to destroy you. You ignore too much. Even if I do not defeat you, someone will. They will raise empires to rival you.”
The Worker turned to him, then slowly shook his head. “You still haven’t figured it out, I see.”
Raidriar prowled forward, glancing at the screens around the Worker, which were now close enough for him to make out. Schematics of the world, each continent outlined, and . . . satellites in the skies? Launch trajectories?
Another war? No . . . this was more extensive than that.
“Did you know,” the Worker said conversationally, “that there are actually two ways to kill a Deathless? I’ve known of the first for ages. It requires leaving the soul with no place to hide, no body to restore.”
“Impossible,” Raidriar said. “Even if you destroyed all of the rebirthing chambers, the soul would return to the original body and heal it.”
“Not if there is nothing left to heal.”
Raidriar saw it, then. Full orbital bombardment. Laying waste to the entire world, reducing it to ash and slag. Extinction of all life.
“No . . .” Raidriar whispered.
“I hate to do it,” the Worker said. “I will have to live offworld for centuries while the planet recovers. But occasionally, a resurrection is needed—a cleansing. What did you once tell me?” The Worker smiled. “That men must be cast down on occasion, or they will grow too high-minded? That goes for Deathless too.”
“Not this,” Raidriar said, looking at one of the screens with dread. “Everyone . . . everything. You go too far, Galath! I will not allow this. These are my people, and I am their king. I will not allow—”
“Allow?” the Worker said, amused. “Who are you to allow anything, Jori?”
Raidriar turned to face him, then fell into a dueling stance, wary for traps. Before him, screens displayed a multitude of plots. Images of the satellites that would vaporize all life. Views of the various places where Deathless fought one another, struggling for supremacy, never realizing that their creator had already deemed them obsolete.
He fought down the terrible, nauseating horror
of it. He was a king, and he would not allow emotion to cloud what he needed to do.
He would stop this. And then, each and every Deathless on the planet would owe Raidriar their lives. He would make certain they knew of that debt.
“Still assuming you’re going to be able to kill me, Raidriar?” the Worker said, sounding amused. He stood up, passing through his screens, to a small workstation near the throne. The desk was scattered with bits of ancient technology.
He paid Raidriar little heed, taking out a datapod and laying it on his desk, opening up files.
Raidriar vaguely remembered datapods. His father had used one to transfer information between electronic surfaces. He’d carried his life about on the thing. Raidriar had once been very jealous of that datapod his father carried in his watch. And then the man had given up immortality for him.
Be a king, son . . .
“But, of course,” the Worker said, “I know that you aren’t yet convinced. I know you too well to assume otherwise.” He sighed. “Well then, come on over. I believe I owe you a duel.”
Raidriar growled, striding up to the monster. The Worker tapped a few times on his desk screen. “This really is a waste of time.”
Raidriar stabbed him through the chest with the Infinity Blade.
“Are you quite done?” the Worker asked, the Weapon still poking through his chest. “I have a lot I need to be doing.”
No flash of light. No disjunction of the Q.I.P.
“It’s a fake after all?” Raidriar whispered.