Infinity Blade: Awakening

yellow-faced daeril poking and prodding at the God King’s broken seat, ostensibly trying to fix it.

Siris rounded the throne and stepped up to the daeril. Siris regarded Strix for a moment, then grabbed the gaunt daeril by the throat, hauling him up and slamming him back against the remnants of the side of the throne. He held the Infinity Blade in his other hand.

The daeril’s black eyes bugged out, and he tried to gasp for breath. “Great . . . master . . . Why . . . ?”

“Who is it you serve?”

The daeril’s eyes grew more panicked. “Master . . . I . . . of course I serve you . . .”

“You are a smart one, Strix,” Siris said. “You know that it’s dangerous to be found here. The other Deathless will slaughter you for what you know of the God King’s death. I can understand why Kuuth stayed; he doesn’t care about life. But you? You stayed for a reason.”

The daeril struggled, eyes widening.

Siris tightened his grip.

“Who do you serve?” Siris demanded.

Something crunched behind him.

Siris spun without thinking, the Infinity Blade lashing out. He’d intended to behead the person sneaking up on him. Instead, he sliced through his 15-foot-tall opponent’s stomach.

Kuuth, the blind troll, stumbled back, blood dribbling down his waist. His large, treelike staff clattered to the floor. He’d been about to smash Siris across the head.

“Hell take me!” Siris yelled. Traitors! Kill them both! Bring them pain. Make them fear.

He spun on Strix and drove the Infinity Blade into the stone of the throne, just beside the creature’s head. “What,” Siris bellowed, “is going on?”

“Do not blame Strix, warrior,” Kuuth said in his rumbling voice. The aged troll gasped in pain, then went down on his knees. “He did as I instructed him.”

“Kuuth,” Siris said, turning. The dying troll toppled onto his side. “Why . . .”

“We serve our master, warrior,” Kuuth said, voice growing softer. “It is . . . what we were created . . . to do . . .”

“Your master is dead!”

Kuuth fell still.

Siris spun on the quivering daeril beside the throne. Strix shrank down farther.

Kuuth had tried to get him to stay in the palace. That must have been what the entire conversation had been intended to do. Make him trust the troll, make him agree to remain behind. Where he could be found.

Siris leaned in. “What. Did. He. Mean?”

“The Infinity Blade doesn’t work yet,” Strix said, cowering. “The God King was preparing it with the souls of your bloodline! He thought killing you would be the last step. But he didn’t kill you. He-”

He fell to me, Siris thought.

Which meant . . . if the sword didn’t work yet . . .

The God King is still alive. He knows where I am.

Oh, hell.

Siris stumbled back, pulling the Infinity Blade from the stone and clutching it. Strix rubbed his neck, standing up and coughing. “He’ll come for you soon,” Strix said, hatred in his eyes. “I don’t know why he let you defeat him, or why he ordered Kuuth to answer your questions. But this is all part of his plan. Everything is always part of his plan.”

Siris longed to strike the daeril down, but he stopped himself. There had been a time he’d fought only when someone challenged him. Where had this bloodthirst come from?

The sword, he thought. It’s corrupting me. I can’t even use it, and it’s corrupting me.

He stumbled back farther, and Strix laughed. “Flee. He will find you, human. He will reclaim what is his, and you will come to learn-as your ancestors learned-the price of defiance!”

Clutching the Infinity Blade, Siris fled.

Chapter Four

True to her word, Isa was lounging outside when Siris burst from the castle’s outer court gate. She tucked a book into the pocket of her long coat and slung her crossbow over her shoulder. “So, where are we going?”

“The God King is alive,” Siris said, panting. He’d gathered his armor and regrown his shield, though he hadn’t taken the time to don the armor. He had it tied in his cloak, slung over his shoulder, and wore the Infinity Blade at his side in the improvised sheath that didn’t fit it very well.

“Well, he is immortal,” Isa said. “People like that have a tendency toward, you know, not dying.”

This upended everything. He hadn’t won. He’d failed.

“I need to find a way to make the Infinity Blade function,” Siris explained. “It . . .” He stopped. Telling her that the God King had planned to make it work by killing Siris didn’t seem particularly wise. In fact, telling her anything didn’t seem particularly wise.

But he was alone, ignorant, and running low on options. Isa seemed to know it, for she was watching him with a sly smile.

Siris took a deep breath. “You said you know how to get everywhere. So . . .”

“‘Making the Infinity Blade work’ isn’t a place, whiskers.”

“I need to find someone to help me. Maybe someone to take the sword off my hands. Can you find the Worker of Secrets?”

Isa froze, and he felt a sliver of satisfaction-through the anxiety-at having finally said something that surprised her. “The Worker of Secrets is a myth,” she said. “Pure fabrication. Nobody fights back against the Deathless. Nobody.”

“I did. You seem to have been intending to, in some way.”

Isa didn’t respond.

“The Worker made the Infinity Blade,” Siris said, though he had gotten that information from Kuuth. Could he trust anything that troll had told him?

The God King told him to answer my questions. Why?

“Yes, it’s said the blade is the Worker’s creation,” Isa replied, which shocked him. She did know about it. Or was she playing along?

Terrors, he thought. What am I doing? I can’t handle this. All I know how to do is kill people. It appeared he couldn’t even do that properly.

“The Worker of Secrets,” Isa said thoughtfully. “Ancient enemy of the Deathless, trapped in a prison where time does not pass-his punishment for making a forbidden weapon.”

“What do you know, Isa?” he said, pointing at her. “What do you really know about all of this?”

“Not as much as it seems,” she said lightly. “And certainly not where the Worker is imprisoned, if he even exists.”

“You said you can take me anywhere.”

“Anyplace not mythical, whiskers,” she said skeptically, folding her arms. “I think the Worker is probably a rumor spread among the Deathless to cover up the true origins of the Infinity Blade.”

“Well, we have to go somewhere,” Siris said, looking back at the castle. It seemed hollow and empty. A throne without a king. “Let’s get moving, for now. I’ll . . . I’ll think about what to do.”

Isa shrugged, then started down the path. He followed, hoping he didn’t look as uncertain as he felt.

I’m a child, Siris thought. A child playing at games only the adults understand.