Infinity Blade 01- Awakening

from behind her, leaf-ears perking up.
    “Hell take me,” he whispered, pulling free the Infinity Blade. “The sword might be active after all, Isa.”
    “Then the God King—”
    “No. After beating him, I went into the palace dungeons. I met a man who served the God King, a man who claimed to be one of my ancestors.” Siris turned, looking toward her. “The daerils in the place, they said the God King felt only one more soul was needed. I slew my ancestor; that might have been enough.” He turned the silvery blade; it glistened in a beam of filtered sunlight.
    “Great,” she said. “So all we need to do is hunt the God King down and kill him again. How hard can it be to locate, fight your way to, and slay a god?”
    “I did it once.”
    Her smile faded. “I meant that jokingly, whiskers.”
    “I know.”
    “So . . .”
    “So I don’t know,” he said, slamming the sword back into its makeshift sheath and continuing on. “I feel like my entire life has been controlled. I was the Sacrifice, and that was it. I trained, I focused everything I had on facing the God King. And you know what? Part of the reason I could do that was because I saw an end.”
    She moved the horse up beside him, listening.
    “An end,” he continued, fingering the pommel of the Infinity Blade. “It was death, yes, but at least I knew exactly what I had to do. It’s like . . . like I knew there was an enormous race in front of me, but there was also a finish line, after which I could rest.
    “These last few weeks, they’ve taken that finish line from me. Fight the God King. Oh, you won. Well, now you’ve got to fight him again. And if you manage that, you’ve got an entire Pantheon to worry about. And maybe hundreds of other Deathless nobody has told you about. Want to bring freedom to your people? Well, you’re going to be fighting every moment of your life, like a drowning man struggling to hold his head above water.
    “So I don’t know, Isa. This sword is a lead weight at my side. I should use it, but I’m exhausted, and someone has stolen my prize away. I lost my entire childhood. I’d like to live a little, just for myself. Does that make sense?”
    “More than you could possibly imagine,” she whispered.
    He glanced at her. He still didn’t know what to make of her. She seemed to like it that way.
    “I think,” she said, “that what you are doing is more than noble enough. You shall find this Worker, and give him back his sword. Nobody could ask more of you.” She grinned. “And if you die instead, I shall then take the sword and sell it for a mountain of gold.”
    He eyed her.
    “I’ll use it to throw you one hell of funeral party,” she promised solemnly. “I’ll make sure the Dark Barrower himself comes to take your soul, and that no Deathless claims it.”
    “Thanks. I’ll just try to live, though.”
    “Sure. Make things boring.”
    Siris got a good look at Saydhi’s estates as they wound their way down around the side of a ridge. Instead of a castle, it appeared that this Deathless preferred sprawling estates with ornamental gardens. There were practically no walls, just streams, stands of bamboo, and the occasional peaked building.
    One building stood out: an open-sided structure in the center of the gardens. “I fight my way there, I assume?” he said, pointing.
    “If she keeps her word, yes,” Isa said. “You challenge the guard at the pathway in. If he falls, it will draw her attention and alert the other champions. Saydhi will probably watch from a distance to see if you’re entertaining enough. If you are, she’ll summon her current high champion. Defeat him, and you get your answer.”
    “Supposedly.”
    “Supposedly,” Isa admitted.
    He took a deep breath. He’d feel less nervous if he could remember how he’d performed that True Pattern sword dance. His instincts—ones he hadn’t realized he had—whispered that the True Patterns were extraordinarily varied, and the one to use depended specifically on the number of attackers, their skill, and how they were surrounding you. Using the right form could end them all in a series of perfected strikes. Using the wrong one meant leaving yourself wide open to multiple attackers.
    He shouldn’t need that today. These should be duels after the ancient ideal. As they rode, he found himself increasingly nervous, more so than when facing the God King. Then, at least, he’d assumed he knew the fight’s result. “All