Infinity Blade 02 - Redemption

then turned his helmed gaze toward Siris. “I have always believed,” he said, “that when one has a task that needs to be accomplished, one seeks out the best tool for the job. Distasteful though it is to admit, I do not know of anyone better suited to this task than you.”
    “Killing you,” Siris said, nodding. “This why you really came for me, isn’t it? You weren’t certain you could kill the copy yourself, so you sought out an expert.”
    Raidriar did not respond. He folded his arms instead. “You agree that we need the Weapon?”
    “To fight the Worker? Most certainly. And you’re right—I am the one to recover it.”
    Raidriar nodded.
    “But not with a strike team,” Siris said. “I’ll go alone.”
    “Are you certain?”
    “Yes. As you said, I am the right . . . tool for the job.”
    Raidriar nodded.
    “Aren’t you worried?” Siris asked. “What if I come back with the Blade and use it against you immediately?”
    “It is a risk.”
    “And?”
    “Well, I am reasonably certain I can out-think you, old friend. But the Worker is a different story. If one of the two of you is to hold that weapon, I’d much prefer it be you. Besides, I suspect that once you have it, you’ll give it to me.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.”
    “We shall see,” Raidriar said, nodding to the side. Isa had begun to pick her way down from her perch. “I will make certain the rebirthing chamber is attuned to your Q.I.P. If you die facing my Soulless, we can rebuild you.”
    “If your Soulless really has the Weapon,” Siris said, walking toward Isa, “then the rebirthing chamber won’t matter.” With that, he left Raidriar behind.
    It’s too bad, a part of Siris thought, that there isn’t a good reason for Raidriar to go fight the Soulless. Seeing him die, skewered on the Infinity Blade while fighting a version of himself . . . How satisfying would that be?
    He stopped in front of Isa, but she passed him by, walking toward the camp of soldiers.
    “I forgave you,” Siris said, turning after her.
    Isa stopped in place.
    “Just after we first met,” Siris said, “You betrayed me and tried to kill me. I forgave you. Do I not deserve the same consideration?”
    “The problem isn’t forgiving you, Siris.” Isa turned back and stepped up to him. “The problem is that I’m afraid you don’t need to be forgiven.”
    “I should have told you what I was planning.”
    “Yeah. Sure. I agree, but that’s not the issue. The issue is that I might have spent two years raising up a rebellion, only to give right back in to the Deathless.”
    “You don’t—”
    “He’s right. You’re right. They’re not just immortal, they’re near-invincible. It makes perfect sense. How do we fight them? We make our own Deathless. Ideal. Wonderful. We set up another aristocracy to replace the one before, and everything just continues on. New names, same rules . . .”
    “It won’t be that way.”
    “Can you promise that, Siris? Really?”
    “I . . .” The Dark Self still lurked inside. “No. I can’t.” How he wished he could, but the truth was that he couldn’t even trust himself. He’d made an alliance with a monster—an honest monster, perhaps, but still a monster of the worst kind. Raidriar, the God King himself.
    Isa sighed, then leaned against him. He hesitantly put his arm around her, then closed his eyes, breathing in her scent.
    “I’m not built for this,” Isa said, head against his chest. “I keep trying to find an excuse to run off, hide in a tavern somewhere, and wait until everything blows over. And you . . . I worry you are built for this—and that’s more dangerous than anything else.”
    “I know. I feel the same way.”
    “Then what do we do?”
    “For now?” Siris said, holding her. “This. We do this. Tomorrow, I will go to recover the Infinity Blade.”
    “And then?”
    “And then . . . then we try to save this land without ruining it any further than we have to.”

DEVIATION
THE EIGHTH
    URIEL FOUND Mr. Galath on his way out of the building.
    Just in time.
    The chairman had two men carrying umbrellas for him. Galath was the type of man who would never have to fiddle with car doors. Someone always opened them for him.
    Uriel didn’t bother to use an umbrella. He was already as wet as he could get, he figured. He crossed the parking lot in the rain. One of Mr. Galath’s bodyguards moved to intercept him, but the chairman stopped the man with a hand on the