Siris hit the marble floor with a grunt, his vision going black for a moment. He could feel the ground shaking, could smell the too-clean, too-sterile air of the God King’s throne room. He groaned, rolling over.
No. Don’t stop. It’s coming.
Siris growled and his vision returned. He was lying on the floor before the God King’s throne. His hip ached where he’d hit the ground. His head rang with pain.
Without his armor, he’d have been dead. He could barely feel his shield arm.
The golems were coming at him slowly, cautiously, stone tiles crunching under their feet. Siris climbed to his feet, then stumbled backward, moving up the steps toward the throne, flexing his fingers. That was when he realized both hands were empty.
The sword. He’d lost the sword.
He cursed, glancing to the sides. The Infinity Blade rested on the marble floor a short distance away from the throne. Too far for him to reach without exposing himself to the now-close golems, particularly with the pain in his hip making it harder for him to walk.
Dared he heal again? He glanced at his ring; its runes weren’t glowing. It hadn’t recharged yet. His hand brushed the throne as he moved, and there was a beep from the magical mirror on the armrest.
“Ring of Transportation,” the helpful voice said, “fifteenth generation, running service pack six. Please enter the password for activation.”
“Damn you!” Siris sputtered.
“Incorrect password.”
“It can heal too, right?” Siris asked, desperate as the golems closed.
“Rejuvenation sub-specialization,” the mirror chimed. “Seventh generation. Currently rebuilding injection from ambient compounds. New injection available in seven minutes.”
Terrors! Siris thought, leaping over the side of the throne’s armrest as one of the golems swung for him.
The room shook, and the throne exploded into rubble, the golem’s sword spraying chunks of metal and rock. Siris hit hard on the other side of the dais, and his hip screamed in pain. Where was the other golem? Why wasn’t it attacking?
He found it by following the sound of its footsteps. Incredibly, it had turned away from him and was lumbering toward . . . toward the Infinity Blade.
The beast’s emotionless helm-trailing a blackish smoke from the visor-was fixed on the fallen sword.
And on the slender figure crouching beside it.
“This should sell for a bit of gold,” the assassin said. She looked up at Siris and smiled a toothy grin, snatching the Infinity Blade and turning to dash away.
Siris cursed, running after her. Fortunately, both golems stopped paying any attention to him, and instead began charging after the girl. Were they leaving with her?
No. They were chasing her.
“You’re not with them!” Siris yelled.
“Enemy of my enemy and all that,” she called back, reaching a rope dangling from the window she’d come in through.
“Routines . . . damaged . . .” a voice came from behind. “Restarting system . . .”
“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Siris yelled. “I’m not the God King. I killed him!”
“He’s immortal,” the girl said, scrambling up the rope. She reached the window, then pulled her rope up behind her. “You couldn’t have killed him.” Siris stopped his pained running as the two golems lumbered up to the wall, glaring toward the assassin with smoking visors.
“If you think that,” Siris yelled, “then why in the hell were you trying to attack me?”
She couched on the window ledge and looked down at him. She’d stopped grinning, but now just shrugged, almost in a consoling way. Then she leaped out of the window.
I’ve been played, Siris realized. She was never trying to kill me. She didn’t ever think I was the God King.
She just wanted the sword.
As did the golems, apparently. One began beating the wall down with its fist, breaking open a hole, causing the ceiling to rain dust. If they kept bashing holes in the walls, this place was going to come tumbling down on their heads. The other golem glanced back at Siris, as if considering finishing him off.
They probably had the place under surveillance, he thought. In case I returned. Well, at least he’d done what he’d wanted. He’d drawn their attention, and could now lead it away from Drem’s Maw.
And . . . maybe letting the woman run off with the blade was a good thing. If she took it to one of the other Deathless, they might fight over it. Leave him alone.
But it is the only weapon that can kill them, he thought. The only weapon we could ever use to fight back. Am I really just going to let it go?
He froze in place. Suddenly, he felt like a horrible coward. He would seek freedom, but what cost would he pay for it?
Finish what you began. . . .
“Please . . . reset . . . security protocols . . .” the throne warbled.
Siris glanced at it. Then started running. He scrambled up the rubble-strewn steps to the throne. It had been mostly destroyed, and sparks buzzed at the back, where some long, thin bits of metal were hanging free like thick strands of hair. The golem’s strike had cracked the mirror, but words still glowed on its surface.
Siris touched his palm to it.
“Security protocols reset,” the voice said. “What would you like to do?”
“Activate Transportation Ring.”
“Ring activated and attuned to your Q.I.P., master.”
“How do I use it?”
“You must choose a gesture. The default is to spread your three middle fingers apart, then snap them together twice.”
Siris raised his hand and took a deep breath, then snapped his fingers together. His hands flashed, and weights dropped into them. The God King’s shield fell into one hand, the Infinity Blade into the other.
From outside he heard a distinct-and very aggravated-yell of annoyance.
Both golems spun on him.
“I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”
“I’m not equipped to answer that question,” the mirror said happily.
“You don’t need to,” he said, hefting the blade and shield. “How does the transportation thing work?”
“A linked ring and disc can summon inorganic material.”
“Inorganic?”
“Nonliving matter. Metal, stone, or wood that has been dead long enough. You must keep the transportation ring on your finger, then attach the anchor disc to something inorganic. Performing the summoning will bring one to the other.”
He glanced at the sword’s hilt. There was a small metal disc there, stuck as if magnetically to the base of the pommel. He tried to pry it loose.
“Touch it and will it free, master,” the throne’s deadmind said in its helpful voice.
“Right,” Siris said, the room shaking as two golems charged him. Sweating in anxiety, he rubbed his thumb across the “anchor disc,” and it fell loose. He transferred it to his shield hand, holding it in his palm.
All right, he thought. I can work with this.
He hurled himself off the dais. His wounded hip still ached, but it was starting to recover from its numbness. He focused only on the fight, clearing his mind.
The first golem swung a sword the size of one of the palace doors. Siris skidded on the marble, going down on his knees and sliding underneath the blade. Its passing stirred his hair. He came up on his feet, tossing the ring’s metal disc toward the monstrous weapon.
The disc hit and stuck. Siris jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding a blade that crushed into the ground beside him. He rounded on the two golems, who turned and swung in a tandem attack.
Siris tapped his fingers together twice. One of the golems’ swords vanished in a flash of light, then appeared before Siris. He didn’t try to grab it-the thing was obviously too heavy for him-but he’d positioned himself so that it fell into the air just in front of him.