Infinity Blade: Redemption Read Online Free PDF

Ausar had done to him, memory of his pain and frustration.
    Vengeance . . . against the Worker .
    As Raidriar’s Devoted hurried into the room to serve him, he contemplated his rage. An ember deep within. Not a fire—no, a fire consumed and left its host as ash. An ember was a truer flame—less transient, more powerful.
    Yes, he hated Ausar, but that hatred was nothing compared to his hatred of the Worker. It was so clear now, how the Worker had manipulated them all.
    Raidriar’s Devoted knelt around his table, eyes down, for he had not yet covered his face. One of them—a hook-nosed man that Raidriar recognized only vaguely—held out a ceremonial mask to him, head still bowed.
    Raidriar sat up. He had constructed this room to evoke a sense of serenity. A hushed brook bubbled outside, accompanied by the sounds of rattling bamboo. The floor was draped in finely woven mats, the room lined with plants instead of metal. Metal surfaces reminded him of the old days. Days before . . .
    He despised those days.
    “How long has it been?” Raidriar asked, reaching for the mask. “How long was I . . . away?” Men such as these did not need to know the details of his imprisonment.
    “Nearly two years, great master,” said the Devoted offering the mask.
    Two years. An eyeblink by the reckoning of the Deathless, but still a dangerous amount of time. What plots had the Worker executed during such a period? Dared Raidriar hope that the creature had spent the time licking his wounds and recovering from his long imprisonment?
    Raidriar took the mask. “Where is Eves,” he asked, “my High Devoted?”
    “Dead, great master,” said the hook-nosed Devoted. “Six months ago, in bed. We believe it was his heart.”
    Pity. Raidriar had grown fond of Eves. Still, he was accustomed to the fleeting lifespans of mortals. He could not turn a corner without half of his staff dropping dead from one silly malady or another.
    He moved to put on the mask, but froze. Quick breathing from the Devoted. Sweat on their brows. Had that been a tremble in the voice of the one who had spoken?
    Raidriar narrowed his eyes. There, on the inside of his mask, he spotted a tiny row of very fine needles. Needles that would pierce his skin as he placed the mask over his face.
    Poison.
    So, he thought, you got to my Devoted, did you?
    How inconvenient.
    Raidriar twisted from the table, bringing a fist down on the shoulder of the lead Devoted. He then smashed the metal mask into the face of another. The rest leaped to their feet in a frantic, terrified scramble.
    “The prophecy is fulfilled!” one of the Devoted yelled, lunging for Raidriar. The fellow was a thick-necked man with wide hands. Raidriar let the man get hold of him, bringing them close enough together that Raidriar could press the mask—and its traitorous needles—against the man’s face. He fell, twitching.
    “The Dark Father has arrived!” another was crying. “To arms, to arms! It is—”
    That Devoted was cut off as Raidriar grabbed him by the throat and spun him about into the path of several others, who had just pulled out swords to attack. The man he held went down in a spray of blood, and the two who had slain him stepped back in horror at having stabbed their ally. One even dropped his bloodied sword.
    Raidriar kicked that up into his hand and sliced it through the man’s neck in one smooth motion.
    “Thank you,” Raidriar noted, then caught another Devoted by the arm as the man lunged for him. Raidriar twisted the man about, pulling free his shawl, then kicked him aside. Raidriar reached up and twisted the shawl about his face to hide it from these lesser beings.
    “And thank you,” he said to the shawl-less Devoted as he rammed the sword through the man’s back. It was convenient that his priesthood could be so helpful, even as he slaughtered them.
    He was still naked save for the shawl, but at least the most important part was covered. These treacherous dogs were