Brandon Sanderson's Blog, page 69

Steelheart Chapter Eleven

This chapter was originally posted on MTV Geek on July 13th, 2013.

My first move was to go back in and toss Roy’s rifle, which he had been crawling toward, out the door. Then I checked on the two other soldiers. One was dead; the other had a weak pulse—but he wasn’t going to be waking anytime soon.

Time to move quickly. I pulled the notebooks from my mattress and stuffed them in my backpack. Six thick notebooks and one index caused the backpack to bulge. I thought for a moment, then took my extra pair of shoes out of the pack. I could buy new shoes, but I couldn’t replace these notebooks.

The last two fit, and beside them I slid the folders about Steelheart, Nightwielder, and Firefight. After a moment I added the one about Conflux. It was the thinnest. Very little was known about the clandestine High Epic who ran Enforcement.

Roy was still coughing, though the smoke had cleared out. He pulled off his helmet. It was surreal to see that familiar face—one I’d known for years—wearing the uniform of the enemy. We hadn’t been friends; I didn’t really have those, but I’d looked up to him.

“You’re working with the Reckoners,” Roy said.

I needed to try to lay down a false trail, get him to think I was working for someone else. “What?” I said, doing my best to look baffled.

“Don’t try to hide it, David. It’s obvious. Everyone knows the Reckoners hit Fortuity.”

I knelt down beside him, pack slung over my shoulder. “Look, Roy, don’t let them heal you, okay? I know Enforcement has Epics who can do that. Don’t let them, if you can manage it.”

“What, why—”

“You want to be laid out sick for this next part, Roy,” I said softly, intensely. “Power is going to change hands in Newcago. Limelight is coming for Steelheart.”

“Limelight?” Roy said. “Who the hell is that?”

I walked over to the rest of my folders, then reluctantly took a can of lighter fluid from my trunk and poured it on the bed.

“You’re working for an Epic?” Roy whispered. “You really think anyone can challenge Steelheart? Sparks, David! How many rivals has he killed?”

“This is different,” I said, then got out some matches. “Limelight is different.” I lit the match.

I couldn’t take the remaining folders. They were source material, facts and articles for the information I’d collected in my notebooks. I wanted to take them, but there was no more room in my bag.

I dropped the match. The bed started aflame.

“One of your friends might still be alive,” I said to Roy, nodding to the two Enforcement officers who were down. The leader had been shot in the head, but the other one only in the side. “Get him out. Then stay out of things, Roy. Dangerous days are coming.”

I slung the pack over my shoulder and hastened out the door and onto the stairwell. I met Megan on the way down the steps.

“Your plan failed,” she said quietly.

“Worked well enough,” I said. “An Epic is dead.”

“Only because she left her mobile on vibrate,” Megan said, hurrying down the steps beside me. “If she hadn’t been sloppy . . .”

“We were lucky,” I agreed. “But we still won.”

Mobiles were just a part of daily life. The people might live in hovels, but they all had a mobile for entertainment.

We met Cody at the base of the playground tower near Refractionary’s corpse. He handed back my rifle. “Lad,” he said, “that was awesome.”

I blinked. I’d been expecting another berating, like Megan had given me.

“Prof is going to be jealous he didn’t come himself,” Cody said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder. “Were you the one who called her?”

“Yeah,” I said.

“Awesome,” Cody said again, slapping me on the back.

Megan didn’t look nearly as pleased. She gave Cody a sharp look, then reached for my pack.

I resisted.

“You need two hands for the rifle,” she said, pulling it free and slinging it over her shoulder. “Let’s move. Enforcement will . . .” She trailed off as she noticed Roy barely managing to tow the other Enforcement officer out of the burning room and onto the landing.

I felt bad, but only a little. Copters were thumping above; he’d have help soon. We scurried across the park, heading toward the tunnels that led deeper into the understreets.

“You left them alive?” Megan asked as we ran.

“This was more useful,” I said. “I laid us a false trail. I told him a lie that I was working for an Epic who wants to challenge Steelheart. Hopefully it will keep them from searching for the Reckoners.” I hesitated. “Besides. They’re not our enemies.”

“Of course they are,” she snapped.

“No,” Cody said, jogging beside her. “He’s right, lass. They aren’t. They may work for the enemy, but they’re just regular folks. They do what they can to get by.”

“We can’t think like that,” she said as we reached a branching tunnel. She glared at me, eyes cold. “We can’t show them mercy. They won’t show it to us.”

“We can’t become them, lass,” Cody said, shaking his head. “Listen to Prof talk about it sometime. If we have to do what the Epics do to beat them, then it’s not worth it.”

“I’ve heard him talk,” she said, still looking at me. “I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about Knees here.”

“I’ll shoot an Enforcement officer if I have to,” I said, meeting her eyes. “But I won’t get distracted hunting them down. I have a goal. I’ll see Steelheart dead. That is all that matters.”

“Bah,” she said, turning away from me. “That’s not an answer.”

“Let’s keep moving,” Cody said, nodding toward a stairwell down to deeper tunnels.

#

“He’s a scientist, lad,” Cody explained as we walked through the narrow corridors of the steel catacombs. “Studied Epics in the early days, created some pretty remarkable devices, based on what we learned from them. That’s why he’s called Prof, other than that last-name thing.”

I nodded thoughtfully. Now that we were deep, Cody had relaxed. Megan was still stiff. She walked ahead, holding her mobile and using it to send Prof a report on the mission. Cody had his set to flashlight, hooked to the upper left of his camo jacket. I’d removed the network card from mine, which he said was a good idea until Abraham or Tia had a chance to tweak it.

It turned out that they didn’t trust even the Knighthawk Foundry. The Reckoners usually left their mobiles linked only to one another, and had the transmissions encrypted on both ends, not using the regular network. Until I got the encryption too, I could at least still use my mobile as a camera or a glorified flashlight.

Cody walked with a relaxed posture, rifle up on his shoulder, arm looped over it and hand hanging down. I seemed to have earned his approval with Refractionary’s death.

“So where did he work?” I asked, hungry for information about Prof. There were so many rumors about the Reckoners, but few real facts.

“Don’t know,” Cody admitted. “Nobody’s sure what Prof’s past is, though Tia probably knows something. She doesn’t talk about it. Abe and I have bets going ’bout what Prof’s specific workplace was. I’m pretty sure he was at some kind of secret government organization.”

“Really?” I asked.

“Sure,” Cody said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the same one that caused Calamity.”

That was one of the theories, that the United States government—or sometimes the European Union—had somehow set off Calamity while trying to start a superhuman project. I thought it was pretty far-fetched. I’d always figured it was some kind of comet that got caught in Earth’s gravity, but I didn’t know if the science of that made any sense. Maybe it was a satellite. That could fit Cody’s theory.

He wouldn’t be the only one who thought it reeked of conspiracy. There were a lot of things about the Epics that didn’t add up.

“Oh, you got that look,” Cody said, pointing at me.

“That look?”

“Y’all think I’m crazy.”

“No. No, of course not.”

“You do. Well, it’s okay. I know what I know, even if Prof rolls his eyes whenever I say anything about it.” Cody smiled. “But that’s another story. As for Prof’s line of work, I think it must have been some kind of weapons facility. He created the tensors, after all.”

“The tensors?”

“Prof wouldn’t want you talking about that,” Megan said, looking over her shoulder. “Nobody gave authorization for him to know about it,” she added, glancing at me.

“I’m giving it,” Cody said, relaxed. “He’s going to see anyway, lass. And don’t quote Prof’s rules at me.”

She closed her mouth; she looked like she’d been about to do just that.

“The tensors?” I asked again.

“Something Prof invented,” Cody said. “Either right before or right after he left the lab. He’s got a couple of things like that, inventions that give us our main edge against the Epics. Our jackets are one of those—they can take a lot of punishment—and the tensors are another.”

“But what are they?”

“Gloves,” Cody said. “Well, devices in the form of gloves. They create vibrations that disrupt solid objects. Works best on dense stuff, like stone and metal, some kinds of wood. Turns that kind of material to dust, but won’t do anything to a living animal or person.”

“You’re kidding.” In all my years of research I’d never heard of any technology like that.

“Nope,” Cody said. “They’re difficult to use, though. Abraham and Tia are the most skilled. But you’ll see—the tensors, they let us go where we’re not supposed to be. Where we’re not expected to be.”

“That’s amazing,” I said, my mind racing. The Reckoners did have a reputation for being able to get where nobody thought they could. There were stories . . . Epics killed in their own chambers, well guarded and presumed safe. Near-magical escapes by the Reckoners.

A device that could turn stone and metal to powder . . . You could get through locked doors, regardless of the security devices. You could sabotage vehicles. Maybe even knock down buildings. Suddenly, some of the most baffling mysteries surrounding the Reckoners made sense to me. How they’d gotten in to trap Daystorm, how they’d escaped the time when Calling War had nearly cornered them.

They’d have to be clever about how they entered, so as to not leave obvious holes that gave them away. But I could see how it would work. “But why . . .” I asked, dazed, “why are you telling me this?”

“As I said, lad,” Cody explained. “You’re going to see them at work soon anyway. Might as well prepare you for it. Besides, you already know so much about us that one more thing won’t matter.”

“Okay.” I said it lightly, then caught the somber tone of his voice. He’d left something unsaid: I already knew so much that I couldn’t be allowed to go free.

Prof had given me my chance to leave. I’d insisted they bring me. At this point I either convinced them utterly that I wasn’t a threat and joined them, or they left me behind. Dead.

I swallowed uncomfortably, my mouth suddenly dry. I asked for this, I told myself sternly. I’d known that once I joined them—if I joined them—I wouldn’t ever be leaving. I was in, and that was that.

“So . . .” I tried to force myself not to dwell on the fact that this man—or any of them—might someday decide I needed to be shot in the name of the common good. “So how did he figure these gloves out? The tensors? I’ve never heard of anything like them.”

“Epics,” Cody said, his voice growing amiable again. “Prof let it drop once. The technology came from studying an Epic who could do something similar. Tia says it happened in the early days—before society collapsed, some Epics were captured and held. Not all of them are so powerful they can escape captivity with ease. Different labs ran tests on them, trying to figure out how their powers worked. The technology for things like the tensors came from those days.”

I hadn’t heard that, and some things started to click into place for me. We’d made great advances in technology back then, right around the arrival of Calamity. Energy weapons, advanced power sources and batteries, new mobile technology—which was why ours worked underground and at a significant range without using towers.

Of course, we lost much of it when the Epics started to take over. And what we didn’t lose, Epics like Steelheart controlled. I tried to imagine those early Epics being tested. Was that why so many were evil? They resented this testing?

“Did any of them go to the testing willingly?” I asked. “How many labs were doing this?”

“I don’t know,” Cody said. “I reckon it’s not very important.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Cody shrugged, rifle still over his shoulder, the light of his mobile illuminating the tomblike metal corridor. The catacombs smelled of dust and condensation. “Tia is always talking about the scientific foundation of the Epics,” he said. “I don’t think they can be explained that way. Too much about them breaks what science says should happen. I sometimes wonder if they came along because we thought we could explain everything.”

It didn’t take much longer for us to arrive. I’d noticed that Megan was leading us by way of her mobile, which showed a map on its screen. That was remarkable. A map of the steel catacombs? I didn’t think such a thing existed.

“Here,” Megan said, waving to a thick patch of wires hanging down like a curtain in front of a wall. Sights like that were common down here, where the Diggers had left things unfinished.

Cody walked up and banged on a plate near the wires. A distant bang came back at him a few moments later.

“In you go, Knees,” he said to me, gesturing toward the wires.

I took a breath and stepped forward, pushing them aside with the barrel of my rifle. There was a small tunnel beyond, leading steeply upward. I would have to crawl. I looked back at him.

“It’s safe,” he promised. I couldn’t tell if he was making me go first because of some latent mistrust, or because he liked seeing me squirm. It didn’t seem the time to question him or back down. I started crawling.

The tunnel was small enough to make me worry that if I slung my rifle on my back, a good scrape stood a chance of knocking the scope or sights out of alignment. So I kept it in my right hand as I crawled, which made it all the more awkward. The tunnel led toward a distant, soft light, and the crawl took long enough that my knees were aching by the time I reached the light. A strong hand took me by the left arm, helping me out of the tunnel. Abraham. The dark-skinned man had changed into cargo pants and a green tank top, which showed well-muscled arms. I hadn’t noticed before, but he was wearing a small silver pendant around his neck, hanging out of his shirt.

The room I stepped into was unexpectedly large. Big enough for the team to have laid out their equipment and several bedrolls without it feeling cramped. There was a large table made of metal that grew right out of the floor, as well as benches at the walls and stools around the table.

They carved it there, I realized, looking at the sculpted walls. They made this room with the tensors. Carved furniture right into it.

It was impressive. I gawked as I stepped back and let Abraham help Megan out of the tunnel. The chamber had two doorways into other rooms that looked smaller. It was lit by lanterns, and there were cords on the floor—taped in place and out of the way—leading down another small tunnel.

“You have electricity,” I said. “How did you get electricity?”

“Tapped into an old subway line,” Cody said, crawling out of the tunnel. “One that was half completed, then forgotten about. The nature of this place is that even Steelheart doesn’t know all of its nooks and dead ends.”

“Just more proof the Diggers were mad,” Abraham said. “They wired things in strange ways. We’ve found rooms that were sealed completely but had lights left on inside, shining for years by themselves. Repaire des fantômes.”

“Megan tells me,” Prof said, appearing from one of the other rooms, “that you recovered the information, but that your means were . . . unconventional.” The aging but sturdy man still wore his black lab coat.

“Hell yeah!” Cody said, shouldering his rifle.

Prof snorted. “Well, let’s see what you recovered before I decide if I should yell at you or not.” He reached for the backpack in Megan’s hand.

“Actually,” I said, stepping toward it, “I can—”

“You’ll sit down, son,” Prof said, “while I have a look at this. All of it. Then we’ll talk.”

His voice was calm, but I got the message. I pensively sat down beside the steel table as the others gathered around the pack and began rifling through my life.

Steelheart Chapter Ten

No, skipping from the Prologue to Chapter Ten is not an error. So far, only the Prologue and Chapters Ten and Eleven have been revealed.  This chapter was originally posted on MTV Geek on July 13th, 2013.

I crossed the street toward my flat, hands in the pockets of my jacket, fingering the roll of industrial tape I usually kept there. The other two hadn’t liked my plan, but they hadn’t come up with anything better. Hopefully they’d be able to fulfill their parts in it.

I felt completely naked without my rifle. I had a couple of handguns stashed in my room, but a man wasn’t really dangerous unless he had a rifle. At least, he wasn’t consistently dangerous. Hitting something with a handgun always felt like an accident.

Megan did it, I thought. She not only hit, but hit a High Epic in the middle of a dodge, firing two guns at once, one from the hip.

She’d shown emotion during our fight with Fortuity. Passion, anger, annoyance. The second two toward me, but it had been something. And then, for a few moments after he fell . . . there had been a connection. Satisfaction, and appreciation of me that had come out when she’d spoken on my behalf to Prof.

Now that was gone. What did it mean?

I stopped at the edge of the playground. Was I really thinking about a girl now? I was only about five paces from where a group of Enforcement officers were hiding, probably with automatic or energy weapons trained on me.

Idiot, I thought, heading up the metal stairwell toward my apartment. They’d wait to see if I got out anything incriminating before grabbing me. Hopefully.

Climbing steps like that, with my back to the enemy, was excruciating. I did what I always did when I grew afraid. I thought of my father falling, bleeding beside that pillar in the broken bank lobby while I hid. I hadn’t helped.

I would never be that coward again.

I reached the door to my apartment, then fiddled with the keys. I heard a distant scrape but pretended not to notice. That would be the sniper on top of the playground equipment nearby, repositioning to aim at me. Yes, from this angle I saw for certain. That playground piece was just tall enough that the sniper would be able to shoot through the door into my apartment.

I stepped inside my single room. No hallways or anything else, just a hole cut into the steel, like most dwellings in the understreets. It might not have had a bathroom or running water, but I was still living quite well, by understreets standards. A whole room for a single person?

I kept it messy. Some old, disposable noodle bowls sat in a pile beside the door, smelling of spice. Clothing was strewn across the floor. I had a bucket of two-day-old water sitting on the table, and dirty, beat-up silverware sat in a pile beside it.

I didn’t use those to eat. They were for show. So was the clothing; I didn’t wear any of it. My actual clothing—four sturdy outfits, always clean and washed—was folded in the trunk beside my mattress on the floor. I kept my room messy, intentionally. It actually itched at me, as I liked things neat.

I’d found that sloppiness put people off guard. If my landlady came snooping up here, she’d find what she expected. A teenager just into his majority blowing his earnings on an easy life for a year before responsibility hit him. She wouldn’t poke or prod for secret compartments.

I hurried to the trunk. I unlocked it and pulled out my backpack—already packed with a change of clothing, spare shoes, some dry rations, and two liters of water. There was a handgun in a pouch on one side, and the smoke grenade was in a pouch on the other side.

I walked to my mattress and unzipped the case. Inside was my life. Dozens of folders, filled with clippings from newspapers or scraps of information. Eight notebooks filled with my thoughts and findings. A larger notebook with my indexes.

Maybe I should have brought all of this with me when going to watch the Fortuity hit. After all, I’d hoped to leave with the Reckoners. I’d debated it but had eventually decided that it wouldn’t be reasonable. There was so much of it, for one thing. I could lug it all if I needed to, but it slowed me down.

And it was just too precious. This research was the most valuable thing in my life. Collecting some of it had nearly gotten me killed—spying on Epics, asking questions better left unasked, making payments to shady informants. I was proud of it, not to mention frightened about what might happen to it. I’d thought it safer here.

Boots shook the metal landing of the stairwell outside. I looked over my shoulder and saw one of the most feared sights in the understreets: fully geared Enforcement officers. They stood on the landing, automatic rifles in their hands, sleek black helmets on their heads, military-grade armor on their chests, knees, arms. There were three of them.

Their helmets had black visors that came down over their eyes, leaving their mouths and chins exposed. The eye shields gave them night vision and glowed faintly green, with a strange smoky pattern that swirled and undulated across the front. It was transfixing, which was said to be the point.

I didn’t need to act to make my eyes go wide, my muscles taut.

“Hands on your head,” the lead officer said, rifle up at his shoulder and the barrel trained on me. “Down on your knees, subject.”

That was what they called people, subject. Steelheart didn’t bother with any kind of silly pretense that his empire was a republic or a representative government. He didn’t call people citizens or comrades. They were subjects of his empire. That was that.

I quickly raised my hands. “I didn’t do anything!” I whined. “I was just there to watch!”

“HANDS UP, KNEES DOWN!” the officer yelled.

I complied.

They entered the room, leaving the doorway conspicuously open so that their sniper had a view through the door. From what I’d read, these three would be part of a five-person squad known as a Core. Three regular troops, one specialist—in this case a sniper—and one minor Epic. Steelheart had about fifty Cores like this.

Almost all of Enforcement was made of special-operations teams. If there was any large-scale fighting to be done, something very dangerous, Steelheart, Nightwielder, Firefight, or maybe Conflux—who was head of Enforcement—would deal with it personally. Enforcement was used for the smaller problems in the city, the ones Steelheart didn’t want to bother with himself. In a way he didn’t need Enforcement. They were like a homicidal dictator’s version of valet parking attendants.

One of the three soldiers kept an eye on me while the other two rifled through the contents of my mattress. Is she in here? I wondered. Invisible somewhere? My instincts, and my memory of researching her, told me she’d be near.

I just had to hope she was in the room. I couldn’t move until Cody and Megan fulfilled their part of my plan, though, so I waited, tense, for them to do so.

The two soldiers pulled notebooks and folders out from between the two pieces of foam that made up my mattress. One flipped through the notes. “This is information on Epics, sir,” he said.

“I thought I’d be able to see Fortuity fight another Epic,” I said, staring at the floor. “When I found out something terrible was happening, I tried to get away. I was only there to see what would happen, you know?”

The officer began looking through the notebooks. The soldier watching me seemed uncomfortable about something. He kept glancing at me, then at the others.

I felt my heart thumping, waiting. Megan and Cody would attack soon. I had to be ready.

“You are in serious trouble, subject,” the officer said, tossing one of my notebooks to the floor. “An Epic, and an important one, is dead.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with it!” I said. “I swear. I—”

“Bah.” The lead officer pointed toward one of the other soldiers. “Gather this up.”

“Sir,” said the soldier watching me. “He’s probably telling the truth.”

I hesitated. That voice . . .

“Roy?” I said, shocked. He’d hit majority the year before me . . . and had joined Enforcement after that.

The officer glanced back at me. “You know this subject?”

“Yes,” Roy said, sounding reluctant. He was a tall redhead. I’d always liked him. He’d been an adjunct at the Factory, which was a position Martha gave to senior boys—they were meant to stop the young or weaker workers from being picked on. He’d done his job well.

“You didn’t say anything?” the lead officer said, his voice hard.

“I . . . sir, I’m sorry. I should have. He’s always had a fascination with Epics. I’ve seen him cross half the city on foot and wait in the rain just because he heard a new Epic might be passing through town. If he heard something about two of them fighting, he’d have gone to watch, whether it was a good idea or not.”

“Sounds exactly like the kind of person who should be off the streets,” the officer said. “Gather this. Son, you’re going to come tell us exactly what you saw. If you do a good job, perhaps you might even live through the night. It—”

A gunshot sounded outside. The officer’s face blossomed red, the front of his helmet exploding as a bullet hit him.

I rolled toward my backpack. Cody and Megan had done their job, quietly taking down the sniper and getting into position to support me.

I ripped open the Velcro on the side of my pack and pulled out my handgun, then fired rapidly at Roy’s thighs. The bullets hit an open spot in his advanced plastic armor, dropping him, though I almost missed. Sparking pistols.

The other soldier fell to a well-placed shot from Cody, who would be on that playground equipment outside. I didn’t stop to make sure the third soldier was dead—Refractionary might be in the room, armed and ready to shoot. I pulled out the smoke grenade and removed the pin.

I dropped the grenade. A burst of grey smoke jetted from the canister, filling the room. I held my breath, handgun up. Refractionary’s powers would be negated when the smoke touched her. I waited for her to appear.

Nothing happened. She wasn’t in the room.

Smothering a curse, still holding my breath, I glanced at Roy. He was trying to move, holding his leg and trying to point his rifle toward me. I leaped through the smoke and kicked the rifle aside. Then I pulled his sidearm out of its holster and tossed it. Both guns would be useless to me; they’d be keyed to his gloves.

Roy’s hand was in his pocket. I put my gun to his temple and yanked his hand out. He’d been trying to dial his mobile. I cocked the gun, and he dropped the mobile.

“It’s too late anyway, David,” Roy spat, then started coughing at the smoke. “Conflux will know the moment we go offline. Other Cores are on their way here. They’ll send spying eyes down to watch. Those are probably already here.”

Breath still held, I checked the pockets on his cargo pants. There were no other weapons.

“You’re being a fool, David,” Roy said, coughing. I ignored him and scanned the room. I had to start breathing, and the smoke was getting overpowering.

Where was Refractionary? On the landing, maybe. I kicked the smoke grenade out, hoping she was there.

Nothing. Either I had her weakness wrong, or she’d decided not to join her team in coming to get me.

What if she was sneaking up on Megan and Cody? They’d never see her coming.

I glanced down. Roy’s mobile.

Worth a try.

I snatched the phone and opened the address book. Refractionary was listed under her Epic name. Most Epics preferred to use them.

I dialed.

Almost immediately, a gunshot sounded from the playground outside.

I couldn’t hold my breath any longer. I ducked outside, staying low, and kicked the smoke grenade off the landing. I started down the stairwell and took a deep breath.

Then, eyes watering, I scanned the playground. Cody knelt on top of the playground equipment, rifle out. At the base of the tower, Megan stood with her gun out, a body in black and yellow at her feet. Refractionary.

Megan fired again into the body, just to be certain, but the woman was obviously dead.

Another Epic eliminated.

Steelheart Prologue

This was originally posted on A.V. Club on May, 16, 2013.

I’ve seen Steelheart bleed.

It happened ten years ago; I was eight. My father and I were at the First Union Bank on Adams Street. We used the old street names back then, before the Annexation.

The bank was enormous. A single open chamber with white pillars surrounding a tile mosaic floor, broad doors at the back that led deeper into the building. Two large revolving doors opened onto the street, with a set of conventional doors to the sides. Men and women streamed in and out, as if the room were the heart of some enormous beast, pulsing with a lifeblood of people and cash.

I knelt backward on a chair that was too big for me, watching the flow of people. I liked to watch people. The different shapes of faces, the hairstyles, the clothing, the expressions. Everyone showed so much variety back then. It was exciting.

“David, turn around, please,” my father said. He had a soft voice. I’d never heard it raised, save for that one time at my mother’s funeral. Thinking of his agony on that day still makes me shiver.

I turned around, sullen. We were to the side of the main bank chamber in one of the cubicles where the mortgage men worked. Our cubicle had glass sides, which made it less confining, but it still felt fake. There were little wood- framed pictures of family members on the walls, a cup of cheap candy with a glass lid on the desk, and a vase with faded plastic flowers on the filing cabinet.

It was an imitation of a comfortable home. Much like the man in front of us wore an imitation of a smile.

“If we had more collateral . . .” the mortgage man said, showing teeth.

“Everything I own is on there,” my father said, indicating the paper on the desk in front of us. His hands were thick with calluses, his skin tan from days spent working in the sun. My mother would have winced if she’d seen him go to a fancy appointment like this wearing his work jeans and an old T- shirt with a comic book character on it.

At least he’d combed his hair, though it was starting to thin. He didn’t care about that as much as other men seemed to. “Just means fewer haircuts, Dave,” he’d tell me, laughing as he ran his fingers through his wispy hair. I didn’t point out that he was wrong. He would still have to get the same number of haircuts, at least until all of his hair fell out.

“I just don’t think I can do anything about this,” the mortgage man said. “You’ve been told before.”

“The other man said it would be enough,” my father replied, his large hands clasped before him. He looked concerned. Very concerned.

The mortgage man just continued to smile. He tapped the stack of papers on his desk. “The world is a much more dangerous place now, Mr. Charleston. The bank has decided against taking risks.”

“Dangerous?” my father asked.

“Well, you know, the Epics . . .”

“But they aren’t dangerous,” my father said passionately. “The Epics are here to help.”

Not this again, I thought.

The mortgage man’s smile finally broke, as if he was taken aback by my father’s tone.

“Don’t you see?” my father said, leaning forward. “This isn’t a dangerous time. It’s a wonderful time!”

The mortgage man cocked his head. “Didn’t your previous home get destroyed by an Epic?”

“Where there are villains, there will be heroes,” my father said. “Just wait. They will come.”

I believed him. A lot of people thought like he did, back then. It had only been two years since Calamity appeared in the sky. One year since ordinary men started changing. Turning into Epics—almost like superheroes from the stories.

We were still hopeful then. And ignorant.

“Well,” the mortgage man said, clasping his hands on the table right beside a picture frame displaying a stock photo of smiling ethnic children. “Unfortunately, our underwriters don’t agree with your assessment. You’ll have to . . .”

They kept talking, but I stopped paying attention. I let my eyes wander back toward the crowds, then turned around again, kneeling on the chair. My father was too engrossed in the conversation to scold me.

So I was actually watching when the Epic strolled into the bank. I noticed him immediately, though nobody else seemed to pay him much heed. Most people say you can’t tell an Epic from an ordinary man unless he starts using his powers, but they’re wrong. Epics carry themselves differently. That sense of confidence, that subtle self- satisfaction. I’ve always been able to spot them.

Even as a kid I knew there was something different about that man. He wore a relaxed-fitting black business suit with a light tan shirt underneath, no tie. He was tall and lean, but solid, like a lot of Epics are. Muscled and toned in a way that you could see even through the loose clothing.

He strode to the center of the room. Sunglasses hung from his breast pocket, and he smiled as he put them on. Then he raised a finger and pointed with a casual tapping motion at a passing woman.

She vaporized to dust, clothing burning away, skeleton falling forward and clattering to the floor. Her earrings and wedding ring didn’t dissolve, though. They hit the floor with distinct pings I could hear even over the noise in the room.

The room fell still. People froze, horrified. Conversations stopped, though the mortgage man kept right on rambling, lecturing my father.

He finally choked off as the screaming began.

I don’t remember how I felt. Isn’t that odd? I can remember the lighting— those magnificent chandeliers up above, sprinkling the room with bits of refracted light. I can remember the lemon- ammonia scent of the recently cleaned floor. I can remember all too well the piercing shouts of terror, the mad cacophony as people scrambled for doors.

Most clearly, I remember the Epic smiling broadly— almost leering— as he pointed at people passing, reducing them to ash and bones with a mere gesture.

I was transfixed. Perhaps I was in shock. I clung to the back of my chair, watching the slaughter with wide eyes.

Some people near the doors escaped. Anyone who got too close to the Epic died. Several employees and customers huddled together on the ground or hid behind desks. Strangely, the room grew still. The Epic stood as if he were alone, bits of paper floating down through the air, bones and black ash scattered on the floor about him.

“I am called Deathpoint,” he said. “It’s not the cleverest of names, I’ll admit. But I find it memorable.” His voice was eerily conversational, as if he were chatting with friends over drinks.

He began to stroll through the room. “A thought occurred to me this morning,” he said. The room was large enough that his voice echoed. “I was showering, and it struck me. It asked . . . Deathpoint, why are you going to rob a bank today?”

He pointed lazily at a pair of security guards who had edged out of a side hallway just beside the mortgage cubicles. The guards turned to dust, their badges, belt buckles, guns, and bones hitting the floor. I could hear their bones knock against one another as they dropped. There are a lot of bones in a man’s body, more than I’d realized, and they made a big mess when they scattered. An odd detail to notice about the horrible scene. But I remember it distinctly.

A hand clasped my shoulder. My father had crouched low before his chair and was trying to pull me down, to keep the Epic from seeing me. But I wouldn’t move, and my father couldn’t force me without making a scene.

“I’ve been planning this for weeks, you see,” the Epic said. “But the thought only struck me this morning. Why? Why rob the bank? I can take anything I want anyway! It’s ridiculous!” He leaped around the side of a counter, causing the teller cowering there to scream. I could just barely make her out, huddled on the floor.

“Money is worthless to me, you see,” the Epic said. “Completely worthless.” He pointed. The woman shriveled to ash and bone.

The Epic pivoted, pointing at several places around the room, killing people who were trying to flee. Last of all, he pointed directly at me.

Finally I felt an emotion. A spike of terror.

A skull hit the desk behind us, bouncing off and spraying ash as it clattered to the floor. The Epic had pointed not at me but at the mortgage man, who had been hiding by his desk behind me. Had the man tried to run?

The Epic turned back toward the tellers behind the counter. My father’s hand still gripped my shoulder, tense. I could feel his worry for me almost as if it were a physical thing, running up his arm and into my own.

I felt terror then. Pure, immobilizing terror. I curled up on the chair, whimpering, shaking, trying to banish from my mind the images of the terrible deaths I’d just seen.

My father pulled his hand away. “Don’t move,” he mouthed.

I nodded, too scared to do anything else. My father glanced around his chair. Deathpoint was chatting with one of the tellers. Though I couldn’t see them, I could hear when the bones fell. He was executing them one at a time.

My father’s expression grew dark. Then he glanced toward a side hallway. Escape?

No. That was where the guards had fallen. I could see through the glass side of the cubicle to where a handgun lay on the ground, barrel buried in ash, part of the grip lying atop a rib bone. My father eyed it. He’d been in the National Guard when he was younger.

Don’t do it! I thought, panicked. Father, no! I couldn’t voice the words, though. My chin quivered as I tried to speak, like I was cold, and my teeth chattered. What if the Epic heard me?

I couldn’t let my father do such a foolish thing! He was all I had. No home, no family, no mother. As he moved to go, I forced myself to reach out and grab his arm. I shook my head at him, trying to think of anything that would stop him. “Please,” I managed to whisper. “The heroes. You said they’ll come. Let them stop him!”

“Sometimes, son,” my father said, prying my fingers free, “you have to help the heroes along.”

He glanced at Deathpoint, then scrambled into the next cubicle. I held my breath and peeked very carefully around the side of the chair. I had to know. Even cowering and trembling, I had to see.

Deathpoint hopped over the counter and landed on the other side, our side. “And so, it doesn’t matter,” he said, still speaking in a conversational tone, strolling across the floor. “Robbing a bank would give me money, but I don’t need to buy things.” He raised a murderous finger. “A conundrum. Fortunately, while showering, I realized something else: killing people every time you want something can be extremely inconvenient. What I needed to do was frighten everyone, show them my power. That way, in the future, nobody would deny me the things I wanted to take.”

He leaped around a pillar on the other side of the bank, surprising a woman holding her child. “Yes,” he continued, “robbing a bank for the money would be pointless— but showing what I can do . . . that is still important. So I continued with my plan.” He pointed, killing the child, leaving the horrified woman holding a pile of bones and ash. “Aren’t you glad?”

I gaped at the sight, the terrified woman trying to hold the blanket tight, the infant’s bones shifting and slipping free. In that moment it all became so much more real to me. Horribly real. I felt a sudden nausea.

Deathpoint’s back was toward us.

My father scrambled out of the cubicle and grabbed the fallen gun. Two people hiding behind a nearby pillar made for the closest doorway and pushed past my father in their haste, nearly knocking him down.

Deathpoint turned. My father was still kneeling there, trying to get the pistol raised, fingers slipping on the ash- covered metal.

The Epic raised his hand.

“What are you doing here?” a voice boomed.

The Epic spun. So did I. I think everyone must have turned toward that deep, powerful voice.

A figure stood in the doorway to the street. He was backlit, little more than a silhouette because of the bright sunlight shining in behind him. An amazing, herculean, awe- inspiring silhouette.

You’ve probably seen pictures of Steelheart, but let me tell you that pictures are completely inadequate. No photograph, video, or painting could ever capture that man. He wore black. A shirt, tight across an inhumanly large and strong chest. Pants, loose but not baggy. He didn’t wear a mask, like some of the early Epics did, but a magnificent silver cape fl uttered out behind him.

He didn’t need a mask. This man had no reason to hide. He spread his arms out from his sides, and wind blew the doors open around him. Ash scattered across the fl oor and papers fl uttered. Steelheart rose into the air a few inches, cape fl aring out. He began to glide forward into the room. Arms like steel girders, legs like mountains, neck like a tree stump. He wasn’t bulky or awkward, though. He was majestic, with that jet- black hair, that square jaw, an impossible physique, and a frame of nearly seven feet.

And those eyes. Intense, demanding, uncompromising eyes.

As Steelheart flew gracefully into the room, Deathpoint hastily raised a finger and pointed at him. Steelheart’s shirt sizzled in one little section, like a cigarette had been put out on the cloth, but he showed no reaction. He floated down the steps and landed gently on the floor a short distance from Deathpoint, his enormous cape settling around him.

Deathpoint pointed again, looking frantic. Another meager sizzle. Steelheart stepped up to the smaller Epic, towering over him.

I knew in that moment that this was what my father had been waiting for. This was the hero everyone had been hoping would come, the one who would compensate for the other Epics and their evil ways. This man was here to save us.

Steelheart reached out, grabbing Deathpoint as he belatedly tried to dash away. Deathpoint jerked to a halt, his sunglasses clattering to the ground, and gasped in pain.

“I asked you a question,” Steelheart said in a voice like rumbling thunder. He spun Deathpoint around to look him in the eyes. “What are you doing here?”

Deathpoint twitched. He looked panicked. “I . . . I . . .”

Steelheart raised his other hand, lifting a finger. “I have claimed this city, little Epic. It is mine.” He paused. “And it is my right to dominate the people here, not yours.”

Deathpoint cocked his head.

What? I thought.

“You seem to have strength, little Epic,” Steelheart said, glancing at the bones scattered around the room. “I will accept your subservience. Give me your loyalty or die.”

I couldn’t believe Steelheart’s words. They stunned me as soundly as Deathpoint’s murders had.

That concept— serve me or die— would become the foundation of his rule. He looked around the room and spoke in a booming voice. “I am emperor of this city now. You will obey me. I own this land. I own these buildings. When you pay taxes, they come to me. If you disobey, you will die.”

Impossible, I thought. Not him too. I couldn’t accept that this incredible being was just like all the others.

I wasn’t the only one.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” my father said.

Steelheart turned, apparently surprised to hear anything from one of the room’s cowering, whimpering peons.

My father stepped forward, gun down at his side. “No,” he said. “You aren’t like the others. I can see it. You’re better than they are.” He walked forward, stopping only a few feet from the two Epics. “You’re here to save us.”

The room was silent save for the sobbing of the woman who still clutched the remains of her dead child. She was madly, vainly trying to gather the bones, to not leave a single tiny vertebra on the ground. Her dress was covered in ash.

Before either Epic could respond, the side doors burst open. Men in black armor with assault rifles piled into the bank and opened fire.

Back then, the government hadn’t given up yet. They still tried to fight the Epics, to subject them to mortal laws. It was clear from the beginning that when it came to Epics, you didn’t hesitate, you didn’t negotiate. You came in with guns blazing and hoped that the Epic you were facing could be killed by ordinary bullets.

My father sprang away at a run, old battle instincts prompting him to put his back to a pillar nearer the front of the bank. Steelheart turned, a bemused look on his face, as a wave of bullets washed over him. They bounced off his skin, ripping his clothing but leaving him completely unscathed.

Epics like him are what forced the United States to pass the Capitulation Act that gave all Epics complete immunity from the law. Gunfire cannot harm Steelheart— rockets, tanks, the most advanced weapons of man don’t even scratch him. Even if he could be captured, prisons couldn’t hold him.

The government eventually declared men such as Steelheart to be natural forces, like hurricanes or earthquakes. Trying to tell Steelheart that he can’t take what he wants would be as vain as trying to pass a bill that forbids the wind to blow.

In the bank that day, I saw with my own eyes why so many have decided not to fight back. Steelheart raised a hand, energy beginning to glow around it with a cool yellow light. Deathpoint hid behind him, sheltered from the bullets. Unlike Steelheart, he seemed to fear getting shot. Not all Epics are impervious to gunfire, just the most powerful ones.

Steelheart released a burst of yellow- white energy from his hand, vaporizing a group of the soldiers. Chaos followed. Soldiers ducked for cover wherever they could find it; smoke and chips of marble filled the air. One of the soldiers fired some kind of rocket from his gun, and it shot past Steelheart— who continued to blast his enemies with energy— to hit the back end of the bank, blowing open the vault.

Flaming bills exploded outward. Coins sprayed into the air and showered the ground.

Shouts. Screams. Insanity.

The soldiers died quickly. I continued to huddle on my chair, hands pressed against my ears. It was all so loud.

Deathpoint was still standing behind Steelheart. And as I watched, he smiled, then raised his hands, reaching for Steelheart’s neck. I don’t know what he was planning to do. Likely he had a second power. Most Epics as strong as he was possess more than one.

Maybe it would have been enough to kill Steelheart. I doubt it, but either way, we’ll never know.

A single pop sounded in the air. The explosion had been so loud it left me deafened to the point that I barely recognized the sound as a gunshot. As the smoke from the explosion cleared, I could see my father. He stood a short distance in front of Steelheart with arms raised, his back to the pillar. He bore an expression of determination on his face and held the gun, pointing it at Steelheart.

No. Not at Steelheart. At Deathpoint, who stood just behind him.

Deathpoint collapsed, a bullet wound in his forehead. Dead. Steelheart turned sharply, looking at the lesser Epic. Then he looked back at my father and raised a hand to his face. There, on Steelheart’s cheek just below his eye, was a line of blood.

At first I thought it must have come from Deathpoint. But when Steelheart wiped it away, it continued to bleed.

My father had shot at Deathpoint, but the bullet had passed by Steelheart first— and had grazed him on the way.

That bullet had hurt Steelheart, while the soldiers’ bullets had bounced off.

“I’m sorry,” my father said, sounding anxious. “He was reaching for you. I— ”

Steelheart’s eyes went wide, and he raised his hand before him, looking at his own blood. He seemed completely astounded. He glanced at the vault behind him, then looked at my father. In the settling smoke and dust, the two figures stood before each other—one a massive, regal Epic, the other a small homeless man with a silly T- shirt and worn jeans.

Steelheart jumped forward with blinding speed and slammed a hand against my father’s chest, crushing him back against the white stone pillar. Bones shattered, and blood poured from my father’s mouth.

“No!” I screamed. My own voice felt odd in my ears, like I was underwater. I wanted to run to him, but I was too frightened. I still think of my cowardice that day, and it sickens me.

Steelheart stepped to the side, picking up the gun my father had dropped. Fury burning in his eyes, Steelheart pointed the gun directly at my father’s chest, then fired a single shot into the already fallen man.

He does that. Steelheart likes to kill people with their own guns. It’s become one of his hallmarks. He has incredible strength and can fire blasts of energy from his hands. But when it comes to killing someone he deems worth his special attention, he prefers to use their gun.

Steelheart left my father to slump down the pillar and tossed the handgun at his feet. Then he began to shoot blasts of energy in all directions, setting chairs, walls, counters, everything alight. I was thrown from my chair as one of the blasts struck nearby, and I rolled to the floor.

The explosions threw wood and glass into the air, shaking the room. In a few heartbeats, Steelheart caused enough destruction to make Deathpoint’s murder spree seem tame. Steelheart laid waste to that room, knocking down pillars, killing anyone he saw. I’m not sure how I survived, crawling over the shards of glass and splinters of wood, plaster, and dust raining down around me.

Steelheart let out a scream of rage and indignation. I could barely hear it, but I could feel it shattering what windows remained, vibrating the walls. Then something spread out from him, a wave of energy. And the floor around him changed colors, transforming to metal.

The transformation spread, washing through the entire room at incredible speed. The floor beneath me, the wall beside me, the bits of glass on the ground— it all changed to steel. What we’ve learned now is that Steelheart’s rage transforms inanimate objects around him into steel, though it leaves living things and anything close to them alone.

By the time his cry faded, most of the bank’s interior had been changed completely to steel, though a large chunk of the ceiling was still wood and plaster, as was a section of one wall. Steelheart suddenly launched himself into the air, breaking through the ceiling and several stories to head into the sky.

I stumbled to my father, hoping he could do something, somehow stop the madness. When I got to him, he was spasming, blood covering his face, chest bleeding from the bullet wound. I clung to his arm, panicked.

Incredibly, he managed to speak, but I couldn’t hear what he said. I was deafened completely by that point. My father reached out, a quivering hand touching my chin. He said something else, but I still couldn’t hear him.

I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, then tried to pull his arm to get him to stand up and come with me. The entire building was shaking.

My father grabbed my shoulder, and I looked at him, tears in my eyes. He spoke a single word— one I could make out from the movement of his lips.

“Go.”

I understood. Something huge had just happened, something that exposed Steelheart, something that terrified him. He was a new Epic back then, not very well known in town, but I’d heard of him. He was supposed to be invulnerable.

That gunshot had wounded him, and everyone there had seen him weak. There was no way he’d let us live— he had to preserve his secret.

Tears streaming down my cheeks, feeling like an utter coward for leaving my father, I turned and ran. The building continued to tremble with explosions; walls cracked, sections of the ceiling crumbled. Steelheart was trying to bring it down.

Some people ran out the front doors, but Steelheart killed them from above. Others ran out side doors, but those doorways only led deeper into the bank. Those people were crushed as most of the building collapsed.

I hid in the vault.

I wish I could claim that I was smart for making that choice, but I’d simply gotten turned around. I vaguely remember crawling into a dark corner and curling up into a ball, crying as the rest of the building fell apart.

Since most of the main room had been turned to metal by Steelheart’s rage, and the vault was steel in the first place, they didn’t crumble as the rest of the building did.

Hours later, I was pulled out of the wreckage by a rescue worker. I was dazed, barely conscious, and the light blinded me as I was dug free. The room I had been in had sunk partially, lurched on its side, but it was still strangely intact, the walls and most of the ceiling now made of steel. The rest of the large building was rubble.

The rescue worker whispered something in my ear. “Pretend to be dead.” Then she carried me to a line of corpses and put a blanket over me. She’d guessed what Steelheart might do to survivors.

Once she went back to look for other survivors, I panicked and crawled from beneath the blanket. It was dark outside, though it should have only been late afternoon. Nightwielder was upon us; Steelheart’s reign had begun.

I stumbled away and limped into an alley. That saved my life a second time. Moments after I escaped, Steelheart returned, floating down past the rescue lights to land beside the wreckage. He carried someone with him, a thin woman with her hair in a bun. I would later learn she was an Epic named Faultline, who had the power to move earth. Though she would one day challenge Steelheart, at that point she served him.

She waved her hand and the ground began to shake.

I fled, confused, frightened, pained. Behind me, the ground opened up, swallowing the remnants of the bank— along with the corpses of the fallen, the survivors who were receiving medical attention, and the rescue workers themselves. Steelheart wanted to leave no evidence. He had Faultline bury all of them under hundreds of feet of earth, killing anyone who could possibly speak of what had happened in that bank.

Except me.

Later that night, he performed the Great Transfersion, an awesome display of power by which he transformed most of Chicago—buildings, vehicles, streets— into steel. That included a large portion of Lake Michigan, which became a glassy expanse of black metal. It was there that he built his palace.

I know, better than anyone else, that there are no heroes coming to save us. There are no good Epics. None of them protect us. Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

We live with them. We try to exist despite them. Once the Capitulation Act was passed, most people stopped fighting. In some areas of what we now call the Fractured States, the old government is still marginally in control. They let the Epics do as they please, and try to continue as a broken society. Most places are chaos, though, with no law at all.

In a few places, like Newcago, a single godlike Epic rules as a tyrant. Steelheart has no rivals here. Everyone knows he’s invulnerable. Nothing harms him: not bullets, not explosions, not electricity. In the early years, other Epics tried to take him down and claim his throne, as Faultline attempted.

They’re all dead. Now it’s very rare that any of them tries.

However, if there’s one fact we can hold on to, it’s this: every Epic has a weakness. Something that invalidates their powers, something that turns them back into an ordinary person, if only for a moment. Steelheart is no exception; the events on that day in the bank prove it.

My mind holds a clue to how Steelheart might be killed. Something about the bank, the situation, the gun, or my father himself was able to counteract Steelheart’s invulnerability. Many of you probably know about that scar on Steelheart’s cheek. Well, as far as I can determine, I’m the only living person who knows how he got it.

I’ve seen Steelheart bleed.

And I will see him bleed again.

 

Heuristic Algorithm and Reasoning Response Engine

by Ethan Skarstedt and Brandon Sanderson
Appeared in Armored, an anthology edited by John Joseph Adams (Baen, March 2012)

Warbreaker Prime: Mythwalker Chapter Twenty-Two

The following is a draft chapter of Brandon’s unfinished novel Mythwalker from 2001. Brandon later repurposed some elements of this story into Warbreaker, Mistborn, and The Way of Kings.

Voko sat, poking at the dinner fire. Around the camp, men stood with subdued postures. They knew they had failed, though they didn’t know quite what that meant. However, more than their failure, they sensed Devin’s gloom.

Hine is dead. Devin kept looking up, expecting to see the gruff man inspecting the camp. He kept turning to ask what Hine thought, only to find empty space beside him.

As chilling as Hine’s death was, an even worse feeling churned in Devin—the knowledge that his friend’s soul might be forfeit. Hine had followed Devin’s plans, acting against the Kkoloss. His actions had earned an incredible burden of Ki-Ssu—according to the Priesthood, men had been damned for far less.

Is that what happened to you, my friend? Devin wondered. Would Hine’s soul be rejected a place in paradise? Would the substance of his being instead be dispersed to become the Living Night, joining the Shadowspin? Was Hine now existing in pain, his soul torn apart to become the substance of the Demon God’s dark magics?

The possibility horrified Devin. He sat guiltily, realizing for the first time the repercussions of his actions. Hine was dead, his soul cast from paradise.

However, even as he sat in the throes of shame, a small piece of Devin rebelled. Don’t believe it, the piece warned.

How could he not? He’d been taught about Ssu and Ki-Ssu since childhood. For an Eruntu, obedience brought Ssu and disobedience brought Ki-Ssu. Hine, under Devin’s leadership, had comitted atrocious acts of disobedience. There was no way he would be allowed entrance to paradise.

Don’t believe it! That doesn’t make sense. Hine had been such a great man—an honorable man. A good man. How could Hess cast him out?

Truth isn’t something that’s told, son. Hine’s words, spoken just hours before, returned to Devin’s mind. It’s something you feel.

Suddenly, Devin felt a hesitant hand on his shoulder. He turned slightly, surprised to see Vvenna standing behind him. Her red velvet dress was worn and dirtied from overuse, her hair slightly disheveled from their flight. She removed her hand from his shoulder quickly, almost self-consciously, but then took a seat on a log next to Devin.

“I am . . . sorry, Devin,” she said, a tiny bit of her uncertainty showing through. “You have never shown me anything but kindness; you deserved better than this.”

“Thank you,” Devin said quietly.

Something you feel. Hine had been a great man—no amount of preaching could change his mind about that. A short distance away, Ix stirred the lunch soup. The shadowling had saved Devin’s life, though they were said to be creatures of darkness. Sarn, a Kkoloss, was a horrible man. And Vvenna, another Kkoloss, cared for an Eruntu . . .

It’s all wrong, Devin thought, looking across the camp. We’ve been fighting the wrong thing. The Kkoloss aren’t our enemies. Our problem is with what they have been taught.

Several of the camp members looked up as Devin’s eyes passed over them—as if they could sense the change in their leader. Slowly, heads all around began to focus on Devin. There was need in those eyes.

The familiar stab of insecurity struck at Devin’s heart. You’re just Devin, it reminded. You are no leader; you’re just pretending. But for the first time, Devin quashed the feeling.

I’m just Devin, he thought, standing. But I’m all they have.

As Devin stood the camp gathered, men rising and moving to stand around the fire. Devin knew them all, even the new ones. He had spoken with them, learned what they wanted and expected. Tammaq had a family back in town, and had been forced to flee to avoid charges of fraud. Dorn, a big man with an open face, had lost three brothers in the Games. Keen was just an enthusiastic man who liked the adventure of being in a rebellion. They were all solemn at this moment, however. They had lost eight men besides Hine, eight men who they all assumed had lost their souls.

“It is time that I told you how this all started,” Devin said as the camp gathered around him. “You’ve heard rumors, I expect, but I have never spoken of what brought me here.

“I was an orchard worker. I had just learned to take pride in that fact when Prince Sarn recruited me and all the boys in my village. He brought us to the Holy Isle, where he used us in a secret plot to capture the collected members of House Kkeris. Sarn and his father had their captives brought to the Guard complex, then slaughtered them.”

The men were quiet—they had heard Skeer’s renditions of the story. More than a few wore looks of interest, however. Few believed anything that left Skeer’s mouth, especially if it had to do with Kkoloss. Devin’s words validated the outrageous things they had heard.

The most surprise came from beside him. Vvenna barely kept the shock from her face, but she couldn’t keep it from her eyes.

“There was a goal behind the slaughter,” Devin continued. “Another person attended the execution of House Kkeris, an associate of Sarn and Dunn. An Archpriest. I remember watching as he used his power to adopt Dunn into House Kkeris. Then Sarn executed the last member of House Kkeris. I’ve been told that Sarn and Dunn’s point was to take the Kkeris Kkell power for themselves.

“They didn’t get it.”

Whispers began. There had been talk, Devin knew, though he had tried to ignore it. He didn’t say any more, but what he had implied was enough. They knew what he was.

“Sarn betrayed us today,” Devin continued. “Did we expect more? Our lives will never mean anything as long as the priesthood teaches that we’re worthless. The Kkoloss will never keep their word to us as long as they’re told we are less than people.”

Devin paused, his eyes flickering downward. Vvenna had recovered her composure, but he could still sense indecision in her posture. She didn’t like the things he was saying. Devin turned back to the crowd of men.

“A wise person once pointed out to me that our rebellion lacked goals. Well, I have a goal now. My friend died today, and I refuse to believe his spirit has been rejected by Hess. The priesthood betrays us, and then it betrays the Kkoloss. Ask House Kkeris. The Emperor is corrupt, and I intend to overthrow him.”

He couldn’t believe he had said it—the ultimate blasphemy. He had turned against the Emperor. Even as he said them, he realized how ridiculous his words were. He, Devin, overthrow the Emperor? The concept was laughable enough to be insane.

The men didn’t see it that way. They began to call out enthusiastically as soon as Devin finished, smiling and giving their agreement. They would follow him.

Will I send more men to damnation? Devin wondered. What if I’m wrong? What if turning against the Priesthood will pull us all down?

A short distance away, Voko snorted with a rueful smile. “Well, Dev, at least you aim high.”

Devin turned as the crowd broke, men talking excitedly with their companions. He knelt down, looking into Vvenna’s face.

“You don’t think I’m right, do you?” he asked.

She paused for a moment, then shook her head. “The Emperor is Hess’s chosen, Devin,” she replied in Kkoloss. “He cannot be corrupt.”

“Do you believe what I said about the slaughter of House Kkeris?” he asked.

“Yes,” she admitted after a second of thought. “I wouldn’t have . . . but after today, yes. I believe you.”

“There was an Archpriest there, princess,” Devin reminded.

“One Archpriest can be corrupt without fouling the entire Priesthood,” Vvenna said.

“The Archpriests never do anything without the blessing of the Emperor,” Devin said. “Besides, the Archprists’s misdeeds aren’t proof, just a sign. Your proof is the Priesthood’s teachings. Men like Hine don’t deserve to be cast from paradise—there is no justice, or order, in that.”

Vvenna didn’t respond immediately. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I was to have married him. I spent my entire life preparing to be the Vessel. I can’t believe that was all for nothing.”

“And what of the Demon God?” Devin asked.

Vvenna looked up at him. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“He’s coming, princess,” Devin said, softening his voice. “Things are happening. The lills, the beasts in the forest . . . other things I’ve seen. He’s coming. You think that the Priesthood, divided like it is, can stand against him?”

“The Mythwalker must come . . .” Vvenna whispered. “I don’t know, Devin,” she finally said. “It’s all too much.”

Devin stood uncertainly for a moment. Then he just sat down. He didn’t blame her for her reservations—he couldn’t quite believe what he’d said himself. A second later Voko pulled his log over and leaned close.

“It looks like you’re done brooding,” he said. “Maybe we can discuss our problems now.”

“Problems?” Devin asked.

Voko nodded toward Vvenna. “He’s not going to let her go, Dev,” he said. “She could destroy him.”

Devin glanced at Vvenna. Voko was right. The rest of them weren’t half as dangerous as Vvenna. Eruntu could be ignored and covered up. However, Vvenna was the Vessel. Her word would be enough to have Sarn dethroned, perhaps even executed.

Vvenna accepted the news with her usual calm face. Her eyes, however, stared ahead unfocusedly. “He’ll have to kill me,” she whispered. “Just like House Kkeris. He’ll have me murdered.”

“Princess,” Devin said, trying to catch her attention. She continued to stare forward. “Vvenna,” he prodded more forcibly. Her eyes snapped into focus, looking into his. “I won’t let him get to you, Vvenna,” he promised. “I will protect you.”

She stared into his eyes for a long moment. Then, something amazing happened. She smiled. It was only the briefest of actions, and it was gone after a moment, but it was the first real expression Devin had seen from her. Her composure was back a moment later, and she nodded. “I accept your offer,” she said.

Devin nodded. There could never be anything between them—a Kkoloss and an Eruntu half-breed, a walking blasphemy. But an Eruntu protecting a Kkoloss . . . that was familiar. Acceptable.

Devin turned to Voko, taking a breath. “I think we have another problem, Voko,” he said.

Voko paused. “I’m not going to like this, am I?” he asked.

“I think Sarn knows who—and what—I am,” Devin said with a sigh.

“Hess!” Voko said. “You’re sure?”

“No,” Devin admitted. “But I saw something in his eyes when we were fighting. That, mixed with some things he said . . . well, I think he figured it out.”

“That’s bad, Dev,” Voko acknowledged. “He killed an entire House for what you have.”

“I know,” Devin admitted, feeling a bit sick.

“What you have?” Vvenna asked with confusion. She stared at him for a long moment, then her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. “Hess, it can’t be . . .”

Devin nodded, staring at the ground. “I can’t hide it,” he said. “Not even from myself.”

“You’re Kkoloss!” she challenged.

Devin shook his head. “I’m Eruntu,” he said. “Or, at least, part of me is. Let’s just say there are a few questions I’m curious to ask my mother when next we meet.”

“Blasphemy . . .” Vvenna whispered.

“I know,” Devin said with a sigh. “The fact remains, however, that Sarn would very much like me dead. I don’t think Vvenna’s the only one he’s going to be chasing.”

“You’re going to have to leave,” Voko said, shaking his head. “The island is too small. This forest seems large, but it only takes a day to cross. They’ll find you eventually.”

“I can’t go, Voko,” Devin said. “I just started a real rebellion. I can’t abandon them now.”

“I don’t see you have any other option,” Voko said.

Devin paused. “I could . . . renounce my power,” he said.

Voko nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a possibility,” he agreed. “Do you have any brothers?”

Devin shook his head.

“Then it’d probably go to one of the lesser Kkeris Kkoloss,” Voko said.

“How do I go about it?” Devin asked slowly.

“I have no idea,” Voko admitted. “It isn’t the kind of thing the Kkoloss tell us about.”

“You renounce Hess,” Vvenna said quietly. “The Kkell come from Him for the blessing of His chosen. If you vocally renounce him, the Kkell will leave you and seek a more worthy host.”

Devin sat quietly. Could he really do such a thing? Though he had complained about the power, though he felt guilty for its use, it had become part of him. He could do things now. If he renounced his Kkell . . .

He would return to what he had been before. Average. Useless. He would leave the men without a leader. They depended on his ability.

“I can’t do it,” Devin finally said. “We need the power too much.”

Voko heaved a sigh of relief. “I was hoping you’d say that, Dev. That Kkell power is about the only thing we have going for us right now.”

Devin nodded to himself. “All right,” he said. “We need to do some planning. Gather Skeer, Ix, Ralan, and Hi . . . Gather the others and meet me in my tent.”

What am I doing? Devin wondered with amazement, settling himself on one of the cusions in his tent. We tried to take on Sarn and failed. So what do I do? I decided to try for an even bigger target. Assuming the impossible, assuming I do cast the Emperor from his throne, what then? Put myself in his place?

Even the thought of such a thing made Devin’s stomach churn. He didn’t have the experience or the knowledge to run an empire. The priesthood was corrupt—that was what he had to replace. He had to put someone in charge who understood Hess’s holy will, but somone who would interpret it fairly.

Devin’s eyes flickered up, landing on Vvenna. Despite the day’s shocks, despite the trouble he saw hinted at in her eyes, Vvenna had insisted on attending this meeting. She sat herself in her customary chair, the room’s only furniture, waiting for the others to arrive.

I need someone just, Devin thought with a smile. Someone who knows all the holy writings, and will teach the people to regard one another with respect.

Finally, for the first time since he had joined Skeer’s ‘rebellion,’ Devin felt he had a definite goal in mind. He would work to remove the archpriests and emperor. In their place he would put someone with a true sense of justice. But that was a long distance in the future. He settled back as Voko pushed back the tent flap, leading the others into the room.

The four men were subdued, even Skeer. Before, when they had planned the princess’s kidnapping, there had been a sense of reservation but excitement. They had all felt that their task was difficult, but not impossible. From the looks on their faces now, it appeared that they were beginning to understand just how monumentous a task Devin had placed before them. Only Ix, who Devin had never really understood, was different. His expression was reserved, like those of the others, but it was obviously a simple reproduction of what he saw from them.

“All right,” Devin said as they seated themselves. “I need options. King Sarn wants both myself and the princess dead, and we all know what he is capable of.”

“I wonder what kind of reward he’d pay for you two . . . ” Voko said with a musing smile, an attempt at lightening the mood.

“Likely something along the lines of a sword in the back,” Devin replied.

“Ah, good point,” Voko agreed. “Well, I say our first action should be to get you two out of here.”

“Leave?” Skeer said. “But we have to cast down the empire!”

“No one’s going to cast anything down if Sarn finds us,” Voko objected. “We need to find a nice hole and hide for a little while. Make him think we’ve dissapeared, then maybe he’ll leave us alone.”

“We can’t run!” Skeer objected.

“As a human with an innate sense of arrgoance, I would feel wrong hiding before my enemies,” Ix announceed.

Devin shook his head. “I don’t know, Voko,” he said. “You’re probably right—we definitely need to hide somewhere. But I can’t help thinking that the longer we sit and do nothing, the worse everything is going to get.”

“We need allies,” Vvenna whispered.

Devin looked up, not missing her use of the word ‘we.’ “Allies?” he asked.

“You don’t think politically—you’re Eruntu,” she explained. “We need allies. A small group like this can’t do anything. If, however, we could find someone powerful enough to back us, we might be able to stand for a little while.”

“You mean Kkoloss?” Skeer asked. “We can’t work with them! They’re evil!” It apparently didn’t even cross his mind that the person he was talking to was, in fact, Kkoloss herself.

“She makes a good point, Skeer,” Devin objected. “We won’t be able to challenge the Emperor by ourselves—that much is certain.”

“But who would help us without turning us in?” Voko said. “Hess, I can count off my three oldest friends and tell you without any uncertainty that they’d give us to Sarn. The potential for gain is just too high.”

Vvenna paused, an objection on her lips. Devin could see the confusion behind her mask of control. Before this day, she would have promised that no Kkoloss would turn them in after giving their word to help. “I don’t know,” she finally admitted. “I . . . I want to tell you they wouldn’t betray us, but I don’t know.”

“The only way to completely trust someone is if you know you have leverage over them,” Voko said. “Um, present company excluded, of course.”

The sound of a voice clearing came from the back of the tent, and everyone looked up in surprise. It had come from a very unlikely source.

“I can help,” Ralan said with his thick accent.

Devin and the others regarded the large man with mute stupifaction. Finally, Skeer spoke.

“Ralan!” he yelped. “You’ve been healed! It’s a miracle.”

Devin regarded the large Ralan with consternation. “You can help?” he asked. “How?”

“Our first difficulty is standing against Sarn,” Ralan explained. “If he kills you, then we will never defeat the Emperor. The only way to stand against one of the Houses is to be backed by one equally powerful. Traditionally, three of the Houses have been the strongest. Sserin is our enemy, Kkeris has been broken, and that leaves . . .”

“Ddoven,” Vvenna said quietly.

Devin’s eyes opened wide, taking in Ralan’s height once again. He had noted several times before that while Ralan was tall and strong, he wasn’t nearly as bulky as Voko or Hine. . . .

“Oh, Hess!” Voko said, realizing it at the same time as Devin.

“I am very confused,” Ix noted, his eyes flickering from Devin, to Ralan, to Voko.

“When I saw you use the Kkell of Repulsion,” Devin said slowly, “I just assumed you had taken the Kkell oath twice. I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

Ralan nodded.

Suddenly, Voko burst out laughing, rolling onto his back. Ix started laughing as well, a confused look in his eyes. Devin just shook his head.

“What?” Skeer asked, completely baffled.

“Ralan is Kkoloss,” Devin said. “House Ddoven.”

Skeer snorted. “That’s impossible,” he declared. “Why, he has the Kkell of Strength. He must have taken the Oath, and Kkoloss can’t do that.”

Devin shook his head. “He has the height of one with the Sserin Kkell power, but many shorter Kkoloss are about that same height.”

“But the muscles . . .” Skeer objected.

“I’ve always been stronger than a lot of people,” Ralan exlained, looking a bit ashamed. “That’s why I thought I could get away with hiding in the Sserin Guard.”

Voko was still laughing. “All this time!” he said. “I thought I had you figured out—I thought I’d seen through you. I thought I was so smart. Oh, Ralan! This is just too ironic!”

“Devin,” Ix said slowly. “I believe you must be mistaken. You see, this confused me for a while at first, but I finally understood. Kkoloss have colorful hair, but Eruntu only have white hair. Ralan has white hair, and therefore he must be Eruntu.”

“It is a dye, Ix,” Ralan explained. “It bleaches one’s hair in a matter of hours.”

“What Sept are you?” Vvenna asked quietly.

“Eighth Sept, Vessel,” Ralan said with a bow of his head.

Devin frowned. Eighth Sept wasn’t very important—barely a servant here on the isle. “But you think you can gain us influence with the King and Queen.”

Ralan shook his head. “They probably wouldn’t even give me an audience.”

“What then?” Devin asked.

“Come with me to the mainland,” he requested. “I think you’ll find that it’s not what you expect.”

Assistant Peter’s commentary: Devin has an ultimate goal now. Too bad we’ll never see it accomplished, because this is the final chapter that Brandon wrote. I’ll have some more comments and speculation below. Please note that this commentary will definitely have major SPOILERS for the ending of Warbreaker.

Vvenna mentions the Mythwalker, and again Devin doesn’t ask what that means. So we’re kept completely in the dark.

The Devin/Vvenna supposed romance (at least on Devin’s part) comes off as completely forced and basically out of nowhere.

I mentioned last week that there was one more secret to be revealed. I was, of course, talking about Ralan being Kkoloss. In the chapter ten commentary I gave you a big clue about this when I mentioned misdirection, but I don’t think anyone picked up on it. Surprise!

Devin says he has questions he would like to ask his mother. But since there is no more to this book, we won’t get the details. We can guess that Devin is most likely Vevinn’s son. It also seems likely that Vevinn has no idea. Anything beyond that, I am out of ideas.

Voko says that if Devin renounced the power, it would probably go to one of the lesser Kkeris. But I think it’s obvious it would go to Sarn instead. Consider that for a moment.

Vvenna says Devin has to renounce Hess in order to renounce his power. I’m not sure it would actually happen that way ultimately, for two reasons. One, I’m not sure the power actually does come from Hess. Two, there has to be a convergence of Siri’s plot with Devin’s.

Some readers on the 17th Shard forums have figured part of this out. They were wondering what the Emperor’s Kkell could be, and someone pointed out that the priests have the power to raise or lower someone’s Sept, and this power probably came from taking the Kkell oath pertaining to the Emperor’s house. As far as I know, this is basically true. But (from vaguely remembered conversations with Brandon ten years ago) I believe the Emperor’s power is more involved than that.

The Emperor’s Kkell power may be the ability to commit speech acts: what he says affects reality. He declares something to be so, and it is so. Since that is the case, it’s no wonder that the priests have cut out his tongue. Though now that I think about it, the “speech acts” power may have been my suggestion, and Brandon may have had something more limited in mind.

I have no idea where Brandon was going from this point with the trip to the mainland and the House Ddoven connection. But I do know something about the planned ending of the book, and can guess some more.

Soon after this chapter, I’m sure Siri would have moved on in her relationship with the Emperor. It would have gone almost exactly as it did with Siri and Susebron in Warbreaker. I believe Brandon delayed it here because there was still the possibility of Vvenna being swapped back, but now that possibility is pretty much gone.

The major difference would have been Siri’s Kkell power. Touching the Emperor would have caused his tongue to grow back. With the ability to speak, would he have used his power immediately? I don’t know. Perhaps Brandon would have contrived some way for them to avoid touching until almost the end of the book, so their relationship could develop through writing as it does in Warbreaker. Having a full-power Emperor too early would probably throw the relationship plot off its rails. But by the end of the book, the Emperor would have his tongue, at least while touching Siri.

There is a destined showdown that should be obvious: Devin and Sarn. With their different powers, they’re pretty evenly matched. So how is Devin going to win? If you’ve read Warbreaker, you should be able to guess, because Brandon used the same solution there. If you need another hint, remember what happens to Devin whenever he learns a new skill.

You should have it now. Devin is going to win by renouncing his power and having all the power go to Sarn. Then Sarn has a seizure and Devin kills him before it’s over. Now, as I said, renouncing may not have worked, but the Emperor would probably be in the scene, ready to strip Devin’s power himself.

That was never a satisfying ending in my mind, since it meant Devin lost his power and pretty much everything that made him a cool character. It also would have still meant that the new King after Sarn would have the Kkells of both houses. I much prefer the solution Brandon came up with in Warbreaker, since we got the same result without the loss needing to be permanent. Though, of course, with the Emperor obviously eventually on Devin’s side, it may not have been so permanent after all.

What else was going to happen? Well, there was something about the Demon God being imprisoned beneath the palace. He was going to be freed somehow. I expect that he was going to actually turn out to be good rather than evil, since Hess is fairly obviously evil. Yet Hess is quite a bit like Preservation. So who knows? I also believe that there was going to be something about the Skaa being the chosen ones of the good Demon God, or something like that.

I also expect that the Mythwalker is someone who is prophesied to gain the powers of all eight Houses. (But only the male powers and not the female powers?) Hasm intended this to be King Dunn, Sarn intended it to be himself, and the Shadein may have intended it to be Devin. I don’t know how Devin’s loss of power to kill Sarn affects that, due to what the Emperor could do.

The final issue to talk about is the big one: Why did Brandon abandon this novel? He’s described it before as being a boring book, and I think that’s a major issue, especially with Siri and Vvenna. All of their issues with that were solved in Warbreaker, as far as I’m concerned.

The major reason, I think, is the serious flaw in the magic system, especially as it relates to Devin. And that’s that there aren’t enough flaws. I mentioned before how Vvenna’s weight changing ability has no costs or limitations, compared to how something similar is done in the Mistborn series. And that makes Vvenna’s power less intersting. Devin’s problem is similar.

Using the terminology of the Sanderson’s Second Law article (Brandon developed the Second Law in the long aftermath of writing Mythwalker), the Kkell power of skill has one weakness and a couple limitations. The weakness is the miniature seizure. The first limitation is that the power is spread among relatives, so the more close relatives you have, the more power everyone has in aggregate but the weaker your own power is. The second limitation is that you can’t learn something without trying it first or having it demonstrated to you.

In Devin’s case, the weakness is something that would have been exploited at the end of the book, but it never really got Devin in trouble during what we saw. The relatives limitation doesn’t affect Devin, and the demonstration limitation never gets in his way for long.

So in the end, Devin is too powerful. There is pretty much nothing he can’t learn. Well, there may be another inherent limitation: the skill has to be something that’s actually humanly possible—he can’t learn to fly by watching a bird, for instance. But the result is that the limitations are not limiting enough, and there is no cost to use the magic. When you have a character who can do pretty much anything, the tension is gone. Devin does have some powerful forces working against him—the entire society of the world he’s in is something he has to overcome. But anything physical that Devin has to do, he can do. That makes the book boring.

If you haven’t read the Sanderson’s Second Law article, I suggest you do so. When Brandon stopped writing Mythwalker, he knew it was a failed book, but he didn’t completely know why. Thinking about it while writing the next few books is what led him to develop the law. So ultimately, Mythwalker was an important step in Brandon’s development as a writer. Without this failed step, he couldn’t have come up with the fantastic magic systems that followed, such as Allomancy.

Spokane 2015

Hey, all. This is a post that may not be relevant for everyone, but I thought it was an important one to make anyway.

I had the pleasure of being Guest of Honor a few weeks back at SpoCon, a sf/fantasy convention in Spokane, Washington. Well, it turns out that the same group who run SpoCon have a bid out for Worldcon in 2015. The voting will happen this weekend at Worldcon in San Antonio, which I'm attending. (Though kind of last-minute.)

Voting costs $40, and unfortunately it's too late to mail in ballots; it has to be done in person. Voting also gets you a supporting membership to whichever Worldcon wins for 2015—meaning you can vote in that year's Hugos as well (and get that year's Hugo Voter Packet), for cheaper than it will cost to buy a supporting membership once 2015 rolls around. And a supporting membership can be upgraded to an attending membership very easily.

Since I was just hosted by these people, I think I'm in a unique position to give them—and their Worldcon bid—a shout-out. The guest liaison team was top-notch, and the entire convention was extremely well organized. I was surprised by how pretty Spokane was this time of year to boot.

If anyone is debating where to put their vote for Worldcon, let me nudge you toward Spokane. I don't know anything about the other Worldcon bid teams, and I'm sure there are plenty of great people on them—but I know for certain the team in Spokane knows what they're doing. The city itself is pushing hard for the convention, even going so far to send city representatives to Worldcon this year to lobby.

Hats off to the entire crew. I had a wonderful time, and would love to return in two years for Worldcon. This is a bid to take very seriously.

Brandon

More Blog Posts at Brandonsanderson.com

Worldcon This Weekend

Worldcon in San Antonio (LoneStarCon 3) starts tomorrow. Here's my schedule! There are hundreds of industry luminaries at the convention, so be sure to check out all the great programming.

World Science Fiction Convention, San Antonio

Place: LoneStarCon 3
Address: Henry B. Gonzales Convention Center
200 E Market St
San Antonio, TX 78205

Schedule: August 29th–September 2nd, 2013

SATURDAY

4:00–5:00 p.m., Tachyon Publications booth in the Dealers' Room

Brandon Sanderson signing The Emperor's Soul

A limited number of hardcovers will be available.

6:00–7:00 p.m., 006A

Brandon Sanderson Reading

SUNDAY

1:00–2:00 p.m., Autographing Area

Autographing: John Maddox Roberts, Brandon Sanderson, John Scalzi, Laura Underwood

8:00 p.m., Grand Ballroom

The Hugo Awards

The Emperor's Soul is nominated in the Best Novella category, and Writing Excuses in the Best Related Work category. Best of luck to all the nominees! You can also watch the awards live on UStream.

Notes:

The "Firstborn"/"Defending Elysium" convention exclusive hardcover will be available in limited numbers at Howard Tayler's booth in the dealers' room.

More Blog Posts at Brandonsanderson.com

Infinity Blade: Redemption Pre-Order Starts Today

ChAIR ENTERTAINMENT & NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR BRANDON SANDERSON ANNOUNCE NEW CHAPTER IN INFINITY BLADE SAGA, 
INFINITY BLADE: REDEMPTION

Pre-Order the Novella Now Exclusively on iBooks

Salt Lake City, UT (August 20, 2013) -- ChAIR Entertainment, a division of Epic Games Inc., today announced Infinity Blade: Redemption, the second in a series of novellas based on ChAIR's award-winning Infinity Blade video game series and written by #1 New York Times bestselling fantasy author Brandon Sanderson (The Way of Kings, Mistborn, The Wheel of Time, Steelheart). Infinity Blade: Redemption publishes worldwide on September 3rd exclusively on iBooks and is now available for pre-order: iTunes.com/InfinityBladeRedemption.

Infinity Blade: Redemption delves deeper into the fantastical world of Infinity Blade, a world of mystery and intrigue where magic and technology are indistinguishable and even life and death are not as they seem. The secrets unraveled will dig backward in time toward the origins of the Deathless and the true nature of the world itself.

"As an avid gamer for most of my life, I've been thrilled at the chance to be involved in the Infinity Blade project," said author Brandon Sanderson. "It gives me a chance to geek out in a new way, and it allows me to explore storytelling in this new world where different types of media can merge, get shaken up, and enhance one another."

Infinity Blade: Redemption will be available where other digital books are sold beginning September 9th. Pre-order the book and read a preview chapter now exclusively on iBooks: iTunes.com/InfinityBladeRedemption.

Learn more about Infinity Blade: Redemption and other Infinity Blade products on the official site at: http://infinitybladegame.com. Follow @InfinityBlade on Twitter and 'Like' "Infinity Blade" on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/InfinityBladeGame

 

ABOUT INFINITY BLADE:

In 2010, Epic Games' award-winning studio ChAIR Entertainment forever changed the landscape of mobile gaming with the introduction of Infinity Blade for the App Store. Powered by Unreal Engine 3, Infinity Blade and its acclaimed 2011 sequel Infinity Blade II, brought handheld gaming to new heights with gorgeous visuals, adrenaline-fueled battles and advanced character progression in a fully 3D world. With more that 40 million players worldwide, the Infinity Blade games are among the most popular ever launched on the App Store, receiving a combined 50+ Editor's Choice and Game of the Year accolades, as well as the International Mobile Game Awards "Excellence in Design" Award and the prestigious 2011 Apple Design Award.

Further expanding the game's lore, ChAIR introduced a series of bestselling digital novellas written by acclaimed fantasy author Brandon Sanderson. Fans can dive more deeply into the fantastical world of Infinity Blade with Infinity Blade: Awakening and its 2013 sequel, Infinity Blade: Redemption, available on all popular digital bookstore platforms.

 

ABOUT ChAIR:

Founded in 2005, Salt Lake City-based ChAIR Entertainment is a subsidiary of Epic Games, Inc. In December 2011, ChAIR introduced the award-winning sword-fighting adventure Infinity Blade II for the App Store. Following in the footsteps of the original iOS blockbuster Infinity Blade, introduced in 2010, the critically-acclaimed sequel won more than 25 Game of the Year and Editor's Choice accolades and remains one of the most popular games released on the App Store. In 2009, ChAIR released the modern and masterful side-scrolling shooter Shadow Complex, published by Microsoft Game Studios exclusively for Xbox LIVE Arcade. The critically-acclaimed Shadow Complex received numerous E3 and Editor's Choice Awards and was named Game of the Year by more than 40 media outlets. Prior to that, ChAIR debuted the award-winning underwater action-shooter, Undertow for Xbox LIVE Arcade. Follow @ChAIRGAMES on Twitter and Instagram and 'Like' on Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/ChAIRGAMES.

 

ABOUT EPIC GAMES

Established in 1991, Epic Games, Inc. develops cutting-edge games and cross-platform game engine technology. The company is responsible for the bestselling "Unreal" series of games, the blockbuster Gears of War franchise and the groundbreaking Infinity Blade line of mobile games. Epic's award-winning Unreal Engine technology has won dozens of awards and is available for licensing. Epic is continually recruiting top talent for its studios located in North Carolina, Washington, Utah, Poland, Korea and Japan. For more information, visit http://www.epicgames.com and follow @EpicGames.

Epic, Epic Games, Gears of War, Infinity Blade, Unreal, Unreal Engine, UE3 and UE4 are trademarks or registered trademarks of Epic Games, Inc. in the United States of America and elsewhere. All other trademarks are the property of their respective owners. All rights reserved.

More Blog Posts at Brandonsanderson.com

Steelheart Preorders from Weller Book Works Start Today + My Gen Con Schedule

Tomorrow and Saturday I'll be at Gen Con. My schedule is below. See you there! But first, if you haven't seen the STEELHEART teaser trailer, the prologue, or teaser chapters, please go give them a look! The release date is fast approaching, so think about preordering the book from your favorite vendor. (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, Audible, Apple, Kobo, Google Play.) If you would like a signed and numbered copy, Weller Book Works will begin accepting orders TODAY for delivery on or very shortly after September 24th. (Or you can come to the release event at the Orem Barnes & Noble on September 24th. More details later.) Mysterious Galaxy and Shawn Speakman's The Signed Page will also have signed books available to preorder, but they won't be shipped until I sign them in October.

Steelheart Signed & Numbered Copies

Weller Book Works is excited to offer signed and numbered copies of Brandon Sanderson's Steelheart.

A maximum of two copies may be ordered per customer. The price is $15.19 per copy plus tax and/or shipping if applicable. That's 20% off the cover price of $18.99.

United States shipping is via USPS Priority Mail. You may choose to have orders for a single copy shipped in a padded envelope or in a box. Orders for two copies will be shipped in a box. Shipping prices are as follows:

US Domestic padded envelope - $7.00
US Domestic box - $13.00

In addition, orders picked up in-store or shipped to destinations in Utah will be charged sales tax of $1.04 per book.

International shipping is via USPS 1st Class or Priority Mail for single copies. You may choose to have single copy orders shipped in a 1st Class padded envelope, a Priority Mail padded envelope, or a Priority Mail box. Orders for two copies will be shipped in a Priority Mail box. Unfortunately, we are not able to ship two copies 1st Class due to weight limits. Please note that 1st Class orders will not arrive until significantly after the release date. Shipping prices are as follows:

Canada & Mexico 1st Class padded envelope - $16.00
Canada & Mexico Priority Mail padded envelope - $21.00
Canada & Mexico Priority Mail box - $ 42.00
All other international 1st Class padded envelope - $23.00
All other international Priority Mail padded envelope - $25.00
All other international Priority Mail box - $62.00

Orders may be paid for with credit card or Paypal only. All orders must be placed via e-mail by e-mailing books@wellerbookworks.com.

When you order, please let us know how you would like your copy personalized. Tell us "signature only" if you just want it signed and numbered. If you would like it signed to you or to a friend, say, e.g., "Sign it 'to John.'" If you are paying by Paypal, please include your paypal email in your order so that we can invoice you. Please include your shipping address when ordering.

This promotion is limited to 500 copies of Steelheart, and all orders must be received and paid for by August 31, 2013.

E-mail books@wellerbookworks.com to order today!

Gen Con Indy

Place: Gen Con Indy 2013
Address: Indiana Convention Center
100 S Capitol Ave
Indianapolis, IN 46225

Schedule: August 16–17, 2013

FRIDAY

11:00 a.m.–12:00 noon, ICC Room 244 (SEM1345269)

Panel: Worldbuilding: Magic & Mysticism

Learn to weave magic into your setting in a way that drives the story and satisfies the reader.

Elizabeth Vaughan, John Helfers, Lou Anders, Dave Gross, Brandon Sanderson

2:00–3:30 p.m., ICC Room 500 Ballroom/Reception (ENT1350579)

Event: Epic Villains
Bestselling authors Brandon Sanderson (STEELHEART, Sept. 2013) and James Dashner (EYE OF MINDS, Oct. 2013) introduce their new series and discuss the creation of the most horrifying villains within their fiction—past and present. For a chance to win an epic prize, collect some cool swag, and receive a limited edition signed poster, come check out this sneak peek!

Cost: $2.00

4:00–5:00 p.m., ICC Room 245 (SEM1345264)

Panel: Writer's Craft: Novel Outlines

Discover the techniques and tricks for creating effective, compelling, and pitchable novel outlines.

John Helfers, Jerry Gordon, Saladin Ahmed, Brandon Sanderson, Erik Scott De Bie

7:00–9:00 p.m., ICC Room 244 (SEM1350944)

Panel: Writing Excuses: Live Audience Session 1

Join Writing Excuses hosts Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, and Mary Robinette Kowal for a live audience recording session Friday evening. The team will record four to six episodes of their popular podcast between 7pm and 9pm, interviewing special guests from the symposium and VIG's and others from the wider convention. During this session at least one episode will be a rapid-fire Q&A using questions taken from the audience, so be sure to bring some stumpers.

9:00 p.m.–2:00 a.m. VIG Lounge, ICC Rooms 116–117 (TCG1352591)

VIG: Magic: The Gathering draft and tournament with Brandon Sanderson

Come draft and play MTG with Brandon Sanderson, author of the Mistborn series and the continuation of Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time saga. Prizes awarded! VIG and VIG Companions only.

Cost: $24.00

SATURDAY

12:00 noon–2:00 p.m., Exhibit Hall Booth 1749

Signing: Brandon Sanderson at Howard Tayler's Schlock Mercenary booth

Brandon's books (including this year's convention exclusive hardcover) will be available for purchase, or you can bring your own books. Howard Tayler, Jim Zub, and Tracy Hickman will also be at the booth at various times throughout the day. And you can also ask Brandon to sign your books any other time during the convention that you can catch him between panels.

2:00–3:00 p.m., ICC Room 245 (SEM1345288)

Panel: Exploring Genres: Young Adult

Get the inside scoop on what it takes to write fiction for the lucrative YA market.

Kelly Swails, David Farland, James Dashner, Ari Marmell, Brandon Sanderson

3:00–4:00 p.m., ICC Room 245 (SEM1345289)

Panel: Exploring Genres: Dark Fantasy

Explore techniques for writing fantasy with an edge as we discuss the darker side of the genre.

Paul Genesse, Kelly Swails, Chris Pierson, Lucy Snyder, Brandon Sanderson

4:00–5:00 p.m., Crowne Plaza Grand Central Ballroom D (SEM1343796)

Panel: Scheming through Scadrial: Making Mistborn Yours

The Final Empire is hard on Crews but it's also tricky for Narrators. Join the creators of the Mistborn Adventure Game for an interactive panel about adventuring in Brandon Sanderson's unique world.

NOTE: This panel is a two-hour panel beginning at 3:00. Brandon will show up for the final hour of the panel.

Patrick Kapera, Brandon Sanderson

7:00–9:00 p.m., ICC Room 244 (SEM1350945)

Panel: Writing Excuses: Live Audience Session 2

Join Writing Excuses hosts Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, and Mary Robinette Kowal for a live audience recording session Friday evening. The team will record four to six episodes of their popular podcast between 7pm and 9pm, interviewing special guests from the symposium and VIG's and others from the wider convention. During this session at least one episode will be a rapid-fire Q&A using questions taken from the audience, so be sure to bring some stumpers.

NOTE:

Brandon's books (including this year's convention exclusive hardcover) will be available for purchase at Howard Tayler's Schlock Mercenary booth 1749 in the Exhibit Hall.

More Blog Posts at Brandonsanderson.com

Signed Perrin T-Shirt Charity Auction & Updates

Some quick updates today. But first, if you haven't seen the STEELHEART teaser trailer, the prologue, or teaser chapters, please go give them a look! The release date is fast approaching, so think about preordering the book from your favorite vendor. (Amazon, Barnes & Noble, IndieBound, Audible, Apple, Kobo, Google Play.) If you would like a signed and numbered copy, Weller Book Works will begin accepting orders on August 15th for delivery on or very shortly after September 24th. Mysterious Galaxy and Shawn Speakman's The Signed Page will also have signed books available to preorder, but they won't be shipped until I sign them in October.

Waygate Foundation has a new charity auction to benefit the Wounded Warrior Project. They're auctioning off a rare production sample of a Ta'veren Tees t-shirt featuring Perrin Aybara, signed by Team Jordan and me. You can't buy a shirt with this exact design. The auction ends on August 21st.

The Kindle Daily Post has an interview with me about STEELHEART and other topics. Also, Inspiring Insomnia is giving away (US-only) an ARC of STEELHEART. I often mention giveaways like this on Facebook and Twitter when I see them, but sometimes the giveaways are over by the time I compile a blog post. So if you want to keep track of things like that, Facebook and Twitter are the best places to follow me.

The most recent Writing Excuses podcast episode is another microcasting one where we touch on the following topics:

How do you manage your workload?
Are writing contests worth it? Which ones are good?
How do you make it clear that the weird aspects of your world are done on purpose rather than just being bad science?
How do you know when to take a break from your writing?
What are your word count suggestions for various markets?

SF Signal asked me to name two or three authors I feel haven't received the recognition they deserve. So I had to keep the list short, but you should check it out!

Tor.com's newest THE WAY OF KINGS reread post covers chapters 27 and 28. Chasm duty, Horneater stew, and smashing a lot of rock with a hammer.

More Blog Posts at Brandonsanderson.com