The Alloy of Law - Brandon Sanderson [114]
As Miles jerked about in surprise, Waxillium Pushed on the clasps at the bottom of the nets, shooting them out of the gaping hole where the door had been. That pulled the nets tight at the bottom and yanked Miles’s feet out from under him.
Miles hit the floor of the railcar’s interior, banging his head against the box that held the aluminum. That probably wouldn’t even daze him, but the awkward fall did make him drop his gun. Waxillium leaped forward, grabbing it and pulling it out of the nets; then he stood, breathing quickly.
Miles thrashed at the nets. Despite his incredible healing powers, he wasn’t any stronger than an ordinary man. The trick wasn’t to kill him. It was just to incapacitate him. Waxillium stepped forward, only now finding a chance to bind the wound on his arm. It wasn’t bad, but it was bleeding more than he’d have liked.
Miles looked up at him, growing calm. Then he reached into his pocket, got out his cigar case, and pulled a small, slender stick of dynamite from it.
Waxillium froze. He felt an awful moment of realization, followed by a jolt of terror.
Aw, hell! He threw himself past Miles and out of the railcar. The awkward leap left him spinning in the air. He had a brief glance of Miles yanking at the dynamite’s blasting cap. The man was enveloped in a bright, powerful blast.
The explosion hurled Waxillium forward like a leaf before the wind. He smashed to the ground, and his vision flashed. He lost a few moments.
He came to, bloodied, dazed, rolling to a stop. His head swam. He was unable to move or even think, his heart thumping in his chest.
A figure stood up in the railcar. Waxillium’s vision was too blurry to make out much, but he knew it was Miles. His clothing had been shredded, much of it blown off his body, but he was whole. He’d set off dynamite in his hand in order to free himself from the nets.
Rust and Ruin … Waxillium thought, coughing. How badly was he hurt? He rolled over, numb. That wasn’t a good sign.
“Is there any doubt that I have been chosen for something great?” Miles bellowed. Waxillium could barely hear it; his ears were nearly useless after that blast. “Why else would I have this power, Waxillium? Why else would we be what we are? And yet, we let others rule. Let them make a mess of our world while we do nothing but chase petty criminals.”
Miles hopped down from the train car, then strode forward, bare-chested, trousers hanging in rags. “I am tired of doing what the city tells me. I should be helping people, not fighting meaningless fights as prescribed by the corrupt and the uncaring.”
He reached Waxillium, leaning down. “Can’t you see? Can’t you see what important work we could be doing? Can’t you see that we’re meant to be doing it, perhaps even ruling. It’s almost like … like we, with the powers we have, are divine.” He seemed to almost be begging for Waxillium to agree, to give him justification.
Waxillium just coughed.
“Bah,” Miles said, straightening up. He flexed a hand. “You don’t think I realize that the only way to stop me is to tie me up? A little explosion can serve a man so well, I’ve found. I keep the dynamite in the cigar cases. Few people look there. You should have questioned the criminals I caught back in the Roughs. A few of them tried capturing me with ropes.”
“I…” Waxillium coughed. His own voice sounded wrong in his ears. “I couldn’t have talked to any of the criminals you caught. You killed them all, Miles.”
“So I did,” Miles said. He grabbed Waxillium by the shoulder, hauling him to his feet. “I see you dropped my gun as you jumped out of the train. Wonderful.” He punched Waxillium in the stomach, causing him to exhale with a grunt. Then Miles let him fall to the ground, wandering over toward a gun lying nearby.
Dazed, but knowing he needed to get to cover, Waxillium somehow lurched to his feet. He Pushed against a piece of machinery and sent himself sailing across the room, where he landed beside the boxes. Those had been scattered in