The Crimson Vault (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (15 page)

Alin spoke up, speaking with the same resonant command he had used when delivering his speech. “Grandmaster Naraka, Simon is here at my invitation. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say to him.”

Mentally, Simon took back every petty and insulting thing he had ever said about Alin.

Grandmaster Endross turned his dark eyes on Simon. “Your pardon, Eliadel, but I have crossed Travelers of Valinhall in the past. They call themselves the Dragon Army, and as far as I can tell, their only purpose is to murder other Travelers.”

Several other Grandmasters muttered agreement.

One of Endross’ hands, apparently unconsciously, drifted down to his sword-belt, which hung over the back of his chair. From the belt hung a pair of identical scabbarded swords.

“With the council’s permission,” Grandmaster Endross continued, “I would welcome the opportunity to eject the Valinhall Traveler personally.”

Simon decided that, if it came to a fight, he would take out Grandmaster Endross first.

“Seconded,” came a lilting voice from a pudgy woman underneath a flower banner.

“Three voices agree,” said Grandmaster Avernus. “Let it be done.”

Endross began to stand up, and Simon called steel. The icy power rushed through his blood. If the Grandmaster was anything like Cormac, he would need to summon his thunderstorm first. At that point, Simon would call essence and Azura.

He had nothing to defend against a bolt of lightning. His only hope would be to take the Grandmaster out before he could gather himself for a real attack.

With a surprisingly loud crack, Alin slammed his gauntleted fist down on the table.

“Grandmaster Endross,” Alin said. “I believe I made myself clear. Simon stays where he is. Now, either sit down or remove yourself from this council.” His voice carried a weight that Simon would never have believed came from a seventeen-year-old.

Endross moved his eyes from Simon to Alin. He hesitated a moment, looking between Alin and Grandmaster Naraka, before he bowed and sat back down. “I live to serve, Eliadel,” he said.

Alin turned toward Naraka as though nothing had happened, though Simon noticed a miniscule smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Grandmaster Naraka, you have the floor,” Alin said.

He sat, and Naraka rose to her feet. Only her head and shoulders rose over the surface of the table.

Grandmaster Naraka turned her head to address the council. “Eliadel, and those few of us who have not received word, there has been a major development in the last twenty-four hours. At long last, one of the Incarnations has escaped its prison.”

Two or three Grandmasters gasped, but most nodded along.

Simon had only heard Incarnations mentioned once or twice, in an attitude of dread. He had an image of an Incarnation as a terrible monster that rose from the depths of a Territory to spread madness and chaos. So he was not prepared to see Grandmaster Naraka break into a wide smile. It did horrible things to her wrinkled face.

“Brothers and sisters,” she said, “The prophecy of the Rising Sun has already borne fruit. The reign of the Crimson Vault has almost come to an end.”

Each man or woman—or indistinct, androgynous figure, in the case of the silver-wrapped Grandmaster—reacted differently to the announcement. Most of them smiled. Grandmaster Helgard laughed and pounded the table. Grandmaster Ornheim stroked her stone necklace, looking thoughtful. One Grandmaster, a young, athletic man underneath a banner of three silver keys, simply nodded. He had the expression of a man with a job to do, and he would do his best whether he enjoyed it or not.

After a few moments they calmed down, and Grandmaster Naraka spoke again. Her customary twisted, sour expression was back in place. “This gives us an opportunity. As you are all aware, since Overlord Malachi’s death this past month, Damasca has begun to prepare for war.”

Simon struggled to control his expression. Apparently, he was the only one in the room not aware of the impending conflict.

Grandmaster Naraka continued. “Our information suggests that King Zakareth plans to first scour our Territory outposts, and then—when all our escape routes are blocked—he will come against our city in full force. This means that the attack on the former Grandmaster Helgard, saints preserve him, was not an isolated incident.”

All the other Grandmasters, except Helgard, murmured, “Saints preserve,” in unison. The current Grandmaster Helgard scowled through his beard, and Simon could have sworn he heard the man growl.
 

No one had told Simon about a Damascan attack. If the previous Grandmaster Helgard had been killed, then staying in Enosh might be even more dangerous than going home. Maybe he and Leah should round up the other villagers and head back to Myria, leaving the Travelers to tear each other apart on their own.

An image flashed in Simon’s mind: his mother’s corpse, twisted and broken on the floor of a cave. That was what happened when the villagers tried to stay out of the way. Myria sat between Enosh and the closest Damascan cities. The villagers would not be spared; they would simply be crushed underfoot.

“This presents us with an opportunity,” Naraka continued. “Grandmaster Lirial?”

The silver-wrapped figure stood, bowing slightly to Grandmaster Naraka. “Thank you, Grandmaster,” it said. His or her voice vibrated, as it had to travel through a long tunnel, and emerged in a monotonous buzz. “As you know, the Overlords are charged with keeping the Incarnations sealed in their prisons. Normally, an assault on the Overlords is ill-advised, because any approach by land or by Traveling is too well defended.”

At the head of the table, Alin smirked.

“That is no longer the case,” Grandmaster Lirial continued. “Many Damascan Travelers, and in some cases even the Overlords themselves, have been called away to prepare for the war effort. We have identified three, possibly four Trees that are poorly defended. But they will not remain that way for long. In my opinion, now is the perfect time for an assault.”

Grandmasters Helgard and Endross grinned at each other like boys. Beneath a gray banner marked with a purple flower, the pudgy Grandmaster sighed and shook her head, resting her chin in her hand. The Grandmaster beneath the three silver keys sat up straight and squared his shoulders like a soldier at attention.

Grandmaster Avernus combed a finger through her long silver hair, looking down at each of her peers in turn before she spoke. “We should see to this matter personally, I think,” she said.

Grandmaster Lirial bowed, silver ribbons rustling, and then sat back down. Apparently Lirial felt his or her part was done. Naraka, however, laced her hands together thoughtfully.

“Small teams, I think,” she said. “Each led by at least one Grandmaster. Three of us must strike at Damasca in an attempt to destroy the Trees, and a fourth team should go to aid the escaped Incarnation.”

“Aid it?” Alin asked. “Aid it in what? What does it want to do?”

Simon had wondered the same thing, but he knew better than to ask. They would only ignore anything he said anyway.

“Destroy Damasca,” Grandmaster Helgard declared.

“Why?”

Grandmaster Naraka straightened her red spectacles and took on a lecturing tone. “The Incarnations are forces of nature. They are noble creatures, with incalculable power, but being in this world too long drives them mad. They are like rabid beasts…and Damasca has kept these beasts whipped, beaten, and chained underground for three centuries. It is only natural that the first thing an Incarnation would do, when freed, is to bend all of its powers toward Damasca’s destruction.”

All the other Grandmasters nodded or made sounds of agreement. Alin, on the other hand, looked straight at Simon.

His gaze made Simon inexplicably nervous.
What is he looking at me for?
Simon wondered. Did he want advice? Did he want Simon to say something? Maybe he just wanted to know what Simon thought.

Alin raised his eyebrows in a question, and Simon shrugged. Alin seemed to accept that as an answer, turning back to the Grandmaster and listening to their continued conversation. They were preparing to vote on whether or not to attack Damasca, but Simon had no doubts about which way the vote would fall.

Personally, Simon wasn’t sure what he thought about this whole business with the Incarnations. He had little love for Damasca, that was true. Though the village where he grew up was technically part of the Damascan Kingdom, they almost never saw any full citizen or full-blooded Damascan. The villages all considered themselves separate from the Kingdom, and for the most part, the people of Damasca respected that. Simon’s only real interaction with Damascans had come at one end or another of a sword.

Then again, he was beginning to suspect that the Grandmasters of Enosh weren’t much better.

It’s none of my business anyway
, Simon decided.
I can just stay in the House. I’ll leave these problems to people who want to take care of them. Like Alin.

Maybe I can stay out of the way and let this whole mess pass me by.

It was probably his imagination, but he could have sworn he heard dolls laughing all the way from Valinhall.

C
HAPTER
S
EVEN
:

A
VOIDING
J
USTICE

Simon sat through the rest of the meeting, although it mostly consisted of the various Grandmasters discussing what they should decide at their
next
meeting, which would apparently be the real war council. If being a Grandmaster took this much debate and this many meetings, Simon was surprised anyone wanted the job. It would drive him insane.

When Grandmaster Naraka declared the meeting adjourned, Simon was the first out of the room. No need to stick around to give the Grandmasters a chance to threaten or insult him.
 

To his surprise, though, a golden gauntlet wrapped around his arm and pulled him up short when he was only a few steps into the hallway.

“Simon!” Alin said. “Speak with me a minute. Let me walk you to your room.” His voice was friendly, but the fact that he was still speaking like a lord was enough to put Simon’s back up. He almost refused on sheer reaction, but Alin
had
stuck up for him at least twice today.

When Alin removed his hand from Simon’s arm, Simon continued walking in step with him. “You didn’t need me there today,” Simon said.

“Why not?” Alin asked.

Simon threw a surprised look at Alin, but Alin was focused on the end of the hallway. “Why not? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t have anything to say. I just sat there and let them insult me.”

Alin shrugged one shoulder. “They have problems with Valinhall Travelers. Don’t worry; you’ll bring them around.”

Not for the first time, Simon wondered where Alin got his blind confidence.

“I’m not sure I want to bring them around,” Simon said. “I’m not sure I want anything from them at all. This isn’t my fight.”

A pair of passing servants, carrying a huge laundry basket between them, saw Alin and bowed deeply. Alin didn’t seem to notice.

Alin looked as though Simon had just announced his plan to burn down a nursery. “You assaulted Malachi’s home with me. You’ve killed more Damascan Travelers than anyone. Simon, a Traveler from Damasca killed your mother. If this is anyone’s fight, it’s yours.”

Grief and anger and guilt boiled inside of Simon, rising up in an unpleasant mess. He hated remembering the Travelers and soldiers he’d killed, hated the feeling of resistance as Azura passed through their bodies. Each time, Simon had felt backed into the fight, as though he had been left with no other options, but the fact remained that he had killed people. He had killed a lot of people.

On the other hand, he didn’t need
Alin
reminding him who killed his mother. Alin had been there, facing the Traveler that killed Simon’s mother. For all his power, he hadn’t done anything to save her.

Then again, Alin hadn’t been the one determined to keep her safe.

“You don’t need to remind me,” Simon said. For a moment, he heard in his own voice an echo of Kai at his most threatening: soft and dangerous. “I remember every second of what happened in that cave, and I regret every drop of blood I’ve spilled since then. But…”

His certainty faded. He wasn’t even sure how to phrase what he had sensed over this past month.

“Alin, you didn’t hear what Malachi said at the end. I don’t think he meant for any of this to happen. I think there’s more going on here than we know. And I just want to stay out of it.”

There, he’d said it. He had no reason to fight in this conflict; his mother was avenged, the other villagers saved. He still wanted to explore Valinhall, to become stronger, but that was a separate issue.

Or is it separate?
Simon wondered.
Why do I need to keep Traveling, if there’s no one out there to fight?

They walked in silence for another few minutes, eventually reaching the door to Simon’s room. A woman with feathers in her hair and wearing a buckskin dress—a Traveler of Avernus, then—raised a hand and called out to Alin in greeting. He politely excused himself. As she walked away, the owl on her shoulder swiveled its head around to stare straight at Simon.

“Those birds creep me out,” Simon said, mostly because he hadn’t said anything in minutes.

“Simon, there
is
more going on here than we know,” Alin said seriously. “That’s why I need you here, with me. I think, whatever happens, that you and I are going to be important.”

In his gleaming gold armor, with his golden hair shining in the torchlight, Alin looked every inch a king. And, for once, he was talking to Simon as an equal.

“I’ll think about it,” Simon said.

Alin nodded. “We’re planning the attack tomorrow. The Grandmasters will try and stop me from inviting you, but I’m afraid they might try something more. Do you have the
filiar
I lent you?”