The Crimson Vault (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (24 page)

He struck out with a chain, quick as a thunderclap. Simon tried to knock it aside with one of his hands, but without the essence in him he was just too slow. He dulled the attack, though it still felt like a hammer slamming into the back of his hand, but the end of the chain still clipped his jaw.

The Eldest's hood rocked back, as though he were surprised. "You do not use the gift I gave you."

Simon shrugged. "Ran out," he lied.

The Nye struck again, low, aiming for Simon's ankle. Simon stepped over the strike, rushing forward to grapple with the Eldest. The Nye all looked like men in cloaks, but it was more accurate to say that they were bundles of cloth given life. They had barely any weight. If it came to wrestling, he would have the advantage.

In theory. The Eldest did not seem surprised that Simon had avoided his attack, whipping the chain up and across Simon's back.

Simon shouted at the pain, which felt like getting kicked by a rough-shod horse, but he pressed on, wrapping an arm around the Eldest and using his other arm to fumble for the Nye's chain.

Below!
Angeline shouted in the depths of Simon's mind.

The Eldest barely moved. He tucked his black slipper behind Simon's ankle and pulled his leg back, sending Simon crashing over backwards.

Simon squirmed, gasping for breath. He had forgotten how much fights tended to hurt without steel running through his muscles. The Eldest stood over him, chain between his shrouded hands, studying him with a hood full of darkness.

"What is your plan, son of Kalman?" the Eldest asked curiously. "You have kept to our bargain. I would not see you die tonight."

Neither steel nor essence had yet recovered to their full potential, so Simon needed time. He thought quickly; what would convince the Eldest to let him go, and give him enough time to enact the next step in his plan?

I would hardly call it a plan,
Angeline put in.

"Wait!" Simon said. "How does following Valin help you? He's not restoring Valinhall. He's not adding anything. He's just destroying."

The Eldest's head cocked slightly to the side in a gesture almost reminiscent of Kai. He didn't say anything, but he didn't kill Simon either. Simon decided to take that as a good sign.

"What happens when he gets his revenge on Damasca?" Simon asked, desperate for something to say. He struggled up to a sitting position. "He'll be done. He'll have no reason to recruit more Valinhall Travelers after that. What will you do then?"

"We tried to follow another, once," the Eldest whispered. His voice still managed to cut through the sounds of battle coming from Simon's back. "He betrayed us through inaction. Never a step forward. He remains, to this day, little more than a coward. Tell us, then, Kai’s apprentice: who would you have us follow?"

"How about me?" Simon said. He hadn't intended to say that; he was almost surprised to hear the words come out of his own mouth.

Angeline seemed stunned speechless.

The Eldest shook his head sadly. "You have no chance, son of Kalman. I am sorry. I like you, but you would have to win Valin's sword. And I simply do not see that in your future."

Simon glanced over to the top of the hill, where Indirial still fought. His breath no longer glowed, and he seemed desperate to fend off each of Valin's strikes. Watching the fight, Simon was shocked that he hadn't been killed already. Apparently, his essence had run out.

"I don't know if I've ever told you this," Simon said, "but I don't believe in prophecy."

On shaky legs, he stood, turning his back to the Eldest.
 

It was a risk, but a calculated one. Angeline would warn him if the Eldest attacked him while his back was turned, but Simon was mostly counting on the Nye's own curiosity to keep his chain still.

I think I know what you're doing,
Angeline said.
I don't like it.

I didn't expect you would,
Simon said, but he kept walking. Soon he stood only paces away from the battle between the founder of the Dragon Army and one of its first members. Simon was close enough that the sound of their swords was deafening, and the wind from their strikes blew hair back from his face.

Simon pulled the Nye hood up over his face. "Valin!" he called, shouting as loud as he could to be heard over the cacophony of battle.

Valin turned his head toward the source of the shout. Indirial kept attacking, but Valin somehow managed to block all of his student's strikes without bothering to use his eyes.

His eyes. His terrible
eyes
. Simon was stunned almost speechless at the sight. The man from Harinfel had mumbled over and over about the Wanderer's black eyes, but he had barely done the sight justice. The whites of his eyes were solid black, a darkness that stood out from the surrounding night, but even worse were the parts of his eyes that should have been colored: they were a gleaming steel, like the metal of a Dragon's Fang.

Was that what Simon himself would become if he lost control?

Simon shook off that thought and forced himself to keep speaking.

"I challenge you, Valin," Simon shouted. "Duel me!" He summoned his blade, calling steel into himself. Azura's seven-foot length shimmered in the night as it appeared in his hand, gleaming under the moon.

Valin stepped away from Indirial, who—wisely, Simon thought—sank to one knee, panting. If Simon accomplished nothing else, at least he could give the Overlord a chance to recover his power.

"Who are you?" Valin asked curiously.

"My name is Simon, son of Kalman." Then, because he thought it would be appropriate, he added, "Traveler of Valinhall."

Valin's chain-shrouded face split in a broad grin. "I would be happy to test you, Valinhall Traveler." He brought Mithra’s gold-and-silver blade up to his forehead, raising it in some kind of salute. Simon raised Azura to his face, mirroring the Incarnation.

"Try not to die too easily," Valin suggested.

Then he attacked.

C
HAPTER
T
EN
:

R
ETURN
TO
B
EL
C
ALEM

Alin was yanked from a deep, dreamless sleep by the sound of his doors being blasted open.

"Time to rise, Eliadel," Grandmaster Naraka announced. That was some kind of pun, he was sure—the word “Eliadel” meant, in some ancient language, “The Rising Sun”—but it was too early in the morning for him to appreciate the humor.

Groggy, Alin rose to a sitting position. "What's happening? An attack? Are we being attacked?"

"Not quite, boy," the Grandmaster said, pulling the sheets away from him. He was practically naked beneath, so he squirmed away from her sight.

"Oh, don't be a princess," Naraka snapped. "You've got nothing I haven't seen before, I promise you that. Hurry up and get your armor on; we need you looking your best if you're going to lead us into battle."

Alin stumbled out of bed and into his clothes, still trying to shake himself awake. "Battle? I thought you said there was no battle."

"Clean out your ears. I said we weren't under attack, and we're not. We're the ones doing the attacking."

Naraka grinned, showing several missing teeth. She was wearing her blood-red spectacles, even at this time of the morning.

"But the plan?" Alin said. He walked over to his armor stand and studied the complex contraptions that were his boots. How was he supposed to wear this armor if he couldn’t even figure out how to get the boots on?

Naraka snapped her fingers and pointed to someone on the far side of the open door. Two attendants, a man and woman, hurried in. They curtsied to Alin and began helping him with the straps and buckles of his golden armor.

Alin left them to it. He had no idea what he was doing, so he might as well accept the service of those who did.

"We had intended to sketch out a plan later in the day," Grandmaster Naraka said, as her servants worked on Simon's armor. "But events, it seemed, have outpaced us. Speaking of which, I have something of a surprise for you."

Naraka waved at the door again—briefly, Alin wondered if she had the entire city standing outside his chambers, waiting for her to wave them in—and a young man walked in. He was a year or two older than Alin, and he walked like a guilty child: hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor, back slouched. Someone who didn't know him would never suspect that he was one of the most accomplished Travelers in the city of Enosh.

And Alin had seen him die.

"Gilad!" Alin shouted, genuine joy in his voice. He tried to step forward, but the servants were still working on his greaves, and they pulled him back down. They even muttered in complaint. Politely.

Gilad shuffled in place and gave Alin a sheepish grin, barely glancing at Alin's face before returning his eyes to the floor.

"I thought you were dead!" Alin said.

Grandmaster Naraka snorted. "You were the only one who believed that, boy. I admit he had me worried for a while, taking so long to get back, but it turns out he had quite the adventure. Didn't you, Gilad?"

Gilad shrugged uncomfortably. "I don't know about that, Grandmaster. I just did what I could to get back home."

"After you left Naraka," the Grandmaster said to Alin, ignoring Gilad completely, "Gilad singlehandedly overpowered the Itasas Tribesmen
and
the squad of Travelers Damasca sent hunting him. After being stalked by a pack of deadly predators across the wilderness, he finally infiltrated a Damascan outpost in Naraka, where he waited until their waypoint was unguarded. He managed to distract the guards long enough to open a Gate and Travel back to our world...straight in the middle of a camp of Damascan soldiers."

"But I didn't have a choice," Gilad protested. "That was the only way out."

"Long story short, he's back now, and he's got news less than an hour old: the Incarnation has attacked the Damascans."

"What?" Alin said. His voice rose sharply at the end of the word, as one of the armorers gave him a nasty pinch while adjusting his breastplate.

"Yes, indeed," Naraka cackled. "Overlord Indirial, a handful of Travelers, and almost a thousand men are trapped outside a village in the middle of Lysander's realm. It looks like the Incarnation decided they were enough of a threat to turn around and engage them directly."

"So what's the plan?" Alin asked.

We're leaving as soon as you're dressed. We've gathered up everyone we can on short notice, and the others have their assignments. But the three of us have our own mission."

"Pardon me, Grandmaster," Gilad said, "but I've been away for a while. What is our plan, exactly?"

Grandmaster Naraka patted Gilad fondly on the arm. "Our plan, Gilad, is for Eliadel to guide us around Malachi's house. I've never been there before, you see."

"Malachi?" Alin said, startled. "He's dead."

"I should hope so, considering all the credit we gave you for it," Naraka responded. "Regardless, we're not after the Overlords themselves. We're after their Trees. Malachi's wife is in charge, and she's not a Traveler, so her Tree is practically undefended. We'll come through Naraka and hit them hard and fast. They'll have some defenses on both sides, but don't forget: our objective is the Tree."

"I don't know where this Tree is," Alin protested. "I broke through the door and fought him in his throne room."

The Grandmaster waved that away. "It won't matter. The Tree will be as low in the house as they can get it; in the basement, preferably, or at least in a safe room on the ground floor. If we have to, we'll just burn the whole place to the ground and hope that takes care of the Tree."

Alin raised both arms as the attendants continued working on his armor. He barely paid any attention to their work, losing himself in thought. It seemed like they had precious little to go on, but he wasn't the strategy expert here. He had to trust that the Grandmasters knew what they were doing. Something did occur to him, though.

"What if we succeed, and the Incarnation gets loose?" Alin asked.

"Then we open a Gate out of there as fast as we can, and hope it doesn't follow us," Grandmaster Naraka said. "I'm too old to fight an Incarnation, and you two are too green. But even if it takes my life, I would count it a cheap price to bring Damasca to its knees."

Alin wasn't sure he agreed, and he didn't relish the idea of losing his life to a monstrosity from Naraka. "Do you think that's likely?"

Grandmaster Naraka spread her hands. "Who knows? No one has seen an Incarnation for three hundred years. But the truth is, I think we'll have plenty of time to burn the Tree and get out of there."

"Also," Gilad put in, "there's very little chance the Incarnation will actually follow us into Naraka. From everything I've read, Incarnations become trapped if they enter their own Territories."

That was enough to ease a few of Alin's fears, though he still wasn't thrilled with the thought of fighting an Incarnation. Still, he supposed he could always open a Gate to Elysia and hide inside the City of Light. The city's walls could defend the three of them against even a foreign Incarnation, he was sure.

The two servants stepped away, bowing. Alin stepped forward, flexing one hand in a fist to test the armor's fit. He was getting used to it; he found that the suit was crafted so well that he barely felt any resistance.

"Is there anything you require before we leave, Eliadel?" Grandmaster Naraka asked.

"No...actually, yes. There is one thing."

Alin rummaged around on the stand next to his bed, looking for a trinket that he had left there for safekeeping. After a moment he found it, glittering in the light from the hallway.

It was an acorn trapped inside a small golden birdcage.

Alin willed Elysia's light into the acorn, which immediately began throwing itself against the cage bars as though it had gone insane.