The Crimson Vault (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (30 page)

The Valinhall Traveler stepped forward, reaching for her, as though to attack with his bare hands. There was a flash of blinding orange light and he was lifted off his feet, carried on a cushion of orange back and through the still-open Gate.

From top to bottom, the portal zipped itself shut.

"Wow," Alin found himself saying. "When can I learn to do
that?
"

"How loyal are you feeling today?" Rhalia asked, smiling. “You would have to demonstrate exceptional loyalty for me to trust you with this.”

Exceptional loyalty? He had saved two of his teammates today, surely that should count for something.
 

Oh, right,
he thought.
My teammates.

"The Grandmaster!" Alin said, sitting up. "She needs help. Is there a healer, or something..."

Rhalia drifted over to hover above Grandmaster Naraka. Her white dress fluttered in the gentle breeze, and for a moment her golden gaze looked almost calculating. Cold. As though she were trying to determine what this woman's life was worth.

At last Rhalia shook her head like a child shaking off a nightmare. She snapped her fingers, and a bed of orange lights appeared under Grandmaster Naraka's back, lifting her into the air until she drifted behind Rhalia. "I’ll see what I can do," Rhalia said.

Alin followed, his body feeling completely drained. He had summoned too much from his Territory today, and opened the Gate too quickly. He felt as though he would pitch onto his face any second. It didn't help that he was still locked in this heavy golden armor.

Rhalia flew up to the tall gates of Elysia, which slid open on soundless hinges as she approached. Alin had walked in and out of this city dozens of times, and he still couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension. Usually, the dangers of Elysia waited deep inside the city, but the first time he had tried to enter he was almost impaled by dozens of arrows as soon as he pushed open these gates. The entrance this time was harmless enough: it was a curving white stone tunnel, burrowing through the walls, set with blazing golden torches every few paces.

Alin walked after the Grandmaster's floating body, her shoes at the same level as his chest. He spared one glance for Gilad, still lying unconscious on the grass outside, before deciding to leave him. He didn't have the strength to carry the man, and besides, Gilad was still breathing. He would probably be just as safe lying outside the city walls.

As Alin followed Rhalia and the Grandmaster's drifting bed of light, he turned his head at a sound echoing through the tunnel. It sounded like teacups clattering together on a tray. He glanced ahead, around him, and behind, trying to spot the source of the noise. It could mean danger, after all—the way his day was going, it was almost certainly something dangerous.

Finally, he looked down to see his hand trembling so violently that the plates of his gauntlet shook.

Was he that panicked? He hadn't realized. But fear and relief still coursed so violently through his body that he could scarcely stand.
 

Alin clenched his gauntlet into a fist. He couldn't be weak, not now. He couldn't afford it.

C
HAPTER
T
WELVE
:

A D
ECLARATION
OF
W
AR

Simon dashed away from the clearing, following the trail of the Incarnation. He should have been running across wet grass, but his shoes pounded on hardwood flooring; that was a bad sign. The Incarnation's corruption was spreading. The Damascans' entire camp had been corrupted by the Incarnation’s presence, now: the tents had transformed from peaked canvas into wooden structures with shingled roofs. They looked like doghouses. The earth between the rows of tents had transformed into wood-paneled flooring, the grass into green carpeting. Lantern-poles and hitching-posts for the horses had transformed into coat-racks and hat-stands.

The weapons strewn about camp remained untouched, waiting in barrels or beside cots, but the blood and corpses were nowhere to be seen.

It looks like the Nye have been busy,
Simon thought.

Up ahead,
Angeline sent.

He still couldn’t get used to having a doll who actually kept her mind on business; he wasn’t sure he liked it. Caela or Otoku would have responded with a joke, or at least sarcasm.

It usually annoyed him, but now he was finding that he missed their banter.

Simon snagged a spear from where it stood upright in a barrel, hefting it in one hand. The Incarnation had already destroyed Harinfel, but Simon could see another village to the southeast, in the distance; he could just barely see Valin's chain-shrouded back. He was headed straight for the cluster of buildings.

As the Incarnation walked, the ground behind him turned to polished wood. Rocks scraped and rumbled and shed dust as they shaped themselves into chairs; trees he passed dropped their leaves and bark as they were formed into carved beams, holding up a ceiling that didn't exist. The world shaped itself around the Wanderer, steadily becoming more and more like Valinhall.

Simon ran. His steel had almost recovered, and he desperately wanted to call its power. His already-exhausted arms ached from supporting the spear, and the muscles in his legs burned. He would need the full extent of his power, so he waited, running on his body's natural strength alone.

He was running downhill, and if the terrain had remained in its natural state, he would have had to slow down or risk twisting an ankle on rock and tumbling down. But the Incarnation had kindly provided him with an even platform of flat wood, so he ran without hesitation, steadily eating up Valin's lead.

The Valinhall Incarnation didn't seem to be hurrying, but nor was he wasting time; he moved ahead at a measured pace.

Once Simon had covered enough of the distance between him and Valin, he called steel. The surge of cold power through his body soothed his aching muscles and filled him with a strength that felt intoxicating compared to his exhausted weakness. He hurled the spear with the strength of five men, sending it flying more than far enough to take Valin through the back.

Of course, Simon had never trained with the spear, and aiming one correctly was harder than it looked. The spear clattered to the ground five paces ahead and ten paces to the left of his target.

Caela or Otoku would have made a joke. Even Lilia would have said something to make him feel bad about the throw. Angeline just sighed.

The Incarnation stopped and turned, his black-and-silver eyes locked on Simon. He didn't smile or make jokes this time; maybe he had finally decided to take Simon seriously.

Azura
, Angeline said, and Simon summoned his Dragon's Fang just as the Wanderer summoned his.

Valin stepped forward and then seemed to blur. He started out thirty paces away and then stood less than fifteen feet in front of Simon, his huge blade drawn back for a thrust.

But he froze, staring over Simon's shoulder. Something happened that Simon had never seen before: an oval of purple light flared on Valin's forehead, a single dot in the middle. It looked as though someone had drawn a third eye out of purple ink in the center of Valin's forehead, and that symbol was now glowing.

"Excuse me just a moment, young dragon," Valin said. He straightened up, levering his gold-and-silver blade to rest on his shoulder.

If Simon had thought it would do any good, he would have attacked when the Incarnation was off his guard. But his job here was to stall until Indirial's reinforcements arrived, not to win. The longer Valin stood where he was, the better; maybe he would even give Simon enough time to restore his Nye essence.

Besides,
Angeline said,
attacking him when he's just standing there wouldn't be fair.

Simon couldn't even begin to explain what was wrong with that statement, so he said nothing.

A swirling mass of black clouds and flashing lightning, like a thunderstorm tipped onto its side, grew out of thin air just to Valin's side. He tilted his body to keep the Endross Gate in view, but he did not turn his back on Simon.

Simon was oddly moved by the gesture. It showed a degree of respect for Simon, as an opponent and as a threat, that Simon probably didn't deserve.

A lithe, muscled man with dark skin stepped out of the Gate, a sword on each hip. He was followed by a tall, refined woman with feathers delicately arranged in her straight silver hair. Grandmasters Endross and Avernus.

They were followed out of the Gate by a handful of other Endross Travelers and some troops. For a moment, Simon's hopes lifted—maybe these were the reinforcements Indirial had mentioned. But no, he had specifically discussed Ragnarus Travelers, and Enosh had no Travelers of that Territory. Besides, there was no way Enosh would work with Damasca. So what were the Grandmasters doing here?

He was given his answer a moment later when the entire party went to their knees before the Incarnation, bowing with their heads almost touching the ground.

Simon couldn't seem to get a breath. He had thought he was facing impossible odds when he was just trying to stall the Incarnation. Now, facing two Grandmasters and an entire war party from Enosh in
addition
to Valin...

He turned and started running up the sloping wooden path. If he could get enough distance, he could open a Gate and flee from here.

Two black chains, like those the Nye carried, erupted from the ground on either side of the polished wooden planks. They each wrapped around one of Simon's ankles, tangling him and almost tripping him onto his face.

He steadied himself, and the chains loosened enough to allow him to turn around.

Valin's smile showed steadily through the night, and he waved at Simon. "Hold on just a moment, while I have a word with these fine ladies and gentlemen," the Incarnation said.

From where he was bowing on the ground, Grandmaster Endross turned his head to give Simon a blazing, hungry look. Most of the people down there would have no problem killing him, Simon knew, but Endross at least wanted his death badly. For some reason, Grandmaster Endross seemed to have a personal stake in seeing Simon dead.

Watch out for that man,
Angeline warned.

I figured that out for myself,
Simon sent.

No need to be sarcastic,
she replied primly.
I get enough of that from my sisters.

Simon sank to a crouch, the chains still held loosely around his ankles. His black cloak settled around him. He let Azura and his steel both fade back into Valinhall, saving as much strength as possible. There would be a fight here, and he doubted he had much of a chance to survive without his full strength.

Maker knows, I don't have much of a chance of surviving anyway,
he thought. Angeline said nothing, but he felt a sense of agreement.

Oddly enough, he wasn't afraid. Maybe you could only face certain death so many times before it lost its sting.

"What is this?" the Valinhall Incarnation asked, addressing the Enosh Travelers in front of him.

"We know something of you," Grandmaster Avernus responded, raising her head just a bit. "We know that none of us could stand against you."

"That's good reason for you to stay away," Valin said softly. "Not enough for you to bow.”

"We have the same goals,” Avernus said in a rush. "We, too, wish to destroy Damasca."

"We would see Cana burn,” Grandmaster Endross said. He didn't sound afraid.

Valin's face twisted almost into a snarl, and he turned back to the southeast. "I’m going to Cana. If you are—” He cut off, and his head twitched to one side. “You may come with me if—”
 

His head jerked this way and that, as though he were being pulled in two different directions at once. The Enosh Travelers said nothing, keeping their faces to the ground. Simon tried to stay as quiet as possible.

Simon heard a rustle of cloth, and someone in a flowing black cloak stepped up beside him.

"He is at war in himself," the Eldest Nye said quietly. "The man and the Incarnation of our world, each with his own goals."

"What
are
his goals?" Simon asked, equally quiet. The last thing he wanted to do was remind anyone of his presence.

"The man, as you know, seeks the destruction of what was once his home. His reasons are personal, and rooted in an ancient grief. The Incarnation is a force, like heat or gravity. It seeks to make this world like unto Valinhall: harsh and unforgiving, full of combat. But fair. Where every man, woman, and child is tested, and everything must be earned in battle."

Gravity?
Simon thought.
What in the Maker’s name is gravity?
Simon shook away the thought: the answer didn't matter at the moment. Instead, he asked, "How do I stop him?"

The Eldest's shrug was a rustle of cloth. "When facing an Incarnation, it is usually best to take one of two tactics. First, you can try to trick it back into its home Territory, where it will be trapped. This will not work in this case, I think."

Probably not. Valin was too smart, too in control of himself.

"The second way is to confront the Incarnation with the powers of a suitable opposing Territory. The Wanderer explained this to me once. An Endross Incarnation, for instance, is fueled by his rage. Asphodel, therefore, is suited for subduing Endross, because Asphodel feeds on the target's emotions. It is much more complicated than this, of course. Some Endross Travelers have the correct powers or skills to oppose Asphodel, but in general it is the other way around. Do you see?"

Simon thought he did, but he still didn't have enough information. "What opposes Valinhall?"

The Eldest let out a humorless, rasping chuckle. "Valinhall," he said.

Which, of course, was precisely no help at all.