The Crimson Vault (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (45 page)

Again, Simon suspected that if it were a real bolt of lightning—or one of the huge heavenly blasts thrown by that serpentine dragon overhead—he would have been cooked, deafened, and blinded all at once. As it was, his skin felt scorched, his vision seemed uncomfortably bright, and there was an odd ringing in his ears.

But when the lightning faded, he was crouched at the Grandmaster’s feet, still alive.

He grasped Azura’s hilt in both hands, swinging his blade into Grandmaster Endross’ midsection.

Endross barely managed to get his sword between Azura and his own stomach, just in time to save his life.

Simon had hoped that the Dragon’s Fang would slice straight through the Grandmaster’s sword, as it did ordinary metal, but the two blades merely rang like a pair of struck bells. He had picked up, from the Enosh Travelers and from Erastes, that the Dragon’s Fangs were made of Tartarus steel, which—if treated and forged in the right ways—was all but indestructible.
 

They would pierce ordinary metals without any trouble, but they could be stopped by another Tartarus steel blade. Apparently, being a Grandmaster meant you had access to such rare and expensive materials, because his sword held up admirably.

Having an all-but-unbreakable sword, however, did not grant Grandmaster Endross any extra strength.

Simon’s steel-infused blow launched the Grandmaster into the air. He passed over the peak of one tent entirely, falling to the ground on the other side.

Cautiously, Simon crept backwards, wary of some attack. He had seen an Endross Traveler tossed an enormous distance before, and Cormac had survived. It stood to reason that a Grandmaster of the same Territory would have access to equal protection.

As it turned out, he didn’t have long to worry about that.

A deafening roar from above turned his attention back to the flying serpent, which had twisted to dive straight for him. Its emerald scales shone in the midday sun, but Simon didn’t think he would have a chance to appreciate the sight. The snake’s fangs had parted, and a twisting ball of lightning gathered in its mouth.

Evidently, it wanted to thank him for his kind treatment of its summoner by way of a lightning bolt to the face. Simon threw himself away, falling hard on his side. He was afraid that he was too late, that the blast would be too big to dodge in any case.

Then Denner stood before him, and the lightning bolt caught the other Traveler full in the chest.

Armor of spectral green light flickered around Denner’s body, as though he had been wearing invisible plate armor that had been suddenly outlined by the lightning. The bolt slammed into the Traveler’s chest with as much effect as water slamming into a boulder.

Denner turned and offered Simon a hand up, as the winged snake flapped hard to gain altitude.

“So that’s ghost armor?” Simon asked, as he let Denner pull him to his feet.

“You see why it’s so useful?” Denner responded. “Heads up.”

A chill wind engulfed Simon, and for once he was glad that he was wearing a cloak. A shimmering white portal—a Helgard Gate—hung in the air nearby, and from its depths walked a handful of bearded men in heavy jackets.

Their leader, Grandmaster Helgard, laughed as he saw the squad of Damascan soldiers who were marching up to meet him at the Gate. He gestured, and a blue giant’s fist reached out of the blizzard behind him and smashed the first few soldiers backwards.

“Excuse me,” Denner said, and leaped toward the Gate, his sword ringing like a tuning fork.

Simon moved to go help, but a length of cold metal drew tight around his throat.

Not again,
he thought, as one of the Nye hauled at his neck.

With the steel in him, Simon could treat a single Nye as a bare nuisance. He dropped Azura, gripping the black chain in both hands and pulling the Nye up and over his head, slamming it into the ground in front of him.

“Why is it always you guys?” Simon asked. The Nye, of course, didn’t answer, instead trying to wrench its chain from Simon’s grasp.

Simon looked up, barely interested in his black-cloaked opponent, taking the chance to survey the fight as a whole. The Nye had indeed joined in with gusto, following the Enosh Travelers in attacking anything wearing a Damascan uniform. More Damascan Travelers had arrived, Tartarus and Naraka and whichever one used mist—he couldn’t remember its name right then—and the clearing was turning into a scene from a particularly vivid nightmare.

Tents burned in the background as a serpent flew overhead, occasionally blocking out the sun with its huge wingspan. A black-hooded Nye pulled on a red-uniformed Damascan soldier’s neck, while eerie glowing mist lapped at their feet. A gleaming red-black insect the size of a bear wrestled with a titan that seemed made entirely out of moving, flashing blades, as a blue-skinned giant prepared to bring its gigantic jagged icicle down upon them both.

And through the middle of it all, Kai and the Valinhall Incarnation fought.

Simon couldn’t believe that Kai had neither his dolls nor the speed of the Nye. He moved like a ghost, slipping around a white-skinned bony creature with knives for fingers and deflecting a fireball, all while catching and turning Valin’s relentless attacks.

The Incarnation, by contrast, rushed forward as though he intended to trample anything that got in his way. A squad of Damascan soldiers foolish enough to stumble in front of Mithra got strewn all over the ground, and Valin seized the white-skinned creature that Kai had ignored and threw it into a nearby fire. It screamed and crackled as it burned.

Valin swung his sword as though hacking wood, and Kai managed to turn every attack.

He turned every attack, and never launched one of his own.

That was when Simon knew Kai was in trouble: he couldn’t find an opening to attack. He kept backing off, always retreating, always putting another obstacle between him and the advancing Incarnation.

Well, Simon could hardly get in Kai’s way more than an army of conflicting Travelers. It was about time he contributed something useful to this fight.

Tossing the Nye aside, Simon took up Azura once more and plunged into the fray, drawing on the Nye essence to slip in and out of combat. He was running out of essence, but he should at least be able to do Valin a little harm before it ran out and he had to retreat again.

With the essence slowing the world to a crawl, Simon had a very clear view of what happened.

Behind Kai, Talos stepped out from a tent. He held his red-bladed Ragnarus sword in one hand, and in the other hand something else; Simon couldn’t quite figure out what, but it glowed like the last embers of a dying fire.

He moved behind Kai and, with an almost gentle motion, flicked the point of his sword at Kai’s back.

Simon yelled as loud as he could, trying to distract Talos, trying to warn Kai, but neither of them paid him any attention. He drew the rest of the Nye essence into his lungs, the rest of the steel into his legs, hurling himself forward like a comet.

It didn’t matter.

Valin brought an overhand strike at Kai, which Kai had to block with both hands on the hilt of his sword. He was all but frozen, focusing entirely on the enemy in front of him, when Talos’ sword cut into his back.

Simon barreled into Talos an instant later, leading with Azura, knocking the red blade aside and slicing upwards, cutting across the Heir’s chest, up his chin, and across his face. He thought he even cut through Talos’ eye before the man stumbled backwards into a collapsing tent, but he had little attention to spare for the Damascan Heir.

He was focused on Kai, who had fallen onto his back, writhing at the agony of the wound. He didn’t scream, just groaned.

Valin stood over him, Mithra’s point almost touching the ground. There was a decidedly displeased look on his face.

“I wouldn’t have chosen this,” the Incarnation said. “We should have settled this in battle. I’m sorry.”

Then he turned and walked away, wading back into the battle.

Simon tried to examine the wound, to do something, but Kai pushed his hands away.

“Don’t worry about me, little mouse,” he said. “Find something to bring him down. I can’t stop him, but I can hold him here a little longer.”

The wound on his back shone with a strange red light, and veins of red radiated out from it, infecting healthy skin.

Then lines of green and gold light erupted from within Kai’s body, twisting and braiding themselves into a net over the wound, closing it almost instantly. The red lines fought against the green and gold, but they seemed to struggle in balance. For now.

“A little longer,” Kai repeated, and smiled behind his mask of white hair. Then he raised his blade and ran after the Incarnation, who caught the strike on his own sword without turning around.

Simon’s mind raced. There
had
to be something he could do here. Talos had said that a cut from his sword was fatal, but anything one Territory did, another could undo. His other victims surely hadn’t had access to Valinhall’s healing pool.

Simon raised Azura into the air, slicing downward into a Valinhall Gate. A snarling black creature, like a lion but packed with an almost obscene amount of muscle and standing as high as Simon’s navel, snarled and rushed at Simon, seemingly intent on tearing out his throat before he could complete the Gate.

With the last of his steel, Simon kicked the huge cat back into the chaos of battle. He would not be distracted, not now, and not by a random summoned monster.

He might not be able to kill Valin, but he would do his best to save Kai’s life.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
:

T
HE
M
ASK

Leah may have all but drowned in paperwork an hour before, but now that there was an actual emergency, she found herself with practically no orders to give.
 

Only minutes had passed since she had first received word that enemy Travelers were in the camp itself, and once the initial panic had subsided, order quickly reasserted itself: officers went straight to her military advisor, a grandmotherly Tartarus Traveler who had served in the Damascan army since the reign of Leah’s grandfather, and Travelers all looked to Indirial.
 

Neither of them really needed her input or approval, so she mostly nodded at messengers and directed them to one or the other, projecting an aura of royal competence and unconcern.

Inside, though, she was dying to lend her assistance. The battle had erupted under Talos’ command, which meant he had likely already betrayed the cause. She longed to go find out in person, but she couldn’t in good conscience leave the command tent.

So she was reduced to placing her scrying lens flat against the surface of the desk, watching the battle unfold from an uncomfortable angle high in the sky. She had tried focusing her view on Simon, knowing that he must be nearby, but for some reason she couldn’t get a lock on him. Every time she tried to aim the lens at Simon’s black-cloaked form, it was like trying to pick up a greased egg with two toothpicks.

The most she saw of Simon was an occasional blur at the edge of her screen. Therefore, she had chosen to lock onto the first soldier she recognized, though she couldn’t remember the man’s name. He was currently locked into battle with one of the black-shrouded Valinhall creatures, while the greater battle raged around him.

The whole scene was such a mess that she could barely make out who fought for which side. Helgard creatures clashed with Naraka Travelers, and then the both of them got trampled by a storm of metal from a Tartarus Traveler, who was subsequently bowled over by the Valinhall Incarnation.

Leah gripped the lens in both hands and willed it to move. Seven stones, you would think she could at least adjust the angle, but it remained locked stubbornly onto that one, all-but-inconsequential soldier, who didn’t even have the decency to go fight where more important things were happening.

Calmly, Leah took a deep breath and released the edge of the lens. That soldier had a name, and quite probably a family, and he was currently locked into a battle for his life. She would gather what strategic information she could from his surroundings, silently hoping for his success.

Something caught her eye at the tent entrance, and she looked up to see another soldier practically dragging Overlord Lysander through the gap. One lens of his spectacles was all but shattered, and his left leg had been twisted around almost entirely. His buckskin outfit had been soaked in blood, though she wasn’t clear how much of it was his.

The soldier and the Overlord were followed into the tent by a pair of Avernus Travelers, both carrying evident sword wounds.

Leah would have risen to meet them, but she more than suspected that Lysander was involved in whatever madness had occurred under Talos’ watch. She sat where she was, waiting for them to come to her.

Idly, she wished that Indirial were there, rather than putting out fires—both literal and metaphorical—all around camp. It seemed that, while the bulk of the Enosh forces were focused on the Valinhall Travelers under Talos’ command, they had sent other Travelers to strike elsewhere at camp, popping out of Gates and causing as much havoc as possible before slipping back into their Territories.

They would all be caught and slaughtered if they tried this tactic for too long; Damasca had too many Travelers, and they knew their Territories too well. Eventually, Leah’s Travelers would catch and overwhelm their enemies.

But for now, Indirial had to run to each corner of the camp, trying to catch Travelers as they literally popped out of the air.

Still, she could have used the support of a Valinhall Traveler—even Simon, if he was still alive—to back her up. She could be sure Lysander wouldn’t try anything if she had one of them behind her.

“Your Highness,” Lysander panted, gritting his teeth at his evident pain. “The Valinhall Travelers…they’ve turned on us. They’ve joined with their Incarnation.”