The Crimson Vault (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (44 page)

He summoned up that memory, focused on exactly how badly he needed this to work, and called the power of the horn into his sword.

He thought he heard, on the wind, a distant chime.

Then Azura began to hum in his hands.

Simon swept the sword from left to right, slashing across the Gate. He thought he saw something dark obscure the portal for a moment, but then the Gate wavered and blew apart, like a cloud of smoke.

The chime faded off into the distance, and Azura stopped vibrating.

Simon let out a deep breath and turned back to face Kai. “Just in time.”

He came face-to-face with a pair of black-and-silver eyes.

“Not quite,” Valin said.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN
:

A
MBUSH

“Keep your hands steady, child!” Grandmaster Naraka snapped.

Gilad winced and adjusted his grip on the long-handled brand. The far end, shaped into a twisting symbol, rested in the heart of a blazing furnace.

This room, in the Naraka quarters of the Grandmasters’ palace, blazed even hotter than Naraka itself, though Gilad and the Grandmaster didn’t seem inconvenienced.

Alin was wearing his lightest, coolest clothing, and sat as close to the far door as he could, leaning into the barest hint of a breeze that trickled in from the doorframe. Sweat coated him in buckets, though the two Naraka Travelers looked cool and dry.

It must be something they learn in their Territory,
Alin thought.
If not, then I’m getting soft.

Gilad almost had his face pressed against the huge black furnace, so close that Alin wouldn’t have been surprised to see his clothes catch fire. The flames within the furnace flickered blue in places, and Alin felt scorched even at the far end of the room.

The other two had tried to talk him out of staying in here for this ritual; not because it was a secret, or somehow dangerous, but because he wouldn’t enjoy the process. Since it was his fault Grandmaster Naraka had to go through this again, he had decided to share her burden.

Now he wished he could just walk out, but pride held him in his place. He had made such an issue of staying here; how could he leave now?

“Again,” Grandmaster Naraka commanded. Her red spectacles flickered in the firelight.
 

Holding the brand steady with one hand, Gilad fished around in his pocket. He withdrew a handful of small, glowing red pebbles, which he placed into the flames.

He didn’t toss them in; he reached inside, the flames licking his wrist, and placed them very deliberately in a pattern around the fire. Just looking at the process made Alin wince and clutch his hand into a fist.

The flames flickered blue, then purple, then at last a deep, abiding red, before slowly fading back to the color of ordinary fire.

“Tilt left,” the Grandmaster instructed, and Gilad adjusted the brand a tiny degree. She gave him miniscule instructions for another five minutes, until Alin had begun to wonder if he could just sneak out.

Finally, she patted Gilad on the back—her left hand was still frail, and still encircled by scar tissue, but thanks to Alin’s rose light she could use it almost normally. At her touch, Gilad pulled the brand out.

The metal symbol, white-hot, seemed to almost twist and crawl, as though it wasn’t one solid shape at all, but a living liquid.

“Hurry,” Grandmaster Naraka hissed.

Gilad turned and plunged the glowing brand into a barrel. Alin didn’t know what was in there, but he doubted it was water: no steam rose. Instead, a cloud of sparks leaped above the surface of the barrel.

After almost a minute, Gilad pulled the brand free. Alin was sure the metal should have been cooled by now, but it glowed even brighter than before.

The brand wasn’t white anymore, though. It was a bright red, the color of fresh blood, and not any natural shade for heated metal.

Grandmaster Naraka rolled up her sleeve with her teeth and pressed her one remaining hand against a nearby table, palm-up.

“Do you commit your life to justice?” Gilad intoned. He sounded as if he were quoting something. “Are you sworn to the righting of wrongs, to the redress of balance, to—”

“Enough ceremony, boy!” Grandmaster Naraka snapped. “Just do it!”

Steadily, Gilad reversed the brand and pressed it against the Grandmaster’s palm.

Naraka’s face firmed behind her red spectacles, as though her wrinkled face had turned to iron. Steam rose from her hand this time, and the sick smell of charred meat filled the room.

Alin suspected she was living through agony that would have left him on the floor screaming, but she didn’t say a word.

After a few seconds, Gilad pulled the brand away from her skin. It was black and cold.

Her palm, on the other hand, glowed bright red with a fresh, twisting symbol. Grandmaster Naraka was a Traveler again.

“Here, let me help you,” Alin said. He summoned the rose light, and it unfolded in his hand, soft panes of pink radiance drifting into the air. He stepped closer to the Grandmaster, but she pushed him back.

“It hurt worse losing the other hand,” Naraka said irritably. “I’ll live through this one.”

“Don’t be stubborn,” Alin said. “Let me help you.”

“Stick to your own business, Eliadel,” the Grandmaster said coldly. “I’ll call you when we need you.” She pulled the door open with her one remaining hand and marched through.

Gilad shrugged apologetically. “Sorry about that. I think she blames you for her hands. And because we failed the mission, of course.”

“Of course,” Alin said sourly. He didn’t follow the Grandmaster out. She would likely need some time away from him for a while. He did, however, lean against the door to keep it propped open. The cool breeze practically brought him back to life.

“Have the Grandmasters decided when to begin their attack?” Alin asked. They had planned to release the Valinhall Incarnation and a hand-selected strike force to provide a distraction for Heir Talos’ plan, as well as to keep the Damascan army defensive and unsure. If all went well, they might even be able to assassinate the King.

As far as Alin knew, though, they had yet to assign Travelers to the two different teams: one to attack the army, the other to strike at the Hanging Tree in Cana. He had volunteered for both, but the Grandmasters had put him off.

Gilad looked up at him, obviously startled. “No one told you? Oh, um, I’m sorry. That’s what we’re doing here. You and I are on the Cana strike team.”

“What?” He didn’t mind the assignment, but why had nobody told him? “Wait a minute,” Alin said, a few things clicking into place at once. “What do you mean, this is what we’re doing here? We’re giving Grandmaster Naraka her mark back.”

Nervously, Gilad passed a hand through his hair, looking anywhere except at Alin. “Well, she may have insisted on coming. I didn’t think it was a good idea, but there aren’t too many Grandmasters left, and none of the other Naraka Masters wanted to challenge her for her decision. So, basically, she does what she wants.”

“Great,” Alin muttered, staring into the hallway where Grandmaster Naraka had left. What did she think she was doing? She was still injured. Having her along could easily do more harm than good.

“We’re lucky she didn’t decide to go with the distraction team,” Gilad said. “I wouldn’t have been ready for this ritual, and she likely would have left without any hands.”

“What are you talking about?”

Gilad blinked at him. “The distraction team. They left two hours ago, with the Incarnation. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Alin strode into the hall, heading for the suit of armor in his rooms. Gilad hurried after him, for some reason apologizing at every third step.

The Grandmasters were leaving him out of their planning sessions, which could only mean that they had something to hide. He needed to remind them who he was.

And to do that, he had to look the part.

***

Simon didn’t need to be carrying Otoku to know what one of his dolls would tell him to do. He leaped backwards so fast that he almost dropped Azura on the grass.

Valin ignored Simon, looking past him to Denner and Kai. Mithra rested casually against his shoulder, a core of gold running up the center of its blade.

“Where is your King?” Valin asked, in a deceptively calm voice.

Denner angled his Dragon’s Fang up, and Kai summoned a huge gleaming hammer. Black chain marks showed against the backs of their hands, twisting up their shirtsleeves.

“Sorry, Master,” Denner said.

“I accept your challenge,” Valin responded. He planted his feet and held Mithra out in front of him, clutched in both hands.

Around him, the grass suddenly shriveled into what looked like green carpeting.

Simon stood to one side, almost frozen, wondering what to do. Steel coursed through him and he held Azura in one hand, but he wasn’t sure he should attack. Especially without a doll, he would likely get in the more experienced Travelers’ way.

Drawn by the noise of the battle with the Avernus Travelers, groups of soldiers had begun to show up. They froze, though, at the edge of the clearing, apparently not sure which side to support. They murmured among each other, but—maybe because of the bodies—nobody called out. They just stood among the tents and watched. A few dragged some of the wounded Travelers out of the way, but none seemed eager to interfere.

That reminded him: Leah was in charge here. Had she known about Lysander’s ambush? No, she had warned him to look out for Talos. In that case, she would have to find out about this battle sooner or later. Maybe he could go to her for reinforcements.

He kept an eye on Lysander, who was now hobbling away from the fight by leaning on the shoulder of one of the troops. He didn’t seem like he was about to help the Incarnation, but he might be on his way to Leah.

Simon had all but decided to find Leah and tell her what had happened, at least before her brother could do so, when something occurred to him.

Where was Talos?

He hadn’t seen the Heir since his duel. During the fight with the Avernus Travelers, Talos had apparently managed to slip away.

That decided it: he would have to talk to Leah before Talos or Lysander had the chance to feed her a lie.

He edged to one side, trying to slip away unnoticed.

As soon as he moved, all three of the other Valinhall Travelers exploded into action.

Kai jumped over Valin’s head, bringing his hammer down on the Incarnation like a collapsing roof. At the same time, Denner rushed forward, slashing at Valin’s ribs.

Valin raised one hand to catch Kai’s hammer-blow on his forearm, simultaneously thrusting his blade one-handed at Denner’s chest.

Denner spun around the Incarnation’s sword, striking for the neck, and the force of Kai’s blow drove Valin to one knee.

Kai landed, releasing his enormous hammer in favor of a pair of daggers, which he moved as if to plunge into Valin’s back.

The Incarnation’s form blurred as he summoned more Nye essence, and even his breath escaped in a blue-white cloud. He ducked back to avoid Denner’s slash, bending so far that the top of his head almost scraped the earth, and then reached up to grab Kai’s wrist, pulling him forward.

Denner had to pull back to avoid skewering Kai, and Kai had to turn his awkward stumble into a jump. He spun around as soon as he landed, catching Valin’s return blow on his crossed daggers.

And that was as much as Simon caught of the fight, because at that moment a blinding flash of light and a furious explosion turned many of the nearby tents into bonfires.

A wall of heat pressed on Simon from behind, weighing him down more than his cloak. A shadow passed over the sun, and he looked up.

A silhouette flew overhead, a serpentine shape the length of a wagon train with six sets of wings, each the size of a ship’s sail. The draft from the creature’s flapping wings fluttered Simon’s cloak around him, scattering clouds of dust at his feet.

The huge serpent twisted in midair and let out a roar. Its mouth glowed with a bright, vivid blue, and with a sound like tearing stone it blasted lightning from its open jaws.

A thunderbolt hammered the ground nearby, and another clutch of tents burst into flames.

The Damascan soldiers had been shocked into action now, forming into ranks and calling for their own Travelers. But Simon fixated on only one thing: he had seen a creature like that before, although not so vast and without all the wings. He couldn’t forget seeing a giant snake with fangs full of lightning. The last time he had seen one, it had killed his mother.

Simon looked back, at the tents that had first been burning.

Grandmaster Endross strode from within the flames, one of his two swords in his hand, the other hand holding a swirling thunderstorm the size of a dinner plate. His dark hair and skin, the same shade as Simon’s own, turned him almost to a shadow against the backdrop of flames.

When he saw Simon, he smiled.

“Saints above, Valinhall, I’m glad to see you,” he called. “Now I can bring Eliadel your head.” Absently, the Grandmaster fired a pale bolt of lightning down a row of tents, incinerating something or someone Simon couldn’t see.

Quickly, Simon considered and discarded a number of responses.
Come and take it, then!
No, too obvious. Besides, he was doing that already.
I’ll bring it to him myself!
That seemed like it implied suicide, somehow.
Only if you can take it.
No, that wouldn’t work. Too obvious.

Simon struggled mentally for another moment before he resorted to his usual tactic: he said nothing and attacked.

Nye essence surged into his lungs, bringing with it a burst of cool clarity. Grandmaster Endross moved his storm into position, the tiny flickers of lightning within it gathering up for one solid bolt.

Just as the light built to a crescendo, Simon threw himself to the ground, sliding under the lightning that thundered above him, just inches from his head.