The Crimson Vault Part 18

The Damascan soldiers, for their part, tried their best to form up in orderly ranks. Orders were shouted back and forth across the field, in contrast to the Nye, who fought in almost complete silence. As Simon arrived, one squad of fifteen or twenty men a.s.sembled in a circle, every man facing outward, spears and shields at the ready. In the first instant, their spears sent several of the Nye crawling back to the House.

Then the Nye noticed. Several melted down to pools of shadow and moonlight, crawling over to rest under and between the soldiers' feet. Simon wasn't sure what the tactic was supposed to accomplish until he saw one man in red-and-gold fall to the ground, then another. More black robes flooded in between the open gaps in the formation, black chains taking man after man down by the throat.

Travelers stood amidst the soldiers, standing out by virtue of their outfits and the forces they were calling. Tartarus Travelers stood, dressed head-to-toe in gleaming steel, keys in one hand, blades flashing through the air. Endross Travelers sent white lightning bolts blasting at the Nye. Naraka Travelers called burning insects out of thin air.

The Nye seemed to target the Travelers first. Simon caught a glimpse of one set of black robes sneaking a chain around the Endross Traveler's throat, yanking him backwards into the shadows behind a tent.

But all of that paled in comparison to the battle taking place at the top of the hill.

Indirial pulled up the hood of his black cloak, and for a moment he looked as though he had stepped straight out of Simon's childhood memories. Here, at last, was the hero that had once saved Simon's life.

He had summoned his chipped and pitted Dragon's Fang, but he swung with such speed and fury that the sword itself was little more than a blur. He moved like the Nye, in a smooth flow of cloth like a rushing black river. Simon could see moonlight on Indirial's breath as he called heavily on the Nye essence to keep him moving at impossible speeds.

His opponent didn't look like a monster. He wore only a pair of patched and stained pants that looked like they had come off of a corpse. His chest, arms, and bald head were bare. Simon didn't think he even wore any shoes. Every inch of his skin was covered by the black chains of Valinhall. They covered his head like hair, twisted over his arm, covered his chest like a loose wrapping of bandages. This man*Valin*swung a sword that was longer than Indirial's, almost as long as Azura, but he didn't flail with it as Simon himself did, relying on speed and power to do most of the work for him. He whirled in graceful arcs, meeting every one of Indirial's lightning attacks. Valin didn't seem to be moving as furiously as the Overlord, but he continued to parry Indirial's strikes, and even launched a substantial offense of his own.

Except for those two, the hill was clear. None of the soldiers, none of the Travelers*not even any of the Nye*dared to step in the middle of such a fight. They would barely be able to see what was going on, much less interfere.

Eyes in front, Angeline warned, and Simon levered Azura down to skewer a rushing Nye that barely stood as tall as his shoulder.

Angeline, what are the Nye doing here? Simon asked, wading around the group of soldiers. Azura's blade was so long that he couldn't really fight side-by-side with them, not unless he wanted to use the sword like a spear and join in one of their formations, but if he could stay apart from the press of men then he could take care of any Nye that sought him out. And Simon knew the Nye well enough to realize that they would seek him out; they would attack anyone who wasn't helpless.

They follow whoever carries Mithra.

Mithra? Simon asked, cutting down one of the Nye that had tried to slip up behind him.

The golden Dragon's Fang, Angeline responded. It's the original sword, the sword of the Wanderer, and the Nye respect its authority.

Simon pondered that as he stepped further away from the soldiers, keeping one eye on Indirial's fight and one eye on the group of hostile Nye. Indirial seemed to be slowing down, and suddenly Simon realized why. Even if the Overlord could draw on the Nye essence longer than Simon himself could, there was still a limit. Each of Valinhall's powers only lasted for a certain amount of time. He was either trying to keep his use of essence to a minimum, to conserve it...or he was running out.

What if we take Valin's sword away? he asked.

You know better than that, Angeline said. She sounded disapproving. That's not how Valinhall works. If you s.n.a.t.c.hed it away from him, he would just summon it back. To keep it away from him for good, you would have to earn it.

Simon nodded, absent-mindedly knocking a Nye to the ground with Azura's hilt, then reversing the blade and skewering the black-robed figure into the ground.

Then he let Azura vanish, and he released Benson's steel.

This is not the right time for that, Simon, Angeline said. Also? Behind you.

Simon spun around and barely managed to catch the Eldest Nye's sleeves before they wrapped a chain around his neck.

"I was wondering where you were in all this," Simon said, trying not to let the strain show in his voice.

Oh, Maker, he thought. I forgot how hard it is to fight these things on my own.

With the strength of steel, one of the Nye was nothing. Without it, Simon wondered how he had ever managed to defeat one.

"I go where my leader is," the Eldest rasped. He snapped his arms to the sides, effortlessly breaking Simon's hold. Then he began to glide circles around Simon, who turned warily to keep him in sight.

"Why?" Simon asked. "What do you get out of this?" He had used this tactic before, with Malachi, but he found that people tended to enjoy talking about themselves. They enjoyed it so much, in fact, that they were often willing to talk until his powers were restored.

The Eldest spun his black chain idly, hands*as always*hidden by the enormous sleeves that draped down at the end of his arms. "I seek the restoration of Valinhall, son of Kalman. I will follow any who joins me on that quest."

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 c.o.c.ked 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.

CHAPTER TEN:.

RETURN TO BEL CALEM.

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 a.s.signments. 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."