The Crimson Vault Part 23

A DECLARATION OF WAR.

Simon dashed away from the clearing, following the trail of the Incarnation. He should have been running across wet gra.s.s, 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 gra.s.s 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 cl.u.s.ter of buildings.

As the Incarnation walked, the ground behind him turned to polished wood. Rocks sc.r.a.ped and rumbled and shed dust as they shaped themselves into chairs; trees he pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.s 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.

"Valinhall is too effective at destroying foreign Travelers," the Eldest went on. "The Incarnation can neutralize practically anything another Traveler throws at him except physical force of arms. And which Territory is best at physical combat?"

Simon sighed. "I get it," he said.

"I do not wish you to die, son of Kalman. But neither can I oppose the nature of my Territory. If you want to stop the Wanderer's rampage, you must earn this through force of arms."

The Eldest hesitated, then added, "Let me give you a piece of advice: the Incarnation has access to almost all of the House's powers, and in unlimited supply. Good luck."

In a flutter of his black cloak, he vanished.

That is by far the most useless piece of advice I have ever received, Simon thought.

The Eldest always has a reason behind his words, Angeline corrected him. I am sure he would not have given you advice that you couldn't use.

Okay, then, you tell me what he means.

I do not have the Elder's wisdom, Angeline said loftily. I couldn't begin to guess.

All this time, Valin stood muttering to himself and staring off to the southeast. The Enosh Travelers and soldiers had, wisely, remained utterly silent. Finally, Valin turned back and addressed the men and women on their knees.

"Come with me if you wish," Valin said at last. "All who hate Damasca are welcome. But try to stay behind me. If you're in my way, I can't guarantee I won't kill you."

With that, he started walking away from the Enosh party, headed due southeast. His each step transformed the stones beneath his feet to polished wood.

The Grandmasters stood. Endross rose to his feet like a mountain lion about to pounce, though Avernus simply stood and brushed off her dress. In voices that Simon couldn't hear well enough to understand, they began giving orders to their followers.

Simon slowly slipped his feet out of the chains, which hadn't tightened again since Valin walked off. Maybe, if he moved slowly enough, he could get away and open a Gate. The air here was even starting to smell more like the House, thanks to the Valinhall Incarnation's influence. He started to sneak up the wooden path to the hill.

Grandmaster Endross' dark eyes snapped to his, and Simon's stomach dropped. The Grandmaster drew a sword in his right hand, and his left became wreathed in a rolling thunderstorm.

Roll right, Angeline said, and Simon dropped to his right just in time to avoid a blast of white lightning that tore through the hill behind him. Thunder crashed in his ears, and the wooden planks from Valinhall were blown to smoldering pieces.

Grandmaster Endross shouted something, most likely a taunt, but Simon's ears were still ringing.

Grandmaster Avernus turned and saw Endross engaging Simon in combat. She threw up her hands and left him, following the Incarnation. Most of her group from Enosh followed.

Not Endross, though. He stayed, holding a storm in one hand and a sword in the other.

You don't have ghost armor, do you? Angeline asked.

Mentally, Simon sighed. Why do people keep asking me that?

Because it's incredibly useful, she replied. If he hits you with a bolt of lightning as you are, the only thing you can do is die. Speaking of which, jump left.

Simon rolled left, dodging another bolt of white lightning. The lightning bolts that Enosh Travelers threw seemed somehow weaker than natural lightning: the thunder when they struck wasn't as loud, for one thing, and they didn't quite blind him each time. He had seen lightning strikes before, and the ones Grandmaster Endross hurled were nothing compared to those thrown by nature.

That didn't mean they wouldn't kill him, though. Just that the Grandmaster would have to hit him directly.

Simon called steel and essence, summoning Azura. Grandmaster Endross shouted something at that, his face breaking out into an eager grin.

"I can't hear you!" Simon yelled, launching himself forward. If Endross wanted a fight, he would get one.

At least, that was what Simon thought at the time.

Stop! Angeline yelled, so urgently that Simon nearly tripped over himself drawing to a halt.

Something fell from the sky so fast that it looked like a bolt of lightning itself; a gold-and-crimson blur that crashed into the earth like a falling star.

Specifically, it crashed on top of Grandmaster Endross.

The Grandmaster had just enough time to raise his arms before the whatever-it-was crashed into him, slamming him into the ground and sending a ring of dust blasting out in all directions.

The wind from the impact tore at Simon's cloak, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the dust.

What was that? he asked his doll.

I'm not sure, she responded. It was too fast before, but now...maybe...a spear?

The dust cleared, and Simon saw that it was indeed a spear. A dark wood shaft stuck up from a gold-and-steel head, with an enormous ruby set where wood and metal met. The spear had driven into the cracked ground where it had landed, and now it stuck there, quivering.

Grandmaster Endross lay, dirty and bleeding, a pace or two behind the spear. Apparently he had managed to knock the weapon off-course as it fell, though Simon couldn't imagine what kind of protection would have allowed him to do that. Endross tried to struggle to his feet, but slipped and fell back. He looked dazed as well as dirty.

Boots crunched in the sand behind Simon. A lot of boots. Simon spun, sword in hand, ready to face this new threat.

He found himself face-to-face with the King.

Simon had never seen King Zakareth before, but he had heard the stories. This man*with his white hair and beard, his glowing red eye, his armor of black and gold*couldn't be anyone else. More than any one of his features, it was the way he carried himself that left no room for Simon to doubt.

He looked on Simon with the sort of cold authority that Simon had always expected a king to have. Then he looked away.

"Put away your sword, Simon, son of Kalman," the King said. "You will not need it any longer." His voice held no doubt. Each of his words possessed an almost intimidating weight.

Simon let Azura vanish. What else was he supposed to do?