The Crimson Vault Part 35

Most of the Avernus Travelers were dead, lying broken and bleeding on the soil. The survivors, most of which bore gruesome injuries, looked completely dazed. Here and there, a corpse wore the ordinary red-and-gold uniform of the royal army.

There were, however, no corpses of birds.

"What did you do?" Simon asked.

"I bring a waterskin with me every time I have to use the pool," Denner said. "It's an old habit, but it's helped me on more than one occasion."

"No, I mean, banishing all the birds."

Denner smiled proudly. "I call it the gla.s.s bell. As far as I know, I'm the only one who can use it."

Well, at least that's one thing Kai didn't forget to tell me about, Simon thought. At the moment, Kai was poking through the corpses, apparently looking for something.

For a second, Simon was shocked that Otoku didn't take the opportunity to mock Kai. Then he remembered she wasn't there.

"So this bell banishes everything back to its Territory?" Simon asked.

"It does."

"Why didn't you use that immediately, then?"

Denner shrugged, looking sheepish. "I can only use it once. It takes a day or two to repair itself. And they were only Avernus, after all; it was probably just easier to take care of them by hand."

"Of course," Simon said sourly. Without him around, the two Dragon Army members would likely have defeated the enemy with no trouble. It wasn't a cheerful thought.

"Don't worry about it," Denner said, clapping him on the shoulder. "This is how everyone learns."

"No," Kai said, from across the clearing. "I don't remember our training including such frequent and obvious failure."

And there went every ounce of self-esteem Simon may once have possessed.

"That's because we had a competent teacher," Denner retorted, walking over to join Kai.

Kai c.o.c.ked his head for a moment, and then nodded. "Fair point. Hey there, who is this?"

With one boot, he shoved a body aside, revealing a b.l.o.o.d.y and weakened Overlord.

Lysander pushed himself up to a sitting position. His gla.s.ses were broken and askew, but he still managed to push them up his nose.

"My flock," he asked shakily. "How?"

"Trade secret," Denner responded. He and Kai stood over the Overlord, swords in hand.

"Tell us who you're working for," Kai sang.

"I'm a duly appointed Overlord, carrying out my duty for the throne of Damasca. You cannot harm me, and I am under no compulsion to answer you."

Kai stabbed the Overlord in the shoulder, and he screamed.

"Okay, then," Denner said. "I compel you to answer us. What was the point of this?"

"As an a.s.sa.s.sination attempt, it was sadly lacking," Kai pointed out. "As a distractionawell, we're not very distracted, are we?"

Lysander looked at something beyond Kai's back and smiled. Blood ran from his lip, turning his smile b.l.o.o.d.y.

"Are you?" Lysander asked.

With a sense of dread, Simon turned to see where Lysander was staring.

A Gate swirled in midair, crackling white at the edges, a deep green forest showing in the distance.

Just in front of the trees, a man walked toward the Gate. A man with a long, gleaming, silver-and-gold sword in one hand. A man covered in black tattoos that looked oddly like chains. A man with black eyes.

"Close it!" Kai screamed, and Simon leaped into action, angling Azura in front of him as he moved.

He had never called it before, but he pictured the frozen horn. He held its image in his mind: the weight of it, the burning cold of its presence, the way the water on the inside showed through the frosted gla.s.s of its exterior, the sound of its call, the memory of the fluid creatures of water that had gone into making it.

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.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:.

AMBUSH.

"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 a.s.sa.s.sinate the King.

As far as Alin knew, though, they had yet to a.s.sign 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 a.s.signment, but why had n.o.body 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 pa.s.sed 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 gra.s.s.

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 gra.s.s suddenly shriveled into what looked like green carpeting.