City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

by Wight, Will

  Alin meditated on his own virtue until his smile returned and the world seemed right again. Only then did he fly back over the city, where more work awaited him.

  He hardly noticed that the Silver Light had said nothing.

  And neither had Rhalia.

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  THE GALLERY

  “So you lied to me,” Simon said.

  “I’d say I verbally misled you for the purposes of deception,” Valin responded.

  The Wanderer lounged in the grass, his back propped up against a tombstone. He held a three-foot Damascan infantry sword in his left hand, and was using the point to clean dirt out from under his right fingernails.

  He couldn’t move any more than his arms. He had exhausted himself so much, calling on his powers as an Incarnation, that he had stayed completely unconscious for two or three hours.

  “I think that’s exactly what a lie is,” Simon said.

  You’d know, you liar! Otoku sent. You promised to protect us, and you abandoned me to my fate!

  I don’t remember promising that. Simon hated having two conversations at once, especially when all he wanted to do was look for his mask. He couldn’t even understand how he could have lost the mask in the first place, but the fact remained that it was missing.

  “Do you want to know what the real graveyard test is?” Valin asked.

  “Yes, please.” Simon bent over and looked behind a tombstone, searching for the glint of mirror-bright steel. No good.

  “You have to genuinely think you’re going to die,” the Wanderer responded. “That was why I went with the whole Incarnation act. Then, when you’re sure you’re dead, you have to reach out to Valinhall for power. The ghost armor will answer.”

  If you leave me with Kai again, even the ghost armor won’t protect you, Otoku put in.

  “So, when you said all that about having to dodge arrows…”

  “That was a lie,” Valin said.

  Well, at least Simon had passed the test. That was worth something. He hadn’t had a chance to call ghost armor yet, but he could think of at least three or four times when its powers would have come in handy.

  Otoku didn’t seem like she was in a celebrating mood. Her voice continued to beat at Simon from the inside of his skull.

  You had to leave me with him. I asked! I begged! No, I pleaded for you to come and help me, but you had to go play in the graveyard!

  I'm truly sorry, Otoku, Simon sent.

  Are you? she demanded. Are you, Simon? You would be if you'd seen what he did to me!

  His fight with Valin had torn holes in the soft soil of the graveyard, leaving slashes and furrows in the grass big enough to slip the mask inside. Maybe it had simply fallen in one of those?

  What did he do? Simon asked, because it seemed like the right thing to say.

  He gave me a bath!

  Simon tried to imagine Kai fighting off imps in the giant, soapy pool that Valinhall had for a bath, just so he could scrub a wooden doll clean. He could picture it all too easily.

  Surely he's done that before, though, right? Kai had been living with the dolls for decades, he had to have cleaned them at some point.

  Meanwhile, Simon slipped his hands into the pockets of his cloak for at least the tenth time. He knew he wouldn't find the mask there, but where was it? The green light of the flashing lightning overhead made it hard to pick out any contrast with the grass, but the illumination was bright enough. He should have been able to see the mask gleaming from anywhere in the room.

  The floating white crystal, hovering behind Simon's head, screamed, “SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT. SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT.”

  It had done that every sixty seconds for the past ten minutes, straight into Simon's ear. At least it was slightly quieter than a bellowing ox.

  You think we can't keep ourselves clean, is that it? Otoku asked, outraged. You think we sit there on our shelf, collecting dust and wallowing in our own filth?

  He’d thought the Nye cleaned them, actually, but he wasn't sure if he should tell her that.

  “You know,” Valin said, “I knew a few of this Queen Leah's ancestors. Some of them I quite liked. If you're not making any progress on the mask, you should invite her back here. I'm sure she'd enjoy a little chat. About her family, you understand.”

  The Wanderer looked very casual, scraping dirt out of his nails with the point of a sword. You would hardly believe that he was plotting an assassination.

  “You can't murder her in the state you're in, you know that,” Simon said wearily. The offer would have been more convincing if Valin hadn't made the same one five times since the flying Lirial crystal had shown up. He'd begged Simon a favor for the honor of seeing a Queen in person, then insisted that he had a secret for fighting the Incarnations, then threatened Simon with banishment from Valinhall if he didn't bring the Queen here.

  Valin flashed a disarming smile. “See? I want a conversation. No threat here.” Valin had angled his blade up, and appeared to be shaving his throat with its edge. Did room guardians even grow facial hair?

  He removed my dress! Otoku railed, having taken Simon's silence as an invitation to keep listing Kai's sins. Oh, sure, why not? Go right ahead! It's not like I have any dignity!

  Simon peeked behind a column for the third time. He distinctly remembered having the mask when he entered the graveyard, but maybe he'd been mistaken. Or maybe one of the Nye had taken it. Either way, he should check his bedroom soon.

  You're made of wood, Simon pointed out. Why do you care if you're naked?

  All of the dolls' voices sounded like they were being whispered down a long, windy tunnel, but Otoku did her best to make her scream of frustration heard. It's like you don't even listen!

  She squirmed in his hand—actually, physically fighting his grip—and he was so surprised that he didn't react for a second. Not until he felt a tiny wooden hand slap his cheek.

  Otoku stood in his palm, her arm outstretched, her red silk dress rumpled, and her black hair falling behind her. The doll's face was frozen in an unusual scowl.

  You moved! Simon said in surprise. She hardly ever did that. Some of the other dolls often moved a little at a time, changing their expression or shifting their position, but Otoku almost never did. She hated spending so much energy, she said.

  And that should show you how important this is! she sent. She looked like any other doll now, completely still, but Simon carefully raised her up to eye level.

  “Otoku, I am—”

  “SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT. SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT.”

  At the bellowing voice, Simon stumbled, and Otoku spilled from his palm. He snatched her out of the air in time, before she landed in the graveyard grass. The last time he had placed her on the ground, she had complained for days about the grass stains in her dress.

  The loud rock will die, Otoku promised. I’ll see to it. Simon, kill that crystal for me.

  I don't think Leah would like that very much, he sent. But he was already tempted. If this kept up for another ten minutes, the communications crystal would likely end up as nothing more than shattered glass.

  Otoku, would you mind helping me look for this mask? It would go a lot faster if—

  Oh, I see! the doll sent. When you want something, it's 'Otoku, would you mind? Otoku, please help! Otoku, I'm worthless without you!' But when I abase myself and beg, do you save me from the hideous white-haired beast? You do not!

  Simon raised Otoku up to eye level again. She was sitting now, as usual, but she hadn't lost the scowl. “Otoku,” he said aloud, “would you mind? Please help. I'm worthless without you.”

  Well, she said, when you put it like that...

  “It's good to hear you finally admit it, Simon,” Indirial said, walking up behind Simon and clapping him on the back. “Humility is good for the soul, they say.”

  Simon blushed
, and he couldn't think of a clever response.

  “I'm here to pick you up,” the Overlord said. He nodded to the floating silvery-white crystal. “I told Leah that I'd go myself, but she insisted on sending that thing in first. I followed as soon as I could, but you know how time works here.”

  Indirial put his hands on his hips and looked around the graveyard, smiling broadly. “Maker, it's been a long time since I've seen this place. Who's the guardian now? I thought the Eldest—”

  Simon, stop him!

  He should have seen it coming. But only with Otoku's warning did Simon have the time to call essence and throw himself at Indirial. Indirial was still faster. Simon avoided snatching the edge of the older man's trailing black cloak as he shot like a dark comet toward the master who had betrayed him.

  The master he had, twice now, seen die.

  Valin's expression didn't change. He held the infantry sword out casually in front of him, but he didn't have the strength to move. Indirial didn't have Vasha with him, but he had produced a knife from his cloak almost big enough to double as a sword. If the Overlord slit Valin's throat, would Valin die? Would he fade away? Would he regenerate?

  Simon had no idea, and he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted to stop it from happening. What did it matter to him if the Wanderer was destroyed again? In the end, that might make his life easier.

  A blast of dark smoke exploded at one end of the room, like someone had slammed a hammer into a pile of ash. Simon had a hard time following the smoke's path, even with the Nye essence in his lungs, but it flowed from the edge of the room over to the Wanderer, then exploded again in another burst of black smoke.

  And Kai was there, standing inside the smoke, his own short sword raised to catch Indirial's blow. With a heave of his whole body, Kai turned the strike aside.

  “We need him now, so let him go,” Kai sang. Valin put his own sword down, his expression amused.

  The two students of the Dragon Army stood there for a long moment. Indirial was dark and black-cloaked, crouched on the ground, staring at Kai as though trying to decide whether to spring up and bury his dagger in the other man's throat. Kai stood straight, by all appearances relaxed, an infantry sword held reversed in his left hand. Clumps of white hair hung down into his eyes, preventing Simon from reading his expression. The air burned with tension, and Simon was afraid that, one way or another, he was about to see a good man die.

  “SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT. SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT.”

  Indirial staggered forward a step, and Kai cocked his head toward the crystal. Simon raised his hand on instinct, almost ready to smash the Lirial stone out of sheer reaction, but Leah had impressed upon him, more than once, exactly how rare and expensive communication crystals were. Granted, they normally didn't shout in his ear every minute.

  But this one had distracted Kai and Indirial long enough to keep them from killing one another, so he could hardly complain.

  Valin waved his hand in front of his face, dispelling the cloud of black smoke. He wore an expression of distaste, like he had bitten deep into a rotten fruit. “You called the smoke, Kai? Really?”

  “I never was a friend of the Nye,” Kai replied smoothly. “Even if the Eldest won't share his toys with me, I still need something for speed. Don't you think? Now that I have it, I can't believe how I went so long without it.”

  “The smoke makes things too easy,” Valin said. “It's like cheating. How are you ever supposed to have an even match with anyone when you're appearing and disappearing like that?”

  Kai wagged a finger at his former master. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. It's thinking like that kept you from killing the Damascan King. You had to wait for an Elysian Traveler to do your work for you.”

  “What are you doing here?” Indirial cut in roughly, staring at Valin.

  Valin gave him an ironic smile. “It looks like the Eldest had further plans for me, and dying at the end of a Ragnarus blade was not in them.”

  Indirial said something low and harsh in a language Simon didn't understand, but he would have bet Azura that it was a curse. “What has he done now? I should have ended him years ago.”

  Indirial wore such a dark look, as though he could hardly hold himself back from tearing out Valin's throat, that it made Simon uncomfortable. Indirial wasn't supposed to be vengeful or cruel, he was supposed to stay calm and humorous even in front of an enemy.

  Yes, because everyone stays the same, all the time, Otoku sent. Indirial and Valin have a long and painful history. He's only human. He would need the patience of a doll to be able to smile right now.

  The patience...of a doll.

  That's right.

  You mean you.

  Otoku made a shocked sound. I can't believe you haven't noticed. My sisters and I are the very avatars of patience and humility.

  Sometimes, he couldn't tell when she was joking.

  Kai nodded to Simon. “It seems that the little mouse has misplaced his cheese.”

  Indirial squeezed his eyes shut. “What are you talking about, Kai?”

  “My mask,” Simon put in. “I had it when I came into the room, I know I did, but it's gone now.”

  “You didn't give it to Olissa, did you?” Indirial asked. He opened his eyes and looked at Simon, deliberately turning away from Valin and Kai. “She's been working on the new versions, and she's mentioned more than once that she could use the prototype.”

  Simon imagined thirteen Valinhall Travelers with masks like his, and his stomach twisted. “She's making copies? And you're okay with it?”

  “I decided not to fight it,” Indirial said. “It looks like Valinhall will soon have a mask among its weapons, no matter what I do. And who am I to stand in front of progress?” He shot a glance over at Valin, and his face darkened again. “This isn't the first time I’ve failed to stop one of the Eldest Nye’s plans.”

  Simon didn't see how Olissa could have possibly taken the mask from him while he was here in the graveyard, but he had nothing else to try. “Is she in the workshop, then?”

  Indirial shook his head. “New room. Kai, will you show him the way?”

  “I dash, I run, I positively leap to obey.” Kai swept the other man a mocking bow. “But where, dare I ask, will you be?”

  The Overlord looked down on the Wanderer, who met his gaze with an amused smile. “I have a few questions to ask our founder. And then Simon and I have business with the Queen.”

  “Please, leave him in one piece,” Kai said, as he walked over to Simon. “The graveyard has never known a better training dummy.”

  The door to the graveyard swung shut behind Simon and Kai, cutting off Valin's mocking laughter.

  Wordlessly, Kai held out one hand.

  Let him touch me, Otoku said, and you will beg the Nye to choke you in your sleep.

  ***

  They arrived in the workshop a few minutes later, Simon carrying Otoku in both hands, and Kai looking like he was on the verge of tears. The communication crystal floated after them like a lonely bird, having shouted out its message two or three times on the trip through the House. Twice now, Kai had threatened to force-feed the stone to Simon if he didn't release Otoku. To which Otoku had responded that she would rather be carried off by a swarm of cockroaches, leading Kai into bouts of dramatic wailing.

  The sight of the workshop's cast-iron door was an indescribable relief.

  Caius Agnos stood inside the workshop, carrying a box overflowing with odds and ends: gears, springs, metal wire, rolls of cloth, and tiny wooden cups practically spilled over the top. Caius, Olissa's husband, was a friendly-looking balding man who permanently wore a blacksmith's leather apron. His bulging gut and warm smile made him look like an innkeeper, but his arms were corded with muscle.

  “Good to see you both. It's been a while since I've seen you, Simon. Is the Queen keeping you busy?”

  “She called me now, actually,” Simon said, only a second before
:

  “SIMON, SON OF KALMAN, REPORT TO THE QUEEN FOR ASSIGNMENT...”

  Caius almost dropped his box. While Simon waited for the crystal to finish shouting, he took a look around the workshop. It had changed since he had last seen it, when it had been filled with cluttered boxes and dusty tables. Now, workbenches rested against each of the walls, covered neatly with an array of tools and half-finished projects. One rack on the wall held an array of hammers, arranged by size, and a tray on one of the workbenches showed a variety of gold ingots.

  The copper shelves were a recent addition, nailed to the walls slightly above head-height, and they held a number of labeled boxes—the labels advertised everything from 'Metal Scraps’ to 'Blood Jars' to simply 'Exciting!'

  All in all, it looked like a professional craftsman's organized shop, now, rather than an enthusiastic collector's old woodshed.

  The floating crystal finally stopped yelling.

  “I guess the Queen doesn't like waiting on you, does she?” Caius asked, chuckling nervously.

  “No, it keeps doing that,” Simon said. “You get used to it. Almost.”

  Kai moved toward one wall, placing his hand against the bare stone in between two benches. “I'm entranced by your witty repartee, but we're not here to chat. Open the gallery, would you please?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Caius bustled over to a table, deposited his box of raw materials, then moved to the wall beside Kai. There was an iron rod sticking out of the wall at an odd angle; it had blended in so well with the tools a few inches away that Simon had hardly noticed it.

  “This is one of my wife's favorite innovations,” Caius said, smiling proudly. “Are you ready?”

  Caius heaved the lever down, and the bare wall swung away from Kai's hand.

  The next room was largely bare, and looked half-finished. He was looking down a long rectangle, like a hallway, with a chest-high counter running down both of the side walls. It looked almost like a tavern bar: the counters were smooth and polished, made of dark fine-grained wood, and there was a three-legged wooden stool every few feet. The walls looked like they were made of white plaster, and a long rug softened the stone floor stretching from the workshop door to the far wall.