City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

by Wight, Will

  Simon summoned Azura, looking up to judge the distance between himself and the Endross Incarnation.

  Leah was faster.

  The Lightning Spear shot forward like a streak of dark lightning itself, headed directly for the Incarnation. She staggered as if in pain, clutching Simon's shoulder for support.

  The Spear tore through Endross's side, sending him shrieking and plummeting into the ground.

  With his free hand, Simon had already grabbed Leah, pulling her into a nearby tent. “Keep down,” he said. “This attack will be aimed at you.”

  Her eyes were determined even as she staggered after him, leaning on his arm for support. “I can take him out of the air more easily than you can.”

  “I’m going to lead him away from you,” Simon said, overriding her objections as he pushed her through the tent-flap. “You can throw the Spear if he gets too close—”

  “Caw!” yelled her raven.

  The Lightning Spear tore through the side of the tent and smacked into her hand, then she leaned out of the flap and threw it again.

  The Endross Incarnation rose from the camp in a fury, trailing smoke and ashes behind him. He shouted at them, his voice choked and barely understandable, his eyes locked on Leah: “I HAVE THE—”

  The Lightning Spear crashed into the top of his skull, sending him flipping over backwards in midair. His head was a ruined, bleeding mess that resembled nothing so much as a smashed melon, but it began to rebuild itself even before he fell beneath the line of tents.

  “Your turn,” Leah said, panting. She leaned back into the tent, and Simon stepped away. Immediately, he flipped up the hood of his cloak. When the Endross Incarnation burst out of the row of nearby tents, roaring, Simon called the essence of the Nye.

  Leah was in the tent, out of the Endross Incarnation’s view. And if this Endross was anything like his predecessor, he would aim straight for whatever target he could see first.

  Then again, none of that would matter if Simon hit the Incarnation before it had a chance to strike.

  Endross had no more than an instant to look confused before Azura hit him in the neck.

  At least, it should have. The blade actually paused an inch or two from the Incarnation’s skin, held at bay by a shield of dense air.

  Simon jumped back as the Endross Incarnation gestured, and a thunderstorm Gate opened where Simon had been standing. A reptilian head reached out of the Gate, snapping hungrily on empty air, sparks flying from between its teeth.

  It occurred to him that finding himself so close to death would have been a traumatic, horrifying experience for him before his time in Valinhall. Now, narrowly escaping death didn’t warrant his attention. He stepped away from the gnashing Endross creature and thrust Azura at the Incarnation.

  …who suddenly wasn’t there, having taken wing and flown off, tossing lightning bolts across the camp.

  Simon started to run off, but Leah jumped out of the tent and seized his arm.

  He almost pulled her off her feet before he realized that he was supposed to stop and wait for whatever she had to say.

  “There’s something wrong here,” Leah said, after she had regained her balance.

  Simon looked down the hill, across the camp. Columns of smoke rose from tents and patches of grass where the Incarnation’s lightning had struck, and Endross creatures snapped at the heels of practically everyone he could see.

  “Yeah,” he said. “We’re under attack.”

  She stepped closer, and the raven on her shoulder let out a soft sort of mewling sound. “Then where are the bodies?”

  Simon stopped and looked closer, wishing he’d brought a doll. Down there, one royal soldier pulled another from a burning tent as an Endross crocodile looked on…and did nothing more threatening than snarl and blast lightning into the sky. A giant snake slithered through a crowd of washerwomen, snarling at each but not biting anyone. The Endross Incarnation himself swooped down on crowds, making a startling show of lights and sounds, but now that he thought about it, Simon couldn’t remember seeing him kill anyone.

  “What does this mean?” he asked.

  Leah shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said. “But something else is coming, and we need to be ready.”

  Simon grabbed her by the shoulders and steered her back toward the tent. “Then let’s start by getting you inside.”

  ***

  King Zakareth stood on the walls of Cana, watching the destruction in his daughter’s camp through a spyglass. Ragnarus had many tools, but all of them had some application as weapons; the Vault held nothing to let him see supernaturally far. Perhaps he could rectify that himself, once he’d pulled Elysia down and looted its treasures for his own.

  Indirial stood next to him, the chains on his arms turned to steel, a cloak of shadows flowing from the top of his head all the way down to the stone behind him. His eyes were seas of black, on which floated circles of burning violet.

  That surprised the King, deep in a part of him that was still capable of experiencing surprise. He had thought the only colors of Valinhall were black and silver, and he wondered if irises of violet flame were Indirial’s choice, somehow.

  That was an idle thought, and had to give way before more practical concerns. Indirial’s new appearance was more intimidating, which meant more effective.

  Indirial smiled like a proud father. “Leah almost brought down Endross on her own. I think if she’d been forced into a full-on fight, she might have won.”

  “The weapons of Ragnarus have great power,” King Zakareth said, wishing he’d seen the fight in more detail. Why could Valinhall have a power to increase eyesight, but the Vault didn’t?

  That was an irrelevant thought, and he couldn’t afford distractions. He had to stay focused.

  Indirial squinted. “Is that…Simon down there?”

  “Where?” Zakareth asked. Through his lens, he had seen Leah as a crimson dot, and the hill she stood on an island in a sea of burning tents. She was missing now, but he had trouble making out details at this distance. Even the Endross Incarnation was little more than a bright spot among the veil of smoke.

  “There was someone in black with her before,” Indirial said. “But now I see no one. It’s enough to make me wonder if we waited too long.”

  “Do you think he’s recovered from the mask by now?” Zakareth asked, keeping his spyglass trained on the hill. Indeed, there did seem to be a patch of shadow atop the hill that gleamed strangely, as though the darkness concealed a length of polished steel.

  But then, it could easily be a trick of the light.

  Indirial leaned forward to rest his elbows on the edge of the wall. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I never was familiar with the mask, and it wouldn’t do me any good now. All it does is allow them to draw on Valinhall more deeply, just as I do.”

  When the mask had been a part of his Vault, it had been intended to strengthen other Travelers, to increase the reach and depth of their powers. In its original state, it had a series of safety measures built in to keep Travelers from delving too deeply and burning their life away. Then, in a battle long ago, it had been shattered.

  Malachi had used it for years in its broken state: all of the power, none of the restraint. Zakareth could hardly imagine what this mask—built from the remnants of the old one and attuned to a new Territory—was capable of. But if the Valinhall Incarnation didn’t know either, then that could be cause for concern.

  “If Simon is down there,” King Zakareth said, “his blade will be as well. Do we dare continue?”

  Indirial chuckled, pulling his cracked and pitted sword from midair. “If it’s Simon alone, we can take Azura from him at any time. Besides, I’m glad he’s not in the House. I don’t want to fight him in a group, or as part of an ambush.” He spat out the word ‘ambush’ as though it burned his tongue, grimacing in distaste. “I want to fight him man-to-man, when he’s at his best. He’s the only one to win a fight against the last Valinhall Incarnat
ion.”

  His burning violet eyes grew distant, staring off at Leah’s hill. “In fact, why not now? Why don’t I do that first? If he is down there…but if he’s not, I might be able to find Leah. She might be something of a challenge…”

  Zakareth laid a gauntleted hand on Indirial’s shoulder. “We have a job to do,” he said.

  Indirial shook himself and nodded, walking over to a relatively clear stretch of wall. He didn’t seem to notice how the stones smoothed and cut themselves into tiles as he passed.

  Out of idle curiosity, King Zakareth glanced down at his own feet. The stone of the wall was turning red in a steadily expanding pool, as though blood spilled from his feet in a constant wave.

  That was appropriate enough.

  “This would be easier if we had Asphodel along,” Indirial commented, raising his Dragon’s Fang.

  “We do not,” Zakareth said.

  “Or even Avernus.”

  “You know exactly what happened to Avernus.”

  Indirial sighed. “But does it have to be Ornheim?”

  The Ornheim Incarnation shuddered to life from where he had been crouched against the side of the wall. The stone had actually started to grow around him, forming a little cave complete with tiny stalactites.

  He grumbled, loud and low in his throat, his pale stone skin shivering. He was shot through with jagged lines, like marble, but these veins came in every color. He looked like a statue designed for decoration, not war.

  And his all-too-human eyes were locked on Zakareth in an expression of pure hatred.

  The King couldn’t even remember a time in his life when that might have bothered him.

  “Ornheim is what you have been given,” King Zakareth said, in tones of command. “If you can take their swords, he will be enough. If not, I have kept Helgard with me, and I can send her in reserve. Lirial goes ahead to prepare the way.”

  Indirial sighed and sliced open a Valinhall Gate. “Well, since I can’t go myself, I guess two Incarnations are all right. If they can get the job done.”

  Ornheim tried to shoulder Indirial aside with a stone arm as he walked into the Gate, but the Valinhall Incarnation didn’t budge.

  From inside the Gate, Zakareth could sense two expressions of Ragnarus. The first was shaped like a sword, and was one of the Vault’s various gatecrawlers. With an effort of will, he banished the device at a distance. He didn’t want to leave it there long enough for the Valinhall creatures to attune it to their Territory.

  The second throbbed and pulsed in time with the beat of Zakareth’s own chest. The Heart of Rebirth wasn’t a pleasant artifact, and it had taken several citizens of Cana to pay enough of its cost to make it functional.

  But now the price would justify itself. He clapped once, sending out his will in an invisible wave.

  Deep within the House of Blades, the Incarnation of Tartarus began pulling himself together.

  For an instant, Zakareth felt another expression of Ragnarus power, pulsing to a different beat. It was more distant, and in another direction…it seemed to be coming from the hill on which Leah stood.

  That made sense. Leah was the only active Ragnarus Traveler left. She had almost unrestricted access to the Vault, so it was no surprise that she would have something of his. He recognized the Lightning Spear she held, though. This was something else, something he almost remembered…

  But once again, he put aside irrelevant thoughts to focus on the mission at hand.

  “Do what you must,” King Zakareth said. “It’s time for me to slip the muzzle back over my hound.” Then he stepped out over Cana’s wall.

  His foot came down on a tower of packed snow that hadn’t been there before. Helgard waited at the foot of the wall, holding a book in front of her frozen eyes. Zakareth walked forward, each step landing on a slightly lower tower of snow, as though he walked down a staircase that existed only because he needed it.

  Behind him, the Incarnation of Valinhall was giving orders. The King allowed himself to feel a small spark of satisfaction. For once, he had paid for a weapon and received even more than he was expecting.

  Indirial was far more than a weapon, like the other Incarnations. He was a warrior, and a trusted servant.

  He would get the job done.

  ***

  Indirial watched the Ornheim Traveler take the first few steps into the entry hall and look around for threats. This was one reason he hated working with Ornheim: he would measure twice before cutting once, and all Indirial needed this time was a sharp cut.

  “The swords,” he commanded. “Get the swords.”

  Ornheim didn’t stop looking around. He even lifted up a sofa as though to see if there was something dangerous underneath. Maker, what could possibly be threatening about a sofa?

  Finally, the Incarnation seemed satisfied, turning his head to the sword-racks. He reached out for Seijan, its blade short and speckled with ink.

  A black chain looped around his wrist, pulling him short.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just a Nye,” Indirial said.

  Ornheim slammed his free fist down on the Nye’s shadowy form…but before the blow could land, that hand was bound by a different chain.

  Then the Nye were everywhere. They filled the room like a hill full of ants swarming a carcass, and Ornheim was covered by so many black chains that Indirial could barely see the stone beneath.

  The see of black parted, and a hunched figure in dark gray slid past, gliding up to the Gate. “We have so few of the Fangs left,” the Eldest hissed. “You would steal them? Even you?”

  Indirial met the Eldest Nye’s empty hood without looking away. In his current state, he could sense each of the Nye, like knowing his shadow trailed behind him without having to look. They were more than expressions of his power; they were at the heart of whatever made Valinhall the way it was. He had never fully appreciated that before.

  But that didn’t mean he had to do what they told him.

  “The Dragon’s Fangs will be returned, along with all that we’re missing. The King has ordered me to collect them, for now, so that the other Travelers of Valinhall cannot interfere with our mission.” It had been his idea to disarm the Dragon Army, actually, not Zakareth’s, but the orders to do so had come from the King. “They will be re-distributed to the worthy.”

  The Eldest’s own chain, rough and heavy even compared to those of the other Nye, ran between his sleeves in a hissing, clinking river. “Not only have you lost control, you have sold your home to the King of the Vault. My master would rip your throat out with his teeth.”

  “Your master is imprisoned in a graveyard, where he belongs,” Indirial said. Behind the Eldest, the sea of black chains bulged and pressed upwards as the mountainous strength of the Ornheim Incarnation strained against the combined might of the Nye.

  The Eldest didn’t look behind him, but he did consider for a moment. “I have your wife and child with me. I can make sure that they take months to die.”

  Indirial shrugged. He would prefer his family to live, but if they did not…well, that meant that they couldn’t handle the trials of life. “If they’re worth saving, they’ll save themselves.”

  “You speak like the true Incarnation of Valinhall,” the Eldest whispered. “But still you plot to give your own power to Ragnarus.”

  That wasn’t exactly true, but nothing Indirial could say would sway the Nye’s belief, so he let the Eldest think what he wanted.

  In the background, the Ornheim Incarnation had risen fully to his feet, and was tossing Nye away from him like a child splashing in the waves.

  The Eldest ran his chain through his sleeves again. “I cleaned this room only yesterday. But it seems I must have missed a pebble or two.”

  He practically vanished, even from Indirial’s vision, and when he reappeared he was standing behind Ornheim. His thick chain was wrapped around the Incarnation’s neck, and the Eldest heaved, pulling Ornheim over onto his back.

  The Ornheim In
carnation struck the floor of the House with a booming crack so loud that Indirial wondered if the others could hear it even in Valinhall’s depths.

  Rocky white fists flailed at the Eldest, but he dodged each strike without even seeming to pay attention.

  The Nye had swarmed again, rushing at Ornheim’s prone form and lashing him with the ends of their chains. Indirial couldn’t help it; he was a little impressed. They were managing to take chips of stone from the Incarnation’s solid skin with each strike.

  So it was a good thing he had a backup plan.

  It started with a rhythmic pounding, as though someone in the distance had decided to strike up a beat on a vast drum. When the sound rose to drown out even the Nye’s treatment of Ornheim, the beat vanished.

  The Eldest raised one sleeve as though he were about to issue an order, and then the floor of the entry hall exploded.

  Tartarus, the gleaming ten-foot giant in the mirrored steel armor, landed on the edge of what had once been the trapdoor down to the Nye’s basement. Evidently they had kept his pieces down there, never realizing that he could be pulled back together at King Zakareth’s will.

  Blades flashed into the Tartarus Incarnation’s grip, and he impaled Nye after Nye with seemingly unlimited shards of metal. Wherever his clockwork gaze fell, another cloaked shadow was pinned to the wall.

  After only a moment, the Ornheim Incarnation unfolded and stood next to Tartarus, equal in height and strength. Spinning rocks appeared out of nowhere, lashing forward like shooting stars and tearing through black robes.

  “I know what I’m doing, Eldest!” Indirial called. “I came prepared.”

  The Eldest appeared completely focused on Indirial, though he dodged spikes and flying rocks almost as an afterthought.

  “Did you?” he rasped, and somehow the sound cut through even the din of battle.

  Then the Eldest raised his sleeve again.