City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

by Wight, Will

  And, all over the entry hall, the furniture joined the battle.

  The sofa curled up its legs, leaping onto Ornheim’s arm, its scarlet cushions working like a great mouth. It growled and snarled like a pack of wolves, sending handfuls of gravel up into the air.

  One of the tables reared like an angry horse and kicked Tartarus hard enough in the chest that he staggered backwards. A rug lifted off the floor and seized a nearby chair with one tassel, slamming it against the back of the Tartarus Incarnation’s helmet. Somehow the chair didn’t break, and the rug knocked the Incarnation again and again.

  The room was a flurry of flying stone, metal, cloth, and wooden splinters as the two Incarnations smashed furniture and the furniture smashed back.

  He’d had no idea they could do that.

  Now that he looked with the eyes of the Valinhall Incarnation, it seemed obvious. The tables and chairs of the entry hall remained hidden and innocent unless called upon, like a sleeping guardian. But now, through his violet eyes, he could see the dormant potential lying within each plank of wood.

  Against all reason, he felt a surge of pride in his Territory. How could anyone ever choose to Travel Naraka or Helgard when Valinhall was this magnificent? Even the furniture rose to defend it from outsiders!

  Not that sofas and lamps had any chance of defeating two Incarnations, but they could be rebuilt, and the House would be stronger than ever for this battle. He would make sure of it.

  In a matter of seconds, the room looked like it had been trampled by a herd of oxen. The walls bristled with spikes of mirrored steel, and fist-sized rocks were scattered across the ground. The air was filled with drifting bits of cushion stuffing, and the floor covered by splinters. One grandfather clock against the wall had been gutted, spilling gears and springs everywhere, and every mirror in the room was reduced to shards.

  The sofa pulled itself across the floor on one leg, snarling weakly, before it finally collapsed, weak and inanimate once more.

  There was no way someone in the House hadn’t heard that commotion, and all the Nye were slithering away like snakes of shadow and light. It was only a matter of time before someone showed up, and he had to complete his mission before that happened.

  “Back to work,” Indirial said.

  Seconds later, the two Incarnations tossed him three Dragon’s Fangs. A Valinhall Traveler in the outside world could summon his blade from the House, but no Traveler in the House itself could summon their blade from outside. And once he got the Fangs into a different Territory—in this case, Ragnarus—they wouldn’t be able to banish the blades back to Valinhall, either, unless they got close enough to touch the weapons directly.

  Effectively, by keeping the Fangs sealed outside the House, he was disarming the other Travelers of Valinhall. Kathrin and Denner wouldn’t be able to return and fight him, Andra would never get a chance to progress until he found her worthy, and Simon and Kai…they would have an opportunity to kill him in a duel, but only when he allowed it.

  Indirial glanced at the pile of Tartarus steel waiting for him at his feet. Counting Vasha, that made four out of six. “We’re missing two,” he said.

  Azura and Mithra were missing. Simon was probably down on the hill with Leah, so Indirial would be able to recover that one at his leisure, and Kai was undoubtedly challenging a room deeper in the House. That seemed to be everything to his life these days.

  But those were the two most dangerous Travelers whose blades he didn’t have, so he decided to be certain.

  “Tartarus, go check the seventh bedroom,” he said. “Down the hall on the left, marked with a large circle and two smaller circles.”

  The Incarnation’s armor creaked as he stared at Indirial with blank clockwork eyes, as though trying to figure out who was giving him orders.

  Indirial stared back, until finally Tartarus turned to march down the hallway.

  If Azura was anywhere, it was probably with Simon, but the Fangs could sometimes be kept in the bedrooms instead of the entry hall. There was no telling where Kai or Mithra were; as far as Indirial knew, Kai had never used Valin’s bedroom, even though Mithra would have granted him access. It wasn’t worth chasing down all the possibilities looking for Kai, not when Kai was far more likely to lock himself in the House anyway. That was what he’d done for practically twenty-five years. If Azura was in the bedroom, then Simon was disarmed, and that was a bonus. If not, then Indirial got the chance to challenge the boy for his blade.

  Either way, it was a win for him.

  Then he noticed the Eldest was missing.

  ***

  Kai stood on a circle of earth in a sea of darkness.

  All around him, in every direction, was complete emptiness. He could still see, somehow, as though he and his little chunk of rock and dirt were outlined in dim light. Not that there was much to see, in this room.

  Idly he wondered if the room had a name. Probably not; it served no function, and as far as he knew, granted no power. It did, however, have a guardian.

  Standing on his circle of earth, knees bent, Mithra held before him in both hands, Kai waited.

  As usual, he heard the guardian before he saw it: the ringing rattle of steel against steel, growing until it was louder than thunder, getting closer. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound. For the tenth time that minute, he wished for his dolls.

  Then he threw himself to the side as a chain the width of a house drove through empty space, missing him by a hair.

  The chain seemed to scream like an enraged bull, its links whipping by one after the other, wider around than his body, faster than a speeding horse. He ran Mithra’s edge along the chain, letting her blade throw up sparks against the chain’s seemingly infinite steel.

  It roared again. As the guardian chain stretched out, it seemed miles long against the darkness, its head looping up and around to come lunging back down toward Kai like a striking snake.

  He leaped from his circle of earth, suspended over the void for one long second before he crashed back down onto a second floating island of soil and stone.

  The chain’s head slammed into the circle where he had first stood. It didn’t blast straight through the earth, as he would have expected, but pushed it down instead like a hammer driving a nail.

  Then the darkness seemed to peel away from itself, black becoming storm-gray, and the Eldest Nye stood beside him on his little island.

  “Ah, and here you are, to spoil another wonderful day,” Kai said.

  For once, the Eldest wasn’t in the mood to trade insults. “The House is under attack.”

  From the void, the head of the steel chain gleamed, rushing up at him like a blacksmith’s hammer big enough to knock the tower off a castle. He was too far away from the next island to jump, even with Benson’s steel running through him, so he focused on his target destination and called smoke.

  As usual, turning into smoke felt like having his body pulled apart. It was oddly painless, but he had the disturbing sense of falling, of drifting apart, of becoming nothing.

  And then, in a black cloud, he puffed back into existence on the distant circle of earth. The giant chain circled the island he had left like a confused snake whose prey had disappeared.

  He could see, now, why Valin had never liked to call smoke. He couldn’t see or hear anything in transit, and there was no changing his route mid-way. Once he called smoke, he wouldn’t reassemble until his pieces reached their destination. It was risky, and prone to manipulation by a clever opponent.

  Besides, he felt like he was going to drift away and ceased to exist every time he used it. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to that.

  “You have inherited this responsibility,” the Eldest hissed, right in his ear. “You must defend the House.”

  Kai almost groaned. He had dared to hope that the Eldest had been killed when the chain attacked the last island. The Nye could manipulate and communicate with the intelligent guardians, but some of the creatures this deep i
n the House had no minds to speak of. This chain was likely incapable of processing any thought other than ‘destroy all intruders,’ so the Eldest would not be able to exercise any authority over it.

  That was a very comforting thought. If Kai weren’t completely sure he would die the instant his steel ran out, he would live here permanently.

  “Lead the way through the dark, O shifting shadow,” Kai said, with a bow. Without another word, not even a taunt, the Eldest took off. He leaped from island to island, heading for the door floating in space.

  Kai followed, his steel waning. He still had a few minutes left, enough to get him through the House, but he tried to keep his steel called as often as he could, now. The cool power rushing through his veins was the only thing that calmed the throbbing burn in his back. Perhaps it was time for another healing bath, to push back the fire behind his kidney.

  After he dealt with whoever was attacking Valinhall.

  ***

  When the Tartarus Incarnation reached the seventh bedroom, he reached two ginger fingers out and turned the doorknob. Nothing happened. Indirial had ordered him to avoid damage to the bedroom doors if possible, because he wanted to limit Valinhall’s destruction as much as possible. He would need the Territory intact.

  A face full of clockwork gears turned toward Indirial, awaiting new instructions.

  The bedroom doors were a part of Indirial now; he could sense them in his mind, feel them refusing to give in to the strength of Tartarus. He twisted his thoughts, granting the Incarnation permission to enter the room.

  Tartarus tried again, but nothing had changed.

  Indirial crossed his arms, thinking. Maybe the bedrooms were bound to the Dragon’s Fangs in a rule of Valinhall so deep that even he couldn’t change it. Or maybe he could, if he was in the Territory itself, and not standing on the brink of a Gate. For a moment the temptation to enter the House was almost overwhelming; he belonged inside, it was a part of him, just as he was a part of it. He belonged in Valinhall like water belonged in the ocean, and he knew that if he stepped inside, everything would be all right…

  He moved back a pace or two. As tempting as it would be to set foot in the House, the King had earned his loyalty. Who would he be if he denied proper rewards to the warriors that earned them?

  Besides, there was one law respected in Valinhall above all others: force.

  “Break it down,” he ordered. The Tartarus Incarnation stared at him with eyes of blank metal gears—he didn’t know Indirial, and clearly didn’t fully understand why he had to follow the Valinhall Incarnation’s orders. Indirial stared back, calm and unmoving. “I represent the Incarnation of Ragnarus in this matter,” he said, in cold tones appropriate to the Overlord of Cana. “If you disobey me in this, you will answer to him. Now, when I command you to destroy, you destroy.”

  The Incarnation snarled, a sound like a quick avalanche, but he drew back a fist to do as commanded. His blow shattered the door, and his shoulders broke the frame as he forced his way inside. From the cracks and bangs issuing from within the bedroom, Indirial assumed that Tartarus was stretching his command to destroy as far as it would go. It was the action of a petty child, breaking whatever he could reach, but anything in that room could be replaced.

  Then Indirial heard the screams.

  ***

  Kai flew through room after room, passing at last into the familiar parts of the House. “Where are the others, may I ask?”

  “I locked the family in their gallery,” the Eldest responded. He didn’t seem to be moving any faster than a walk, but somehow he was matching Kai in speed. “Simon is away, and Denner has had his Dragon’s Fang removed. I doubt he is aware, or he would have banished it and re-summoned it already. I fear that Ragnarus will soon prevent that course of action entirely.”

  “I’m surprised you spared the girl and the old man,” Kai said idly, dodging around the yellow-lit columns of the courtyard.

  “They face two Incarnations,” the Eldest said. “That would not be a test, it would be murder. I am no murderer.”

  Kai chuckled at that as he leaped over the healing pool, landing on the rough stone of the other side without slowing. “Of course not,” he said. “Just a killer.”

  “There is a difference.”

  The Eldest pulled open the bathroom door and Kai sped out, into the room beyond.

  Then he stopped.

  He could see the hallway from there, and the bedrooms on either side. One of the rooms was shattered, the door broken off its hinges. Distant, whispered screams, threats, and horrified gasps drifted from inside.

  Kai didn’t remember calling smoke, but the next he knew, he had re-formed inside the seventh bedroom.

  The shelf holding his precious little ones, the shelf he had carved, polished, and installed himself, had been destroyed. His dolls were scattered all over the floor.

  And they were hurting. He could feel their pain like it was his—no, this was worse because it wasn’t his.

  Rebekkah’s left arm had been half torn off at the shoulder. She clutched it with her right, glaring murder at the Tartarus Incarnation and threatening death in her mind. Lilia crawled away from the metal giant’s stomping boots, her white dress torn and both her feet crushed. Gloria wept into her hands, her hair and dress torn, her chest cracked. Still others had cracks, or fractures, or were simply frightened.

  But Otoku lay on the floor under Tartarus’ feet, motionless, staring up at the ceiling with one eye. The other side of her face had been crushed, torn away, ripped casually from her head.

  Kai knelt beside her, ignoring the ten-foot metal giant standing behind him. He laid Mithra down on the ground, and gently took Otoku up in both hands. He smoothed her dress. He straightened her hair.

  Well, she sent, her whispered voice weak. At least I’ll look good while I die.

  And so she did.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:

  GRIEF

  The Endross Incarnation hovered over the Damascan camp on stormcloud wings, occasionally throwing a bolt or a ball of lightning. He was making some speech about how the world would burn, all its citizens his fearful subjects, and Simon had finally stopped listening. It didn’t make any sense.

  He stood inside the same tent that sheltered Leah, peeking out the tent-flap to watch the Incarnation. He kept his hood up in case he was spotted, calling as little Nye essence as he could. At this rate, he should remain shrouded from the Incarnation’s sight for…five, maybe ten more minutes.

  Simon drove Azura into the ground at an angle, trying to figure out what Endross was up to. It looked like he was trying to avoid killing anyone, against all reason. Simon had fought the last Incarnation of Endross, and even been present when this Traveler had snapped and Incarnated. More than any other of their kind, the Endross Incarnations acted like natural disasters, tearing the land and the people around them apart.

  The Endross Incarnation should be anything but restrained. So what was going on?

  Leah had spun out three or four floating Lirial crystals, which zipped out of the tent to collect the reports of various Travelers around the camp. None of them had seen any actual casualties that could be directly attributed to the Incarnation. The Endross Travelers were baffled. Some of the monsters they saw running free were more than capable of tearing through crowds of soldiers like a fox through a henhouse. But they were acting like leashed hounds.

  “Maybe he really is in control of himself,” Leah suggested, after reviewing the latest report in one of her crystals.

  Simon didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t believe it. In his experience, assuming that the enemy was less dangerous than he looked would lead straight to gruesome injury or horrible death.

  “Surely it’s possible,” she said defensively, as though he’d spoken his doubts aloud. “The Helgard and Avernus Incarnations could carry on perfectly intelligible conversations. So could Alin, and so can this Endross, it seems. A measure of intelligence suggests some free will, don’t y
ou think?”

  “I don’t think they’re stupid,” he said. “Not most of them. And it’s not like I think they’re out of control. I think that whatever they’re doing…it makes sense to them. It’s the only logical thing for them to do.”

  Leah’s blue eyes were distant, considering. Her raven let out a caw that seemed approving.

  “It’s like when I fought Valin,” Simon went on. “He didn’t think he was going crazy, killing everybody he ran into. He was attacking people to see if they were strong enough to handle it. He thought he was helping them.”

  “So what does this Endross think he’s doing?” Leah asked. Simon had no response to that.

  But something else had started to bother him.

  A sense of dread had begun creeping over him, raising goosebumps, filling his heart with a feeling of sickening tragedy. It was the strangest thing: they didn’t feel like his emotions, as though someone were pressing their feelings on him from the outside. He could think about it intellectually and realize that there was no reason to feel this way, but that didn’t shake the nauseous dread.

  “I think…I think something bad happened,” he said. He knew it sounded stupid, and Leah raised one eyebrow at him, but he couldn’t think of a better way to say it. Somehow, he knew something terrible had happened to someone. Or maybe…was about to happen.

  Above the camp, behind the Endross Incarnation—who was still giving a speech that made him sound like a newly installed tyrant—a dark figure rose slowly into the air. It looked like a man in armor, wearing a helmet covered in dark spires and holding a staff. His armor was black, edged in gold, and set with rubies. Another ruby capped his staff, and nestled in his crown above his forehead.

  His skin glistened in the sunlight, as though he wore whirling metallic tattoos of red and gold, and one of his eyes blazed red.

  “Leah,” Simon said, his voice dry. “You need to come see this.”

  She hurried over to the tent flap without a word, pushing him aside so she could see out. “Oh, no,” Leah whispered. “Oh, Maker, please no.”