House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (20 page)

“Thank you, that’s enough,” the man said. He sounded weary, as well he might; the other voice spoke with the sort of fussy accuracy Simon associated with irritating old men obsessed with history.

“Who’s that talking?” Simon asked. He knew he should ask the man’s name, but his power was fading, and the pain was quickly becoming more than he could bear. It was getting harder and harder to focus.

The man let out a long-suffering sigh. “His name is Hariman; he’s my advisor. Don’t pay attention to a word he says.”

“And, uh, where is he?”

The stranger’s eyebrows rose for a moment, then he laughed and patted his book. There was a face painted in gold on the cover, and Simon watched as it came to life and slid over to the right, eyeing Simon carefully. “You must need medical attention if your eyesight is failing you that bad,” the book said in that fussy voice. “Not to mention the burns.”

Simon leaned his head back against the wall. “A talking book,” he said. “Of course.”

The man’s shrug was an audible shuffling of cloth. “At this point, I’m not sure why that surprises you. I’m Denner, by the way. Denner Weeks.”

“Simon, son of Kalman.” Simon cracked an eye. “Are you Dragon Army?”

Denner smiled easily. “Would I be in here if I wasn’t?”

“I am.”

Denner waved that away. “Kai took you in. That makes you one of us, and I’m sure you’ll choose a sword soon enough. There’s plenty available, I’m afraid.”

“Really? I didn’t think...” his cold power faded further, and he was forced to grit his teeth against the rising pain.
 

Hariman began to speak, but Denner swatted his binding and he sank into a grumbling silence. “Of the thirteen Dragon’s Fangs, only four are active right now. And some are lost. But a few others are just waiting for someone to pick them up.”

Simon nodded vaguely. His burns were beginning to feel more distant, as though he was drifting away from his body.

“You could continue educating the boy, which I applaud, or you could keep him alive,” Hariman’s voice said. “It’s up to you, really.”

Denner sighed and Simon felt a hand on his shoulder. Then he didn’t remember anything for a long time.

When Simon’s consciousness returned, he was standing in the open fields of the Valinhall garden, staring blankly at the huge fruit tree in the center. Waking felt like clawing his way up out of a dark void; he hadn’t been sleeping, precisely, but he had not been conscious either. It felt as though he had simply left his body behind for a few hours.

Then sound faded back into focus. Not as if he were suddenly able to hear, but as if sounds that he had been hearing all along suddenly gained meaning.

“...must have been some kind of venom,” Denner said. “Maybe it bit him.”

“Good riddance if it has.” Chaka’s voice. “I still think it’s just shock from the burns. He wasn’t man enough to handle them, is all. Wouldn’t surprise me.”

As Simon absently rubbed at the fresh skin on his forearms—newly healed and hairless; somebody had taken him to the bathroom pool—it finally occurred to him to turn around.

Chaka stood with bladed arms crossed, his ruby eyes focused on Simon and his leather-flap lips set in a disapproving scowl. Denner had had a chance to clean up, it seemed, because his outfit was no longer quite so travel-stained, and he was missing a layer of dirt on his skin. He still carried Hariman, in its red-and-gold binding, under one arm.

“Well,” Chaka said, “looks like he decided to stick with us after all.”

Denner looked up, surprised, and Simon gave him a sheepish smile. “How long was I out?” he asked.

“Only a few hours,” Denner responded. “We got you in the pool fairly quickly.”

“Shouldn’t have bothered,” Chaka put in. “He’s gotta be tougher than that if he wants to make it here.”

Simon deliberately ignored Chaka, instead turning to Denner. “Thanks. I must have been in trouble if I passed out like that.”

“You were badly burned. It took quite a while even for the pool to heal you. The imps were very excited.”

Simon shuddered, imagining being at the mercy of the water-imps while unconscious. “Thank you,” he said again. “Hopefully I won’t need your help for the next room.”

Denner frowned and turned a bit to Chaka. “Is Makko still the guardian of the courtyard?”

“How should I know? I’m stuck here, right? Not a lot of social time.” Chaka glared rigidly at Denner, who continued waiting for a response. After a moment, Chaka relaxed. “I can’t imagine she’s gone anywhere else, though. She’s a tough one.”

“Then you’ll need at least a good night’s rest, Simon. She may not be as dangerous as some of the others around here, but you don’t want to face her when you’re not sharp.”

Simon hesitated. He hated the idea of wasting any more time when Kai could be moving forward, but even the Nye essence and the liquid steel strength could only go so far. His fingers were trembling slightly and his arms felt like he had been pulling stumps all day. “First thing tomorrow, then. I don’t want to waste any time.”

For some reason, Denner looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Yes,” he said. “About that. If you don’t mind me asking, how far along are you?”

Simon stared at him blankly. “With what?”

“What have you earned so far? In the House, I mean.”

With a little hesitation—Denner was a stranger, after all, but on the other hand he was Dragon Army—Simon told him about the black box and the vial. Denner frowned at him.

“A wooden box? I don’t...hold on. That wasn’t from the Nye, was it?”

Feeling like he was stepping into a trap, Simon nodded slowly. Denner gave a low whistle; Chaka let out a choking sound.

“What is it?” Simon asked. “Didn’t the Eldest give you one, too?”

Denner shook his head. “One of the silver vials, sure. We all have to face the skeleton if we want to move forward. But the Nye choose who receives their gift. Perhaps two or three of us, at most, have earned that privilege. Only one that I know of for sure.”

For a moment Simon’s heart swelled with pride that he had been chosen. Just for a moment. Then a thought struck him: if the Eldest had given him something so valuable, that made his bargain more serious. Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake. But he shook that thought aside; without the Eldest’s help, it would have taken him weeks to clear Benson’s basement. Weeks, at least.

“It’s been a great help to me so far,” Simon said, tucking the objects back into his pockets. “Now that I have what I need, I’d hoped Kai would give me my own sword.”

Denner sighed and shook his head. “It’s not enough, I’m afraid. I have some news for you. Kai made me promise to let you know as soon as I could.”

“What news? Wait. You’ve spoken with Kai? Where is he?”

“I’ve been scouting in Bel Calem for almost six months now. The Overlord Malachi didn’t raid your village for slaves; he’s responsible for this year’s sacrifice.”

A sick feeling began to grow in Simon’s gut. “Sacrifice?” he asked.

Denner looked blankly at him, as though Simon were speaking nonsense. “The sacrifice. It’s Malachi’s year.”

“But what does that
mean
?”

The book spoke up from underneath Denner’s arm. “I, for one, would be delighted to explain.”

“I’m sure you would,” Denner said, “but let me—”

“Almost three hundred years ago,” Hariman went on, completely ignoring the man carrying him, “the first King of Damasca sealed away a destructive force in order to preserve the security of his realm. He was a Traveler of Ragnarus, however, and you know what that means.”

“No,” Simon said. “No, I have no idea what that means.”

“Kai didn’t tell you?” Denner asked. He sounded surprised.

“Kai doesn’t tell me anything,” Simon said. He sounded more bitter than he intended.

“Ah!” Hariman exclaimed. “You really don’t know? Well, the Enosh Grandmasters call Ragnarus the Crimson Vault. It’s a Territory exclusive to the Kings of Damasca—that is to say, only those of the royal bloodline can open its Gates. It holds powerful weapons, but each comes at a cost. In this case, of course, the seal placed by the first King of Damasca requires a blood sacrifice every year.”

Simon’s mind raced down the possibilities. Obviously the sacrifice hadn’t taken place yet, or Denner wouldn’t need to warn him about it. But if the King had sealed something away...

“What is King Zakareth trying to keep sealed?” Simon asked.

Hariman responded eagerly. “Ah, now that’s a matter of much debate. The true identity of the destructive force was only a subject of myth until almost fifty years ago, but now I can say with certainty—”

Denner cleared his throat. “Hariman,” he said.

“Oh. Yes,” the book responded. “I can say with certainty that we have no way of knowing. Maybe the Overlords know, but who can say for sure?”

They were leaving something out, but time weighed heavily on Simon. Maybe he’d have time to ask more questions later.

“When?” he asked. “When are they going to be...sacrificed?”

Denner looked distinctly uncomfortable. “The sacrifice ends at midsummer each year, but it begins eight days ahead of time. Nine days, nine sacrifices. And midsummer is in only two weeks.”

Numbers had never been Simon’s greatest friends, but he could do these sums easily enough. Five days until the sacrifices began. And fourteen until they ended.

Not nearly enough time.

He had tried to hurry, but there was only so much he could do. He needed more time. Was Alin ready? Maybe Alin could do it. Maybe Simon wouldn’t have to lift a hand.

No. This time, Simon would do more than just sit back and cry. If Alin wanted to save the people of Myria, he would just have to catch up.

“I’m going to need one of the Dragon’s Fangs,” Simon said, heading for the door. “How do I use it? Can I take one of the ones from the entry hall?”

“I s’pose you could,” Chaka called, “and I won’t stop you. So long as all you want is a hunk of sharp metal.”

Denner hurried over to Simon’s side. “He’s got a point. It’s like anything else in this House; if you don’t earn it, you don’t get it. You won’t be able to summon the sword if you haven’t earned its respect, and it won’t let you open a Gate.”

Simon kicked open the door to the bathroom harder than was absolutely necessary, but he didn’t slow his pace. Ripples marred the surface of the healing pool as something writhed underneath. “Then how do I do that?”

“You can’t. Not yet. You’re not good enough, and you haven’t spent enough time in the House. If you try, you’ll likely die.”

“Try what, Denner?”

Denner sighed. He did that a lot, Simon noticed. “There’s a graduation ritual. It’s a survival test; if you’re alive at the end of seven nights, you graduate. One of the Fangs is yours. It’s even more brutal than the House; I almost died, during mine. Several of us did.”

Simon threw open the door to the main hallway and strode through, past the rows of bedroom doors, trying to project outward confidence, but inside he hesitated. If it was the final challenge for the Dragon Army, each more qualified than he was, how could he hope to survive?

But he had made his decision when he had walked away from Myria.

“What do I do?” Simon asked. His voice, to his own ears, sounded firm.

Denner hesitated. “Orgrith Cave,” he said at last. “Seven nights in Orgrith Cave.”

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN
:

O
RGRITH
C
AVE

Orgrith Cave crouched like a burrowed tick at the southeastern corner of the Latari Forest, corrupting all the nearby land. Simon and Denner were still a good mile out, traveling on foot, when the trees began looking smaller and more shriveled. The grasses blackened and dried up, and the dirt that crunched underneath their feet was more sand than soil.

The land didn’t open up much, though; it was as hard to see here as it had been in the thickest of the Latari forest. Jagged spikes of rock dozens of feet tall stabbed into the ground, like the spears of giants. It looked as though someone had stripped the leaves and branches from thousands of trees, leaving only the trunks, and then turned the whole lot to stone.

Denner stopped at the first of the stone spikes, leaning with one hand on its rough surface. Under his other arm he held the red-and-gold book that was Hariman. “I must leave you here. I’m sorry, but it gets dangerous from here on out, and you should face the dangers of the Cave alone.”

Simon eyed the stone forest warily. “This doesn’t look like a cave.”

“The battle that gave birth to Orgrith Cave was long and terrible. The Cave was where it ended; here is where it began. You’re much safer out here than you will be inside, but there is still danger.”

Denner pointed directly into the rocks. “Keep walking as straight as you can and you should not get lost. In only an hour or two, you will reach the cave entrance. Trust me, you won’t miss it.”

“So I just have to survive for one week’s time?”

“More specifically,” Hariman corrected from underneath Denner’s arm, “you must survive inside the cave itself for a week. This is an important distinction. You can’t stay outside longer than the time it takes you to walk there, and then, after seven nights, to walk back.”

“How will you know?” Simon asked. “If I actually go in or not. I could just wait out here until seven nights have passed, and then come back out.”

Denner gave him a sad smile. “Trust me, you’re not the first to think of that. It would be worse for you if you tried, and there are those in Valinhall who have ways of knowing.” Simon shuddered. “I will meet you here seven dawns from now,” Denner continued.
 

Simon glanced at the sun setting over the older man’s shoulder. Seven nights. Almost unconsciously, he loosened his sword in its sheath. Another undersized replica of a Dragon’s Fang, this sword had come from the Valinhall armory and was the only weapon he was allowed to bring besides a belt knife. Aside from his knife and sword, he carried nothing. He would have to forage for food and water inside the Cave itself.