House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (26 page)

Kai pushed Azura’s hilt toward Simon. “Take it.”

Hesitantly, Simon did so. The hilt was wrapped in black cloth, but tightly enough that he knew it would never slip. As he had suspected, its length made it awkward; even the slightest shift in his grip made the end swerve toward the wagon’s canvas.

“Too heavy?” Kai asked.

It wasn’t. The cool power running through his veins mocked weight so trivial; he might as well have been carrying a stalk of wheat. Simon hefted it up and down experimentally, careful not to cut anything.

This is amazing,
Simon thought. How had his life changed so much in just a few weeks? His chest tightened abruptly with the realization, the overwhelming feeling, that his world wasn’t ever going to be the same.

Plus, now he had a huge sword. His six-year-old self would have been delighted.

“That’s one of the purposes of this trial,” Kai continued. “To make sure you’re physically strong enough for one of the Dragon’s Fangs. But there’s one more purpose, too.”

Simon’s eyes snapped up from the end of the sword to Kai. He didn’t want to look too eager, but it sounded like Kai was about to hand him another miracle.

“Reach deeply,” Kai said, “as you did before. Only this time, picture the entry hall. Call out to it, like you did to Benson for steel.”

Simon reached, stretching out, straining, drawing on the power of Valinhall. Nothing happened.

He opened his mouth to say so, but his master cut him off. “Now move the tip of the sword down, through the air. As if you are tearing a curtain hanging from the wagon’s roof, but much slower.”

Simon did so slowly, carefully, feeling a little foolish. He held the vision of the entry—with its mirrors, wooden sword racks, and soft red couches—tightly in his mind.

The tip of the sword moved through the air about an inch before Simon felt the faintest resistance, as if the sword had reached the edge of an invisible sheet of parchment. Simon drew the sword down a little at a time, slicing through...something, as he did.

Following Azura’s descent, the world tore open, revealing wood-paneled walls, empty sword racks, and gilt-framed mirrors. As though the image of the wagon had just been printed on a curtain, and Valinhall rested behind.

When Simon brought the tip of the sword down to rest on the wooden planks of the wagon bed, wood-scented wind blew from the ragged oval Gate in the air. On an impulse, Simon stuck his arm through, into the entry hall. The air on the other side felt noticeably cooler.

He pulled his arm back out and grinned over at Kai, thrilled with the sense of power. But Kai wasn’t smiling anymore. Kai drew the backs of his fingertips slowly down the doll’s blond hair. With a look as though he were watching his sister die, Kai set the doll down on the crate next to him.

Then he stood up and walked over to Simon, clapping a hand on his shoulder. Kai never made any sort of friendly gesture, so this one caught Simon off guard. For a moment, he wondered if it meant he had done something wrong.

“Azura is yours,” Kai said. “Treat her well.”

Simon blinked at him as though he were speaking another language. “There are a bunch of swords without an owner, right? I thought I was going to get one of those.”

Kai shook his head. “If we could just hand them out as we wished, much of my life would have been simpler. But if we do, they will be no more than steel for you. The House has chosen, and we must respect its choice. If you tried to use a different blade, you’d never be able to open a Gate, nor would you enjoy its...other benefits.”
 

Simon waited for a moment, but Kai said no more. After a handful of awkward seconds, Simon ventured, “So you want me to ask about the other benefits?”

Kai muttered to himself, then sighed. “You know, little mouse, you...never mind. You’ve seen already that members of the Army have their own bedroom with its own number. Mine is number seven. Azura is the seventh Demon Fang forged by the Wanderer, so only Azura’s bond can open that room. The seventh bedroom is yours now, along with everything in it.”

If Simon’s jaw wasn’t hanging open, it was only because he was too stunned to do more than freeze. The sword he had just received was probably worth more than everything in his house in the village had been, and ordinarily he would have been too shocked to even accept. But he had expected to earn one of the thirteen Fangs, if not Azura, so that hadn’t come as much of a surprise. The bedroom was something else entirely. It was twice as big as his house, and a thousand times better appointed. Even sleeping on the floor next to the bed for a few months had been more comfort than Simon had ever expected. To have the whole room to himself was beyond imagining.

Weakly, Simon said, “But it’s bigger than my whole house.” It was the closest he could come to a protest.

One corner of Kai’s mouth twitched up, and it looked like he was about to laugh. “Not anymore.” He nodded towards the open Gate. “Now your House is much bigger.”

To his shame, Simon almost choked up. Somehow the otherworldly powers of a Traveler didn’t seem as great a gift as somewhere to stay.

“I’ve got other business to see to,” Kai said, “and so do you. So listen close, little mouse, and perhaps you won’t get eaten up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“First, each of the swords comes with an advisor. Someone to guide you, to teach you, to help you in battle. You met Hariman, didn’t you?”

It took Simon a second to recognize the name of Denner’s talking book. He nodded.

“And, of course, you’ve seen mine.” He gestured to the doll lying on the crate, and sadness passed over his face again. “My lovely little ones. I will miss them so. They’re so much better than...”

His voice trailed off. Simon glanced back at the doll, remembering all those haunting whispers at odd times. Maybe those had been, as he had once suspected, the dolls communicating with Kai. Giving him advice?
 

Of course, Kai still might be insane. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

“Now,” Kai said, “a warning.” He held up the back of his hand, and it took Simon a second to recognize the mark on the back of Kai’s hand: a single link of chain, written in shadow.

“I keep my chains under control,” Kai said. “The more you use your powers—and the deeper you draw on Valinhall—the more the chains will grow. The longer you resist, the more the chains shrink. Right now they will grow quickly, and they will vanish quickly. This will not always be the case.”

Kai’s voice got quiet, and he stared at the back of his hand. “Do not let the chains cover your body,” he said.

“What? Why?” Simon asked, shaken. The chains were already up past his elbows; how much longer did he have? “What will happen if they do?”

“Incarnation,” Kai responded. “Later you should ask the dolls—we are running out of time.”

Simon glanced nervously down at his arms.

“One final thing,” Kai said, and his voice was strong again. “The children you saved. You know they are Damascan?”

Simon shrugged, uncomfortable. “It’s not so rare. Back home, we all thought Leah’s father must be Damascan, because her eyes were blue. And Alin’s family was supposed to have a touch of it, way back.”

“I do not accuse you, little mouse. You did a good thing. But this family has at least one soldier with them.”

Simon thought of the man with the iron-gray hair. He nodded.
 

“One soldier, and enough wagons to supply many more,” Kai said. “Why do five people need four wagons? And since you fell asleep, the wagons have been moving. Back toward Myria. Why would they be doing that, I wonder?”

Simon could think of no response. He had felt safe sleeping here, but now he wondered if he was in hostile country after all.

Kai walked through the Gate, still talking. “Troubling questions. I suggest you leave as soon as you can. Nothing good can come of staying here.”

“I’ll be going to Bel Calem,” Simon said. “I’ve got to get everyone out.”

“You’ve slept a long time, boy,” Kai responded. “Nine days left until midsummer. Tomorrow, the sacrifices will begin.”

The Gate was closing now, reversing the direction in which Simon had carved it. The hole slid over Kai’s feet, his shins, steadily closing him inside the House.

“Master, you won’t have your sword anymore. Won’t you need one?”

Kai cocked his head. “Azura has always belonged to another. I was only borrowing her for a pleasant while. But now,” his face turned grim, “now I have to get my sword back.”

The opening was only about as big as a window now, and through it Simon saw the older man turn on his heel and walk deeper into Valinhall. Without looking back, Kai waved one hand in the air, a gesture of farewell.

And the Gate winked shut.

***

The old man’s name was Boez, and he screamed her name as Malachi’s soldiers dragged him away. He reached out a hand, at the last instant, as though he expected her to save him.

Leah turned her face away, tasting bile.

“Don’t tell me you’ve developed a tender stomach now, of all times,” Malachi said. He himself sat across from her, the folding table between them covered in a neat white tablecloth. Breakfast sat before them: sliced bread, tea, a selection of local fruits. Malachi speared a fig on a small two-tined fork, lifting it to his mouth and chewing with obvious pleasure.

Boez’s scream, muffled by the wall between them, made her stomach twist again.

“I find that the wails of the damned make a poor appetizer,” Leah replied. Her plate was clean, and as far as she was concerned it would remain that way.

Malachi smoothed a lock of silver-streaked hair over his ear, examining the effect in the back of a spoon. He was a vain man, of the sort Leah had never been able to stand. He always wore one or another of his colors, though rarely both at the same time, since ‘Purple and brown go together worse than fire and salt.’ Those were his exact words, and Naraka take her if she had any idea what they meant. He was wearing brown today, though she more often saw him in purple.

“I had thought you would be accustomed to such accompaniment,” he said. He never took his eyes off his own reflection. “After all, you have lived your life in the presence of the King himself. And we have both tasted the fruits of Ragnarus, have we not?”

Leah fixed him with her coolest stare and arched one eyebrow. “You presume to know the nature of my experience?”

Malachi grunted a laugh and took a sip of tea. A sound like weeping drifted through the walls. “Hardly. But I can’t help but wonder if your recent experience has softened you, even after a lifetime of training.”

She kept her eyes fixed and expressionless, but inside she winced. He was right, as far as it went; she found it almost impossible to retain the necessary distance from the sacrifices when they had fed her and treated her as family for the past year. And she knew they still thought of her as one of them, despite everything.

Deliberately Leah reached for a piece of bread and tore off a corner. “If you are so concerned about my breakfast habits,” she said, “then I will put you at ease.”

She stared at him in challenge as she ate, and caught a flash of irritation that he was too slow to hide. He obviously considered her presence here a burden, as though the King was directly interfering in his affairs. Well, that was just too bad.

Her latest orders from the capital, passed through her Territory of Ragnarus, had been explicit: stay where you are and wait. The Elysian will come to you.

He hadn’t done so thus far, but her father seemed not to care.

“So tell me again about this Elysian Traveler,” Malachi said. “Your age, is he? A villager?

Rather than speak through a mouthful of breakfast, Leah nodded.

“And why do you expect him to come here?”

Leah swallowed and took a sip of tea before answering. The tea was actually quite good. “Based on what I know of him, and what I’ve heard from Enosh, he has an inflated opinion of his own abilities. And he blames you, personally, for what happened in Myria.”

Malachi made a sound like “tsk” and rolled his eyes. “That again. Collecting the sacrifice is usually such a simple affair. Easier than collecting taxes, to tell you the truth. I was hoping Yakir would be able to keep Cormac in line. I’m almost glad he’s dead, but he was my only Endross.”

“Regardless,” Leah went on, “he blames you, not Cormac.”

“So he’s going to challenge me on his own,” Malachi said. Unexpectedly, he smiled. “I like it. Shows spirit. Charge right in and fight, face to face. None of this dancing around and maneuvering business.”

“He’s a fool,” Leah said. The sad thing was, Alin would probably see matters in much the same way. By all accounts, he had taken this hero business far too closely to heart.

Malachi relaxed and popped a fruit in his mouth, leaning back in his chair as he did so. “I don’t mind fools,” he said. “We should all have a little bit more foolishness in our lives. Don’t you agree?”

Leah stared at him a moment before collecting herself. She couldn’t help it. For a moment there, as he relaxed, he had seemed almost...competent. Even dangerous. Like a real Overlord. She had always heard rumors that Malachi’s wife was the one who kept his realm running smoothly, and in the few weeks she had spent in Bel Calem, she had seen Adrienne prove her worth far more often than her husband. But perhaps there was something in Malachi beneath the surface, after all.

Boez screamed again.

“The sacrifices I have witnessed were not usually so...vocal,” Leah said. It was a lie, of course; she had never been allowed to witness a sacrifice. But she had always pictured them as quick, like a clean decapitation or an efficient hanging.

Malachi’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? This is only my second round of sacrifices, but they’re all drawn-out affairs. Then again, perhaps the others are different.”

“Perhaps they are,” Leah said. Best to keep her statements as neutral as possible, so Malachi would assume she knew more than she did.

“Or maybe the Tree is hungry today,” Malachi said idly.

And, while Leah’s thoughts were elsewhere, her mouth betrayed her.