House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (34 page)

M
IDSUMMER
'
S
E
VE

358
th
Year of the Damascan Calendar

24
th
Year in the Reign of King Zakareth VI

1 Day Until Midsummer

Simon lay in the rumbling wagon bed, head pillowed on a burlap sack of grain.

“How am I supposed to find them anyway?” he said. “It’s not like I can just walk up to the Overlord and ask him.”

Otoku’s laugh was like chimes in the wind.

Poor child,
she murmured in mock sympathy.
Maybe you should let Chaim tell you what to do. He can keep you in a box and take you out when he needs someone to swing a sword
.

“I can’t leave them here, and I can’t talk them out of going. So I might as well go with them. We’ll all be safer that way.” He wasn’t sure he believed it, but he thought he sounded certain.

So you go forth to battle lying on the back of a wagon. The brave warrior, napping his way to battle!

Simon rolled onto his side and glared at the doll. She was a little smaller than Caela, with a red silk dress and long black hair. Her painted face looked similar, as though the same artist had designed them both, but where Caela’s face was locked into an expression of peace, Otoku looked upon the world with an eternal smirk.

“Did you make fun of Kai like this?”

Otoku’s smirk suddenly looked like a grimace, and despite the shaking of the rickety wagon, Simon would have sworn she shuddered.

Kai never understood when he was being mocked. He just hugged us, and cradled us, and stroked our hair. It was awful.
 

“That doesn’t sound too bad.”

He
stroked
our
hair.
We need brushed occasionally, of course, but he’s not a nine-year-old girl.
There is no decency in his soul.

“Well, I always thought he was insane.”

You don’t know the half
.

Over the creak of the wagons came the crack of a whip, the lowing of oxen, and the call of a man’s voice. A few other Myrians scrambled onboard the wagon, crouching down next to Simon and the boxes.

“What’s happening?” Simon asked, sitting up.

A girl of about eleven years answered in a whisper, “We’re at Bel Calem, Master Simon. They’re looking in the wagons.”

“Looking for us?” Simon asked immediately. He reached out a hand, preparing to summon Azura.

The girl shook her head. “I don’t think so. Master Chaim and Mistress Nurita are talking to them. I think they just want to see what we’re up to.”

“If we’re not in danger,” Simon whispered back, “then why are you hiding?”

The girl’s face darkened. “I don’t want them Damascans knowing what I look like. Not till it’s too late.” Her hand drifted down to her side, where a cheap dagger was tucked into the length of rope she used as a belt. She gripped the dagger hard.

Though he didn’t quite understand why, Simon felt his heart clench.

A couple of Damascans in brown and purple uniforms glanced into the wagon, took in the suspicious Myrians, and let the canvas fall shut with bored faces. It seemed they really didn’t care who came into the city.

If that was true, though, why check at all?

After a few more minutes of rumbling along, the wagon lurched to a halt. Chaim stuck his head in, motioning for Simon to come join him. Simon hurriedly snatched Otoku up and followed. The other villagers hiding in the wagon gave Simon odd looks.

Behold the conquering hero
, Otoku murmured,
dashing off to war with his favorite doll
.

Don’t flatter yourself
, Simon sent back, careful to keep from speaking aloud.
You’re not my favorite.

Otoku made a sound that, even in her drifting, breezy voice, sounded like a ‘hmph.’

Just give it time
, she said.

The walls of Bel Calem were not as big as Simon had imagined: scarcely a dozen feet tall and not wide enough for sentries to walk atop them. That was something of a disappointment; he had always pictured grand walls big enough to block out half the sky. At least they were made of stone.
 

The group from Myria waited just outside the walls, though the gates stood open. Chaim had circled their three wagons as best he could, giving them some degree of privacy from the city. The oxen grazed on the sparse field outside Bel Calem, while industrious boys and girls removed their yokes and rubbed them down.

“They didn’t want strange oxen inside the walls,” Chaim told Simon, as soon as they were clear of the wagon. “Made us leave the animals outside. Don’t care what we do, though.”

The bulk of the group from Myria, maybe thirty or forty all told, milled around in the center of the circled wagons. Simon followed Chaim closer.

Chaim turned toward Simon and clapped his hands together. His smile was fatherly. “So, Simon,” he said. “What now?”

Seemingly half the crowd turned to hear Simon’s answer.

With all the wit Simon could muster, he said, “What?”

Nurita joined Chaim from the crowd, a stern look upon her face and voice pitched to carry. “We’re on the Overlord’s very doorstep,” she declared, and the crowd murmured agreement. “You are our strongest sword. We have only to strike.” Simon felt a twist of unease at hearing such words spoken openly a few feet from Bel Calem’s walls.

“So...where do we go?” Simon asked. In his head, Otoku started laughing.

Chaim gestured vaguely. “Couldn’t you just do something to find them? With your Traveling?”

“I don’t think so. Once we find out where they are I can fight my way in, but until we do...” Simon shrugged self-consciously. “Any ideas?”

Nurita scowled at him, obviously disappointed. Chaim just looked baffled. But they recovered quickly, taking suggestions from the rest of the crowd. Soon they were discussing a plan that involved somehow finding where the captives were hidden, somehow forcing their way inside, and then somehow escaping without being torn to pieces by summoned beasts.

Simon shrunk into himself as they discussed such things without him. He could fight better than all of them put together, sure, but he had much less experience. And they had just as much of a reason to recover the captives as he did. Maybe more; some of those here had lost kin to the slavers’ ropes, while Simon had not.

He had almost talked himself into giving up and waiting for Chaim to tell him what to do when a gold-armored dog bounded between the wagons. The gold plates of its armor shone even brighter than they should have in the direct sunlight, its bark somehow resounding like a great bell. Most of the villagers stumbled back en masse, crying at its sudden appearance. Some stabbed down at it with stolen Damascan swords, though their blades were turned by its armor.

The dog, a waist-high beast with white hair peeking out between the plates of its shining armor, ignored them all, circling inside the wagons and letting out more of those echoing barks. Oddly, Simon noticed that the oxen didn’t seem alarmed by the beast’s arrival, continuing to calmly chew on grass and brambles.

While the crowd was still milling and Simon was still trying to decide whether or not he should attack, Alin stepped in between two wagons.

His fine clothes—once a suit of blue, probably, and certainly more expensive than Alin had ever before owned—had gone through a forest of thorns and a house fire. Possibly at the same time. The ash streaked on his face looked like war paint, and he strode into their midst like a battle-scarred king among his subjects.

The Myrians cheered when they saw him. A few fell to their knees.

“Brothers and sisters!” Alin exclaimed, throwing out his arms. “Welcome! I can’t tell you what good it does my heart, seeing you here today.”

Simon almost gagged at the speech. Alin was speaking like he imagined a hero would in one of his stories. By all rights the other villagers should recognize it and laugh him away. Judging by their faces, though, they were eating out of his hand.

“Alin,” Chaim called, “we’re ready. They took us captive, but we escaped. We are armed and ready to stand against the Overlord.”

Nurita shouldered her way to stand beside him. “And Simon’s a Traveler now, apparently.” She pointed a finger straight at him.

Now why had she said that? Simon hunched his shoulders and looked away from Alin’s disbelieving glance.

“Really?” Alin asked politely. “Which Territory, Simon?”

“Valinhall,” Simon responded. Why was he feeling defensive? He was a Traveler. He was! He had earned it! But for some reason he felt like a child propping up a disguise that the adults would soon see through. It made him angry.

“I’ve never heard of that one,” Alin said.

And how would you?
Simon thought. Alin was talking like he had had a fancy education in the ways of Travelers, but he had grown up a quarter mile away from the hut where Simon had been born. Alin didn’t know anything more than Simon did.

But Simon kept his mouth shut. Otoku laughed again, scornfully.

“Will you be able to fight, when the time comes?” Alin asked.

“Yes,” Simon responded. He offered nothing more. He didn’t have to prove himself to Alin.

Alin looked doubtful, but he shrugged and wiped the doubt from his face, smiling instead. “Good enough for me,” he said.

***

Alin knelt by Keanos, reaching between the plates of golden armor to ruffle the hound’s ears. The beast leaned into Alin’s hand, eyes half-closed, glowing with pleasure.

“Seek,” Alin said softly, and Keanos let out one ringing bark before trotting off through the city gates.

The humans followed, walking together between the guards. The guards glanced at each other but let them pass, and Alin heaved a relieved sigh. He hadn’t been sure they would be allowed to enter. Nurita had wisely insisted that the villagers limit themselves to whatever weapons they could hide, since a bunch of country folk marching into the city carrying weapons might well draw the wrong kind of attention. They should be safe, since there was nothing obviously dangerous about their group, but who knew what the guards would notice?

And then, of course, there was Keanos. Alin had never seen Bel Calem before, but he suspected glowing gold-armored dogs weren’t common. As the hound leaped over the stone-paved streets of the city, weaving his way through the crowd with his nose pressed to the ground, people noticed. They gasped, shouted, or hurried out of the way. One woman with a woven basket in her hands turned, caught a glimpse of the glowing hound, and shrieked, tossing her basket into the air. Figs, olives, and tiny round loaves of bread rolled all over the street.

They had followed the dog for only ten minutes when two soldiers in purple-and-brown ducked in out of a side street, carrying long spears. Alin braced himself for a fight, reaching out to Elysia and stopping a hair’s breadth from calling its power. If they attacked, he would be ready.

The helmeted soldiers surveyed the procession of Myrians and stepped back against the wall of a nearby shop to let them pass. As Keanos trotted past them, they kept their eyes fixed on the opposite side of the street.

Alin kept walking after the hound, his confidence growing. The guards clearly recognized the dog as Traveler work, and had apparently decided to keep their hands out of the matter.

Wise decision
, Alin thought, and ignored the soldiers as he marched past. He didn’t so much as turn to look in their direction.
 

Keanos finally stopped almost an hour later, plopping down on his haunches in front of an ordinary-looking house, the sort that Alin had seen a hundred times since passing through the Bel Calem gates. It was a simple cube, made of pale yellow bricks, with a door of plain wood and a single window covered by a red-patterned curtain.

“This is it?” Simon asked. He moved up to stand next to Alin, doubt showing in every line of his face.

Alin suppressed a twinge of annoyance. Who was Simon to doubt the hound’s tracking? Simon certainly hadn’t done anything to help. “Yes,” he said. “Keanos found someone from our village inside that house. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Keanos gave another ringing bark. A few women who had been chatting across the street stopped, startled, and turned to look.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Simon asked. He stepped forward and knocked on the door.

“Just a moment!” a woman called from inside the house. “Just...wait right there!”

Simon made as if to open the door anyway, but Alin gestured him back. They didn’t need a hotheaded response, but a mature discussion. Besides, Alin was confident that he alone could handle any trouble that might be waiting inside. It wouldn’t hurt to show this woman a little courtesy.

After a few more seconds, in which Alin heard the clatter of furniture and the sounds of someone muttering to herself, a woman tore open her door. Strands of white hair stuck out in all directions from underneath a red kerchief, and the wide-eyed expression of fear on her wrinkled face suggested she thought they were there to rob her.

“May I help you?” she asked. Her voice creaked and trembled.

Alin cleared his throat, embarrassed. This had to be the wrong house. But Keanos just sat there on his haunches, staring into the open doorway as though the woman didn’t exist. How was he supposed to handle this?

You’re the mighty Traveler now
, he thought.
Act like it
.

But he had hesitated too long. The woman’s eyes found the crowd behind him and widened even further. But that hardly touched her reaction when she noticed the bright gold-armored dog at her feet.

“Seven stones,” she whispered. “What is that? Who are you? Did the Overlord send you?”

Behind Alin, Simon muttered something that sounded like “...getting really sick of that.”

Alin put on what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Ma’am, is there anyone else at home? Anybody else in the house?”

She half-covered her mouth with one hand and glanced behind her, as though she thought his words might have summoned a thief into her home.