House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (37 page)

“I don’t understand,” Simon said as he continued to work. “He doesn’t know where she is or what she looks like. How is he supposed to find her? How will he even know which girl I’m looking for?”

“That is how good he is,” the Eldest responded. Simon decided to just accept it. He had less than two feet of a Gate revealed, so that the whole of the Gate only stretched from slightly above his head to his chin, when the Eldest said “Go” and the other Nye flowed forward.

It was vaguely disgusting, actually, watching a man-sized robe deflate and flow through a Gate not much bigger than a melon. He had to implode in streams of cloth and shadow and squeeze himself through, like a snake slithering through a knothole.

“Wow,” Andra breathed. She sounded in awe. “When do we learn how to do that?”

***

As Alin wandered deeper into the city, he became more and more certain that his well of good fortune was about to run dry.

Where the houses were mostly pale brick boxes, no one had questioned a man who was obviously a Traveler following his conjured golden hound. Farther in, where the houses were just as often wood or stone as brick, people began to call out to him, to ask him where he was headed, and if he was on some business of the Overlord’s. Typically a display of gold light bursting in the air was enough to earn him some silence. Or at least applause. But here, closer to the center of Bel Calem, where everything was made of imported woods and rare stones and precious metals, no one would be intimidated by a nameless Traveler.

He actually saw a few native Travelers as he followed Keanos deeper into the heart of the city. One of the first things his tutors had taught him was how to identify the different stripes of Traveler, so he was able to identify the first two he passed as hailing from Avernus and Asphodel. The first glared at him, her face almost entirely covered in feathers, and looked as if she would march up and question him about his dog. He hid behind a display of confidence, nodding to her as if in greeting and never slowing. The Asphodel Traveler simply smiled at him and gave him a curtsy, never taking her eyes from the pavement. Not much trouble there, but then, according to the other Travelers from Enosh, Asphodels never made much trouble.

The third Traveler he passed was a pudgy older man in the burnt red robes of Naraka. He was panting and leaning against a wall for support, and looked like he had just come out the wrong end of a bar brawl. A fresh bruise marred one side of his face, and his scalp oozed a trickle of blood.

Then his eyes met Alin’s, and widened. Alin drew in a breath; it was the old Traveler from the Naraka temple, the one he had blasted into the wall. Come to think of it, he probably should have handled that better.

On pure fear, he drew a globe of golden light into his palm. The gold-armored hound growled and crouched, ready to attack at Alin’s word.

The old man raised one crimson-marked hand into the air, and Alin tensed, readying himself to meet the attack.

Then the man threw his other hand up beside it, screaming, “I surrender! Spare me! Help, Traveler! Enemy Traveler! Don’t kill me!” He continued screaming as he hurried away.

Alin stood there in the street, frozen, holding a ball of deadly light in one hand, and feeling like a painted fool.

For a second, the city continued as if no one had heard. Silence flooded in, then the general bustle of the city, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Alin relaxed. Maybe this wasn’t that far from ordinary in Bel Calem, after all.

Then great bells began pealing from every corner of the city in a deafening voice that drowned out the sounds of the city. Keanos began to bark in competition.

A burning comet appeared in the skies over the city, flaring in red and orange as it plummeted down. Alin had only a moment to think
Here! It’s headed here!
before the fireball smashed into the streets in an explosion that dwarfed even the bells. A cloud of dust and bricks shot out in every direction, and only a quick shield of golden light stopped some of them from crashing into Alin’s face with bone-smashing force.

Out of the resulting dust cloud a night-black crocodile’s face rose on a long, scaly neck. Its body was all but invisible in the cloud, but it stretched out two long, serpentine limbs that reached from one side of the street to another. Its ruby eyes locked on Alin, and it shrieked out a challenge. As it did, all of its scales burst simultaneously into searing flame, so that it was wearing a cloak of pure fire.

Wreathed in flame, the creature rushed forward, barreling toward Alin.

Maybe,
Alin thought, in the last instants before he released his power,
I should have just tried sneaking in.

***

In the end, it hadn’t taken the Nye ten minutes. It had only taken him three. Simon counted.

When he returned, he led Simon directly to where Leah was being held captive. Of course, to the Nye, directly meant directly: Simon had to hold on to Nye essence and liquid steel almost constantly as he followed the shadow over rooftops and through locked fences as often as down the street.
 

The long black cloak billowed behind him as he ran along the tiled roofs of Bel Calem, flapping like a flag as he leaped over the gaps between houses. Once, as he leaped from one rooftop to another, his cloak snagged on a weathervane. It snapped tight, pulling him down to slam against the hard tiles of the roof.

Simon scrambled to his feet as soon as possible, freeing the cloak from the weathervane and feeling his face flush.

“This is why you don’t wear cloaks,” Simon muttered.

Nearby, a woman burst out laughing. A gray-haired grandmother in the building next door was peering out her window at him, a basket of laundry tucked under one arm. She laughed again, pointing with her free hand straight at him.

Simon ran after the Nye, who was rapidly vanishing into the distance. His face felt like a bonfire.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that they were headed for the center of the city, where he had always heard the Overlord made his home. He didn’t know which of those palaces belonged to Malachi, but of course it didn’t really matter; if the Nye led him straight to Leah, he would never need to know the identity of the house’s owner. They could just leave, hopefully without Malachi ever knowing Simon had been there.

Once, as he dashed along a roof of red clay tiles, every bell in the city seemed to start ringing at once. He was nearly startled off the roof, and had to grab onto a nearby chimney to regain his balance. Was that sound some kind of alarm? Had he been spotted? How had they known to look for him up here? Maybe there had been some kind of conjured guardian, some invisible sentry set by a Traveler to watch for invasion from the rooftops.

Then he saw the explosion a few streets over, watched dust rise like smoke followed by a shriek and a rising flame. Someone shouted, and he heard a sound like steel on steel. Was there someone fighting down there, right next to a burning building?

“Huh,” he said to himself. “Sure glad that’s not me.”

He briefly considered going to check it out, but the shadow of his Nye guide had grown distant, and he would need to press himself to catch up. He hurried forward, following the black robe.

The Nye led him to a building that towered over its neighbors. It was built chiefly of some dark wood, and its huge windows were made of purple glass. Simon stared at that a moment.
Purple glass?
He thought.
Why does glass need to have a color? It’s glass
. He stared for only a few seconds before following the Nye over its low stone wall and into a garden. The building didn’t look like a palace to him, or anywhere that people would live; it looked more like a cathedral. But then, he had never seen a palace or a cathedral, and he decided it didn’t matter in any case.

The Nye turned toward a tower, pointing a black-gloved hand toward the window at the top.

“The highest window of the tallest tower,” Simon muttered. “Naturally. I’m never going to be able to tell this story to anyone; they’ll laugh in my face.”

Well, it does sound ridiculous, when you put it that way,
Otoku put in from the back of his belt, where he had tied her.

“You’re still here? I meant to leave you back in the House.”

Oh, poor baby,
Otoku said.
You can still bring me back, you know. But when you die because you didn’t get my help, don’t come crying to me.

“So are you going to come with us,” Simon said to the Nye, “or...” he let the rest of the sentence die. Where the Nye had stood, he now saw only the garden.

Don’t feel too bad about that. The Nye can’t stay out of the House for too long. They’re bound to it.

Really?
Simon sent.

Yes. Probably. That’s what we’ve always assumed, anyway, and they’ve never said any different.

Simon began looking for the best handholds on the side of the tower.
So can they stay away from the House, or not?

They never do leave,
Otoku said.
That’s good enough for me. Who knows anything about the Nye, really?

Simon sighed, both in his head and out loud, and checked his wrists. The shadow-chains had not yet crept past his hands, so he should be able to draw on his powers for as long as possible. He wouldn’t have to risk Incarnation, whatever that was, so long as he kept his power to a reasonable level.

Reaching out to Valinhall, he called the strength of steel and the speed of the Nye. Cold power flowed through him.

A heavyset woman in an apron opened a nearby door and saw him standing there, alone in the garden. “You, boy. What did we tell—”

Simon leaped at the tower, and the woman swallowed whatever she was going to say in a shriek.

***

There was some sort of wooden lattice covering one side of the house, ivy laced thickly through and around it. As Simon slammed against the side of the tower, he grabbed a double handful of the wood and ivy, hoping desperately that it would hold him.

Thanks to Benson’s steel, he barely felt the impact against the wall, and he was sure that falling all the way to the ground wouldn’t hurt much either. But if he fell after he had jumped up so dramatically. Otoku would torment him till his deathbed.

The grip under his left hand tore away, giving him a frantic moment to consider the distance to the ground, almost twenty feet down. But though the wood and vines in his right hand creaked and cracked dangerously, they held. He managed to find another handhold on his left and pulled himself up.

After only a few seconds of careful climbing, Simon managed to haul himself onto the sill of a purple window even taller than he was. He tried to look inside, but the dark glass was so thick he could barely make out vague shapes inside, none moving. Probably furniture. He put the room from his mind. The windowsill was wide enough that he could stand, but not so large that he wasn’t just a little nervous. Besides, he was never quite sure how long the steel would last. The freezing torrent through his veins felt as strong as ever, but what if the power faded right before he hit the ground?

Just in case, Simon released the Nye essence. Outside of combat, the slowed time was more disconcerting than helpful, and holding on to two gifts at once would make the chains grow faster. He needed the steel, and this way the Nye essence would be fully recovered when he needed it.

As the world resumed its normal speed, Simon looked around, glancing up and to the side for a hold that might allow him to move higher. Most of the wall was smooth wood, but just outside the frame of the huge window were several gray rocks, circular, seemingly embedded in the wood. They seemed like an odd design choice to Simon, and more trouble than they were worth, but who was he to question rich people?

By standing on the tips of his toes and stretching his right hand out as far as he could, he was just able to wrap his fingers around the nearest rock. It felt like stone—hard and cold and covered in grit—and when he tugged experimentally, it remained solidly attached to the wall. Good enough. Simon pulled against the rock, heaving himself upwards.

Or he tried to. As soon as he applied real force to the rock it pulled free from the wall, as though he had tripped the balance on a hidden latch of some kind. It came completely off in his hand, dropping him back down onto the windowsill. For a moment he swayed dangerously back over the garden until he finally caught his balance and sunk forward against the glass, panting hard.

Get rid of it, now!
Otoku demanded, and he had only a moment to wonder what she was talking about before a piercing shriek stabbed at his ears and nearly made him lose his balance.

Simon tried to cover his ears, but it did no good; the wail cut into his head as if he had his ear pressed against it.

That was when he noticed that what he had taken for a rock was not a rock at all. The side he gripped was still smooth and felt like stone, though it had grown uncomfortably warm in his hand, but the side that had been pressed against the wall looked like the underbelly of a roach. Except that it glowed bright orange, like new coals. Six glowing orange legs kicked frantically at the air, and the shriek went on and on.

Simon hurled it into the garden, more out of disgust than anything else. His steel-enhanced strength sent it flying much farther than he intended, and he heard the thing’s wail steadily fade into the distance until it hit the ground. Then, at last, silence.

Otoku’s voice bit into him:
You didn’t expect something like this? Really? How else did you think a Traveler would protect his home?

“This is exactly the sort of thing the Nye could have told me,” Simon said testily. His heart was still pounding, and his ears ringing. “Can you find me another way up there? I don’t want to be standing here when somebody hears—”

Otoku cried out a warning just as the window in front of him shattered, stabbing and slicing him in a thousand little pinpricks. Instinctively he squeezed his eyes shut and threw an arm across his face, protecting his eyes from the glass, but as a result he didn’t see whatever it was that wrapped around his entire torso and dragged him inside.