City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (21 page)

But this wasn’t it.

Before he knew it, he had dropped Azura. The blade shimmered and vanished into Valinhall before it hit the ground. Benson’s steel gripped his muscles and flowed like an icy river through his veins.

A second later, he stood face-to-face with the Elysian Incarnation.

For the first instant, Alin ignored him.

Then, with his right hand, Simon peeled Alin’s gauntleted hand away from Ilana’s shoulder.

Alin looked at his own hand curiously. “Valinhall, right? I should have paid more attention to you.”

Red light wound up his arm like a snake, or like the chains currently crawling up Simon’s own arms. Suddenly, Alin was just as strong as Simon. They struggled silently for a moment, both of them locked in the same position. Then Alin started to bend Simon’s arm back.

By then, Simon had already done what he intended to do. For one thing, Alin had been forced away from his sister.

And Simon’s left hand had made it into the pocket of his cloak.

He pulled out the mask and pressed it on. For a moment, his own breathing echoed against the metal of the mask, sounding hollow and tinny in his own ears. The slits in the front of the mask were so thin that they left him almost blind.

Then the eyes flared white, and the mask was all but transparent. His steel thundered through his veins, and the Nye essence—depleted to almost nothing an instant before—roared into his lungs like a freezing hurricane.

Time slowed almost to a stop. He could hear Indirial shouting, warning everyone to get back, before the world slowed so much that he could no longer understand speech.

Then he pulled his fist back and punched Alin in the face.

The air echoed with a crack like rock being split by a sledgehammer, and Alin flew backwards like a golden arrow launched from a bow. He smashed through the closed doors, which had been designed to only swing inward, landing in a tumble of gold limbs all the way across the street.

See?
Rebekkah said, sounding as smug as Caela.
I knew you were going to get into a fight today.

***

Above him, Cana’s sky shone crimson.

Zakareth stood atop his palace and watched the people beneath him. They hurried from one place to another in clusters of five or ten, shepherded by hovering globes of Lirial crystal. The spheres didn’t look threatening, more like floating balls of mirrored glass than anything, but a few statues adorned the streets here and there, men and women sealed into crystal. The others understood.

The King hated the waste. He could see the life, the blood, the energy of the living beings sealed into rock. He had to leave them there, to serve as object lessons for the others, but with the power sitting unused on his city streets in plain view, he could shatter the gates of Elysia.

“I know that look,” Cynara said from beside him. She sat, as usual, on her carved wooden throne in the antechamber of Ragnarus. The Gate swirled in the air a few feet to his right. He left it open almost all the time now. The price wasn’t worth mentioning, and he felt invigorated by the constant breath from his Territory.

“You have plenty of power,” the Queen went on. “You’re more than ready. We’re only waiting for the right opportunity.”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, where she burned like one of the Vault’s crimson torches. She had so much power, sadly limited to the borders of Ragnarus. If only he could find a way to break her out of there…

But no, she was blending into the fabric of the Territory too well. Already her skin had lost its sheen of metal. Her limbs were still red, but the dull shade of painted flesh instead of shining scarlet. And her advice had gotten increasingly difficult to comprehend.

Plenty
of power?

He ground the butt of his ruby-studded staff against the tiled roof of his palace. The Rod of Harmony had never been his favorite weapon; it required him to wait for someone to attack
him,
and he had always been more comfortable on the offense. He would have preferred his Lightning Spear, but his daughter had kept it in her possession for weeks now without returning it to the Crimson Vault. He could summon it to himself, but doing so would alert her to his presence.

“Their energy is wasted,” Zakareth said. “Power without purpose is wasted. It must be directed.” And he should be the one to direct it, but that went without saying. He was the only one who could see the flow of scarlet potential within every living being. Who better to guide their combined force?

Cynara’s glowing eyes had dimmed to little more than a pair of red sparks, but they grew troubled. “We have to consider the balance. Every cost fully paid, every reward fairly purchased. But they have paid a great price on our behalf. Where is their return?”

Zakareth turned to look straight at her, staff clenched in his hand. If she was going to be a problem, he intended to solve it now. “This is unlike you. We have set our course, and I, for one, intend to see it to the end.”

Slowly, Cynara shook her head, her burning eyes far away. “No. This
is
like me, for the first time since my awakening. I think…”

She didn’t finish her thought. Their attention had been captured by a thousand flashes of light, as though every mirror in the city had been turned to catch the sun at once. The floating Lirial globe flared, as did the prisons of crystal surrounding their frozen inmates.

The powers of Lirial welcomed their Incarnation.

Zakareth hefted the Rod of Harmony, preparing to pay its price. The Rod demanded emotions: it drained the user’s feelings, eventually leaving them a cold shell.

During his first life, Zakareth had used the Rod three times. Not enough to effect him significantly, in his opinion; he had never been the most passionate of men. Now, he couldn’t pay the Rod’s price at all.

He had others to do that for him.

As he had expected, the Lirial Incarnation struck from behind while his attention was on her flashy display down in the streets. A blinding light flared behind him, and he felt his body grow slow and heavy as the will of Lirial sealed him into place.

The deep red gem on the end of his Rod flickered once, with a bloody light. He felt the well of emotions he had drawn from some of his citizens lessen, flowing out to pay the cost of the Ragnarus weapon.

He still couldn’t turn his head to see his attacker. His neck was frozen in place overlooking the streets below.

The King heaved his arm into the air, raising the Rod high. The white light of Lirial touched the gem and was reflected, focused back on its source. Zakareth felt his limbs lighten at once, and turned to face the Incarnation.

She hardly looked human. She was like a featureless statue hewn from white crystal and wrapped in random loops of silver wire. The wire spiraled down her body, becoming a metallic tunic that flashed in the sun, and loosened again in lazy circles around her ankles.

Her eyes were globes of white so bright that they stood out even against her crystal skin. They shone with fear as she realized what had happened: her own efforts to bind him had been returned to her.

“Please…” she whispered, in a voice like the ring of silver. “Mercy…”

“Mercy is no part of what we are,” Zakareth said. It was true; neither Ragnarus nor Lirial accounted mercy as a virtue. The merciful died as easily on the Crystal Fields as they did in the Crimson Vault. But Lirial Travelers were rare, and he couldn’t afford to spend time waiting for another to Incarnate. Sometimes, the price wasn’t worth the reward.

He cut off the binding.

“Be careful that you don’t run up a debt you cannot pay,” the King said, looking down upon his subject. The Lirial Incarnation sagged to her knees, begging his forgiveness, but she would already be calculating her next attempt to overthrow him. Of course she would be. She was Lirial.

“Report,” he commanded.

“The Elysian Incarnation has all but total control over the city,” she said, meeting his red eyes with her white. “He has already divided Enosh into nine Districts, in imitation of the City of Light itself.” Her tone held admiration. She had once served the Elysian Travelers, including the last Incarnation of Elysia. He knew this, and monitored her behavior accordingly. “The few rebellious elements have been crushed, and he has recruited a large force of Travelers to his cause. He calls upon forty-two Asphodel, thirty Avernus, sixteen Endross, twenty-four Helgard, seven Lirial, eleven Naraka, twenty-eight Ornheim, and thirty-seven Tartarus.”

“Almost two hundred Travelers,” Zakareth murmured, turning the numbers over in his head. That was far more than he would have expected to survive the quiet fall of Enosh. Even Zakareth could not field so many Travelers with only Cana in his possession, though he held weapons far more potent than any human Travelers.

“One hundred ninety-five,” the Lirial Incarnation corrected automatically.
 

Zakareth tapped the ruby at the end of his Rod against the roof tiles, thinking. He caught a glimpse of red lips pursed in careful thought and realized that Cynara had remained silent through Lirial’s whole report.

He turned to her, Rod of Harmony held in his right fist. “I would have your counsel, Queen Cynara.”

She was quiet for a handful of seconds, tapping crimson nails against the arm of her chair. “Let us hear the rest of Lirial’s story before I render judgment,” she said at last.

Lirial looked up, startled.

Zakareth kept an eye on the Incarnation, but addressed his words to Cynara. “She was ordered only to record the Travelers in the Elysian Incarnation’s employ.”

“Lirial watches,” Cynara said, her voice gaining a rhythm as though she were quoting something. “Lirial listens. Lirial holds secrets tight, and never lets them go. None of us can fight our natures. Can we, Zakareth?”

The King ignored the question and turned back to Lirial. He held out his left hand, and a red stone hammer dropped into it. The weapon was carved out of one piece of stone, its head worked into the image of a snarling bear.

Hammer in his left hand and Rod in his right, King Zakareth walked forward until he stood over the trembling woman of silver-and-crystal. “Give me your secrets, Incarnation of Lirial,” he said softly.

She trembled for a moment, and glimmering white dust fell from her skin like sweat. “Your Successor is in Enosh. She has the young Valinhall Traveler, two Overlords, an old woman, and five Travelers with her. The old one and the guards remained behind, in Naraka.”

If she was in Enosh, that meant she was acting against the Elysian Incarnation. Then he could leave Leah unharmed, for now. As a Ragnarus Traveler, her blood was valuable, and he had no desire to hurt her. So long as she served his greater purpose.

“Two Overlords,” he repeated. “Which?”

“The Avernus, Feiora Torannus,” she said. “And the Valinhall Traveler, Indirial, son of Aleias.”

Zakareth turned to Cynara, and red eyes met red eyes. She began to laugh, and even the King felt himself give a small smile.

Sometimes, when you paid the appropriate price, the universe rewarded you with an unexpected bonus.

“The time has come,” he said, striding forward with a new sense of purpose. His heavy armor crushed tiles underneath his feet. “Send out the word, Lirial. It is time to release the Incarnations.”

Lirial looked as though she would protest, but her white eyes dimmed, and she raised a hand. Once again, all across the city, silver-white light flared.

This time, there was an answer.

From the east quarter of the city, mist rose and rolled down the streets. A single yellow flower, tall enough to show even over three story buildings, spread petals each the size of a ship’s sail.

From the south quarter, a roar shook all of Cana. A lightning bolt shot up from the streets and into stormclouds that gathered overhead.

In the west quarter, snowy winds swirled faster and faster as a blizzard gathered around an enslaved Incarnation of ice.

In the north, a gleaming giant of pure, mirror-bright steel leaped onto a house. He ran from building to building, shattering chimneys and churning tiles into dust as he hurried to heed his master’s call.

They all hated King Zakareth, but their fear was greater, and their desire to serve their Territories greater still. As long as he allowed them to each express their unique natures, he could guide them to a greater purpose. His purpose.

Zakareth reached out one hand and placed it against the Pillar of Sunset. Its red-and-black marbled surface pulsed with living heat, and the scarlet dome over Cana’s sky pulsed in time.

The King couldn’t help but notice his own hand, pushed against the pillar. He wore a gauntlet of black and red, chased with gold, but he was seeing flashes of red and gold from between the armor’s joints.

Was that his hand? He rejected the idea instinctively. That couldn’t be
his
hand within the gauntlet. There was something inside made of metal, not flesh. For an instant, the thought disturbed him. But only for an instant.

He had paid his price. Now it was time to reap the rewards.

He tore his power from the Pillar, and it crumbled into ash and dust. The red veil in the sky tore itself to shreds and vanished, letting through the painfully bright sun and vivid blue sky for the first time in six months.

Counting himself, he had half a dozen Incarnations under his control.

And now they were free.

From behind the Ragnarus Gate, Cynara kept her eyes fixed on the approaching Tartarus Incarnation, its steel armor gleaming under the newly revealed sun. “He will need a gatecrawler, and then the Spyglass to help him find the Gate. Perhaps something to help him once he’s inside. That’s quite a bill you’re running up, for a single Territory.”

“I assure you,” King Zakareth said, “the prize is worth the cost.”

Indirial would have left from Leah’s camp, just outside Cana’s walls. Which meant there would be the residue of an old Valinhall Gate somewhere down there.

They only had to find it.

***

Get up!
the Gold Light screamed.
You have to fight!