City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (41 page)

The second throbbed and pulsed in time with the beat of Zakareth’s own chest. The Heart of Rebirth wasn’t a pleasant artifact, and it had taken several citizens of Cana to pay enough of its cost to make it functional.

But now the price would justify itself. He clapped once, sending out his will in an invisible wave.

Deep within the House of Blades, the Incarnation of Tartarus began pulling himself together.

For an instant, Zakareth felt another expression of Ragnarus power, pulsing to a different beat. It was more distant, and in another direction…it seemed to be coming from the hill on which Leah stood.

That made sense. Leah was the only active Ragnarus Traveler left. She had almost unrestricted access to the Vault, so it was no surprise that she would have something of his. He recognized the Lightning Spear she held, though. This was something else, something he almost remembered…

But once again, he put aside irrelevant thoughts to focus on the mission at hand.

“Do what you must,” King Zakareth said. “It’s time for me to slip the muzzle back over my hound.” Then he stepped out over Cana’s wall.

His foot came down on a tower of packed snow that hadn’t been there before. Helgard waited at the foot of the wall, holding a book in front of her frozen eyes. Zakareth walked forward, each step landing on a slightly lower tower of snow, as though he walked down a staircase that existed only because he needed it.

Behind him, the Incarnation of Valinhall was giving orders. The King allowed himself to feel a small spark of satisfaction. For once, he had paid for a weapon and received even more than he was expecting.

Indirial was far more than a weapon, like the other Incarnations. He was a warrior, and a trusted servant.

He would get the job done.

***

Indirial watched the Ornheim Traveler take the first few steps into the entry hall and look around for threats. This was one reason he hated working with Ornheim: he would measure twice before cutting once, and all Indirial needed this time was a sharp cut.

“The swords,” he commanded. “Get the swords.”

Ornheim didn’t stop looking around. He even lifted up a sofa as though to see if there was something dangerous underneath.
Maker, what could possibly be threatening about a sofa?
 

Finally, the Incarnation seemed satisfied, turning his head to the sword-racks. He reached out for Seijan, its blade short and speckled with ink.

A black chain looped around his wrist, pulling him short.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a Nye,” Indirial said.

Ornheim slammed his free fist down on the Nye’s shadowy form…but before the blow could land, that hand was bound by a different chain.

Then the Nye were everywhere. They filled the room like a hill full of ants swarming a carcass, and Ornheim was covered by so many black chains that Indirial could barely see the stone beneath.

The see of black parted, and a hunched figure in dark gray slid past, gliding up to the Gate. “We have so few of the Fangs left,” the Eldest hissed. “You would steal them? Even you?”

Indirial met the Eldest Nye’s empty hood without looking away. In his current state, he could sense each of the Nye, like knowing his shadow trailed behind him without having to look. They were more than expressions of his power; they were at the heart of whatever made Valinhall the way it was. He had never fully appreciated that before.

But that didn’t mean he had to do what they told him.

“The Dragon’s Fangs will be returned, along with all that we’re missing. The King has ordered me to collect them, for now, so that the other Travelers of Valinhall cannot interfere with our mission.” It had been his idea to disarm the Dragon Army, actually, not Zakareth’s, but the orders to do so
had
come from the King. “They will be re-distributed to the worthy.”

The Eldest’s own chain, rough and heavy even compared to those of the other Nye, ran between his sleeves in a hissing, clinking river. “Not only have you lost control, you have sold your home to the King of the Vault. My master would rip your throat out with his teeth.”

“Your master is imprisoned in a graveyard, where he belongs,” Indirial said. Behind the Eldest, the sea of black chains bulged and pressed upwards as the mountainous strength of the Ornheim Incarnation strained against the combined might of the Nye.

The Eldest didn’t look behind him, but he did consider for a moment. “I have your wife and child with me. I can make sure that they take months to die.”

Indirial shrugged. He would prefer his family to live, but if they did not…well, that meant that they couldn’t handle the trials of life. “If they’re worth saving, they’ll save themselves.”

“You speak like the true Incarnation of Valinhall,” the Eldest whispered. “But still you plot to give your own power to Ragnarus.”

That wasn’t exactly true, but nothing Indirial could say would sway the Nye’s belief, so he let the Eldest think what he wanted.

In the background, the Ornheim Incarnation had risen fully to his feet, and was tossing Nye away from him like a child splashing in the waves.

The Eldest ran his chain through his sleeves again. “I cleaned this room only yesterday. But it seems I must have missed a pebble or two.”

He practically vanished, even from Indirial’s vision, and when he reappeared he was standing behind Ornheim. His thick chain was wrapped around the Incarnation’s neck, and the Eldest heaved, pulling Ornheim over onto his back.

The Ornheim Incarnation struck the floor of the House with a booming crack so loud that Indirial wondered if the others could hear it even in Valinhall’s depths.

Rocky white fists flailed at the Eldest, but he dodged each strike without even seeming to pay attention.

The Nye had swarmed again, rushing at Ornheim’s prone form and lashing him with the ends of their chains. Indirial couldn’t help it; he was a little impressed. They were managing to take chips of stone from the Incarnation’s solid skin with each strike.

So it was a good thing he had a backup plan.

It started with a rhythmic pounding, as though someone in the distance had decided to strike up a beat on a vast drum. When the sound rose to drown out even the Nye’s treatment of Ornheim, the beat vanished.

The Eldest raised one sleeve as though he were about to issue an order, and then the floor of the entry hall exploded.

Tartarus, the gleaming ten-foot giant in the mirrored steel armor, landed on the edge of what had once been the trapdoor down to the Nye’s basement. Evidently they had kept his pieces down there, never realizing that he could be pulled back together at King Zakareth’s will.

Blades flashed into the Tartarus Incarnation’s grip, and he impaled Nye after Nye with seemingly unlimited shards of metal. Wherever his clockwork gaze fell, another cloaked shadow was pinned to the wall.

After only a moment, the Ornheim Incarnation unfolded and stood next to Tartarus, equal in height and strength. Spinning rocks appeared out of nowhere, lashing forward like shooting stars and tearing through black robes.

“I know what I’m doing, Eldest!” Indirial called. “I came prepared.”

The Eldest appeared completely focused on Indirial, though he dodged spikes and flying rocks almost as an afterthought.

“Did you?” he rasped, and somehow the sound cut through even the din of battle.

Then the Eldest raised his sleeve again.

And, all over the entry hall, the
furniture
joined the battle.

The sofa curled up its legs, leaping onto Ornheim’s arm, its scarlet cushions working like a great mouth. It growled and snarled like a pack of wolves, sending handfuls of gravel up into the air.

One of the tables reared like an angry horse and kicked Tartarus hard enough in the chest that he staggered backwards. A rug lifted off the floor and seized a nearby chair with one tassel, slamming it against the back of the Tartarus Incarnation’s helmet. Somehow the chair didn’t break, and the rug knocked the Incarnation again and again.

The room was a flurry of flying stone, metal, cloth, and wooden splinters as the two Incarnations smashed furniture and the furniture smashed back.

He’d had no idea they could do that.

Now that he looked with the eyes of the Valinhall Incarnation, it seemed obvious. The tables and chairs of the entry hall remained hidden and innocent unless called upon, like a sleeping guardian. But now, through his violet eyes, he could see the dormant potential lying within each plank of wood.

Against all reason, he felt a surge of pride in his Territory. How could anyone ever choose to Travel Naraka or Helgard when Valinhall was this magnificent? Even the furniture rose to defend it from outsiders!

Not that sofas and lamps had any chance of defeating two Incarnations, but they could be rebuilt, and the House would be stronger than ever for this battle. He would make sure of it.

In a matter of seconds, the room looked like it had been trampled by a herd of oxen. The walls bristled with spikes of mirrored steel, and fist-sized rocks were scattered across the ground. The air was filled with drifting bits of cushion stuffing, and the floor covered by splinters. One grandfather clock against the wall had been gutted, spilling gears and springs everywhere, and every mirror in the room was reduced to shards.

The sofa pulled itself across the floor on one leg, snarling weakly, before it finally collapsed, weak and inanimate once more.

There was no way someone in the House hadn’t heard that commotion, and all the Nye were slithering away like snakes of shadow and light. It was only a matter of time before someone showed up, and he had to complete his mission before that happened.

“Back to work,” Indirial said.

Seconds later, the two Incarnations tossed him three Dragon’s Fangs. A Valinhall Traveler in the outside world could summon his blade from the House, but no Traveler in the House itself could summon their blade from outside. And once he got the Fangs into a different Territory—in this case, Ragnarus—they wouldn’t be able to banish the blades back to Valinhall, either, unless they got close enough to touch the weapons directly.

Effectively, by keeping the Fangs sealed outside the House, he was disarming the other Travelers of Valinhall. Kathrin and Denner wouldn’t be able to return and fight him, Andra would never get a chance to progress until he found her worthy, and Simon and Kai…they would have an opportunity to kill him in a duel, but only when he allowed it.

Indirial glanced at the pile of Tartarus steel waiting for him at his feet. Counting Vasha, that made four out of six. “We’re missing two,” he said.

Azura and Mithra were missing. Simon was probably down on the hill with Leah, so Indirial would be able to recover that one at his leisure, and Kai was undoubtedly challenging a room deeper in the House. That seemed to be everything to his life these days.

But those were the two most dangerous Travelers whose blades he didn’t have, so he decided to be certain.

“Tartarus, go check the seventh bedroom,” he said. “Down the hall on the left, marked with a large circle and two smaller circles.”

The Incarnation’s armor creaked as he stared at Indirial with blank clockwork eyes, as though trying to figure out who was giving him orders.

Indirial stared back, until finally Tartarus turned to march down the hallway.

If Azura was anywhere, it was probably with Simon, but the Fangs could sometimes be kept in the bedrooms instead of the entry hall. There was no telling where Kai or Mithra were; as far as Indirial knew, Kai had never used Valin’s bedroom, even though Mithra would have granted him access. It wasn’t worth chasing down all the possibilities looking for Kai, not when Kai was far more likely to lock himself in the House anyway. That was what he’d done for practically twenty-five years. If Azura was in the bedroom, then Simon was disarmed, and that was a bonus. If not, then Indirial got the chance to challenge the boy for his blade.

Either way, it was a win for him.

Then he noticed the Eldest was missing.

***

Kai stood on a circle of earth in a sea of darkness.

All around him, in every direction, was complete emptiness. He could still see, somehow, as though he and his little chunk of rock and dirt were outlined in dim light. Not that there was much to see, in this room.

Idly he wondered if the room had a name. Probably not; it served no function, and as far as he knew, granted no power. It did, however, have a guardian.

Standing on his circle of earth, knees bent, Mithra held before him in both hands, Kai waited.

As usual, he heard the guardian before he saw it: the ringing rattle of steel against steel, growing until it was louder than thunder, getting closer. He closed his eyes, focusing on the sound. For the tenth time that minute, he wished for his dolls.

Then he threw himself to the side as a chain the width of a house drove through empty space, missing him by a hair.

The chain seemed to scream like an enraged bull, its links whipping by one after the other, wider around than his body, faster than a speeding horse. He ran Mithra’s edge along the chain, letting her blade throw up sparks against the chain’s seemingly infinite steel.

It roared again. As the guardian chain stretched out, it seemed miles long against the darkness, its head looping up and around to come lunging back down toward Kai like a striking snake.

He leaped from his circle of earth, suspended over the void for one long second before he crashed back down onto a second floating island of soil and stone.

The chain’s head slammed into the circle where he had first stood. It didn’t blast straight through the earth, as he would have expected, but pushed it down instead like a hammer driving a nail.

Then the darkness seemed to peel away from itself, black becoming storm-gray, and the Eldest Nye stood beside him on his little island.

“Ah, and here you are, to spoil another wonderful day,” Kai said.

For once, the Eldest wasn’t in the mood to trade insults. “The House is under attack.”

From the void, the head of the steel chain gleamed, rushing up at him like a blacksmith’s hammer big enough to knock the tower off a castle. He was too far away from the next island to jump, even with Benson’s steel running through him, so he focused on his target destination and called smoke.