House Of Blades - House of Blades Part 25
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House of Blades Part 25

"Then we fight together," Alin said. He tried to sound determined. "At least until you can manage something."

The Naraka Traveler shook his head. "Too risky. Grandmaster would kill me."

"I won't-"

Alin was going to say, 'I won't leave you,' but Gilad apparently got tired of listening. He spun, faster than Alin would have suspected he could, and kicked Alin in the gut.

Breath whooshed from Alin's lungs, and he stumbled backwards into a cool so sudden that it felt freezing.

Through the Gate.

Even trying to suck in air through aching lungs, Alin could only focus on one thought: he had to get back. Back through the Gate, back to help Gilad. He lunged forward, but the vision of the smoldering red cavern faded like smoke in the wind.

Finally Alin's lungs filled, and he shouted in frustration, passing a futile hand through empty air.

"Um...sir?" A voice said, behind him. "May I see your pass?"

Only then did it occur to Alin to wonder where he was.

Now that he took the time to notice his surroundings, Alin realized he stood in a room like some dark cathedral. He stood in the center of a circular room, roofed in a high vaulted ceiling, encircled by a dozen smooth pillars. Everything-floor, roof, pillars, walls-seemed made of the same red-streaked black stone. It had the effect of making the room look like it had survived in the aftermath of an enormous fire.

Alin turned to face the voice, trying to think of something to say. But the pale man in the purple-and-brown uniform barely seemed significant next to what stood behind him: a tall jagged pillar of obsidian etched with golden runes. An exact twin to the one in Naraka.

The pillar, and the lack of furniture in the room, told Alin what he needed to know: this room had been built for incoming Naraka Travelers.

"Sir?" The pale man asked again, a quiver in his voice. "Your pass?"

Well, that could be a problem. He wasn't going to be able to bluff his way past without a pass, so he might as well try playing it straight.

"I don't have a pass," Alin said. He shrugged. "Do I need to buy one, or..."

Malachi's officer cleared his throat and squared his shoulders, glancing from side to side. From the edges of the room, two more soldiers that Alin hadn't noticed stepped forward. Unlike the officer, these carried swords. And they loomed.

"Without a pass, I can't let you out of here," the pale officer said. "I am ordered to bring you straight to the Overlord's Master of Household. Come along peacefully, and everything will be sorted out soon."

The two guards already had hands on their swords, and they looked ready to charge him at any moment. Sweat glistened on their faces. The officer took one barely noticeable step back towards the obsidian pillar.

Abruptly Alin realized how he must look. He had stepped out of a Naraka Gate, smoking and covered in ash. His once-fine blue clothes had been charred and sliced until they looked more like battle-scarred rags than an actual suit.

To the guards, he probably seemed like he had walked through fire, fought a battle, and torn open a portal between worlds to escape unscathed. And he might be an enemy.

Of course, all of that was more or less true.

"Yeah, I'm not going to do that," Alin said. He turned and walked toward the door as if the armed guards didn't exist.

"Stop, in the name of the Overlord!" the officer said. "I've already sent for the other Travelers. Just stay where you are."

Once more, Alin tapped into the light of Elysia. To his relief, it remained as easy as ever on this side of the Gate. Part of him had worried that his difficulty in Naraka had been some failing of his, and not just because the Territories were distant.

Golden light rose from his skin like glowing smoke. The red-black walls gleamed as the room brightened. Malachi's soldiers flinched in unison.

"I don't have time for this," Alin said. "Keep quiet, or I'll have to come back."

He walked forward again. Nobody stood in his way.

Alin marveled at their reactions. Had it only been this spring when he would have reacted the same way, helpless in the face of a Traveler? He rarely thought about those days anymore. What had he ever done before that could compare with the things he could do now?

Storming the Overlord's stronghold with his powers, rescuing a maiden from the hands of a tyrannical Traveler. He should be afraid, he knew he should, but he wasn't; he was excited.

Who could stand up to him now?

An old balding man with a potbelly stumbled through the open front door, one hand marked with the glowing red rune of a Naraka Traveler. "Stop right there!" he wheezed, waving his palm to begin a pattern that would call upon his Territory.

Alin summoned golden light and blasted the man back through the door. He had to step over the old man's senseless body on his way out.

No one else tried to stop him.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:.

MIDSUMMER'S EVE.

358th Year of the Damascan Calendar 24th 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.