The travelers gate trilo.., p.59
The Traveler's Gate Trilogy (Complete), page 59
part #1 of The Traveler's Gate 1-3 Series
Not Endross, though. He stayed, holding a storm in one hand and a sword in the other.
You don't have ghost armor, do you? Angeline asked.
Mentally, Simon sighed. Why do people keep asking me that?
Because it's incredibly useful, she replied. If he hits you with a bolt of lightning as you are, the only thing you can do is die. Speaking of which, jump left.
Simon rolled left, dodging another bolt of white lightning. The lightning bolts that Enosh Travelers threw seemed somehow weaker than natural lightning: the thunder when they struck wasn't as loud, for one thing, and they didn't quite blind him each time. He had seen lightning strikes before, and the ones Grandmaster Endross hurled were nothing compared to those thrown by nature.
That didn't mean they wouldn't kill him, though. Just that the Grandmaster would have to hit him directly.
Simon called steel and essence, summoning Azura. Grandmaster Endross shouted something at that, his face breaking out into an eager grin.
"I can't hear you!" Simon yelled, launching himself forward. If Endross wanted a fight, he would get one.
At least, that was what Simon thought at the time.
Stop! Angeline yelled, so urgently that Simon nearly tripped over himself drawing to a halt.
Something fell from the sky so fast that it looked like a bolt of lightning itself, a gold-and-crimson blur that crashed into the earth like a falling star.
Specifically, it crashed on top of Grandmaster Endross.
The Grandmaster had enough time to raise his arms before the whatever-it-was crashed into him, slamming him into the ground and sending a ring of dust blasting out in all directions.
The wind from the impact tore at Simon's cloak, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the dust.
What was that? he asked his doll.
I'm not sure, she responded. It was too fast before, but now...maybe...a spear?
The dust cleared, and Simon saw that it was indeed a spear. A dark wood shaft stuck up from a gold-and-steel head, with an enormous ruby set where wood and metal met. The spear had driven into the cracked ground where it had landed, and now it stuck there, quivering.
Grandmaster Endross lay, dirty and bleeding, a pace or two behind the spear. He had managed to knock the weapon off-course as it fell, though Simon couldn't imagine what kind of protection would have allowed him to do that. Endross tried to struggle to his feet, but slipped and fell back. He looked dazed as well as dirty.
Boots crunched in the sand behind Simon. A lot of boots. Simon spun, sword in hand, ready to face this new threat.
He found himself face-to-face with the King.
Simon had never seen King Zakareth before, but he had heard the stories. This man—with his white hair and beard, his glowing red eye, his armor of black and gold—couldn't be anyone else. More than any one of his features, it was the way he carried himself that left no room for Simon to doubt.
He inspected Simon with the sort of cold authority that Simon had always expected a king to have. Then he looked away.
"Put away your sword, Simon, son of Kalman," the King said. "You will need it no longer." His voice held no doubt. Each of his words landed with an almost intimidating weight.
Simon let Azura vanish. What else was he supposed to do?
Behind Grandmaster Endross, the Valinhall Incarnation and the remaining Endross Travelers turned around. Valin's eyes grew so wide that Simon could see the gleaming silver from where he stood. He roared loud enough to shake the ground, raising his sword of gold and steel and rushing across the ground with the speed of the Nye. Simon had no doubt that he was seeing Valin's true rage, the fury of a man who sought the vengeance long denied him.
King Zakareth gestured, and the spear tore itself from the ground by Grandmaster Endross and flipped through the air, flying into its master's hand.
"Back up, Traveler," the King snapped, and Simon instinctively ran out of his way.
Zakareth took two steps forward and, with a strength Simon wouldn't have believed he possessed, hurled the spear.
The weapon left his hand with a thunderclap even louder than the lightning bolt Endross had tossed earlier. Such was the spear's speed that the air seemed to explode around it as it blasted forward, catching Valin at the level of his chest.
Simon focused his Nye essence, slowing the world enough so that he could barely see what happened. He couldn't believe that even an Incarnation could move so fast. As the spearhead streaked toward Valin's chest, the Wanderer brought his sword down in both hands, meeting Zakareth's spear with the edge of his Dragon's Fang.
The world exploded in a crash of sparks and crimson light. The force tossed Simon backwards, sending yet another ring of dust blasting outward. Even the air seemed to ripple in the face of such an impact. Grandmaster Endross tumbled across the desert, driven away by the explosion. His allies from Enosh stopped, bracing themselves against the air.
When the smoke cleared, the Valinhall Incarnation stood still, chest heaving, holding his sword in both hands. The spear lay on the ground before him. He was obviously uninjured, glaring at King Zakareth from fifty paces away with obvious malevolence in his eyes.
The King motioned with one hand, and a figure in a brown cloak stepped forward: Denner. He had his red-wrapped sword in one hand, but this time he didn't hold Hariman under his other arm.
What was Denner doing here? Wasn’t he supposed to be defending one of the Trees?
He wouldn’t be here unless his orders had changed, Angeline said. Denner is very responsible. Unless he finished his task already.
Finished already? Angeline thought Denner could have Traveled to one of the Overlords, killed all the attackers, and hitched a ride back here, all in an hour or two? How good was he?
Now that he thought of it, how long had Denner been gone? Surely it had to be more than an hour.
A troop of men and women marched behind Denner, each dressed in the red-and-gold of the King's army, with one unique exception: they all had a silvery steel badge over their chest, marked with the image of three keys. And each of them had a silver key in one hand.
Travelers. They were all Travelers. Simon stopped counting at twenty as they marched past him, fanning out into a crescent shape behind Denner, who stood a few steps ahead. Not all of them were from the silver-key Territory—Tartarus, he thought. A handful wore leather straps and loose tan clothing with brown hoods. Some of them had storms swirling around their hands, so Simon identified them as Endross. Two or three more wore the blood-red robes of Naraka, or the feathered head-wraps of Avernus. One woman in the gray robes of another Territory he wasn't sure he recognized—Asphodel, maybe—stood with a girlish smile on her face, twirling a lock of her hair around one finger.
They spread out behind Denner, who stood facing his former master.
"Face us on your own," Denner called. "We will allow the Travelers to retreat. Today, we only want you.”
Valin's face was contorted with rage, and he didn't take his eyes off King Zakareth's face. "You're standing up for that monster?" he spat. "I expected better from you, Denner! You were worthy!"
Denner sighed wearily, angling his Dragon's Fang up so he could scratch his back with its point. "I only see one monster here, master," he said. "Let the Grandmasters leave, and we can fight here. It’s about time we ended this.”
Valin visibly struggled with himself, shudders rippling through his body, his chains swirling and crawling across his skin on their own. His eyes closed, and when they opened, the silver of his irises glowed unnaturally bright.
"Agreed," he said, his voice flat. Mithra lowered to point at the King, and Valin’s figure blurred as he rushed forward.
He ran straight into a whirling thunderstorm.
Grandmaster Endross had lurched to his feet, tossing his Gate in front of the rampaging Incarnation.
The Wanderer had been sucked into Endross.
Denner shouted something and leaped forward, his Dragon’s Fang blurring and vibrating strangely in the air. Simon thought he heard the call of a distant horn.
The brown-cloaked Valinhall Traveler swept his blade through the Gate, and it dissipated into a fine mist.
Too late.
Grandmaster Endross managed to slip through the Gate as it closed, following the Incarnation into Endross. The rest of the Enosh Travelers were already piling through various other Gates, each slipping back into their own Territory.
King Zakareth stood watching the scene, his crimson eye blazing, his face set in cold anger.
“Follow them,” he commanded.
The Damascan Travelers began opening Gates, one by one stepping through in pursuit of the Grandmasters and the Valinhall Incarnation.
Denner sighed and walked over to stand by Simon, shaking his head. “We won’t catch them. Even if we do, Valin’s just as deadly in a foreign Territory as he is here.”
“I know that better than most,” the King said softly. He raised one hand, and his spear tore itself from the ground and flew back to smack into his gauntleted palm. “We have lost nothing here. We will simply return to our previous strategy: gather everything we have outside of Enosh and crush them in a single blow.”
He didn’t sound angry, excited, or determined at the prospect of finally destroying his enemies. He didn’t sound emotional at all. He sounded as though he were simply stating facts.
He would gather his forces. They would annihilate Enosh. There was no possibility for failure.
Simon shivered. It was difficult not to believe King Zakareth when he spoke like that.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” Denner said. “I’m sorry, but why haven’t we destroyed Enosh before? Why wait until now, when they have an Incarnation on their side?”
“Until recently, it was more profitable leaving Enosh intact,” the King said flatly. “Leah, explain.”
A woman’s voice spoke up from behind Simon. “Even when they opposed us, Enosh Travelers still helped to secure their Territories. They kept the wild elements down, and they maintained roads and waystations. We even traded with them occasionally. In all, it was far more efficient having them around. At least, until they got too aggressive.”
At the sound of her voice, Simon stiffened and slowly turned around. He knew that voice. He knew her.
He stared straight at her, but his mind refused to accept what he saw.
The King noticed. He spread his hand to his left, where stood a tall man with curly golden hair like Alin's, wearing an expensive suit of black and red. "My son, Heir Talos," Zakareth said. But Simon was having a much more difficult time taking his eyes off the young woman to his right.
She was dressed in a long dress of pure red. A circlet of silvered steel rested in her hair, shining with an unnatural red glare and set with a small ruby. On her left wrist, she wore a milky white crystal hanging by a silver chain, and her eyes were surprisingly blue. She stared back at him, her face totally blank.
King Zakareth motioned to the right with his spear. "And I believe you know my daughter, Heiress Leah."
His words were casual, but his tone wasn’t. Both his eyes were focused on Simon’s face, his expression as warm as an executioner’s axe.
Simon barely noticed. He couldn’t take his eyes from Leah.
He didn’t know what to say.
CHAPTER 13:
NINE DOORS
Alin followed Rhalia deeper into the city of Elysia. Once past the walls, the tunnel opened up into a wide street, paved with flawless white stone. The buildings on either side were built of gold and gold-colored stone, with doors of various different colors. Rhalia had explained the significance of the colors to him before—they had something to do with each building's purpose, like hanging a sign—but he was so exhausted now that he could barely see straight.
This particular section of the city was in the Gold District, which explained the general theme of the buildings. Supposedly, in other districts, buildings were made of many different materials and colors, but here they all shared a certain similarity. Since Alin had only demonstrated two of Elysia's nine virtues, and therefore only earned two of its powers, he was only allowed in two districts. Well, he still wasn't quite patient enough to deserve the green, but Rhalia had been willing to let that slide. He was confident he'd get there, eventually.
The Green District had very few buildings at all. It was mostly a wild forest, with trees that stretched so high they rivaled the highest towers of the Gold and Silver districts. Where a home or other building was needed in the Green, a living tree was hollowed out—through some method that Alin didn't understand—in such a way that the tree actually kept growing. As he understood it, the process took years.
Alin, Rhalia, and the floating Grandmaster were not the only ones on the street. A gold-skinned giant warrior, with a solid gold walking staff, stopped and bowed as Alin and Rhalia passed. A flock of shimmering golden hummingbirds stopped and asked, in their deceptively deep voices, whether they could be of any assistance. As they passed an open door, Alin thought he saw a brown-furred cat with a golden collar standing on her hind legs at a table. She was using a knife and fork to carve slices from a roasted bird, which she passed out to her four hungry children.
Alin had never learned how to tell time here: the sky was always gold, though it dimmed or brightened at seemingly random times. Some times in the city were busier than others, he knew that, because sometimes he walked through the streets and remained virtually alone.
He had once wondered what possessing a particular virtue had to do with walking down the streets of the city. Why should he have to prove himself particularly brave to travel the Gold District, for instance? Why would patience be of such great value in the Green District?
He had soon learned the answer.
A creature that looked like a man about Alin's size stepped in front of Alin. He wore white baggy clothing, belted with a golden sash, and carried a gold walking stick: a miniature version of the one that the gold-skinned giants carried. The man would not have been too out of place on the streets of Enosh, except that he had the head of a gray wolf.
"Traveler," the wolf said, bowing fractionally. He had the sort of vicious, slobbery voice that suggested he was shredding each word between his teeth.
"Marakos," Alin said, bowing back. He had run into the wolf-man before, and he was always scrupulously polite. And equally violent.
"I take this time to request a match, Traveler," Marakos said. His yellow-gold predator's eyes gleamed.
"Not today, Marakos, I beg you," Alin said wearily. "I have an injured companion."
"I shall not delay you long," Marakos promised. He placed his hand—which looked relatively ordinary, except for the claws where fingernails should be—on Alin's shoulder.
Rhalia twisted in midair and smiled in the wolf's direction. "Sorry, Marakos! No time today. But he'll make it up to you tomorrow, won't you, Alin?"
Alin hastily agreed, but Marakos didn't quite take his hand away. He was trying to decide whether Alin was showing appropriate valor by tending to his wounded comrade, even though he was running away. Or maybe he was trying to decide if letting Alin leave was a matter of cowardice. Alin wasn't sure, but he knew that they took courage very seriously here.
The wolf-man's nostrils flared as if he were trying to smell Alin's fear.
"Marakos," Rhalia sang sweetly. "We need to move. If you keep us here, you will be impeding me, and then I would have to call for a duel. Let's not do that, shall we?"
Marakos pulled his claws away from Alin's shoulder as though Alin's armor had grown red-hot.
"I apologize sincerely, Rhalia. I certainly have no wish to unduly impede you. Until tomorrow, Traveler." Marakos put distance between himself and the drifting, white-clothed woman with deceptive speed, considering that he stopped to bow every two paces.
Alin stared at Rhalia, who had spun back around and continued guiding Grandmaster Naraka's floating body down the street.
"What was that about?" Alin asked.
Rhalia waved a hand airily. "Oh, Marakos is a child. Scarcely fifty. He can barely go a day without proving his valor to somebody, but he'll grow out of it eventually."
"Not him," Alin said. "You. Are you that frightening?"
She smiled, but she didn't look him in the eye when she did. "I've never done anything to frighten Marakos. He listens to stories, that's all."
"What stories?"
She looked at him, her face as serious as he had ever seen it. "Maybe I'll tell you, one day," she said.
He let the matter drop.
After a few more minutes, and a few more exchanges with the Gold District's inhabitants—none of which grew as dramatic as their confrontation with Marakos—the three of them finally reached the end of the street. A huge wall marked the end of the Gold District in this direction. According to Rhalia, the wall wound its way throughout the entire city, separating each district. Alin had once visualized the City of Light as laid out in nine equal wedges, one for each color and virtue, but Rhalia had assured him that was not the case. The Gold District was thin but long, winding around and touching the outer wall at most major points. The Green District was wide and round, like a park in the center of the city. Other districts had more or less space, depending on the needs of the occupants.
And there were occupants. The City was much busier than Alin had once assumed. Elysia had continued to bustle with life even after the last Traveler vanished, faded, or died. Rhalia was remarkably closemouthed regarding what had happened to the last of the Elysian Travelers, but the fact remained that they had somehow disappeared. The City of Light had not seen a Traveler for over three hundred and fifty years, so Alin's arrival had been something to celebrate.
Not that the Gold District celebrated the same as the people of Enosh, he had found out. Much less feasting, and much more challenging one another to feats of strength and bravery.
In the wall at the end of the Gold District was a man-sized door of solid gold, marked with the same winged sword design that adorned Alin's breastplate. Rhalia didn't hesitate when she reached the door, placing her hand on the center and simply pushing it in. Grandmaster Naraka followed, still unconscious, still floating on the bed of orange light.
