City of Light (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy)

by Wight, Will

  He hesitated too long. Alin's eyes snapped to one color: blazing gold. His head jerked forward as though someone else was moving his body like a doll, his hand rising up, filled with gold light.

  Simon may have hesitated, but Leah didn't.

  The Lightning Spear flashed toward Alin so fast that Simon almost didn't catch it, even through the Nye essence. Alin should never have been able to react in time, but he managed to get one palm between his side and the spearpoint.

  A gold flash, bright enough to all but blind Simon through the mask, met the Spear and blasted it aside. It flipped through the air toward the waystation, but Simon didn't stand watching it. He moved at last, drawing on essence and steel as deeply as he could. The world slowed, and he dashed toward Alin.

  You have half a minute, at best, until the chains reach all the way around, Rebekkah warned him. So finish him quick.

  Simon held Azura low in both hands, running for Alin. His golden armor wouldn't stop a Dragon's Fang, and he didn't have the reaction time to combat Simon with the Nye essence; this should be easy.

  Alin's head snapped to the side, his eyes blazing gold, and he filled the street with a river of white-hot light.

  Simon called ghost armor. It should have taken longer to regenerate, but under the effects of the mask he could call on his powers almost with impunity.

  The destructive light filled his vision, blinding him, and crashed into the transparent green plates of the ghost armor. He braced himself against the onslaught, holding one arm in front of his face in an instinctive attempt to ward off the heat and pressure directed at his eyes. It still felt like getting pounded by a tide of molten steel, but he held on.

  The ghost armor lasted long enough before it died like a spent candle, finally vanishing as the stream of Alin's gold light dried up. Simon survived, but he found himself fifty paces farther down the street, surrounded by cracked stones, glowing bits of metal, and rising wisps of smoke. The fronts of many of the houses were missing completely, and the entire street was covered in drifting ash.

  Are you okay? he asked Rebekkah.

  You don't have time for this! she snapped. Run after him!

  Simon shot back down the street, only to see Alin throwing a bright lasso around something inside. He had seen Alin summon something like that before: he had used it to decapitate the serpent that had killed Simon's mother. This time, he was wrapping it around Indirial, who had woken up despite a bleeding head wound.

  The Overlord stood on shaky legs outside the waystation steps, calling a distantly flickering version of ghost armor to keep the lasso from splitting him in half. It was obvious that the armor wouldn't last long, but Simon didn't need much time. In the waystation doorway, Leah had hefted the Lightning Spear and readied it to throw, her off hand braced against the door as if expecting an impact. Behind her, Overlord Feiora fiddled with what looked like a little leather bag.

  While Alin had his attention entirely focused on the waystation, Simon drove Azura at his side with all the force of a fifty-pace charge.

  The lasso didn't disappear, as Simon had half-expected. The red light coiled around Alin's feet flared, but Alin didn't even stagger backwards. The Dragon's Fang split his armor, penetrated the Incarnation's rib cage, and stabbed out the breastplate on the other side.

  Blood leaking from a corner of his mouth, Alin turned his head to look at Simon. Slowly, he gave a bloody smile.

  Despite himself, Simon jerked back. He had to fight the urge to pull his blade back out and run away, as fast as he could.

  The Incarnation's eyes shone bright, but Alin wasn't behind them.

  A hammer of gold light fell on Simon from feet above, and he yanked Azura out of Alin's flesh and held it up as though it could shield him from the attack. It did nothing, and Simon was blasted down into the stones of the street.

  His vision was consumed in white.

  He came to himself a short time later, realizing that he was sprawled in a tangle of aching limbs, Azura just out of his reach. His cheek was pressed in a pile of ash, and the smell of burning coals filled his nose. Dust choked his throat, and he coughed roughly until he felt like he could breathe again. He tried to stand, and his left leg sent a spear of pain through him. He stood anyway.

  Then he became aware of Rebekkah shouting his name. ...don't have much time left, Simon! Wake up!

  I'm up, he sent. Even his thoughts sounded groggy.

  You've got seconds left, Simon. Seconds. Get moving!

  Simon forced his head up. Through the mask, he saw Alin calmly, methodically, blasting the corners of the Naraka waystation to rubble. The roof had already begun to sag, and Alin conjured another fist-sized ball of gold light, tossed it into the air like a juggler's ball, caught it, and threw it underhand into the corner of the building.

  A sound like a falling boulder, and cracks spread out through the front of the waystation.

  Anger surged through Simon, and a renewed resolve.

  This wasn't Alin.

  With all the steel, stone, and essence he could call through the mask, ignoring the pain in his leg, he jumped forward, summing Azura into his grip as he began a downward slash.

  Alin caught the attack on a sword of golden light, but Simon was through pulling punches. He pushed with all of Benson's steel, cutting with the impossible quality of a Dragon's Fang, with the full intention of slicing through Alin's blade and down into his neck.

  Loops of red light flashed on Alin's arms, then down his torso and into his legs, bracing him against the blow. He managed to turn Azura to one side, but his blade showed glowing yellow fractures.

  Faster than the Incarnation could follow, Simon stabbed Azura through Alin's chest. He didn't wait to see a reaction, but kicked Alin off the end of his blade. Through the Nye essence, it looked as though the Incarnation was drifting inches off the street, even though Alin was already looking around, trying to find him through the concealing shadows of the Nye cloak, raising a hand that steadily filled with a whirlpool of golden power.

  Simon leaped forward, bringing Azura down once more on Alin's chest. The Incarnation brought up the blast of gold he had conjured, knocking the sword away in time, but Simon still scored bloody hits across Alin's chest and the palm of his hand, shattering another plate of the armor and sending shimmering blood scattering over the street.

  The force of the golden blast knocked Azura back, and Simon braced against it, skidding to a stop against the street. Alin had finally landed on his own feet, and was drawing both hands together, filling them with a ball of gold.

  He was aiming it at Simon, but in the course of the fight, Simon had come to stand in front of the waystation. Alin was planning on blowing Simon and everyone in the waystation away together.

  In his mind, Rebekkah cackled like a mad witch. Duck, Simon!

  With the grace and speed of the Nye, Simon threw himself to the ground. Something loud and almost impossibly fast rushed by overhead in a blur of red, gold, and black.

  The Lightning Spear caught Alin full in the chest, snatching him backwards and into a stone wall across the street.

  I see what Caela said about that Leah, Rebekkah said. She'd do well in Valinhall. Time's up, though.

  Simon didn't look to see if Alin had survived. His exhaustion and pain were piling up on top of one another until it felt like he wouldn't be able to swing Azura even if Alin rose up out of the ground. Folding his legs up under him, he sat down and peeled off the mask.

  Then he fell over.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

  BATTLE IN THE HOUSE OF BLADES

  The building was crumbling around Leah, she couldn't figure out what Feiora was doing, and Indirial was surely all but dead.

  To top it off, her body was shaking with unspeakable pain after so many uses of the Lightning Spear. She was going to have to ask Indirial about that healing pool in Valinhall; she didn't think she would survive the day if she didn't get some kind of medical help.

  But at least she had
finally scored a clean hit.

  “I'm going to start cutting a Gate,” Indirial announced, his voice weak. He could barely hold his blade up with both hands, a sure sign that he had run out of whatever strength had kept him going this long. It took him three tries to get the point of his sword to stop shaking so that he could start slicing open the portal.

  Leah nodded at him, too tired to say anything else, and mentally ordered the Lightning Spear to return. If she had it in hand, she would at least feel safe enough to try retrieving Simon from the middle of the street. As it was, she knew she was all but defenseless against the Incarnation of Elysia.

  It took a second for her to recognize that the Lightning Spear still had not come. She called it again.

  When it didn't show up the second time, she knew something was wrong.

  “Indirial, work faster!” she called. “Feiora, do something!”

  A scrape and a flash came from Feiora's corner of the waystation, along with the acrid smell of smoke, as though she had just set something on fire. “Sorry, Your Highness! I took the time to do my hair. Doesn't it look nice?”

  Leah's gaze was stuck on the shadows of the other collapsing building across the street, where Alin's body had vanished along with her Ragnarus spear. On some level, she was convinced that if she turned around to look at Feiora, that would be the exact instant that Alin appeared and skewered her through the neck.

  So she didn't turn around, but she did shout again. “What are you doing, Overlord?”

  Feiora muttered something, Eugan squawked, and the Traveler sighed. “There's an emergency measure that most Avernus Travelers have. We can Travel straight to our tribe's lands instead of to the point that actually corresponds to where we are. In this case, we can't cross over to Avernus, because the guards from Elysia would kill us and toss our bones into a fire. But I've almost figured out where this will take us, it'll just—”

  Her voice cut off as a shining gold light appeared in the shadow of the broken building on the other side of the street. It began weak and steadily grew, like a rising sun.

  “Seven stones,” Leah breathed. She had seen four Incarnations in battle over the past six months, and she had started to think of herself as an expert. But none of them had taken this much damage and walked back out.

  Alin's armor was crumbling around him, pieces of metal falling off and plinking to the ground. In his right hand, which glowed red, he held the Lightning Spear. The weapon shook and struggled, trying to respond to Leah's call, but helpless in the fist of an Incarnation.

  In his left hand, he held a bolt of golden light.

  To Leah's confusion, he didn't raise the light toward the waystation. Instead, he only lifted the hand a little.

  He pointed at Simon's unconscious body.

  There was one power that Leah hadn't used throughout the entire fight. She considered it a last resort, because its cost was too inconvenient to pay otherwise. Her father had taught her to always save it for a true emergency. She felt this qualified.

  The ruby in Leah's Ragnarus crown blazed like a dying star, filling the street with crimson light.

  Stepping forward, the Queen of Damasca announced her will to the enemy Incarnation. “Alin, son of Torin!” she shouted. “Give up and die!”

  The order blasted out from her crown on a tide of red. Chains of scarlet light burst out of the Crimson Vault, binding the Incarnation's arms and legs, drawing him down onto his knees.

  And one chain, the one that only she could see, crept up inside Alin's body, passing like a ghost through skin and flesh and bone. It sought out Alin's heart, and it began to squeeze.

  When the Queen ordered you to die, she meant you to hurry up about it.

  The Incarnation struggled against the Ragnarus binding, trying to fight his way up to his feet, lurching forward toward Simon—or maybe toward her—in a last-minute attempt to kill someone.

  Then he relaxed. His eyes closed. He made a choking noise, probably in reaction to what her binding was doing to his insides, but otherwise remained silent.

  When he opened his eyes again, they were no longer gold. They shone luminescent violet.

  Strips of purple light, like unraveled bandages, whipped out from his hands and severed the chains of Ragnarus. In a violet flash, his body was cleansed of anything her power could do to him.

  Then he casually rose to his feet, twirling a strip of violet light like a flail. He had released the Lightning Spear, though, so she called that back into her hand. It flew obediently, straight into her hand, and she snatched it from the air. She felt as though taking another shot with the weapon might kill her, but what choice did she have?

  She raised the Spear, but then a hand grabbed her roughly by the shoulder and pulled her back, yanking her off-balance.

  Leah got a good look at Overlord Feiora's grim expression before she was shoved through a white-edged Gate and into a forest. The scent of pine and fresh air overwhelmed her, after a battlefield choked in smoke and ash, and the calls of a thousand birds were almost deafening.

  Feiora raised one leg to step into the Gate, but a whip of violet light wrapped around her arm. Her eyes widened in surprise and alarm before she was jerked backwards, off her feet. She slid across the debris-strewn floor, fighting the power of the Incarnation that was dragging her toward him.

  Leah tried to shout, but her voice was silenced. Part of the crown’s price. She lifted her spear for another throw, but then there was a violet flash and the Gate vanished.

  Nothing but forest.

  Avernus. She was in Avernus, a Territory hardly ever used for Traveling, and as such a Territory she was largely unfamiliar with. There was every likelihood that, while she was gone, Alin would kill Indirial, Simon, and Feiora all three.

  What have I done? she thought. It was an old pattern, drilled into her by both her father and mother: the first thing to do, after a defeat, was to figure out what you had done wrong. Then you should never make that mistake again.

  She had underestimated Alin. Even though she knew he was the Incarnation of Elysia, she had never taken him seriously. He hadn't even caused a massacre, like so many of the other Incarnations.

  She had overestimated herself. She had been so sure that, whatever happened, she could handle it.

  She should never have taken Grandmaster Naraka anywhere into enemy Territory. The Grandmaster would try to betray them, given half an opportunity, and Leah had known that. She and Indirial had discussed it specifically, and they had finally decided that she didn't pose much of a risk. Even if she did manage to close the Naraka Gate, they had said, that would hardly affect the success of their mission. They had, between them, four other Territories to choose from. If the Grandmaster closed off Naraka, they could escape in some other way.

  Besides, her guards would have her under control in an instant if she tried anything. They most likely had her under control right now: even a Grandmaster couldn’t escape a pair of fellow Naraka Travelers and a team from Tartarus. They had probably subdued her in seconds, then bound her hand if not cut it off.

  But something had stopped them from re-opening the Gate. What?

  It was a futile question to be asking now. The point remained: she had considered the benefits of taking Grandmaster Naraka along to outweigh the risks.

  She had been an idiot.

  And now Simon and Indirial were paying the price.

  Oh, Maker, she thought. Keep them alive. Praying to the Maker wasn't a very Damascan thing to do; her grandfather, Zakareth the Fifth, had specifically banned the practice during his reign. But after two years with her aunt Nurita, she had picked up some villager habits.

  Tightening her grip on the Lightning Spear, Leah amended her prayer. At least keep them alive until I can get there.

  A panicked caw sounded from directly overhead, and her head jerked up, the Spear at the ready.

  It was Feiora's raven, Eugan. She hadn't realized that the bird had followed her through the Gate.

 
It let out another squawk and flew through the empty space where the Gate had been. Flapping its wings frantically, it banked for another pass and flew through the space again.

  Trying to get back to Feiora.

  The sight tore at her heart, but she didn't let herself react. The only way she could get back and help Simon, Indirial—and even Feiora, if necessary—was to get out of Avernus.

  And she was no Avernus Traveler, so she needed a guide.

  ***

  Lycus was out of breath and holding back tears by the time he found Erastes, fighting against Benson in the skeleton's basement. Torches blazed blue on the walls, all dim enough to allow an ocean of shadows, and twenty-four hulking forms rested on pedestals all down the room. They were suits of armor, Lycus knew, and they could come to life to fight challengers.

  The huge block of stone at the far end of the room was a rough-hewn throne, and Benson usually lounged on it, one steel leg hanging over the armrest, foot idly kicking. Now, the steel skeleton was swinging an axe at Erastes' head.

  His news was urgent, but Lycus knew he couldn't interrupt a fight like this. If he shouted something and distracted Erastes at the wrong time, the man could die. Lycus took his responsibilities very seriously; he kept his mouth shut and made not a sound, even though his message squirmed inside him, trying to get out.

  The old soldier ducked, moving like a man half his age, and brought a gleaming infantry sword up into the skeleton's chin. Benson leaned back, holding his wide-brimmed hat on his head with one hand.

  Erastes pressed his advantage, stepping forward and bringing his sword down on his opponent's steel rib cage. The two metals clashed, sending up sparks, but he didn't let up. Lycus had always thought that Erastes was the perfect image of a Damascan soldier: his hair was iron-gray and cut short, his face weathered, his eyes cold. He looked like a man from the stories, like someone who would stare death in the eyes without ever blinking.