Part 18 (2/2)

It was a risk, but a calculated one. Angeline would warn him if the Eldest attacked him while his back was turned, but Simon was mostly counting on the Nye's own curiosity to keep his chain still.

I think I know what you're doing, Angeline said. I don't like it.

I didn't expect you would, Simon said, but he kept walking. Soon he stood only paces away from the battle between the founder of the Dragon Army and one of its first members. Simon was close enough that the sound of their swords was deafening, and the wind from their strikes blew hair back from his face.

Simon pulled the Nye hood up over his face. ”Valin!” he called, shouting as loud as he could to be heard over the cacophony of battle.

Valin turned his head toward the source of the shout. Indirial kept attacking, but Valin somehow managed to block all of his student's strikes without bothering to use his eyes.

His eyes. His terrible eyes. Simon was stunned almost speechless at the sight. The man from Harinfel had mumbled over and over about the Wanderer's black eyes, but he had barely done the sight justice. The whites of his eyes were solid black, a darkness that stood out from the surrounding night, but even worse were the parts of his eyes that should have been colored: they were a gleaming steel, like the metal of a Dragon's Fang.

Was that what Simon himself would become if he lost control?

Simon shook off that thought and forced himself to keep speaking.

”I challenge you, Valin,” Simon shouted. ”Duel me!” He summoned his blade, calling steel into himself. Azura's seven-foot length s.h.i.+mmered in the night as it appeared in his hand, gleaming under the moon.

Valin stepped away from Indirial, who*wisely, Simon thought*sank to one knee, panting. If Simon accomplished nothing else, at least he could give the Overlord a chance to recover his power.

”Who are you?” Valin asked curiously.

”My name is Simon, son of Kalman.” Then, because he thought it would be appropriate, he added, ”Traveler of Valinhall.”

Valin's chain-shrouded face split in a broad grin. ”I would be happy to test you, Valinhall Traveler.” He brought Mithra's gold-and-silver blade up to his forehead, raising it in some kind of salute. Simon raised Azura to his face, mirroring the Incarnation.

”Try not to die too easily,” Valin suggested.

Then he attacked.

CHAPTER TEN:.

RETURN TO BEL CALEM.

Alin was yanked from a deep, dreamless sleep by the sound of his doors being blasted open.

”Time to rise, Eliadel,” Grandmaster Naraka announced. That was some kind of pun, he was sure*the word ”Eliadel” meant, in some ancient language, ”The Rising Sun”*but it was too early in the morning for him to appreciate the humor.

Groggy, Alin rose to a sitting position. ”What's happening? An attack? Are we being attacked?”

”Not quite, boy,” the Grandmaster said, pulling the sheets away from him. He was practically naked beneath, so he squirmed away from her sight.

”Oh, don't be a princess,” Naraka snapped. ”You've got nothing I haven't seen before, I promise you that. Hurry up and get your armor on; we need you looking your best if you're going to lead us into battle.”

Alin stumbled out of bed and into his clothes, still trying to shake himself awake. ”Battle? I thought you said there was no battle.”

”Clean out your ears. I said we weren't under attack, and we're not. We're the ones doing the attacking.”

Naraka grinned, showing several missing teeth. She was wearing her blood-red spectacles, even at this time of the morning.

”But the plan?” Alin said. He walked over to his armor stand and studied the complex contraptions that were his boots. How was he supposed to wear this armor if he couldn't even figure out how to get the boots on?

Naraka snapped her fingers and pointed to someone on the far side of the open door. Two attendants, a man and woman, hurried in. They curtsied to Alin and began helping him with the straps and buckles of his golden armor.

Alin left them to it. He had no idea what he was doing, so he might as well accept the service of those who did.

”We had intended to sketch out a plan later in the day,” Grandmaster Naraka said, as her servants worked on Simon's armor. ”But events, it seemed, have outpaced us. Speaking of which, I have something of a surprise for you.”

Naraka waved at the door again*briefly, Alin wondered if she had the entire city standing outside his chambers, waiting for her to wave them in*and a young man walked in. He was a year or two older than Alin, and he walked like a guilty child: hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor, back slouched. Someone who didn't know him would never suspect that he was one of the most accomplished Travelers in the city of Enosh.

And Alin had seen him die.

”Gilad!” Alin shouted, genuine joy in his voice. He tried to step forward, but the servants were still working on his greaves, and they pulled him back down. They even muttered in complaint. Politely.

Gilad shuffled in place and gave Alin a sheepish grin, barely glancing at Alin's face before returning his eyes to the floor.

”I thought you were dead!” Alin said.

Grandmaster Naraka snorted. ”You were the only one who believed that, boy. I admit he had me worried for a while, taking so long to get back, but it turns out he had quite the adventure. Didn't you, Gilad?”

Gilad shrugged uncomfortably. ”I don't know about that, Grandmaster. I just did what I could to get back home.”

”After you left Naraka,” the Grandmaster said to Alin, ignoring Gilad completely, ”Gilad singlehandedly overpowered the Itasas Tribesmen and the squad of Travelers Damasca sent hunting him. After being stalked by a pack of deadly predators across the wilderness, he finally infiltrated a Damascan outpost in Naraka, where he waited until their waypoint was unguarded. He managed to distract the guards long enough to open a Gate and Travel back to our world...straight in the middle of a camp of Damascan soldiers.”

”But I didn't have a choice,” Gilad protested. ”That was the only way out.”

”Long story short, he's back now, and he's got news less than an hour old: the Incarnation has attacked the Damascans.”

”What?” Alin said. His voice rose sharply at the end of the word, as one of the armorers gave him a nasty pinch while adjusting his breastplate.

”Yes, indeed,” Naraka cackled. ”Overlord Indirial, a handful of Travelers, and almost a thousand men are trapped outside a village in the middle of Lysander's realm. It looks like the Incarnation decided they were enough of a threat to turn around and engage them directly.”

”So what's the plan?” Alin asked.

We're leaving as soon as you're dressed. We've gathered up everyone we can on short notice, and the others have their a.s.signments. But the three of us have our own mission.”

”Pardon me, Grandmaster,” Gilad said, ”but I've been away for a while. What is our plan, exactly?”

Grandmaster Naraka patted Gilad fondly on the arm. ”Our plan, Gilad, is for Eliadel to guide us around Malachi's house. I've never been there before, you see.”

”Malachi?” Alin said, startled. ”He's dead.”

”I should hope so, considering all the credit we gave you for it,” Naraka responded. ”Regardless, we're not after the Overlords themselves. We're after their Trees. Malachi's wife is in charge, and she's not a Traveler, so her Tree is practically undefended. We'll come through Naraka and hit them hard and fast. They'll have some defenses on both sides, but don't forget: our objective is the Tree.”

”I don't know where this Tree is,” Alin protested. ”I broke through the door and fought him in his throne room.”

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