Part 27 (1/2)

The Wanderer used to speak of metaphysical distance, and a link between the Territory and its powers, Caela said, as though that explained everything.

Thanks for the help, Simon responded, with a mental sigh. He was growing tired of explanations that didn't give him any real information.

Still, that wasn't enough to drown out his excitement over the frozen horn. At last, he had moved one step ahead! Now he could finally discover what was on the other side of this door. He moved forward and put his hand on the next door, the one with the carving of the wolf.

”Simon!” someone called from the far door. Simon turned around to see Olissa, her goggles pushed up on her forehead and a pair of work gloves clutched in one hand. ”I need you in the workshop. We need a Traveler, and for some reason Andra can't make this work.”

Simon looked longingly at the next door, but he wasn't willing to open it if he wasn't prepared to walk immediately through. As far as he knew, whatever was on the other side would grab him and instantly drag him through.

Olissa appeared to notice Indirial for the first time, and she smiled politely. ”Feeling better, I see. You were a mess the last time I saw you.”

Indirial swept a bow. ”Indeed I was, and I thank you for your hospitality and care.”

”I never did catch your name.”

”Indirial, son of Aleias,” he responded casually.

For a moment, Simon wondered if Olissa would recognize the name, and immediately drop down to one knee or something. But she simply smiled and gave the faint suggestion of a curtsy. ”Olissa Agnos. If you would like to repay me for your care, you would be doing me a great service by coming with Simon into the workshop. I could probably use both of you.”

Indirial's smile widened, as though he found the whole thing amusing. ”I welcome the opportunity to repay my debt. Come on, Simon.”

Simon looked longingly at the next door. ”But...”

”I wouldn't open that now, if I were you,” Indirial said. ”What waits on the other side will immediately grab you and drag you through.”

I knew it, Simon thought.

He sighed regretfully and turned, following Indirial out of the room.

”So tell me,” Indirial said to Olissa, ”what is this workshop?”

Alin sat at Grandmaster Naraka's bedside, resting on the edge of a padded stool that someone had found for him. His surroundings*Grandmaster Naraka's private rooms*were well made and simply decorated. Her bed looked more like the simple cot Alin had used back in Myria than the huge four-poster they had provided him here, and portraits of her family lined the walls.

She lay on the bed, asleep, the stump of her right arm wrapped in layers of bandages. He had been unable to find that one, but her left hand had*somehow*made it through the Gate with them to Elysia. He had used the rose light of Elysia to reattach the hand at the wrist, though she was still unable to move it. It twitched occasionally as she slept, its fingers curling and uncurling like a dying spider. The flesh at the base of the hand was ringed by scar tissue like a pink noose.

Alin had finally extracted himself from the gold armor, and though he was dressed now in a simple gray s.h.i.+rt and pants*the only clothes he could find that weren't fit for a palace*he still smelled like metal. He had tried to sleep once they returned, after giving his report to the remaining Grandmasters, but he had been unable to stop his mind from working. So he had come here.

Listening to the other Grandmasters talk, apparently every other attack had gone just as badly as his. In fact, he had been luckier than some: one Tartarus Traveler had managed to escape through her Territory, taking a few soldiers with her. All told, he had only lost about a dozen people, as well as one Grandmaster's hand. One attack had been eliminated to a man, with Grandmaster Asphodel losing her life. Another attack resulted in the death of Grandmaster Tartarus, if no one else.

Two Grandmasters dead, and one out of the fight. They hadn't managed to destroy even one Hanging Tree.

Why? Alin had asked the remaining Grandmasters. How did we fail so badly?

Because they knew we were coming, they had responded. Somehow, they knew exactly where we would strike, and they were ready for us.

Of course, even without a direct answer, Alin knew the other reason. The reason they didn't mention, but the word that was on everybody's lips just now.

Valinhall.

Based on the messages they had recovered before her death, Grandmaster Asphodel had managed to successfully take her team around Overlord Eli's defenses. She had her strike team in place with no casualties, and even had the Hanging Tree in sight. The last message from her was that there was only one remaining guard: an unshaven man in a brown cloak, carrying a huge red-and-gold book. Just in case he was a Traveler, she planned to overwhelm him in an ambush and then report immediately afterwards.

They had received no further messages until, according to Grandmaster Avernus, a Valinhall Traveler had thrown them Grandmaster Asphodel's head in a sack.

Sick of sitting still, Alin called out to his new power: a comforting pink light that waited in the distance, calling out to him like the promise of home at the end of a long journey. He tapped into that light, calling forth the rose power of healing.

Pale reddish light bloomed in his hand, unfolding into layers like an actual rose. He held the delicate sculpture of pink light and moved his hand closer to Grandmaster Naraka's hand, letting the petals of light drift out of his hand and into her wrist like a paper s.h.i.+p drifting on the tides. The light sank into her scars and her flesh glowed as though lit from within.

The hand spasmed and then relaxed, the skin smoothing out. Muscles writhed around the wrist, building themselves up. The scar shrank slightly.

Grandmaster Naraka's breath caught and then relaxed, and*though it might have been Alin's imagination*she seemed to breathe a little more easily than before.

Alin himself didn't; he panted as though he had just run uphill carrying a mule on his back. The rose light tired him in a way the gold and the green did not, so that even one healing felt like building a new barn. These repeat healing sessions that he had continued, one after another, all night, were putting him on the edge of pa.s.sing out.

And still, he couldn't sleep.

Where was Simon?

He still hadn't returned, and both Grandmaster Endross and Avernus were ready to declare him an ally of Damasca. Alin had vouched for him, a.s.suring them that Simon would never have sided with Damasca, and if it looked like he had done so then it was probably for a good reason.

He had his own suspicions, anyway: he suspected that Simon was trying to kill the Valinhall Incarnation.

And, secretly, Alin wished him well.

Grandmaster Naraka's eyelids fluttered open, and for a moment she stared blindly at the ceiling.

”Darrin?” she whispered.

Alin grasped her right arm, above the elbow. ”Alin,” he said gently. This wasn't the first time during the night that she had called out for someone he had never heard of, but it was the first time she had opened her eyes.

”Alin,” she repeated. Then her eyes widened, and Alin noticed they were almost completely white. ”Eliadel. Does the Tree burn?”

She sounded eager, desperate, and on the edge of tears all at once, as though she were asking whether her son had returned alive from a battle.

Alin shook his head, and when she didn't seem to notice, he spoke. ”The Tree still stands.”

A tear flowed down the crags of Grandmaster Naraka's face and she shut her eyes again, sagging as if about to drift back into sleep.

”So close,” she whispered. ”I was so close.”

”I couldn't leave you there to die,” Alin said. ”I had to protect you.”

”No. No you didn't.”

”But the Valinhall Traveler would have killed you!”

”Yes, he would have. And I would have died knowing that the world would be free again. Everything I've worked for...”

Her strength left her and she fell back against her pillows, tears wetting her face.