Part 42 (1/2)

”Come along,” she hissed.

Alin turned around to see the Gate to the Crimson Vault fully open, with the Enosh Travelers filing inside. It looked like a huge cave, with two red-burning torches to either side of a silver door. The ancient, bearded king carved into the doors seemed to glare straight at Alin.

For just a moment, Alin stood, torn between going to help Simon and walking into Ragnarus. He agonized over the decision for what seemed like much longer than just a second or two before he realized that there was no decision at all.

He had left Simon behind once.

He wasn't about to do it again.

Alin shook off Grandmaster Naraka and jogged through the trees, their branches sc.r.a.ping his armor. He wasn't sure what help he would be against the full power of an Incarnation, but he knew he could do something.

In the distance, he heard a woman's voice. He couldn't make out the words, but she spoke with such absolute authority that he was sure whatever she said was of the utmost importance. It sounded almost like Leah's voice, but that was impossible; he had left Leah back in Enosh, safe in the Grandmasters' palace.

A wave of crimson light washed over the entire scene, and Alin almost fell to his knees. The sheer power he sensed in that light, the total overwhelming sense of force, made him want to collapse.

The Incarnation, he saw, felt the brunt of the attack. Chains of red light erupted from the ground around him, grabbing his arms and legs, pulling him down.

And only an instant later, Simon fell on Valin sword-first.

Inwardly, Alin cheered, even as he fought against the crimson light. It felt like pus.h.i.+ng his way up a hill underwater, but he managed to put one foot in front of the other. Simon needed his help.

An instant later, a young woman*perhaps Alin's age*with long brown hair and a red-and-gold dress came to kneel beside Simon. She didn't say anything, and for a moment Alin wondered if she had come to help Simon or the Incarnation.

Then Alin saw the ruby circlet gleaming on her head, and he hurried forward. He had never seen royalty before, but he wasn't a fool: he knew what a crowned woman in the Damascan royal colors meant, especially here, among the camp of the royal army.

The woman stood and gestured to the side. Two soldiers ran up, grabbing Simon under the shoulders, beginning to carry him off.

Alin waited for Simon to resist, but he remained as limp as a corpse. If Alin hadn't seen his head twitching, he would have thought Simon dead or unconscious.

Maybe Simon had used too much power. Whenever Alin drew too much from Elysia, he felt ready to pa.s.s out; maybe it was the same for Simon with Valinhall.

No matter what, he wasn't about to let Simon be kidnapped by Damasca. He walked up behind the soldiers and summoned a globe of gold.

He opened his mouth to demand Simon's return, but then remembered that Simon was fighting against the Incarnation. Maybe he had friends in the Damascan army. Only Simon could confirm that for sure, so Alin changed what he was about to say.

”Simon?” he asked. ”What's going on here?”

He didn't know if Simon would have the strength to answer him, but if he didn't, Alin was more than willing to take a chance and forcibly rescue him. If it turned out later that Simon didn't need rescuing, well, he would have to explain that to Alin when he woke up.

One of the soldiers dropped Simon's right side to draw his sword, but Alin just stood there, holding the glowing golden orb. This man ought to know Traveler business when he saw it. If he couldn't keep his weapon to himself, Alin would teach him better.

Simon's arm flopped weakly in the air, and he somehow managed to get the remaining soldier to turn him around.

”Alina” he said, in a voice that was all but a whisper. ”Whatawhy?”

”I saw you fighting against that thing,” Alin said, nodding to the Incarnation's corpse. ”I came to help, though I see you didn't need me. Come with me, and I'll take you home.”

Simon's head twitched, and Alin wondered if he was trying to shake his head. ”Don't worry. NeedaValinhall. You go. Not safe.”

The store of words seemed to have exhausted Simon, because his chin drooped down to rest on his chest.

Alin looked at him there, carried by a Damascan soldier. He was almost a full head shorter than Alin, and he seemed so powerless.

Well, if he felt safe in Damasca, then Alin supposed he could leave him there. He would have to find out the story later, though.

Alin looked around, searching for the n.o.blewoman. He finally saw her standing behind the soldier with the drawn sword, gesturing insistently to her attendants behind a nearby tent.

Summoning up his best king's face, Alin fixed her with a glare. ”This man is a friend and ally of mine. You should treat him well, for I will be back for him.”

She turned back and met him with an even, blue-eyed gaze.

Wearing a crown of Damasca and a silk dress, Leah looked back at him with the poise of a queen.

Alin jerked back as if struck. He lost his concentration, and the gold light in his hand evaporated. He felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut.

Now that he was paying attention, he could see Leah's crystal bracelet at the end of her sleeve, her long hair, her skin that was slightly too dark for a normal Damascan.

”Leah, youawho are you?”

Leah stared at him and didn't say a word.

He saw it, now. She hadn't grown up in the village. She had been there almost three years. She had come into town on her own, with nothing more than the clothes on her back, yet somehow with enough self-a.s.surance to talk her way inside. She claimed to be related to another villager*conveniently dead*and had been adopted into the ranks of her *extended family.'

It fit. It all fit. He couldn't think of a reason why Damascan royalty would want to infiltrate an ordinary village, but she had done it. Maker, how she must have been laughing at his attempts to save her. To protect her.

She must have been laughing at them for years.

Laughing at him.

Something cold and hard grew in Alin's chest, and he threw up two walls of intersecting green plates, one on either side of Leah, trapping them in a corridor. The Damascan soldiers outside dumped Simon to the ground, shouting and pounding on the walls of green light. He didn't hear them.

”Give me one reason why I shouldn't drag you to the Grandmasters right now.”

Leah just looked at him. She didn't seem scared. She gave him a one-handed shrug, as if to say, What can I say?

Rage and shame flared up, searing cold and smoldering hot. He seized her by the shoulders, wanting to shake her.

”Talk to me!” he demanded.

Her blue eyes went cold, and she raised one hand, snapping her fingers once.

A tanned, muscled forearm wrapped around Alin's neck, keeping him in a loose chokehold.

”Release the Heiress,” a man behind him said. He sounded calm, almost pleasant. His arm showed a tattoo wrapping up the wrist, like a black chain.

Alin took a deep breath and removed his hands from Leah's shoulders. He shouldn't have gotten violent with her anyway.

Why not? A voice whispered in his head. She's the enemy.