Part 44 (1/2)

”No better than you, I expect,” Grandmaster Naraka responded calmly. It had been sixty years since anyone his age could get a rise out of her.

He didn't look much like the dignified royal Heir anymore. His curled, golden hair was matted down with blood, and his empty eye socket was bleeding through the bandage that wrapped his face. His skin was soaked in sweat, and his breathing sounded ragged. If he didn't find a healer, he wouldn't last the night.

Well, she thought, at least he won't have to worry about that.

Talos finally finished his Gate. It opened onto a room of blue stone.

She had no doubt that the Hanging Tree would be nearby. If this was the only place where Ragnarus Gates came out, then the Ragnarus Incarnation would surely be buried nearby. The presence of the Territory would help keep the Incarnation in check.

Talos stepped through the portal, and Grandmaster Naraka followed on his heels.

Immediately, two men in blue uniforms stepped forward.

”Highness,” one said immediately. ”What happened?”

”This woman behind me is a traitor from Enosh,” Talos said casually. ”Kill her.”

Maybe if she were fifteen years old and also a fool, such an action would have caught Grandmaster Naraka off guard.

One of the blue-uniformed guards whipped his wrist forward, a silver key appearing as if by magic. Tartarus. He was a good choice for guarding a location such as this. Tartarus Travelers summoned quickly, and they tended to accept orders well. He would cut down most hostile Travelers in an instant.

Grandmaster Naraka was not most Travelers.

With her left hand*she still had to get used to using her left hand, and not her right*she finished the complex movement that she had begun before she even stepped through the Ragnarus Gate.

She called for fire, and the Furnace of Judgment answered.

A bright, unnaturally orange fireball streaked forward from her hand, wailing as it flew through the air. It wrapped around the Traveler in a tightening, burning ring, its screams rising to match the voice of the man trapped inside.

Fire from the Furnace wouldn't kill this Traveler.

No matter how much he might wish for it.

The second guard was also a Tartarus, but slower of hand than his counterpart. He was only halfway through summoning a flying blade before an ash-gray rope tightened around his throat.

His eyes bulged. Then the rope tightened, and he was pulled back through the still-open Ragnarus Gate.

Talos didn't wait to see the fate of his guardian. He staggered away, clutching his side, trying his hardest to run.

Grandmaster Naraka didn't bother to follow. He wouldn't escape.

A loud crunching noise rang out from inside the Crimson Vault, like a horse being crushed between two boulders.

An instant later, an ash-gray rope flew out, the noose at the end fastening around Talos' neck.

The Heir scrabbled at the noose around his neck, trying to pull the rope free. His voice sc.r.a.ped out of his throat, but it was weak. Someone would be coming soon in any case, because of the guard's screams.

She would have to be quick.

Haresh stepped out of the Ragnarus Gate, continuing to pull his rope taut. Talos fell onto his back and was dragged, closer and closer, to the Arbiter.

The guard had collapsed, unconscious. The flames from the Furnace died out.

Haresh lowered himself to one red-skinned knee, his beard brus.h.i.+ng the blue tiles. ”I smell betrayal on you, Heir of Damasca,” he whispered. ”You have betrayed everyone who ever trusted you. For this, you will hang.”

Grandmaster Naraka leaned over the Heir. He deserved every second of this, if not more. He was a Ragnarus Traveler, and thus he gained his power from the blood of others. More than that, he really was a traitor.

He had earned this fate. But before that, she still had a use for him.

The Grandmaster smiled down at Talos.

”First,” she said, ”you will answer my questions.”

Alin rose from his feet, mentally going down the checklist of everything he had left. There were a few other beings he could summon from the Gold District, but he doubted any of them would fare any better against the King's spear. He certainly didn't want anyone he knew ending up like Marakos.

From the Green District, he could summon something like a turtle, which might be able to stand up to a direct impact from the spear. It wouldn't do him much good in combat, though.

He could summon an arrow-trap, he supposed, and fill the Vault with an onslaught of golden arrows.

But he doubted very much that any one of those darts would pierce the King's black s.h.i.+eld. Besides, he was running out of strength; whatever he summoned next would likely be the last thing he called.

King Zakareth stood looking down on him for a moment, his blue eye blazing.

Then he threw his s.h.i.+eld down. His spear followed quickly after, then his crown.

Alin stood, his mouth gaping, wondering if he was seeing reality or if this was just some kind of hopeful dream. The King seemed to age decades before his eyes, sagging and bending under his own body's weight.

”No artifact of Ragnarus comes without a price,” he said, and surprisingly his voice was as strong as ever. ”When you get to be my age, strength like that isn't without its price, either.”

”What was your price?” Alin asked, curious in spite of himself.

”My life,” the King responded casually. He picked his way carefully across the gore- and debris-strewn floor, edging over to the wall.

Alin kept a ball of light close to summoning, just in case the King tried to pull out another weapon. He didn't expect that to happen*the only weapon Zakareth would have needed to kill him was his spear, and he had thrown that down*but it couldn't hurt to be safe.

The King went on, his voice strangely even. ”When I saw that Talos had betrayed me, bringing a strike force from Enosh hereawell, I don't think any of them expected to find me here, anymore than I expected to see them. You planned to stride into the palace and burn the Tree, didn't you?”

Alin wasn't sure about the wisdom of revealing his strategy to his biggest enemy, but the King appeared to know everything already. ”That'samost of it, yes,” Alin responded.

King Zakareth pulled a box off a nearby shelf, quickly checking the label underneath. ”I thought as much. Regardless, when I saw your friends come in, I knew they would kill me anyway.”

He met Alin's eyes, and the corners of his lips turned up in what could almost, on another man, have been a smile. ”Two Grandmasters and a dozen of the finest Travelers in Enosh? That's a n.o.ble death. My Successor is secure. Still, I wish I had more*”

Suddenly he shook as if choking, clutching at his chest with one hand. He sagged to the floor, leaning against the wall for support on the way down. He kept the box cradled in one arm the entire time.

On instinct, Alin stepped forward to help, but he stopped himself. No telling if the King was up to some devious trap, though if he gained some advantage from this charade, Alin couldn't see it.