House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (11 page)

Simon swallowed and thought carefully before answering. “Everyone believes my friend, the Traveler, will bring them back. But I don’t know if he will. And one of the captives is a girl I know. She...saved my life, and she didn’t have to. I don’t want to just sit back and trust somebody else to help her.”

The man did not react for a moment, then he held the blond doll up to his ear. “Mm-hmm? Yes. That’s a good point, Caela. What do you think, Azura?” He held his sword up to the other ear. “Oh, of course. Such language.”

When he was finished with his bizarre conversation he lowered his arms and shook his head. “We all agree: that was not a good answer.”

Simon’s heart sank, and he opened his mouth.

“We’ll have to help you think of a better one,” the man said. He swept his sword in an arc and the air parted, as if he had sliced a hole in the world. Wind poured into the ragged floating gateway, and beyond it, Simon glimpsed the dim interior of a huge, lavish house.

“This,” he said, “is called a Gate. It is an opening between our world and a Territory. In this case, mine.”

The opening was wider than it was tall, but easily high enough for Simon to walk through. He hesitated, though the white-haired man ducked through without a care.

“Follow us, little mouse,” he said. “We’ll see if we can give you some teeth.”

Simon practically ran through the portal, half eager and half trying to get it over with. “Thank you, sir. You won’t regret this.”

“You will regret it if you leave your sword,” he said. He hadn’t even looked to see if Simon was carrying it.

Simon dashed back to his nest, snatched up his sword in its wooden scabbard, and ran back to join the white-haired man.

“My name is Simon, sir.”

“The lady in blue is Caela, and you’ve already met Azura. You can call me Kai.”

“Yes, sir.”

Together, Simon and Kai walked into the Gate.

***

The air beyond the Gate was warm and dry, and filled with scents that Simon barely recognized: wood varnish, aged paper, and the dust of years. He and Kai stepped into a richly appointed, luxurious room. Simon had heard about the huge houses of the rich, though he’d never seen anything remotely like this. The room was bigger than four of his houses put together, and filled with furniture carved from a delicately polished red-gold wood. There were three red-cushioned couches, each of which looked big enough to hold three or four people, all arranged around a polished table in the center. The table held a huge book, yellowed pages fluttering in the wind from the Gate behind them, and a collection of crumbling scrolls.

Wooden racks on the walls held a small collection of lightly curved long swords, like Kai’s Azura, though each one seemed unique. There were spaces for twelve swords, but only four were occupied.

A series of mirrors stood around the room, and none of them had a single bubble or blemish. Unlike most of the warped or hazy mirrors Simon had seen in his life, these showed Simon perfect reflections of everything in the room. A single tall, gilded lamp in the corner cast a warm light over everything.

“Welcome to Valinhall,” Kai said. The Gate closed behind him, and his sword had somehow vanished as he stepped through. Simon was startled to find that it now rested on a wooden rack on the left side of the room.

“How much did this all cost?” Simon asked.

“Everything in this house is part of the Territory. Most of what you see we found right where it is.”

Simon set his short sword down so he could pick up one of the scrolls. He squinted at it, trying to read in the dim light. “Are there other houses like this in the Territory?”

Kai chuckled. “My, you are in for a fun time, aren’t you? This house isn’t
part
of a Territory, this house
is
the Territory. Beginning, middle, end. All of a world is contained within these walls. You will find no doors or windows to the outside here.”

Simon glanced around and saw that it was true: the walls held only wood-framed mirrors, reflecting his grimy face. There was only one door, on the opposite wall, and it was halfway open. Beyond it was only a candle-lit hallway surrounded by more doors. Simon had the uneasy sensation that he had been trapped. Kai was the only one who could let him out, by opening another one of those Gates.

Simon shook himself and firmed up his courage. He had come this far. So he couldn’t leave by himself; what did that matter? He didn’t intend to leave before he was ready, anyway.

“First, little Simon, you smell like mouse droppings and sweat. Let’s get you a bath, and then we’ll have some rest.”

Kai beckoned with one hand and, cradling Caela carefully, walked into the hallway. Simon followed.

“I’m sorry, sir,” he said, “but do we have time for that?”

“The little mouse rushes forward to meet the cat. If you want to be a Traveler, it is not the study of an afternoon. It will take you years.”

“Years? I don’t know how long my friends will live. They might not let them live out the week!”

“I may have some insight into that, and I will share with you on a later day. But don’t fret, little mouse. Time is on our side.”
 

Kai’s tone made it sound like he had answered the question, though Simon wasn’t sure he had. He resolved to bring this question up again soon, when Kai was more willing to talk.

The hallway was longer than Simon had expected, with intricately carved wooden doors every few feet. The doors had odd symbols carved into their centers: large circles, half-circles, and small dots. The door to his left had only one small dot, the door to his right two small dots. As he progressed down the hall, large circles and half-circles appeared in the sequence. Some way to tell the rooms apart? Maybe the phases of the moon?

Finally they reached another open room. It looked much like the entry hall, but this had many doors, each unique. Kai gestured to a circular door made of stone and lined with gold.

A door, lined in gold. What was the point? Why waste the money putting gold on a door, of all things?
 

“The bath awaits you,” Kai said. “I’ll go settle Caela among her sisters, and then I will return.” Kai gave a cheery wave and then headed back into the hallway. He stopped before he left and added, in a casual voice: “By the way, here’s a piece of advice: don’t let your guard down.”

Then he left. Simon looked around hesitantly for a moment before he stepped through the door to the bath.

The interior resembled a rough, naturally formed cave more than anything built by man. The floor was smooth enough to look lightly polished, but not so slick that Simon thought he would slip on them if they were wet. The room was much more brightly lit than the rest of the house, almost as though the noon sun shone directly into the room, although Simon saw no obvious light source. A single mirror took up one wall, large enough to reflect the entire room, and the floor was dominated by a pool in the center of the floor.
 

The pool was big enough to allow an entire family to swim comfortably, and steam rose lightly from its surface. Soapy lather rested on the water, drifting gently on shallow ripples. He smelled flower-scented soap, the sort his mother always wanted but hadn’t been able to afford in years, and the bath looked so inviting that he peeled off his filthy clothes and slid in.

The heat of the water seeped into his exhausted muscles, loosening tightness he hadn’t felt. It was like sinking into a soft, warm cushion, and Simon slumped against the edge of the bath. He relaxed as he hadn’t for over a week. Had it only been that long? It seemed impossible, but nine days ago he had spent every hour delivering messages, cleaning the tavern, chopping wood, organizing herbs; anything he could use to take care of his mother. It hadn’t been a happy life, but it had been comfortable, and it had held memories of brighter times. No one paid Simon any attention, Alin had just been the boy everyone liked instead of their promised savior, and the village had been whole. No one taken away to work as a slave in a far-off city.

Simon had no experience with slaves, but he had heard the stories. Old men forced to work until their hearts gave out, children mauled while caring for dangerous animals, women held captive by lecherous lords and subjected to unnamed horrors. Unbidden, an image rose in Simon’s mind: Leah, wearing a steel collar and a shapeless brown sack, back bent under a pack far too heavy for her. She stumbled to her knees, unable to bear the burden, and a huge man in a Damascan uniform was on her immediately. He yelled and raised a whip, making her flinch defensively. But instead of striking her, he seized her by the arm and pulled her into a nearby building, away from the eyes of witnesses. She struggled and screamed for help, but the other slaves kept about their work, afraid to lift their eyes. No one would help her. They had their own worries.

Simon jerked back from the edge of sleep, no longer comfortable enough to relax. How could he? He was here so that he could fight, not to start a new life. It was for that that he had worked his hands until they bled. He scratched absently at one palm. Where blisters had been he felt only calluses, and the wound was barely tender. He probably wouldn’t even feel it tomorrow.

Wait. That couldn’t be right. He had just injured his hand yesterday; how could it have healed by now? He looked down at his palm and nearly choked: he could actually see the redness and swelling in his hand fading. Dried blood flaked off and dissolved into the water, leaving flesh that visibly softened from angry red to soft pink. At this rate, the wound would be gone without a scar in a matter of minutes.

Simon pressed fingers to his ribs, where bruises had formed after Kai’s lesson. They were barely even tender. His feet, cut and sore from all the walking he had endured, felt clean and whole. On an impulse, he ducked his head under the water. The slice along his cheek felt cold, then cool, then the same as any other stretch of skin. He raised a hand to it and felt nothing.

He paddled over to the mirror outside the pool and tilted his head. The cut on his cheek was gone. On top of that, he could never remember being this clean in his life.

Simon’s doubts about following a Traveler into his lair began to fade with his wounds. He imagined the fabled Damascan lords might live in a house like this, but he was sure even they didn’t have self-heating baths whose waters magically healed wounds. Maybe, if he proved a skilled enough student, Kai would give him a key to this Territory, and he could enter whenever he wanted. After he rescued the villagers, he could live here, and then do...anything. Anything at all.
 

If only his mother could see him now.

Simon decided he should get a little closer to the mirror, to take a look at the places where his many small wounds had been healed. He planted his hands on the edge of the pool and pushed, levering his body out of the water.

A claw seized his ankle and jerked him back.

He lost his balance and fell onto his chest, smacking his chin on the marble basin. On instinct Simon kicked backwards, striking something rough and spiny. It felt like kicking a pinecone wrapped in thin leather. The clawed hand yanked on his ankle again, and his chin scraped on the stone as he was pulled deep into the water.

He spun around to get a glimpse of whatever was holding his leg. When he saw it through the murky water, he nearly lost what air he had left. It was an impish creature, about the size of a four- or five-year-old child, but with ridged greenish skin and thorny spikes on the top of its head. Its eyes were red and reflective, its teeth needle-sharp. It gave him a wicked smirk and tugged him down and dragged him farther under the pool.

Simon kicked and strained, trying to reach the glimmering surface, but the imp’s arms were stronger than they should have been. He couldn’t reach the surface if he tried to swim against the creature’s strength.

So he reached toward it instead. The tiny monster’s eyes widened in apparent surprise just before his fingers closed around its ridged throat.

Close up, Simon saw the creature in more detail. Its knobby green skin looked to be made out of twisted moss-covered bark. Its sharp fingernails and the spikes on its head looked like rusty nails. It snarled into the water, and Simon saw a mouthful of steel needles instead of teeth.

The water-imp clawed at him, drawing burning slashes down the skin of his wrist, and it twisted until it could sink its fangs into his arms. The pain burned enough that he almost released it, but the water continued to work its magic. Every wound the imp opened sealed itself immediately. Simon was healing faster than the imp could damage him, but his lungs were beginning to burn, and his chest started to convulse as if his body was going to take a breath without asking his consent.

Finally, the imp swam off for the far, unlit corners of the pool. Simon kicked once for the surface, desperately, and sucked in a huge breath of air before he started scrambling for the edge. The suds that covered the surface of the water now seemed like an ominous veil, hiding monsters beneath its surface. He imagined dozens of those things down there, maybe hundreds, and the one he had just driven off was just going for reinforcements.

He had almost reached the edge of the pool when his imagination was proven right. Four pairs of clawed hands pulled him back under.

Simon barely managed to get a breath before he plunged once again under the surface of the water. The four imps, all identical, crawled all over him, inflicting dozens of tiny wounds that healed instantly but burned his skin like a web of thorns.

They were working together to drown him. As panicked as he was, he couldn't shake the image of the four hideous creatures gnawing at his blue, floating corpse. He refused to let that happen. If he drowned, so be it, but he wouldn't let these water-demons get a meal out of it.

He fought desperately, with more savagery than skill, knocking the creatures into the depths, cracking their heads against the side, breaking their spines. Anything he could do to get away.
 

Simon had barely dealt with those four when something else, not an imp, stirred at the far edge of the pool. Much bigger than the tiny wooden creatures he had seen so far, this shadow wriggled and writhed like a water serpent. But it was at least as thick as his leg.