The Crimson Vault Part 28

Ilana clapped her hand on his shoulder. "Well, for now, don't worry about it. Stay and have breakfast with us. We'll go down to the kitchens to finish this bread, and I think one of the helpers is saving me some soup..."

Ilana kept talking, with occasional input from Shai or Tamara, but Alin stopped listening. For the moment, he could stay with his sisters and pretend they were all back home.

Since when had he wanted that?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN:.

SUCCESSION.

Surrounded by the workshop, Indirial looked like he had just discovered a h.o.a.rd of treasure.

"This is where he designed the advisors," he said in awe. He pulled a black string off a nearby workstation and lifted it into the air; it drifted down much slower than it should have, as though it were drifting through water. "These materials must have come from foreign Territories. Amazing."

Indirial reached into a small leather purse, pulling out a tiny dark gem that almost looked black. He removed his medallion, comparing the gem at the center of the medallion to the gem he held in his other hand. The two were identical.

"How did you find this?" he breathed.

Simon looked to Olissa, who shrugged. "We've all been sharing my daughter's bedroom, and I used to spend most of my days doing things that the Nye could probably do better for themselves. The Eldest asked if I needed something to do, and I've always been a bit of a tinkerer."

Indirial's face soured, and he put the gem back in its purse. "The Eldest, huh?"

"Why?" she asked. "Is there something wrong?"

"Not exactly, no." Indirial glanced at Simon, as though asking for help.

Simon wasn't sure he could explain, but he tried anyway. "The Eldest wants the Territory to grow and expand. And...well, that's all he wants. He doesn't care about us."

Indirial nodded. "It would have been nice to think that you had earned your way in here on your own, or that the Territory had for some reason decided to open this place back up. But if the Eldest's involved, that means he thinks there's some way to increase Valinhall's power."

Olissa looked unconvinced. "Is that bad?"

"Depends on your definition of bad," Indirial responded.

Simon waited for more, but the Overlord didn't seem inclined to say anything else.

"Well, if you don't want to tell me, just say so," Olissa said. "No need to be so cryptic." Deliberately, Olissa turned from Indirial to Simon. "Would you mind helping me for a moment, Simon?" she asked. Her voice wasaalmost too pleasant.

"No, ma'am," Simon said, looking away from Indirial. The Overlord's eyebrows were raised, and he looked as though he were trying to decide whether to be amused or offended. Simon wondered how long it had been since anyone dared to talk to Indirial like that.

Olissa reached into a nearby cabinet and withdrew the mask.

It had improved since Simon last saw it: polished-steel silver on one side and wrought-iron black on the other, with a jagged line through the middle like a solid lightning bolt. There were small eye slits, one on each side, though they still looked too small to see out of.

Clapping the mask down on a table in front of Simon, Olissa looked him in the eye. "Put it on, if you don't mind," she said.

Simon looked from her to the mask, then back at her again. On the one hand, if it gave him anything near the power it had apparently given Malachi, he could find a use for it. On the other hand, he couldn't believe something like this would be without drawbacks. Probably significant drawbacks. Plus, it was homemade.

He was willing to trust the artifacts left behind by the Wanderer, and he had no problem with those native to the Territory. But something Olissa had cobbled together out of an artifact she undoubtedly didn't understand...

What he had learned in Enosh led Simon to believe that this mask was from Ragnarus, and that further reinforced his suspicion that there would be some horrible cost to wearing the mask. His imagination leapt into action, providing him with disturbing images of the mask sprouting limbs of sharp metal, driving into his skull and drinking his blood.

"What are you waiting for?" Olissa said. "It's perfectly safe. It used to have all sorts of nasty side effects, but we think that was because it was broken. It won't drain your life-force anymore."

"What is that?" Indirial asked curiously.

Simon had a different question in mind. "It drained your life-force before?"

Olissa waved that away. "Well, it doesn't now. Now, it just draws on your connection to Valinhall. It's like calling yourayou know, steel or whatever. Just much deeper."

Indirial eyed Olissa suspiciously. "How do you know all this? Where did you learn how to do anything with the artifacts of a Territory?"

Olissa raised her eyebrows at him. "The library," she said, in a tone that made it clear that this subject wasn't any of his business.

After a moment, she relented, adding, "Some of it, the Eldest taught me. Some of it, I learned from doc.u.ments in the workshop. Some thingsaI just know, now. The longer I spend in the workshop, the more I know."

"That kind of link can be dangerous," Indirial warned. "I know you're not familiar witha"

Indirial kept talking, but Simon stopped listening. He had heard enough.

Now he was faced with a simple choice: would he wear the mask, or not?

Taking a deep breath, Simon made up his mind. He needed an edge against Valin, and this mask might be it. If this would help him defeat the Incarnation, or even to last a little longer against him, he would be willing to take a little risk.

Simon took the mask in one hand and, with only a moment's hesitation, pressed it against his face.

"Simon, wait," Indirial commanded.

He took his hand away, and the mask stayed. It didn't feel like it was glued to his face, and there was certainly nothing wrapping around his head, so how did it stay on?

"I don't feel any different," Simon said. His voice sounded tinny and m.u.f.fled behind the mask. He had been right about the eye slits; he could see either Olissa's hands resting on the table or her face, not both at once.

Olissa nodded absently and scratched something down on a piece of paper. "Good, okay. Andra managed to get this far. Now, can you call one of your Valinhall powers?"

"Hold on a moment, Simon," Indirial said.

Olissa huffed impatiently and turned toward the Overlord. "What is it now?"

"I can't believe this is safe," Indirial responded evenly. "Let me try it."

"I'm more comfortable with Simon, thank you," Olissa said, once again in that too-sweet voice. "I hardly know you. Do you have any reason to believe it isn't safe?"

Indirial hesitated a moment before saying, "Nothing tangible. Just...experience. I don't expect anything to be safe."

"Well, unless you have something more concrete, please just trust me." She smiled rea.s.suringly at him. "Don't worry, I've been here a while now. I know my way around."

Indirial sighed and shook his head, but he didn't say anything else.

Simon just watched the two in silence. They were treating him like a child. He could almost understand that; to them, he was a child. And if Indirial had known something he didn't about the mask, he certainly wanted to know what that was.

But this was his decision, not theirs.

Before Olissa could say anything else, he called steel.

The liquid cold flowed through his veins and along his muscles, not like a river, but like the torrents of an ocean. He felt as though his limbs would freeze; at the same time, he felt as though he could tear the walls of the House down with his bare hands.

He could see perfectly, too, as though the mask had suddenly become completely transparent. The sudden input of sight and sensation almost blinded him, and he staggered to the right, gripping the corner of a metal table for balance.

The metal warped and bent under his fingers.

Indirial looked down at the medallion he was still holding in one hand, then up at Simon. His expression was a combination of horror and readiness for battle. "Take it off, Simon! Simon! Take it off!"

"Is it working?" Olissa asked eagerly. "How do you feel?"

He felt like he could leap over a mountain; no, through a mountain. He felt like summoning Azura and tearing his way through the rest of the House, deeper and deeper, until he had carved into the center of the Wanderer's world.

He felt like tearing an Incarnation apart with nothing but his hands.

Experimentally, Simon reached out to the Nye essence. He nudged the power in his mind, intending to take only a wisp of that chill moonlight power.

It slammed into his lungs, causing him to take a deep, involuntary breath.

It was like waking up after a century asleep. Olissa's pen locked into place, and Indirial froze in the middle of a step forward. Simon concentrated in a way he had never tried before, and Olissa's hand crawled forward, writing on the paper. Indirial lowered his foot a fraction of an inch. Simon loosened his grip a little further, and the pen scratched, Indirial opening his mouth to speak.

Simon tightened his focus on the Nye breath, and the world froze again.

He had to do something with all this power, so he coiled his legs and leaped.

Even through this frozen world, he moved like a stone launched from a catapult.

Too fast too fast too fast! he thought desperately.

Try to grab a ceiling beam, Caela said. She sounded exasperated; for some reason, the Nye essence hadn't frozen her voice.

Simon spun in midair, snagging one of the solid wood ceiling beams that arched over the workshop. He manage to halt his progress, though the beam itself creaked alarmingly under his impact.

How can I understand you? Simon asked.

That's a great question for the ages, Caela responded.

No, I mean, why aren't you as slow as everything else?

We're not really talking, you know.

Sure we are, Simon said.

Caela sighed, but she sounded pleased with herself. We're transmitting our thoughts directly. It's really much more efficient than speech; I'm not sure why you ever bother moving your mouth at all.

Good, Simon responded, letting himself drop down to his former position. Now I won't have to worry about leaving you behind when I wear the mask.

So you've decided to use the mask, have you?

Why wouldn't I?

A question you ought to consider carefully.

Simon shook his head wearily. All of his doubts had flown away in the face of this wonderful rush of power. Surely even Valin couldn't stand against him like this. If Caela wasn't convinced, well, he was used to doubt and mockery from the dolls. He wouldn't let that stop him.

He loosened his grip on the Nye essence enough that he could see Olissa blinking in surprise. He wondered why for a moment, and then understood: from her perspective, he had been standing in one place, and then suddenly appeared inches away. She hadn't seen him move.

The thought thrilled him, and he turned to Indirial.

He saw the man just as his broad hand smacked him upside the face.

The mask flew free, and the world lurched back into normal speed. The mask hit the wall and rang like a bell before it crashed down to the floor.

"What was..." Simon tried to ask What was that for?, but his mouth seemed not to have the energy it needed to move. He moved to step toward Indirial, but his legs gave out, and he melted bonelessly to the stone floor.

Olissa's mouth gaped open in shock. "What happened?"

"At the end of the hallway, beyond the bedrooms, there is a trap door beneath a rug," Indirial said. "Go there, raise the door, and call for the Eldest. Tell him that Indirial needs a favor."

"I haven't seen the Eldest for*" Olissa said, but Indirial cut her off.

"The Eldest will be where he needs to be. Do as I say. And under no circ.u.mstances climb down the ladder. Do you understand me? No matter what he says, do not climb down the ladder."

Olissa's face struggled with itself, and she glanced down at Simon, but finally she obeyed.

Simon wasn't surprised. Even if he hadn't known that Indirial was really a Damascan Overlord, the authority in the man's voice would have sent him running. He tried to say something, but his mouth wouldn't obey.

He ordered his hand to move, but his fingers only twitched. His body had no strength at all.

Well, there's one cure for that, he thought. Then he called steel.

Nothing happened.

You've used it all up, Caela sent. I warned you.

You didn't warn me!

Well, I would have, if you asked. Why didn't you ask?

Simon would have throttled her if he could move. And if it would have done any good to throttle someone with a wooden neck. What happened to my steel? I didn't use that much.