The Crimson Vault Part 29

I'm not sure, she admitted. It felt full the entire time you had the mask on, as though it wasn't draining at all. But as soon as the mask fell off, it went straight to empty.

Indirial knelt over by the wall, covering his hand in the corner of his cloak and gingerly picking up the mask without ever touching the metal with his hand.

Simon didn't think he had the strength to turn his head, but he heard the rustle of cloth next to his ear. Then a rasping voice spoke from above him.

"What happened here?" the Eldest asked. He leaned over Simon's body for a better look, his dark hood peering into Simon's eyes.

"What do you know about this?" Indirial demanded. He raised the mask up for the Nye's inspection, still not touching it with his skin.

"An artifact of Ragnarus, captured in battle from a defeated foe. It meets the requirements to become part of Valinhall."

"It's from Ragnarus!" Indirial said. "It can't be safe. Look what it did to Simon."

The Eldest's hood snapped up to regard Indirial. "I would have thought that, of all people, you would not be squeamish about using the power of the Crimson Vault. You should know that nothing in Ragnarus is less than a powerful weapon. If you mean to stop the Incarnation, I should think that you would relish every weapon you can get your hands on."

Without responding, Indirial strode over to Simon and reached down, holding up Simon's limp arm. "And what about this?" the Overlord asked.

At first, Simon thought he meant the fact that he couldn't move after only seconds using the mask. That was Simon's main concern, certainly. Then Simon looked at his arm.

It was covered by a design like black chains. The chains twisted all the way up his arms.

He hadn't noticed before, because of the icy chill of the mask's power and his subsequent collapse, but he could feel the chains crawling past his shoulder blades and onto his back, binding his ribs in what felt like cold steel.

Maker above, he thought.

"This is what happens when he only has the mask on for a few seconds," Indirial said. "What happens if he tries to fight Valin in it?"

"I'm not convinced you should be fighting Valin at all," the Eldest rasped. "Besides, if you are so concerned for the boy's welfare, then you can wear the mask. I do not care."

Olissa came rus.h.i.+ng into the workshop then. "I shouted down that trap door until I was hoa.r.s.e. I don't know what you expected to happen, but*"

Then she noticed the scene: Indirial, kneeling next to Simon, holding up his chain-wrapped arm for emphasis. The Eldest Nye, standing over them both, turning his hood to regard her as she walked into the door.

Simon could only see the whole picture out of the corner of his eye, but he had to admit: it made for a strange situation.

"Eldest!" Olissa said, sounding surprised. "You're here!"

"I knew where I was needed," the Eldest responded, turning back to Indirial. "Why did you need me, son of Aleias? My master may call for me at any moment, and I must be ready."

Indirial stood, standing face-to-face with the Eldest. He rose head and shoulders above the Nye, but the Eldest certainly didn't back down.

"Why did you bring her here?" Indirial asked. "Why open this room up at all?"

"I use what resources I am given. When I see someone so rich in imagination, in potential, I must have her working for the House. That is all. What she creates? That is no concern of mine. This mask is nothing. She is the real treasure."

Simon couldn't see Olissa's face, but she was probably wondering whether to be flattered or creeped out. That was how Simon would have felt, at least.

"We will not take the mask," Indirial said. "You will not bind us as you bound Valin."

The Eldest spread his arms wide, his sleeves drooping down to the floor. "You wound me, son of Aleias. Even if you wished to take the mask from here, it would not function for you outside of the Territory. It is not yet attuned."

Indirial stared, obviously considering that.

Simon, feeling strength return to his limbs, struggled up to a sitting position, propping himself up against the wall.

"What..." he began, but his voice trailed off and he had to swallow. Both Indirial and the Eldest looked at him. "What would it take? To do this 'attuning' thing."

Indirial ran a hand through his hair, not looking at Simon. "We can't use this, Simon. We can't. It's too great a risk. Instead of beating Valin, we could actually make him stronger."

The Eldest ignored Indirial, rubbing his sleeves together, his hood turned toward Simon. "I, or someone like me, would have to bind the mask to a specific room, and a specific challenge. Anyone with enough ties to the House could attune an artifact, if the artifact meets the correct requirements. If they did so, then you would be able to summon it in the outside world."

"Do it," Simon said, but Indirial immediately s.n.a.t.c.hed the mask away.

"I know what it looked like, Simon," he said, "but this is exactly the kind of thing that snared Valin in the first place. We can't afford the risk."

The Eldest shrugged. "It does not matter."

Both Travelers looked at him.

"It does not matter," he said again. "I will not do it."

"What? Why not?"

"For me, there is no gain," the Eldest said, in his grating almost-whisper. "If you can summon the mask, you will challenge the Valinhall Incarnation. You will likely die, and my investment in you will be wasted. Or else you will kill Valin, and still I have nothing to show for it."

The Eldest Nye turned his back and glided from the room.

"So no, son of Kalman. I will not do this thing. Be at ease, Overlord."

The Nye vanished.

"Excuse me," Olissa said, "but I made it. I think I should get to say something about*"

Something seemed to hit her, and she stopped in mid-sentence. Almost comically slow, she rotated her neck to look at Indirial.

In a small voice, she said, "Overlord?"

Indirial kept looking at the mask, answering in an absent voice, "Hm? Oh, yes. Indirial, son of Aleias, Overlord of the realm of Cana, subject to the authority of His Majesty Zakareth the Sixth, the Morning and Evening star, and so on, and so forth."

From the small smile quirking up the corner of Indirial's mouth, Simon didn't think he was quite as casual as he pretended.

Olissa looked like she was about to faint. Hastily she pulled the goggles from her hair and tossed her pin down, smoothing the front of her dress.

"I didn't...I mean, I thought..." She glanced around, looking for answers, but soon decided to just go to her knees in a deep bow.

"How may I serve you, my lord?" she asked.

Indirial looked vaguely uncomfortable. "Get up, woman. Seriously, get up. I never can get used to that."

Olissa rose to her feet, still looking fl.u.s.tered. "I should get my husband. Yes. My children need to meet you."

His eyes widened as though she had threatened him. "No, no, don't do that. They would only make more of a fuss."

Her eyes moved to Simon, and then they widened. "Simon. Is he working for you? With you? But he*" She clicked her mouth shut, but Simon could have finished the sentence for her.

But he kills Damascans.

Indirial sighed and shook his head. "What a mess. Listen, I am well aware of Simon's past. But he is working with me now, not against me, and therefore he will have the opportunity to make up for his past crimes. Such is the decree I received straight from King Zakareth himself. Do you understand?"

"Absolutely clear, my lord," Olissa said. She looked upon Indirial as though he was the Maker himself, and Simon just a step short.

The looks made Simon uncomfortable. They reminded him too much of the way people treated Alin.

"Yes, well, let your family know," Indirial said. "I know your daughter was chosen to bear a Dragon's Fang*you are to be congratulated. When she's ready, she'll have an honored place in the Kingdom."

She looked as though Indirial had offered her a house full of gold.

Indirial held up the mask. "For now? Hold on to this. Don't give it to anyone, especially not one of the Nye. It was an honor to meet you, Mistress Agnos. Let's go, Simon."

As they walked out of the room*well, Indirial walked, and Simon sort of staggered along behind him*Simon asked a question. "Shouldn't you have hidden the mask? If the Eldest wants it, he knows right where to find it."

"I would have," the Overlord responded, "but there's no point. I couldn't hide it from him anyway, so I might as well leave it where I can keep my eye on it."

"Okay. Where are we going?"

Indirial looked at him in surprise, his eyebrows raised. "Well, I'll have to go as soon as the King contacts me. But until then...it's been far too long since I've spent any significant time in the House. It's about time I settled in for a long-overdue workout."

He clapped a hand on Simon's shoulder, almost causing Simon's still-weak knees to collapse. "And you, my friend, will get to see some real training."

Alin was just beginning to relax when, for the second time that day, a Grandmaster called him to work.

He was sitting between Shai and Ilana, tearing into a roast pork sandwich, listening to Shai tell a story about how she had managed to find her way into the Tartarus Travelers' barracks. Tamara spent half her time chuckling and the other half shaking her head, as though trying to decide whether to be an amused older sister or a disapproving mother.

Then Shai cut off mid-sentence, and Alin put down his sandwich. He didn't have to look up to know why she had stopped. He had been lucky to get this much time to himself.

He barely stopped to marvel at how much he was changing; only last week, he would have been overjoyed at the idea of one of the Grandmasters needing his help.

A Helgard Traveler*unmistakable with his thick fur-lined coat, his long beard, and the string of sharpened bones he wore around his neck*placed one gloved hand on Alin's shoulder. "The Grandmaster would like to speak with you," the man said. His glove still had bits of frost on it, which melted and trickled down Alin's neck.

Alin stood, bidding his sisters good-bye, and followed the Traveler out of the room.

"You are not dressed as you should be," the Helgard Traveler said disapprovingly, once they had left the dining room.

Alin responded as he felt a king would have: "I am dressed as I wish," he said.

The Traveler grunted, unimpressed, but Alin felt good. That was what King Zakareth would have said, he was sure. Well, that was what he imagined, anyway.

Alin followed the Traveler along what seemed like miles of twisting corridor, all the way to the Helgard quarters. These were rougher than most of the palace, made largely out of undressed stone or undecorated metal, and he would have sworn that he saw patches of actual snow in some of the corners.

The man led Alin to a huge arch of a door, made of a metal that looked like pewter, carved with the snarling face of some horned bear-like beast. Without knocking, the Traveler pulled the door open, then pushed Alin inside.

The room inside was larger than Alin had expected, larger even than the Grandmasters' war council room. It was surrounded with packed bookshelves and comfortable furniture, and one wall was nothing but high windows. The windows had curtains drawn over them now, and the only light came from a series of candles sitting around the room. They were placed well away from the books, Alin noticed.

Someone had hastily cleared out the center of the room and placed a round table there, surrounding it with chairs. All of those chairs, save one, were now occupied.

Grandmaster Avernus sat at the end of the table, her long gray hair hastily tied back. Judging by her casual robes, someone had woken her for this meeting. She stared at a man Alin didn't recognize; he was tall and well-muscled, with blond curly hair framing a face that said he was bored with these proceedings, and was already looking forward to more important business later in the day. His hands were bound to the arms of his chair, and a sword*presumably his*lay on the table in front of him. The sheath was pulled down slightly, to expose a few inches of bright red steel.

The prisoner's calm was even more impressive considering his circ.u.mstances. A fat, fluffy owl, with eyes that gleamed unnaturally bright in the room's candlelight, perched on the table across from him, staring fixedly into the bound man's eyes. Or, possibly, he could have been watching the serpents crawl all over the man's clothes.

The serpents looked like two-foot-long snakes, except they each had four or five pairs of spindly claws that helped them grip and pull themselves along the prisoner's skin. When they pa.s.sed his head, they stopped to flick a tongue inside his ear and hiss something that sounded disturbingly like a secret whisper.

"What is going on here?" Alin asked.

Grandmaster Endross stood next to Avernus, his dark eyes fixed on the prisoner. His hands rested on the hilts of his swords as though he was looking for an opportunity to use them. Upon hearing Alin speak, he glanced over, but he didn't say a word.

It was the last Grandmaster in the council who responded. Grandmaster Helgard glared at the prisoner over his bushy beard, one hand curling almost unconsciously into a fist. He spoke to Alin, though.

"Eliadel, this man claims to be Talos, firstborn son of Zakareth the Sixth, and Heir to the Damascan throne."

Before Alin could say anything*before he could even decide what he wanted to say*Talos spoke.

"You can stop testing me, now. You know I am who I say I am, and you know that what I offer is the truth."

He leaned forward, looking from Grandmaster to Grandmaster before finally settling his gaze on Alin.

"I want to help you," he said.

Leah pushed her bleeding hand to the silver doors of Ragnarus. The doors, marked with the visage of the bearded, one-eyed king, swung silently open at her offering.

Not for the first time, Leah pressed a handkerchief against the slice in her hand and wished there was some other, more civilized way to gain entry to the Crimson Vault. She was getting sick of pinp.r.i.c.ks.

Her father stood within, for once wearing his tall, black-and-gold crown, a ruby set just above his forehead. He held a blunt mace in one hand and the hilt of a long sword*slightly curved and sharp along only one edge, like Simon's*in the other. He seemed to be comparing the two, looking from one to the other.

Leah had expected to find him here. He liked to spend his time in the Vault. Somehow, examining the weapons soothed him or set his mind at ease. This was as relaxed as she ever saw him: rigidly looking from one deadly weapon to another, as though trying to decide which to unleash first.

He looked up as she entered. "Leah. You have something to report?"

"I do, father." As usual, she had to fight the urge to bow or curtsy in his presence. "The crystal I planted in Enosh has gone dark. I have no more eyes in the city."

His crimson eye flared. "Discovered?"

She hesitated, but shook her head. "I don't believe so. I doubt it's been destroyed, only...blocked, somehow. I suspect Grandmaster Lirial or one of her lieutenants has created interference on the Lirial side."

The King nodded, carefully replacing his weapons on their labeled marble shelves. "Will it be useless to us, then?"