House of Blades Page 19

  Simon sighed. Quietly. “Whoever goes first has the best chance. And whoever’s second has to wait here alone until I get back.”

  Andra nodded. “Right. So it should be Lycus.” Lycus shook his head and gestured toward his sister.

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  Simon hoped the shadows hid his surprise. He had been sure they were holding back because of fear, but...were they each trying to give the other a better chance? That was impressive and admirable, but he still had to decide who to take.

  Simon’s father would have taken the girl first. Kalman had been a chivalrous man, and he would expect any son of his to do whatever it took to bring a woman out of danger. But Simon’s mother had been of a more practical bent, at least when sane. She would say to leave the one who could hold their head best alone, male or female. In this case, Simon thought his mother had a better point.

  Simon locked eyes with Andra. “Will you be all right alone?”

  Her answering smirk had a bit of the gallows in it, but her firm gaze made her look five years older than Simon, not four younger. “I was doing fine before you got here, wasn’t I?” That wasn’t how Simon recalled it, but he shrugged and scooped up Lycus, tossing him over his left shoulder.

  The boy struggled, of course, whispering his protests, but at least he didn’t scream.

  “Stay low,” Simon told Andra. “Don’t make any noise. I’ll come back for you.” If I can, he added silently.

  Simon peered over the ledge. A patch of bare rock rested between a pair of giant worms, twenty feet below. Icy silver crept into his veins as he called on the vial of steel; his lungs filled with the cool rush of Nye essence.

  And he stepped off the ledge.

  Filled with essence, Simon felt time slow to cool honey. It seemed to take ten seconds to reach the cavern floor, not less than one. When his feet touched rock, he kept his knees bent, absorbing the impact. It hit him with shivering force, like he was being pressed with a great weight. But the liquid steel hardened his muscles, supported his bones. His legs held.

  His slowed vision registered a ring of dust blasted away from him by his impact. In his view, it drifted away on a gentle breeze.

  So far so good. Simon kicked forward, leaping over prone figures, sliding past, keeping one hand on his shoulder to lock Lycus in place. It must be incredibly uncomfortable for him, tossed and jostled about like a sack on a galloping horse, but Simon tried to move as smoothly as possible. Slowing too much might kill them both.

  Once Simon had to squeeze between two rock-worms, edging along sideways, inches from one of the worm’s giant face. It was sleeping; he knew that now. Its broad face held a wide, craggy mouth, like a horizontal canyon, and its eyelids were rounded plates of granite. It looked as though someone had hewn a rough frog’s face out of solid rock.

  As Simon slid past, silent and quick as a breath of wind, Lycus let out a grunt. That was all. As uncomfortable as it surely was on Simon’s shoulder, it was a wonder he hadn’t made more noise than that, but one grunt was all it took.

  The worm’s granite eyes slid open, revealing eyes of burning blue.

  Simon was out of the rock-worm’s vision immediately, vaulting over another sleeping figure with legs powered by Benson’s liquid steel. Still, as he kept running, Simon caught a glimpse of the awakened worm raising its head, twisting it this way and that as it searched for whatever had startled it awake.

  The far wall loomed over Simon, that one blessed hole leaking moonlight. The wall was smoother than most of the rest of the chamber, though what little curve it did have actually made the climb easier. He threw himself at the side, both feet and one hand clutching at handholds, one keeping Lycus firmly attached.

  Without his Traveler’s gifts from Valinhall, he would never have made it. He would have needed both hands and both feet to climb a face like this even without a boy on his shoulder, and with Lycus there he would never be able to bear the weight. As it was, it almost felt like flying.

  Simon hurled himself upwards, feet and hand touching the wall only to seize protrusions and push up again and again. Every time he kicked off, he threw himself another five or six feet up the wall, the grace of the Nye keeping him from overbalancing and tipping over backwards. Or else cracking his forehead open on the wall.

  It had been hard to tell from across the chamber, but the hole itself could hardly have been in a worse position. Instead of in front of him, moonlight spilled from almost above him, as the wall began to curve into the ceiling. Simon stopped on a ledge, gathering his strength, coiling his legs and arms, building the strength of the steel vial inside his blood.

  “Hold on,” Simon said. He didn’t bother to keep his voice low. Lycus murmured something back, but Simon didn’t listen; he launched himself upward, straight at the hole.

  Though time moved slowly to him, the roof of the cavern approached with terrible speed. The hole rushed forward to meet him, but he had miscalculated. He was going to miss the center of the hole by two or three feet, slamming into the side of the hole like a melon dropped from a tall tree. At this speed he would crush both himself and Lycus to death on the roof of the cavern, leaving only their lifeless corpses to feed the worms.

  Panic and terror surged through him, and his limbs acted almost without his permission. With a speed that blurred even the edges of his Nye-enhanced vision, his hands shot out and seized the edge of the hole. In the bare, shaved second before he smashed into the rock, his arms flexed. Liquid steel and Nye’s breath blazed in him, a thousand pinpricks of cold that burned his flesh like winter’s own dagger. And with a mighty heave powered by everything he could draw from Valinhall, he pulled himself toward the hole and through. With an inch to spare, they emerged into the night instead of crashing into the ceiling.

  The moonlight was so bright compared to the dim moss-lit cave that it almost burned his eyes, but he slid on his belly onto a surface of dusty rock. From Simon’s back, Lycus leaned forward and vomited back into the hole. Some of it struck the rock and splattered onto Simon’s trousers, but at the moment he wouldn’t have cared if the boy had spewed all over his face. They were alive. And they were outside. The wind on Simon’s face felt like a mother’s embrace.

  Simon let out a breath that flared briefly with light as the Nye’s essence leaked out of him. His body felt almost uncomfortably warm and heavy as his twin powers faded, leaving him panting. And trembling. Another fraction of a second...

  Lycus wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said. Shame made his voice very small.

  It took Simon a moment to figure out what the boy was apologizing for. If he could have spoken, he would have told Lycus not to worry about it; no sensible person should have been able to control their stomach in that situation. But Simon was trembling too much to say anything.

  Part of it was the reaction from losing both strength and reflexes at the same time, and so suddenly. Part of it was. But the rest...he had come close to dying tonight. Perhaps as close as he ever had, though his first few nights in the House had surely come near.

  He told himself to get up, but his body just lay there and trembled. Long seconds passed before he could pull himself to his feet and look around.

  They were standing on a dome of smooth, featureless rock, bare and gray under the light of the moon.

  It seemed that they were standing on top of the dome that Simon had seen over the entrance. The positioning didn’t seem right—he had expected to break out at ground level—but he pushed that thought aside. The layout of the cave clearly shifted, so this much shouldn’t be too surprising. The hole from which they had emerged was the only break in the stone he could see. The dome rose higher and out of sight on one side, on the other sloping gently down until it met the ground.

  And there, around the curving corner of the stone, firelight played on the rocky ground. Simon distrusted it immediately. The fires could indicate another trap as easily as safety.
Or maybe—Simon’s stomach twisted as he considered it, but life in the House had trained him to doubt everything—maybe the Andros family wagons were burning. They would have to approach carefully, that was certain. They couldn’t take any foolish actions until they were sure.

  Then Simon caught sight of Lycus picking his way down the rocks, towards the fire. He lurched forward with a cry, intending to grab the boy back before he exposed himself to danger.

  “It’s mother!” Lycus exclaimed, just before Simon could snatch his arm. With a glad shout, Lycus rushed down the side of the slope. And a person stepped half into view, a figure in skirts with long, flowing hair. With the fire behind her, all other detail was washed out into a black silhouette, and for a moment Simon had the panicked thought that she was just a creature of shadows imitating Lycus’ mother.

  Then she let out a shriek of pure emotion and ran, stumbling and tripping on her skirts, as desperate to reach Lycus as he was to reach her. They collided and collapsed into one another, each seemingly trying to out-weep the other.

  Huh. So maybe it wasn’t a shadow-beast pretending to be their mother in order to lure them into danger.

  Simon could remember a time, not so long ago, when that wouldn’t have been his first explanation.

  Simon couldn’t hear the conversation over the wind and distance, but a female voice said something that sounded like a question, and Lycus gestured up the slope, where Simon surely stood out against the backdrop of the night sky. Lycus’ mother looked up.

  Though he could barely make out the woman’s face in the shadows, Simon dodged her glance, ducking back toward the hole. He couldn’t face questions about her daughter; not until he got Andra out of there.

  But when he stared down into the cave entrance again, he froze. Wind whistled over the lips of rock, not quite drowning out the grinding of living rock far below. The darkness looked infinite.

  Remembered terror shook his limbs. The power of the steel skeleton fortified him some, but it would only go so far. What if he couldn’t catch himself in time, and smashed into rock? Worse, what if more of those worms were awake? He had an uncomfortably clear vision of being pulled apart by stone jaws, blood and raw meat splashing on the cave walls...

  Simon’s time ran out. A young girl’s scream echoed up from the cave, cutting over the shrieks of the wind. Cool breath and liquid steel flowed into Simon, flooding him with the power of a Territory. His gifts were weaker than usual, barely returned and not at full strength. But it didn’t matter; he was going back in.

  Hesitation gone, Simon dropped into the hole.

  Maybe he would die, but Andra wouldn’t. Not if he could help it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  THE CHAINS OF VALINHALL

  Once again, only Simon’s enhanced reflexes kept him from dashing himself against rock with lethal speed, but he managed to weave his way through the nest of rock-worms without any of them waking.

  When he got closer, he saw Andra. She was curled up on the promontory of rock above the worms, arms wrapped around herself to protect her vitals. A deafening clash of noise sounded from the passage behind her: a wave of snarling, slashing, screaming that meant two creatures were fighting. Like dogs, fighting over a scrap of meat.

  Simon leaped up, landing next to the yellow-haired girl in an all-but-soundless crouch. Her lantern lay in shards next to her right hand, pieces of glass scattered over a spreading pool of oil and blood. Simon’s breath caught as he saw the blood, but it didn’t look serious; her arm was sliced open almost halfway to the elbow, but the cuts looked shallow. It seemed that she had swung the lantern to defend herself.

  Simon reached out to check her pulse, but she flinched and made a choking sound, curling tighter. He exhaled in relief; at least she was alive and conscious.

  An inhuman scream sounded from the tunnel and Simon looked up. He could only see the bare hint of movement in the blue-tinged shadows, but it was clear that some monstrous thing was locked in combat. As he watched, a claw spun lazily through the air towards them, trailing blood. It landed on the rock outcropping and spun to a halt next to Simon. The creature screamed again. Simon thought he saw something flash in the tunnel.

  It was past time to be gone.

  “Okay, Andra. Get up.” She curled tighter; Simon shook her. “Andra, it’s me. Your mother’s just outside. Lycus is with her.”

  That roused her. She shook herself and stared at Simon as if trying to decide whether he was really there.

  Something stumbled out of the tunnel. It looked like a cousin to the mantis-thing Simon had killed earlier, all insectile grace and overlapping stony plates. One of its claws was missing, and it oozed ichor.

  Andra screamed, and Simon decided it was time to go. He scooped her up and jumped off the ledge, down into the bowl below.

  The Nye essence and liquid strength were fading away, but there was enough of each left that he had no trouble landing on the rough, sloped stone surface. He would just have to make it out before his powers left him entirely.

  Still carrying Andra, Simon leaped over the body of the nearest worm, clearing it in a single bound. No problem so far, and if he hurried, he should be able to get Andra through the hole in the roof before his powers faded again.

  Simon landed on the other side of the sleeping worm. And stared straight into burning eyes.

  Somehow the rock-worm’s stony face registered surprise. The granite eyelids widened, and its flap of a mouth opened and closed soundlessly. For a second, Simon was too stunned to move. Some part of him wondered whether, if he kept his gaze still enough, the worm might stay where it was.

  Trying to maintain eye contact, Simon edged slowly to one side. Maybe he could sneak around the thing, get far enough away to escape while it was confused. He slid another step.

  In his arms, Andra let out a shuddering little squeak of fear.

  The worm’s searing blue eyes, each the size of Simon’s two hands together, flicked down to Andra, then back up to Simon. They flared bright, and the rock-worm tossed its head back, letting out a cry halfway between a lion’s roar and a trumpet call.

  The nest of giant, tangled worms began to writhe. Glowing eyes lifted above the mass as dozens of other rock-worms woke. From the distant corners of the cave, more deafening cries answered the first.

  Simon tried very hard not to scream and run.

  The closest rock-worm plunged its head at Simon, mouth gaping wide. It was filled with teeth like sharp chips of obsidian. Simon barely had time to duck out of the way, shifting Andra under his left arm as he did so. He should have been faster than that; with the Nye essence in him, it should have looked like the worm was striking through cool honey. He scrambled to hold the glowing essence in him, but it was like trying to hold steam in his fingertips. It was sliding away from him, no matter what he did. And he thought he could feel Andra growing heavier by the second; the quicksilver strength must be draining as well.

  Simon turned and ran for the exit. Andra screamed something from under his arm, but the noise of the worms around him was far too loud. He ignored her; if he didn’t make it out of the cave before his powers faded, they were both dead. But running through a room full of giant sleeping rock-worms was one thing, and doing it when they were all awake and thirsty for blood was something else entirely.

  A flick of a boulder-sized tail clipped his shoulder, and he stumbled forward in between three enormous heads. They snapped at him with mouths big enough to consume his ribs in a single bite. He managed to stab one in the eye and dodge the second, but the third got a mouthful of Andra’s hair. She screamed as the worm pulled her by the hair, and slid out of Simon’s grip. Simon lunged for her, but the worm he’d wounded went into a frenzy. Maddened with pain and anger, it flailed about, slamming into Simon with its body and bringing its teeth down on Simon’s leg.

  It was like someone had wrapped his leg in a blanket of rusty nails and then squeezed tight. Pain flashed, white and hot,
and he screamed. The worm shook its head like a dog shaking a rabbit, and the rusty blades sliced through skin and muscle.

  Somewhere inside, Simon realized that he was about to die. He and Andra were both about to be eaten. He had never experienced the sheer surge of primal, instinctive terror that thought inspired in him. When he had thought Kai or Chaka was about to kill him, at least he would have died clean; one thrust through the heart, followed by whatever came next. This would be neither clean nor merciful, torn apart by monsters under the earth.

  And Simon refused to allow it to happen. He reached for strength, reached deeper than he ever had before. He stretched his mind out to Valinhall, to the steel skeleton in the depths of the blue-lit basement.

  Time slowed. The ring of steel on steel drowned out all other sounds: the sound of Benson clapping.

  “Not bad, boy,” the skeleton said. “I’m game. Now let’s see what you can do.”

  Icy cold flowed into Simon’s veins, not in a smooth trickle, but in a raging torrent that seemed to freeze him from the inside out. It did nothing to soothe the pain, but Simon found that almost didn’t matter.

  He let his sword fall, grabbing the rock-worm’s jaws in both hands. Then he pried his leg out with main strength.

  The worm tried to fight, but it felt like a temperamental dog instead of a rampaging monster. Simon hopped away from its head—careful to avoid landing on his injured leg—and scooped up his sword. One of the other rock-worms struck at him, but he drove his sword so deeply that it must have pierced the brain; the creature simply shuddered and went limp down its whole length, the light in its remaining eye fading. Glowing blue fluid leaked down Simon’s blade. The injured worm struck again, and Simon drove his sword up, under the thing’s chin, in between its head and body where the armor was weak.

  Simon felt the blade shatter, even as gallons of stinking blood poured down from the wound. He let the sword go and glanced around for Andra. The Nye essence had faded, but it barely mattered to Simon. With this much power rolling through him, he felt invincible.