House of Blades Read online

  One of the collared men—a butcher, who had more than once given Simon a meal—shouted and jumped forward, leaping onto a nearby shoulder and grappling at him with bound hands. The other ten captives staggered toward him, jerked along by the rope.

  Cormac turned his back to the cave and moved toward the struggling prisoner. The soldier shoved the bound man to the ground, kicking him as he huddled in his bonds.

  “Unfortunately for you,” Cormac said, “we seem to have a spare.” He raised one cupped hand, which filled with a dark and swirling mass of clouds. The tiny mass began to spin, faster and faster, and to fill with flashes of unseen lightning, until he held a thunderstorm in the palm of his hand.

  Cormac looked over the villagers huddled in the rest of the cave. “He was disobedient. This is the punishment for the disobedient.”

  As Cormac stepped toward the butcher and raised his arm, Simon cried out. The light from Cormac’s torch had fallen on the woman at the end of the line, revealing her face for the first time.

  It was Leah.

  CHAPTER FOUR:

  HIDDEN TALENTS

  Cormac held a hand over his head, and the storm inside it flashed. Thorned purplish vines sprouted from the earth around the captive butcher, crawling up his legs like questing snakes. The man's scream was terrible. Each vine had inch-long thorns that dragged over the man's skin, leaving deep red lines that trickled down his flesh. He clawed desperately at the vines, trying to peel them apart, but all he accomplished was shredding his fingers.

  Simon had never seen anyone in that much agony. A twisting sympathetic pain in his own stomach made him think he was going to vomit, but he couldn't look away. Someone should help, he knew that. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. But what could an ordinary blade do?

  He stood there, frozen.

  The dying man continued to produce a whimpering scream until the storm in Cormac’s hand flashed again, and blue sparks jumped from all the thorns at once. The man convulsed, spasming like he had lost all control of his muscles. The air filled with the smell of charred meat and hair. The other people in the cave screamed and pushed back into the rock; Simon himself felt paralyzed. The other captives tied to the same rope tried to pull away, but they were held firmly by their Damascan captors. Simon noticed that many of the soldiers looked sickened, and some had turned completely away, but none dared oppose the Traveler.

  After a few moments, the sparks stopped and the body slumped to the ground. His skin was red and swollen, and smoke rose gently from his chest. The smell was nauseating, and Simon heard several people behind him empty their stomachs on the cave floor.

  The purple-green vines slithered back into the rocky ground and vanished.

  Cormac looked vaguely disgusted, as though he had been forced to step on a spider while wearing a silk slipper. He waved at the smoke in front of his face and grimaced. "You take my point," he said. “Follow quietly, and I won’t need to make another example.”

  The Damascan soldiers pulled on the rope of captives, trying to maneuver them into position, but now everyone in the line was panicking, trying desperately to get as far away from Cormac as possible.

  "Honestly," Cormac said. He tossed the torch to a nearby soldier. "Struggling solves nothing. We’re leaving.”

  Cormac raised his hand-held thunderstorm over the struggling mass of captured villagers. Simon caught a glimpse of Leah's panicked face as she strained against the chains on her limbs and the collar around her neck. She didn’t even look afraid, just angry. And resolved.

  Simon himself could never have shown such strength in her position. If he could give her a moment more to live, maybe even a chance to escape, he had to try. No matter what it cost.

  Quietly, afraid the Traveler would hear him, Simon eased the sword from its scabbard. As soon as he had the weapon free he kicked forward, screaming, and slashed at Cormac's legs.

  The Traveler didn't even look back, but a gust of wind smacked into Simon's chest like a giant's kick. The wind felt heavy and wet, far more so than the night air surrounding them, and it smelled like iron and rotting vegetation. It shoved Simon back, tumbling him over backwards until he landed very near where he had started, staring up at the cave roof. He could just see a wedge of stars outside.

  Simon tried to stand, to catch a breath, but it seemed like his body had died below the neck. He couldn't make his legs move, his lungs inflate. He tried to close his fingers around his sword, but felt nothing. Had he dropped it? He lay on the sand, wheezing and looking up at the stars as footsteps crunched over closer to his head.

  Cormac's head gleamed as it blocked out the handful of stars, but his poisonous green eyes flashed brighter.

  "Did that make you feel better?" the Traveler asked. Then Simon's view was obscured by an up-close vision of lightning flashes and dark, swirling clouds.

  Simon closed his eyes, but opened them again instantly. His father had died facing his killer; so would he. Kalman’s son would watch the storm that killed him. His lungs remembered their job as he stared, and he drew in a deep, ragged breath.

  "Don't worry, Simon," someone said. Not Cormac. A younger, firmer voice. Alin? The storm shivered, as though the hand holding it had trembled. Heat lightning flared inches from Simon’s nose.

  "I'll take care of this," Alin said. It was Alin's confidence, but far more serious in tone than Simon had ever heard from him before. He wanted to look, to see what Alin had planned that could stand against a Traveler, but his vision was filled with clouds of rolling black.

  "What are y—" Cormac began, but there was a flash of golden light so bright that it caused a blast of pain in Simon's eyes. Simon flinched, and when he could see clearly again the storm in front of his face had vanished. He blinked hurriedly, trying to clear his eyes. Something like a bundled-up cloak arched through the air and landed heavily in the distance, far behind the ring of Damascan soldiers.

  Was that Cormac's body?

  Simon sat up, ribs aching in protest, and turned around.

  Alin stood, radiating sunlight. His hair gleamed like polished gold, his clothes drifted on an otherworldly breeze, and wisps of light rose like smoke from his right hand.

  Chaim, the Mayor’s advisor, spoke from the corner of the cave, his voice full of awe. “Alin,” he said. “What have you done?”

  Alin’s response was hesitant. “I’m...not sure.”

  ***

  Cormac slammed into the rocky ground. He heard his body crack, and lost all feeling in a blast of white-hot pain. His consciousness fuzzed, but he knew that without the protection of Endross worked into his armor, he would be dead. As it was, the wind cushioned his fall enough so that he only cracked a rib.

  He levered himself into a sitting position and nearly blacked out from the fire that exploded in his head. Perhaps he had cracked more than a rib after all.

  He would have to finish this quickly. Patrols from Enosh sometimes extended this far south, and he didn’t want to find a pair of hostile Grandmasters stepping out of nowhere to drag him back for interrogation. In fact, prudence suggested he should just take the royal girl and as many prisoners as he could grab and retreat, rather than face this unknown Traveler and possible Enosh reinforcements.

  But he couldn’t. Not now. He had been challenged.

  Shame and rage rose up inside him, forcing him to his feet despite the blinding pain. He focused his fury on a spot a few inches from his palm, tearing open a rift between worlds with vicious effort.

  Cormac was a Traveler of Endross, the most brutal of all known Territories. Endross was a vast desert wasteland, broken only by the occasional oasis of lush jungle. The jungles were arguably even more deadly than the harsh wastes, as they were home to a thousand species of predator. And every day without fail, unpredictable thunderstorms blasted the land with wind and flogged it with harsh wind.

  There was no weakness in Cormac’s Territory. The weak died. To claim power from Endross, a
Traveler had to conquer. And that meant responding to every challenge with swift, lethal force.

  Never back down from a predator, Cormac thought. He will only attack. That was one of the first lessons any Endross Traveler learned.

  A Gate to Endross opened in his palm: an angry, flashing thunderstorm the size of a marble. Endross Gates were unique among all the Territories in that they grew larger and more powerful the longer they stood open. The storm in his hand would grow and grow, granting him access to more and more power. That is, until he lost control. If the Gate became too powerful it could easily go wild, all the power of Endross unleashed without Cormac’s will to restrain it. That was how many Endross Travelers died, consumed by the powers they had conjured.

  But Cormac never lost control.

  He passed a free hand over his smooth scalp, trying to regain himself, drowning his pain in Endross power.

  The storm in his hand now filled his entire palm.

  The time was here. Before Enosh discovered their presence, and before Sergeant Yakir did something he would regret, Cormac would attack.

  It was the only way he knew.

  ***

  Simon picked up his sword, which—as it turned out—had lain on the ground only inches from his body. Not that it had done any good. Absently he sheathed the weapon and looked over at Alin.

  He was beginning to get tired of world-changing revelations. The Overlord sent soldiers to destroy his village, then a girl he barely knew sacrificed herself to save him, then he sees a Traveler showed up and proved himself a horrifying monster. To top it off, apparently a boy Simon had known all his life turned out to have some sort of powers himself.

  He’d think it was a bad dream, but Simon’s nightmares had never been this strange.

  “Alin,” Simon said, “are you a Traveler?”

  Alin’s gaze wavered, and he looked down at his hand as though he had just noticed it shining. The sunlight glow around him flickered, dimmed, and quit completely.

  “I think I just killed someone,” Alin said. His voice was shaken. So he really didn’t know what was happening, then.

  Even as stunned and frightened as he was, Simon felt a spark of pity. If Alin didn’t have any more idea what was going on than Simon did, he must be incredibly confused.

  The Damascan soldiers had frozen in the face of an unknown Traveler, but now that Alin had stopped glowing, one of them walked to the mouth of the cave and stopped.

  “My name is Sergeant Yakir,” the soldier said. “In the absence of Traveler Cormac, I have command of this unit, and I’d like to speak with the Traveler of Myria.” He nodded to Alin. “Step forward, Traveler, and identify yourself.” Yakir’s face was indistinct behind his helmet, but his eyes were hard.

  Alin cleared his throat. “My name is Alin, and my father is Torin. But I’m not a Traveler.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “At least, I don’t think I am.”

  The Damascan soldiers tensed almost imperceptibly, and turned their heads to see Yakir’s reaction. A shiver crawled down Simon’s spine as he realized each one had their hands on a weapon. If they decided Alin wasn’t really a Traveler, things could get even more dangerous. Or maybe if they decided he was; Simon wasn’t sure which would be worse.

  Sergeant Yakir snorted and waved a hand, and his men relaxed. “Yeah, I throw shooting stars every time somebody pisses me off, too.” A few of his men chuckled nervously. “Make this easier on everyone, son, and come with me. If you come peaceful, we’ll pretend like none of this ever happened.”

  Simon watched the thoughts on Alin’s face. Fear gave way to uncertainty, which hardened into determination and anger.

  “If I come with you,” Alin said, “you release the captives. Everybody here goes free.” His anger had bled through into his voice, and in that moment he looked ten years older.

  Yakir let out a breath and shook his head. “I can let everybody not in chains go, but anyone on a rope is a prisoner of war. They have to come with us. If you want to buy them from the Overlord in exchange for your loyalty, I think he’ll go for it. Travelers get whatever they want, in my experience. But until such time as that happens, they’re my prisoners.”

  Alin matched stares with Sergeant Yakir for a long moment. The older man’s eyes never wavered. Some of the soldiers’ hands flexed on their swords. Leah looked like she was on the verge of calling out to Alin, but she said nothing. Simon wondered what she had meant to say.

  “I agree,” Alin told the soldiers. “Move your men back.”

  Sergeant Yakir nodded and opened his mouth to respond.

  Then his head exploded. A lightning bolt blasted into the cave from outside, blowing Yakir’s head into a thousand pieces.

  Blood and gore splattered villagers and soldiers alike, and Simon shouted as he felt warm drops splash on his skin. More shouts and screams, from both the Damascans and the Myrians, joined his.

  Sergeant Yakir’s body fell much more slowly than Simon would have expected. It slumped to its knees, as though Yakir had just heard terrible news, then flopped over to one side. The air where his head used to be crackled and sparked visibly, and steam rose from his neck.

  One of the soldiers yelled “He’ll kill us all!” and loosed an arrow in Alin’s direction. The lightning bolt had come from outside the cave, not from Alin, but the soldier must have panicked.

  Alin didn’t so much dodge as collapse to one side, and the arrow shattered against rock. Some of the others took up bows or spears and advanced on Alin, faces cold. They formed a human wall, pushing into the cave side-by-side. Simon would have had no chance of slipping through the soldiers, and neither did Alin.

  Cormac shouldered them aside.

  He was covered in dirt and sand. His scalp had split open, leaking blood that sealed one eye shut, and he moved with a noticeable limp. His one open eye blazed with green fury, and the thunderstorm swirling in his right hand was twice the size of the one he had held earlier. The storm’s flashes did not come from hidden heat lightning this time, but from a roiling nest of lightning unleashed among its dark clouds.

  Simon backed up until he stood over his mother’s unconscious form. He huddled over her, behind Alin. If Alin had a Traveler’s powers, then he should handle this. Besides, there was nothing Simon could do.

  “There will be no deals,” Cormac hissed. “No agreements. I will scatter your ashes from here to Bel Calem.”

  He thrust the storm forward, and lightning flared. An enormous serpent’s head, eyes glowing and fangs gleaming, pushed its way out of the center of the storm as if hatching from an egg. As it emerged, the snake hissed and bared its six-inch fangs. The inside of its mouth glowed blue, as though lit by lightning from within.

  The serpent oozed from the thunderstorm, sliding out in foot after foot of deep green scales. It seemed to move slowly, but in only a handful of seconds it sat coiled on the cave floor. If it stretched out to its full length it might be five or six paces long, and it looked as big around as Simon’s waist.

  Simon clutched his mother to his chest and looked at Alin. If he was going to do something with his newfound Traveler powers, now was the time. Every eye in and around the cave was locked on Alin, waiting for him to summon light and blast the snake into steaming pieces.

  Alin raised his hand and pointed it at the serpent. Nothing happened. A panicked look crossed his face, and he shouted, gesturing as though throwing an invisible ball. Nothing.

  Simon’s stomach dropped.

  Cormac snarled a word, and the snake struck forward like a bolt of lightning.

  It drove its head towards Orlina, Chaim’s daughter, who had been leaning against the wall between her parents. The creature snatched her up like a bird grabbing a mouse, driving its fangs deep into her torso.

  Her scream was weak and wet, and the snake lifted her up in its jaws and shook her. There came a flash of blue light from the snake’s mouth and the girl’s body convulsed. One of her legs
kicked wildly, flinging her sandal off and sending it sailing over Simon’s head.

  Chaim yelled and slammed his fists down on the serpent’s head, again and again, but it didn’t seem to be particularly bothered. After a few seconds it flicked its tail, knocking Chaim onto his back.

  The blood leaking from Orlina’s body steamed, and the cave once again filled with the smell of seared meat.

  The Traveler growled and snapped another word, gesturing at Alin. The serpent’s head jerked back like it had reached the end of an invisible leash, and it dropped Orlina’s body from limp jaws. It slithered over to Alin and levered its shining blue eyes up to a level even with his.

  To Alin’s credit, he only flinched once. Then he visibly steeled himself and stared back at the monstrous snake.

  The serpent hissed, its eyes flared brighter, and its jaws cracked. Simon almost looked away to avoid seeing Alin’s head torn off, but he forced himself to look. Alin was man enough to look the serpent in the face, so Simon should at least have the courage to watch his friend die.

  Instead, his blood froze as the serpent turned and looked straight at Simon.

  Alin yelled and tried to grab the snake, but its head was already in Simon’s face. Cormac cursed, and Simon stumbled backwards, trying instinctively to put as much distance as possible between himself and the snake from another world.

  “Get the Traveler!” Cormac yelled. His face was red and strained, like he was lifting a load too heavy for him. “Ignore the rest!”

  The serpent yawned, displaying its blue-lit teeth inches from Simon’s mouth.

  Then it shot towards Simon’s feet. He jerked his legs back before he realized the truth: it was going for his mother.

  Simon screamed as the snake’s fangs stabbed into his mother’s body, crackling with lightning.

  His mother convulsed like the others, but she remained silent. Simon drew his sword at last, knowing it was hopeless, slamming its edge against the scales again and again. It accomplished nothing except to dull his blade. He had to do something; every second brought his mother closer to death. Desperate, he stabbed at the snake’s eyes. Surely it had to be vulnerable there.