House of Blades Page 9

  “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.

  It squirmed toward him.

  Simon leaped out of the pool and ran from the room so fast he barely had time to scoop up his clothes with one hand. He pushed the marble door shut and looked around for a lock. Nothing. He ran out of the room, through the hallway, and didn't stop until he was back in the room with the scrolls, mirrors, and soft furniture. The entry hall, where he and Kai had first entered through the Gate. Nothing had tried to kill him in here last time.

  This door did have a lock, so Simon took advantage of it. What was that? Why were there demons in the bathtub? Did Kai know about them? Of course he did, he lived here. Then why were they there? Was it a trap? Were they Kai's pets? Maybe he shouldn't have killed them.

  No, that was a stupid thought. Even if it was just a misunderstanding and they had belonged to Kai, Simon had done the man a favor by killing those things. And they weren't the only monsters in the pool; whatever that snake-thing had been, he was glad he hadn't gotten a chance to see it any closer.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Shaking, tan skin a shade too pale, covered in rivulets of water and dozens of quickly healing cuts. And also completely naked. He lifted the bundle of clothes in his hand, and for a moment he didn't recognize them.

  His outfit had been laundered, pressed, and carefully folded. The shirt and pants were still a plain brown, but they seemed a completely different color now that all the grime had been washed out. The whole outfit smelled of soap and flowers. Someone had even sewn up the rips and tears in his shirt.

  Who had done it? And when? Had someone else been in the bathtub? Maybe in this house, clothes magically cleaned and folded themselves. He wouldn’t be surprised if they came to life and tried to strangle him.

  A shadow flickered in one of the mirrors on the wall, and Simon jerked his head up. Nothing. The mirrors showed an undisturbed room. He glanced all around, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

  A shiver ran over his skin. All the stories he had ever heard about ghosts lurking in old abandoned houses came back to him in full force.

  Well, if he was trapped in a haunted house, he might as well be dressed for it. He slipped into his pants, then pulled the shirt over his head. Through the rough fabric, he saw another dark shape flitting through the room. He pulled his shirt down to see it more clearly, but once again nothing.

  Maybe, just maybe, he might need to get out of this house.

  At that thought, the cold links of a chain pressed against his throat, jerking him backwards.

  He barely managed to get a hand between his neck and the chain to allow him enough space to breathe. Someone was pressed up against his back, holding a loop of chain around his neck like a noose.

  Simon kicked backwards and pushed his attacker against the wall. It felt like a man—the impact was soft, as if the man was wearing five shirts—but the attacker made no noise. The mirror on the other wall showed a man shrouded in black clothing, hooded, his face totally lost in shadows. He clung to Simon, strangling him with a chain painted black.

  Simon’s throat felt like it was about to crumple like a bent reed, his vision had begun to blur, and he couldn’t get enough leverage to actually hurt the man in black. He needed a weapon, or he was about to die.

  His sword. Where had he left his sword?

  It had been in his hand when he came with Kai through the Gate, and after that...it hadn’t been in the bath with him, had it? If not, the sword must still be in this room.

  He shot his eyes from mirror to mirror, trying to keep his goal in mind and not give in to panic. The sword had to be around there somewhere. It had no sheath, so it would gleam...there, in the corner of the mirror in the far side, he saw a silver shine on top of one of the tables. The sword he had taken from the dead slave rested on a half-open scroll on a wooden table against the far wall.

  Now he had to reach it.

  He struggled around for a moment, pulling with both hands and all his weight against the chain. It loosened for a moment as the man of shadows adjusted his balance, and Simon was able to plant one foot against the wall. He pushed, and the two of them stumbled towards the table and the sword. Any other living being would have made some kind of noise, but the man in black remained absolutely silent.

  The side of Simon’s head smacked against the heavy table leg. Pain bloomed in his skull, and he lost his grip on the chain. It tightened, burning his neck and cutting off his air almost completely.

  The world was going gray around him, but he reached for what he thought was the top of the table and fumbled blindly on top of it. Only when something sliced into his fingertips did he realize he had found his sword.

  He pulled the weapon off the table and, holding it by the blade in a bleeding hand, thrust the point backwards into the shoulder of the man in black. The attacker flinched and his chain slackened, letting Simon grab the hilt in his other hand and twist around, plunging the sword all the way through the other man’s chest.

  The man in black shuddered and dropped the chain, falling limp to the ground. Simon’s breath wheezed, and his throat felt ruined. Now that he wasn’t fighting, his hand burned. It was bleeding so much. He knew that should be alarming, but he couldn’t muster up the courage to go back into the bathtub and heal.

  The black robes deflated, as though no one had been inside them all along. Simon stared. The inside of the hood began to glow a soft blue-white, the color of moonlight. A ball of that wispy light gathered inside the empty hood and froze for just a second, the dark outfit hanging from the floating ball of light as if from a peg. Then the light swept off, squeezing under the door, dragging the black clothes with it.

  “What?” Simon said. He couldn’t think of anything better to say, so he said it again. “What? Sweet Maker, what is happening to me?”

  Two more dark shapes, identical to the first, appeared from nowhere and closed on Simon. He jumped to his feet, clutching his sword in a hand increasingly slick with blood. Making no sound, the two men brandished black chains.

  Simon turned and ran. It seemed the right thing to do.

  In the hallway he shouted for Kai, but no one answered. The men in black pursued him, seeming to stroll but steadily eating into his lead. He turned to one of the doors on the side of the hallway, one with a large circle, and tried to open it. Locked. He continued to run, into the room with the gold-edged stone doorway. He hadn’t paid much attention to them before, but there were other doors in the walls of this room; he picked one, made of pale wood with a pair of crossed axes carved into its surface, and levered it open.

  He had enough time to glimpse a bright room filled with ra
cks of bladed weapons: spears collected in a barrel, swords mounted on the walls, daggers in baskets. Opening the door triggered an odd sound: a soft snick, like a pair of scissors cutting through a cloth.

  Simon stepped back on instinct, and something whizzed through the air in front of his eyes. A dart buried itself in the wall opposite the door.

  Traps. The doors were trapped.

  Simon was too scared to weep, but everything was so hopeless he was torn between tears and bitter laughter. He tried the next door, which was trimmed in silver and pressed with the image of a standing knight. It opened onto a dark staircase.

  He waited for a moment to see if anything came flying out at him. Nothing did, but he heard a sound like jangling chains at the bottom of the stairs. A hollow wind whispered up from the darkness.

  “I wouldn’t travel down that stair just yet,” Kai said from the hallway. “That door’s not quite meant for you.”

  Simon shut the door and leaned against it, relief draining strength from his muscles. His arms shook, and his sword dropped from bleeding fingers.

  “This house is trying to kill me,” he said. “It’s trying to kill me.”

  “And failing, so far. That’s a good sign.” Kai walked into the room, Azura in one hand and a gentle almost-smile on his face. His blade was so long it came close to scraping the far wall. The white-haired swordsman let the sword shimmer and evaporate, leaving Simon to wonder why he had it out in the first place. That was a minor concern, though, compared to what was really on Simon’s mind.

  “Why is this happening?” Simon asked.

  “We should get that hand taken care of.”

  Simon clenched his bloody fist. “I asked you why.”

  “You wanted me to teach you what I know. This is how I learned.”

  Kai gestured around him, at the house in general. “Valinhall tests you. It attacks you. Sometimes it tries to kill you. It teaches you to be on your guard at all times, awake and asleep, and to always keep a weapon close.”