House of Blades (The Traveler's Gate Trilogy) (38 page)

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN
:

O
VERLORD
M
ALACHI

Simon soon learned that he had been seized around the middle by a giant hand. A clawed, dark red, scaly hand, attached to an arm wider than his torso. It pulled him through the window and into a huge chamber with a vaulted ceiling that seemed miles above.

That was all he got the chance to see of the room, because he was far more concerned by the monster that held him. It looked like a tailless lizard standing on its hind legs, three times as tall as a man at least, all over scaly and the dark red of fresh blood. Its hand, wrapped around his body, was too warm for comfort, and growing hotter by the second.

The lizard looked at him with eyes like an alligator and let out a cry that sounded more like an angry bird than anything Simon would have expected from an angry monster. Its breath singed his skin and smelled like the worst parts of a slaughterhouse and an outhouse together.

Simon called as much steel as he could, until his bones felt like freezing, moving his arms outward with all his strength to break the creature’s grip. As soon as he got a little space he could summon Azura, and then this fight would become much more fair. He strained against the creature’s fist, resisting its strength for just a little room. The monstrous fingers started to pry apart, and the lizard lifted him high.

Just as he thought he might have enough space to summon the sword, the lizard smashed him to the ground.

Simon heard floor tiles crack with a report like thunder. Or maybe that was his skull; it was difficult to tell. Without the skeleton’s steel power flowing through him he would have been killed instantly, he knew that, but he felt like someone had taken a pickaxe to the back of his head.

Still, his months in the House had not been wasted. Even in the midst of agonizing pain, he rolled away from the creature, though the motion set his stomach to rolling like a ship in storm. He staggered to his feet, keeping his eyes fixed on the red monster, and stuck out his hand to summon Azura.

Just then, through the fog in his brain, he heard someone clapping.

A solid-looking man in fancy purple clothes walked into the room, clapping. He had lines of silver at the edges of his dark hair and an easy smile on his face. The monster went completely still as soon as the newcomer entered the chamber, but Simon didn’t trust it; he kept his attention divided between the huge red lizard and the man.

As Simon watched, the man reached back and shut the door through which he had walked, casually tugging his shirt straight with other hand. For a moment he just stood there, adjusting his clothes and sweeping a hand through his hair. Simon wasn’t sure what to do. He still hadn’t summoned Azura, but the creature hadn’t attacked, either. If it was just going to stand there, he sure didn’t want to provoke it.

“You’re sturdier than I expected,” the man said, gesturing toward his ruined tiles. “Really, I am impressed. You must have access to some truly effective protection.”

“Thank you?” Simon said, uncertain.

“From everything I had heard about Elysians, though,” the man went on, “you would be the type to come running in through the front door. I posted my alarms on the window out of general paranoia; I didn’t expect anyone to actually sneak up that way. I’m not sure if I should be intrigued or disappointed.”

Simon edged slightly to his left, so he could keep man and lizard both in view. “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he said, “but who are you?”

The man looked startled for an instant, then he laughed and threw himself onto a throne to Simon’s right. Until that moment, Simon hadn’t even noticed the throne; he had been too preoccupied with the bits of charred meat between the monster’s needle-sharp teeth. Now that he did notice, he wondered how he could have missed it: the chair was big enough for three people to sit in it side by side, and made entirely of expensive wood. It was carved with creatures that only existed in the depths of some insane Territory, if at all, and set with purple gems the size of Simon’s fist.

“As ever,” the man said, “my ego gets the better of me. Malachi Daiasus, Overlord in service to the Damascan Kingdom, faithful slave of His Majesty Zakareth the Sixth, our Morning and Evening Star. At your service.” He gave a shallow, mocking bow from his lounging position on the throne. “And you are?”

“Simon.”

Malachi waited for more, and when Simon said nothing else, it seemed to amuse him. He chuckled slightly anyway, and looked at Simon as though at a spirited child. At that moment, Simon realized that the Overlord actually meant to keep on talking. Was he stalling for time? Or maybe he was just so confident that he didn’t see Simon as much of a threat.

On a gamble, Simon let the steel fade from his blood.

Immediately he sagged under his own body’s weight, and the thousand little aches and cuts he had gained in the past few minutes flooded to the front of his mind. Malachi noticed.

“Ah, I see you’re not well,” he said. “A pity. I suppose you didn’t count on being caught this early, did you? Not until you had slit my throat, I imagine.” He drew a finger across his own neck, though by his tone you would think he had just made a joke.

“Slit your throat?” Simon asked. Either the Overlord knew something Simon didn’t, which was actually pretty likely, or the man was making some strange assumptions.

Malachi waved a hand in the air. “Or blasted me apart, I suppose, or taken me away to your Territory. Whichever you prefer. If I hadn’t been warned that you were coming, you might have even gotten me. I had it on good authority that you were in Enosh just this morning.”

The chains were sliding down his wrists now, and the Nye essence was fully recovered. His steel felt shaky, like it wasn’t quite at full strength, but it too would refill before long. If Malachi insisted on having a conversation before the fight, Simon could at least use the time to make sure he was at full strength.

“I’m not here for your life,” Simon said honestly. He just needed to buy some time, but it would be interesting to find out who Malachi thought he was. “In truth, I wasn’t even sure this was your house.”

“You’re dressed like an assassin,” Malachi said, gesturing at him.

Simon glanced down at the black cloak, which settled in place around him. “Any assassin that would dress like this deserves to be caught,” Simon said.

The Overlord smiled slightly, but then his face hardened. “Why are you here, Simon?”

“There’s a girl in your tower. I’m here for her.”

Malachi’s face registered surprise, then something that might have been irritation. His gaze flicked to the red monster, which still stood frozen.

Dodge right
, Otoku hissed, and Simon threw himself to the right just before the lizard’s palm crashed down onto the tile. He barely called the Nye essence in time.

Back!
Otoku said.
Left! Down!

Simon followed her instructions instantly, dodging only as she directed, not even watching the monster. With Otoku’s voice and the essence, he could have avoided its clumsy strikes forever.

Roll,
Otoku said, and as he did, he felt the steel reach full strength.

The cold power of liquid steel flooded through him once again, taking from him pain and weakness. Instantly he summoned Azura and jumped forward.

The red creature roared and the temperature in the room rose to oven-hot in the space of a second, but none of that mattered. The power of the Nye made it seem as though the giant lizard was pushing his way through jelly, but Azura danced like a feather in his hand.

His blade passed through the monster’s neck and hardly noticed the resistance. Simon landed in front of Malachi’s throne, knees barely bent, facing the Overlord. The Nye cloak settled into place. He heard two thuds behind him as the head and body crashed separately into the ground, and heat flared at his back. He almost turned to look, but Otoku’s voice told him what he needed to know.

It’s down
, she said, and he kept his gaze fixed on Malachi.

“That’s not Elysia,” the Overlord said. He sounded puzzled. “So you’re not...wait. That sword. Valinhall.”

It wasn’t a question, but Simon nodded.
 

Malachi lowered his eyebrows thoughtfully, though he still seemed confused. “I know someone who would be very pleased to meet you, Simon. Very pleased. Where did you find that?”

Simon ignored him. “I’m just here for Leah. Let me go get her and leave, and we can go our separate ways.”

Slowly, Malachi shook his head. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t let you kill her. I’m sorry. And I very much doubt you’d be able to capture her.”

Now it was Simon’s turn to look confused. “Kill her? I’m trying to rescue her. From you.” Why did Malachi sound as if he was the one protecting her?

Malachi looked as if Simon had slapped him. For a moment he just stared. Then he threw his head back and laughed a full, genuine laugh, as though he wasn’t within easy reach of Simon’s sword. He leaned back against the throne, relaxed, with an easy grin on his face, and Simon realized that his first show of amusement had been an act. This was the real thing. Overlord Malachi had actually let his guard down.

“You’re trying to rescue the princess from the evil Traveler’s tower?” Malachi said, still rolling with chuckles. “I mean no offense, but it sounds a bit ridiculous, when you put it like that.”

I like this man,
Otoku said.

“She’s not a princess,” Simon muttered.

“Oh really?” Malachi said, and suddenly he was leaning forward. His eyes were sharp again. “What is she, then?”

“One of us,” Simon said, meeting the Overlord’s eyes. “I can’t leave her with you.”

“And as much as I might want to, I can’t let you take her.” Malachi began drumming the fingers of his right hand on the arm of his throne. “So what now?”

It was going to come to a fight. Simon had been afraid of that from the first. Not only was he not sure that he could win, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Killing the Overlord would make him the most wanted criminal in the realm; even winning the fight would be like trying to get out of a pit by digging deeper. But what choice did he have?

A fat, balding man in red robes stuck his face in the room through a door Simon hadn’t noticed before. One side of the robed man’s face was covered in bruises. He shot a glance at Simon, and his eyes were hard. “We have engaged him in the streets, Overlord. No one has yet reached the house. Are you sure you don’t need help up here?”

Malachi sounded thoughtful, and he kept drumming his fingers on the throne. “I don’t think so, Petrus, but why don’t you stand by in case you’re needed? Over there, perhaps.” He gestured to the side of the room, by the first door, the one through which Malachi himself had entered.
 

Petrus realized something then, Simon could tell—for an instant the man’s eyes widened and his mouth opened—but he covered the expression quickly in a bow and walked over to stand in front of the door. What had he heard in Malachi’s words? Had Simon missed some kind of code?

It didn’t matter now. The problem remained.

“I don’t want to fight you,” Simon said, and was almost surprised at how much he meant it. The more he thought over his situation, the more he was sure there were no good outcomes.

“As you wish,” Malachi said calmly. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. Once you’re safely restrained, of course.”

And he raised the palm of the hand he had been tapping against the arm of the throne. It bore a shining red mark.

Simon cursed himself and launched toward the throne in the beginning of a lunge that would take the Overlord’s head from his shoulders, but Otoku cried a warning, and he was able to twist himself aside just in time to avoid a screaming ball of orange flame that shot from Malachi’s hand and blasted forward.

It was screaming in truth, he realized: there were faces inside that ball of fire, like burning ghosts, and just as the fireball was about to smash into the wall opposite Malachi they screamed again, and the fireball changed directions. Back at Simon.

Simon ignored the fire and swung his sword at Malachi with the full intention of chopping the Overlord, his throne, and the wall behind them in half. Simon put all his power and speed behind the blow, and even to his slowed vision, the sword seemed to split the air.

Malachi didn’t even react. A blazing red rent in reality, like a huge red eye, appeared before him so fast it was as though it had really been there all along, and only now had the Overlord chosen to unveil its presence. The crimson Gate hung in the air before Malachi like a shield. Azura continued uninterrupted, but the Gate now stood between the sword and its target. Instead of slicing the Overlord in half, it swung through the empty air of another Territory and continued onward. The force of his own unopposed strike almost spun Simon like a top.

Only a moment after Azura swung clear, the Gate winked shut.

The Overlord had shielded himself with a Gate. Of course, the Gates of Valinhall opened far too slowly to be used in that way, but the thought had never even occurred to Simon. Yet another thing that he should have expected.

Turn around, half-wit!
Otoku screamed, and Simon jerked himself around in time to see the wailing face of a fireball within kissing distance. He didn’t duck so much as throw himself to the ground, and the ball of flame passed over his head. Malachi made a lazy gesture with one finger, and the fireball corrected its passage and hurtled toward Simon again.

“You don’t have much experience fighting other Travelers, do you, Simon?” Malachi asked casually, as Simon ran around the room in an attempt to out-pace the fireball. “Don’t worry. I’m not trying to kill you, I’m really not. You didn’t do anything unjust, you were only in the wrong place at the wrong time. Once we’ve cleaned up this mess, we’ll be glad to have you on the team.”

Simon finally gave up running in circles. The fireball was apparently tireless, while he could already feel his gifts running out. He stopped and swung Azura at the flame.