Tower of Winter (The Traveler's Gate Chronicles: Collection #1) (6 page)

“What is it?” Hariman demanded. “What’s wrong? I can tell something’s wrong, I’m not an idiot.”

Denner sighed. “I thought I heard something, Hariman. I checked it out, but I was wrong. It was nothing.”

Deliberately, Denner turned his back on the hiding woman and began to take loud, heavy steps back the other way.

“You really don’t need to be so paranoid, you know,” Hariman said. “I don’t think it would kill you to simply let yourself relax and enjoy your exotic surroundings. There’s much to be learned in Avernus. For instance, did you know that if you ate a berry from that bush behind you, you would grow feathers instead of hair? It’s true. I once knew…hold on. Who is that?”

Denner turned, calling stone. The power of Valinhall hardened around his skin, defending him, just in case this woman was, in fact, as dangerous as the High Watcher suspected.

Then he caught sight of her, with her hands empty and open, her knife sheathed at her side, and he realized she wasn’t a woman.
 

She was just a girl.

Maybe fifteen, at most, scrawny and underfed and covered in more scrapes and bruises than clear skin. Her hair was hacked short, as though she had cut it loose with her own knife.

She stared at Denner with a determination so fierce it looked almost like anger.

“I didn’t stab you,” she said.
 

“I noticed.”

“They said I would stab you, didn’t they? Well, I didn’t.”

“I appreciate that, thank you,” Denner said politely. Privately, he wondered why the High Watcher hadn’t mentioned that their ‘rebel’ was little more than a child. Had she been trying to trick him? Had the girl’s age just not mattered to her? Or had she expected it not to matter to
Denner
, because he was a bloodthirsty killer of Valinhall?

No matter what, he was going to have a few words for the Watcher when he returned.

“Just a moment,” Hariman said. “This is the dangerous rebel of the Strigaia clan? I hope she’s more dangerous than she looks.”

“My name is Keiren,” she said. “And yes. There’s a lot more to us than you think.”

“Us?” Denner asked, but he should have known better.

A shadow passed over Denner’s head, and he instantly summoned his Dragon’s Fang. Like most of the other Fangs, Diava was curved and sharp along only one edge. Its hilt was wrapped in red-and-gold thread, and a line of spidery script ran up the flat of the blade. It was a normal, comfortable length for a sword—nothing like Kai’s seven-foot monstrosity.

With Hariman tucked under one arm and Diava gripped in his other hand, Denner crouched and raised his eyes, ready to strike a bird from the sky.

A brown-and-white owl glided silently overhead, lighting on Keiren’s shoulder. The bird scowled at Denner and gave him a single, disapproving hoot.

“Us,” Keiren said.

“You see what I mean about paranoia?” Hariman put in. “We need to work on your nerves.”

Feeling somewhat silly, Denner relaxed, releasing the stone amulet—its power was about to run out anyway—and banishing his sword.

“We’ve seen you already,” Keiren said. “Standing there. Sent to kill us. Do you even know why?”

“I don’t think it’s my job to ask,” Denner said. He had taken money for this kind of thing before, but he was usually hired to kill enemy commanders on the battlefield, or stop Travelers that had run out of control. Not to kill a girl who had run away from home.

Keiren absently stroked her owl’s head, but they both continued staring at Denner, absolutely serious. “Strigaia owls, and therefore Travelers of the Strigaia tribe, have visions,” she said. “You know that.”

“Everyone knows that,” Denner said. That was all anyone did know; everything else was shrouded in typical Traveler mystique.

“It’s not as convenient as you think,” Keiren went on. “You can’t just decide what you want to see, whenever you want to, like opening a book. Each Traveler sees something different. The High Watcher, for instance, sees gold.”

“Gold?” Denner asked. “Like, veins of gold? Gold mines?” That would explain why she was willing to spend so much money to hunt down one rebellious girl.
 

Keiren and her owl rolled their eyes at the exact same time, which was more than a little creepy. “Not just gold. Money. Currency. She sees visions of times when buying something will affect her future. She probably saw herself handing you coins, so she knew she would—or maybe should—hire you. Do you see?”

“Apparently
you’re
the ones who see,” Hariman quipped, then laughed at his own joke. “You get it? See?”

Denner sighed.

“It’s not all that useful,” Keiren went on, ignoring Denner’s advisor. “Most of the tribe only sees very specific things. One of my best friends could see the positions of the stars anytime. If he just concentrated on a day in the future, he could see what the stars would look like that night. It was more helpful for predicting the weather than anything, since he knew whether it was going to be cloudy. My father could predict down to the hour when the latrines would need emptied. It wasn’t glamorous, but he saved us from disease more times than we’ll probably ever know.”

Keiren stared off into the forest, her face growing distant. Her owl nuzzled into her head, hooting softly.

Denner waited a moment, then cleared his throat. Keiren and her bird turned back to look at him. They blinked at the same time.

“No one of us is too useful on our own,” Keiren continued. “Our visions are too limited. But together, we can shape the future.”

Denner looked into the giant forest, thinking over the girl’s words. This was getting far too troublesome for him. There were too many factors at play here that he did not, and could not, understand. He never should have taken a bargain with the Strigaia, but last night he had boiled stolen heads of wheat just to make a thin soup. The coins were too appealing.

Hariman squirmed under his arm, and Denner let him speak. “Pardon me, but there seems to be an inconsistency in your story. If Strigaia visions are as limited as you claim, then why should the tribe care about you? Surely you can’t pose a threat on your own.”

Keiren’s owl sighed and shook its feathered head, like a teacher exasperated by a stupid pupil. The Traveler smiled and stroked the bird’s head. “I see Travelers,” she said. “Not just Avernus Travelers. I see Travelers from all different Territories, and I see them in moments where they will have to make an important decision. I’ve seen the King several times, deciding whether he will personally ride to battle. I’ve seen Grandmaster Helgard deciding whether to step down, and Overlord Indirial considering whether or not to train his daughter. I’ve seen you, Valinhall Traveler, standing in front of a tree, deciding whether to kill me or speak to me first.”

Denner stared at her, stunned. No wonder the High Watcher wanted this girl dead so badly. In any conflict, Travelers were the most valuable resource. If one side could read the decisions of the enemy Travelers before they were even made…well, Denner would rather have Keiren’s power on his side than two dozen Naraka Travelers calling fire from the sky.

As he stood there, trying to digest the full implications of this girl’s ability, his mind latched onto the one least significant aspect of his situation: he was being rude.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “I never introduced myself. I’m Denner Weeks.”

She cocked her head at him, just like Kai always did.

“That’s not your name,” she said.

Denner fought back a chill. “It is now,” he responded, as firmly as he could.

There was a long silence apart from the chirping of a thousand birds. Overhead, a giant limb shook, as though something had landed on it.

“Ahem,” Hariman said, “while this has been interesting and everything, we really should move this along. Either kill her or let her go, Denner.”

“The book’s right,” Keiren said. “You have another decision to make. I’ve already seen the results of trying to run from you. I can’t do it. My only chance is to persuade you face-to-face.”

Denner had killed more people than he cared to remember, and he probably had more dead friends than live ones. But he didn’t consider himself much of a killer. He wanted an excuse, any excuse, to let this girl go free.

But he was also a man of his word. So that excuse would have to be a good one.

“Why did you run away?” Denner asked, at last.

Keiren raised her head to stare into the trees. Denner was struck once again by how lost and alone she looked: her face was caked with dirt, her hair ragged and hacked short, her clothes barely holding together.

“I’d be happy to answer that,” she said, “but it looks like we’re running out of time.”

Denner looked up himself, and saw what he had already begun to expect: huge white eagles, the mounts of the Halliat tribe, had landed on most of the limbs in view. He could count six mounted Halliat-tribe Travelers without even trying, and he knew that more must be on their way.

But he was still a Valinhall Traveler, and these were Avernus. Maybe Endross or Tartarus could have posed a threat. He had to admit being a
little
nervous—no battle was certain, no matter how overwhelming it appeared—but he doubted this forest would be where his story ended.

“We have time,” Denner said calmly. “Tell me.”

Beneath his arm, Hariman chuckled.

 
Keiren glanced nervously up at the trees, and then around at the underbrush, as though looking for an opportunity to flee.

Denner stayed where he was. He could catch her easily enough if he wanted to, and she knew it.

“One day the red trees will die, and the Incarnations will be free once again,” Keiren said at last.

Denner’s heart froze. She shouldn’t have even known enough to say that. He supposed he should stop underestimating the girl who could see the future.

“The Strigaia tribe has known this for years,” she went on, keeping both eyes on the Halliat Travelers in the trees. “They think that the Incarnations breaking free will mean a world free of Ragnarus’ control, that the world will be restored to its natural order. That’s what we’ve all been raised to believe. My parents believe it. My teacher believes it. I was raised here in this Territory, so all my friends believe it.”

Hariman made a choking sound.

Denner probably sounded the same way. “Why would anyone
want
that?” he said. “Do you have any idea how many people would die?”

“Do
you?”
Keiren challenged. “I’ve seen it. And they’re going to escape. I can’t see anything we can do to stop that. But we might be able to do something about the Incarnations after they’ve broken free.”

“What?” Denner asked. He had seen an Incarnation before, and he had no desire to repeat the experience.

Keiren shrugged, almost dislodging her brown-and-white owl, who flapped its wings for balance and hooted indignantly. “I don’t know yet. I’ll figure something out. For now, I have to get away.”

A deep male voice called down from the trees. “Outsider,” he said. “We are taking the Strigaia girl. Do not resist and we will allow you to leave.”

Seemingly on instinct, Keiren took a step backwards, her face twisting in fear. “What are you going to do, Denner?” she asked, keeping her eyes locked on the Halliat eagles.

There was only one decision he could make, really. Even then, it burned him to go back on his word, but there was nothing else he could do.

Denner summoned Diava.

The Dragon’s Fang shimmered like a heat haze as it materialized, its weight comforting in his hand.

“I can find you a home in Damasca,” Denner said. “I’m friends with an Overlord, after all.”

Keiren gave him a relieved smile. “Thank you,” she said, “but I can’t. Everyone I know is here. I can’t leave them just because they want me to. When they succeed, they’ll suffer under the Incarnations just as much as anyone. I have to help them, even if they kill me for it.”

Her determined resolve made her look much older. She had clearly made up her mind.

“What a surprise,” Hariman said, “Strigaia Travelers being foolish and short-sighted even though they can see the future.”

“I think you made that joke already,” Denner said.

“Who’s joking?”

“Last chance, outsider,” the Halliat Traveler roared from overhead. One of the giant eagles shrieked, and Denner winced at the sound. “Walk away! We’re taking the owl girl with us.”

Denner used Diava to gesture into a bush big enough to hide an entire house. “Get in there and hide until the fight’s over,” he said. “If you see a chance, run.”

Keiren crawled under the bush, but she hesitated before she disappeared completely into the leaves. “Do you know a man, about your age, who has white hair? He may or may not be carrying a doll?”

A shiver ran down Denner’s spine. “I think I know who you’re talking about.”

Hariman snorted. “Ha!” he said. “You
think?
”

Keiren licked her lips. “At some point, he’s going to have to decide whether or not to take an apprentice,” she said. “Tell him he should.”

She seemed shaken by something, above and beyond the eagle-riding Travelers about to descend from the sky, so Denner gave her a smile. “I will,” he said reassuringly.

Keiren stood up, grabbing his forearm in both her hands. “This is important,” she said. “He
really, really
should take an apprentice.”

Denner pulled his arm away, trying not to show how uncomfortable he felt. He was used to Traveler work, but he could never relax around someone predicting
his
future. That was just unnatural.

“I’ll tell him,” he said. “I promise.”

“Stay where you are!” The Halliat Traveler roared from overhead, and Denner sighed.

He was going to have to deal with this troublesome situation after all.

He called steel.

Instantly, the chains began crawling up his forearms. They may have looked like shadows, but they felt like real chains, and they grew link by link as they slithered up the backs of his hands and around his wrists.

At the same time, the steel flowed through him like an icy river.

Three of the white Halliat eagles were lifting off from their branches high overhead. One of the birds carried a huge Traveler with a feathered leather helmet on over his head. He held a spear in one hand. Denner presumed he was the one who had spoken.