Tower of Winter (The Traveler's Gate Chronicles: Collection #1) (7 page)

Denner jumped.

He didn’t have the increased speed that he had seen Indirial and Valin use, but he was fast enough on his own. Agile as a cat, he hopped from tree trunk to tree trunk, steadily leaping higher until he reached one of the lowest branches.

Before the Travelers could react, Denner was among them, staring an eagle in the face.

He jumped again before the bird could bite his nose off, landing on a higher branch. The huge Halliat flier was hovering only six feet away; from this position, Denner could speak with him over his bird’s flapping wings.

But the other Traveler was still staring below him, at the spot where Denner had stood only a moment before.

“Over here,” Hariman called.

The big Traveler’s head spun around, and he found himself staring at Denner from only a few feet away. From his perspective, the scene must have been quite strange: Denner had climbed up these huge trees in an instant, and here he was, wearing a travel-stained brown cloak and carrying an enormous red-and-gold book and a long, gleaming sword.

“What…what tribe are you with?” the Traveler demanded, though his voice was shaky. He sounded much less intimidating now that he wasn’t shouting. “Are you Gendo?”

Denner often had to remind himself that most Travelers had never heard of Valinhall. The Strigaia were something of an exception, he supposed, since they could see into the future.

“I’m not an Avernus Traveler,” Denner explained.

“Of course not!” Hariman said contemptuously. “Do you see a bird anywhere? Honestly, doesn’t anyone think anymore?”

“I’ve been hired by the Strigaia tribe,” Denner continued. “We’ll take care of the runaway girl in our own way. Leave her alone.”

The Halliat man frowned in confusion. “But it was one of your owls who told us where to find her. You said we’d have a chance to do whatever we wanted with her.”

“Playing both sides of the board, eh?” Hariman said. “Both short-sighted
and
manipulative. This is truly a shock.”

“You
really
need to get some new jokes,” Denner said to his advisor. Then he looked back to the Halliat eagle-rider, who was staring at Hariman in some confusion. Why were talking books always that much of a surprise?

“Back away, and this doesn’t have to end in violence,” Denner said.

The Halliat Traveler’s face hardened.

Denner sighed. Then, with the strength of Benson’s steel, he leaped forward.

The white eagle squawked and flapped its way backwards, but it wasn’t fast enough. Denner landed on its back and grabbed the Traveler by his collar. With one hand, he hauled the man over the towering drop to the forest floor.

The Traveler kicked and screamed, and the eagle bucked under Denner’s feet, but thanks to the steel he ignored it all.

“I’d still rather this not end in violence,” Denner pointed out.

The other Traveler nodded vigorously, his feathered helmet flapping.

“I love to see a peaceful resolution,” Hariman said. “This reminds me of one of Valin’s first battles after…”

Denner let him ramble. With any luck, the eagles would fly away that much faster just to escape the lecture.

***

When the High Watcher felt her way into her tent that night, using a cane to feel her way inside, Denner was waiting for her.

“You didn’t tell me she was just a girl,” Denner said. He didn’t sound as angry as he felt.

The High Watcher froze, fear flashing across her face.

The mighty warrior of Valinhall,
Denner thought,
assassin of children and bane of blind old women everywhere.
Angry as he was, he still had to fight an urge to help her into a chair.

After only a second, she mastered herself, and her cane came down to rest on the ground. “That should not have mattered to you, killer that you are,” she said. “We told you enough to recognize her. Isn’t that enough?”

Denner’s anger flared up again. That was how she saw him, was it? Willing to kill anyone, anytime, with or without justification?

He supposed she had reason to think so. Valinhall had a certain reputation, after all.

And that reputation was not without its uses.

“Well, she’s dead,” he said. “Give me my money.”

The High Watcher nodded, though she was looking at the wrong corner of the tent. “Do you have any proof?”

“No,” Denner said.

He summoned Diava, laying it across his lap. He knew she wouldn’t be able to see it, but he had prepared for this eventuality: he pulled an ordinary rock out of his pocket.

He began to draw that rock across his sword. It produced the distinctive ring of a blade being sharpened.

Diava was made of Tartarus steel, tempered in the forges of Valinhall. He couldn’t sharpen it; all this would accomplish was grinding down the rock.

But it sounded intimidating.

For about half a minute, Denner sat there, drawing the rock across his blade, filling the silence with the sound of steel on stone.

Then the High Watcher pulled out her purse.

You show true loyalty when you remain dedicated to those who have turned their backs on you. If they reject you, you need not reject them in return.
 

One may remain loyal to a cause even when all others have forsaken it.

-Elysian Book of Virtues, Chapter 2: Orange

T
HE
C
RYSTAL
F
IELDS

A Traveler of Lirial would tell you that intelligence and quick wits are the most valuable tools in the Crystal Fields. These are indeed admirable traits, but a would-be master of the Silver Light requires something deeper.

-Elysian Book of Virtues, Chapter 3: Silver

This story has been passed down to Lirial Travelers since the dawn of Elysia itself. As it was told to me, so I will tell it to you.

This is the story of Korriphus, the best of all Lirial Travelers. He was known as a wise and learned man who served the Elysians well. It was he who gave us the first moon charts, who outwitted the first Lirial Incarnation, and who organized teams to explore the tombs of the Daniri, seeking their treasures. Truly, he was a great man.

And none knew the greatness of Korriphus better than Korriphus himself.

In those times, Lirial Travelers were plentiful, so they built cities for themselves among the Crystal Fields. One day, a white ape with six eyes walked into the greatest city in Lirial, where Korriphus ruled. None had ever met this ape, but they treated him with respect, for Lirial Travelers know better than most how wise it is to show respect to strangers.

The ape called himself Seliethin, and he was most interested in Korriphus.

"Who is this Korriphus?" he asked people in the city streets. "Is he worthy of rule?"

"He is the best of us," the people responded. "He reads the moons like ink on a page! He punishes and rewards with an even hand! When his own son spoke against his rule, he punished the boy according to the law, with no favoritism. Naraka Travelers come to
him
for justice! There is none more worthy of rule."

"I see," Seliethin said. "He rules fairly, then. But is he strong?”

“Strong as the mountains themselves. He Traveled deep into Ornheim and, on his own power alone, subdued a hundred golems. He brought them back here to raise the very walls you see around you. When the black army rose up in Tartarus, he drove them back into the Labyrinth before the Elysians heard a word of unrest. Lirial is not known for its strength of arms, but Korriphus is the one exception.”

“So it seems,” Seliethin said. “Very well, he is strong and just. But is he wise?”

“Wise?” the people cried. “Look no further for wisdom! He has raided the libraries of Helgard, bringing back their books for our own study. He devised the most intricate mechanisms for keeping our precious Sources hidden. He is on the very brink of deciphering the language of the Daniri themselves.”

Seliethin pondered for a long time. Finally, he shook his head.

“This Korriphus sounds like a learned man indeed,” said the ape. “He does not, however, strike me as wise.”

The people were shocked at Seliethin’s words, but none more so than Korriphus himself. When rumor reached him that a stranger had questioned his wisdom, he sent for Seliethin immediately. You see, Korriphus took his appearance very seriously, and to challenge Korriphus’ reputation was to challenge Korriphus himself.

When Seliethin was brought before him, Korriphus first tried to reason with him. “It has come to my attention that you doubt my intelligence,” he said. “This troubles me greatly.”

Seliethin bowed. “My lord, it is not your keen mind I doubt, but rather the use to which you put it.”

No one else had ever questioned Korriphus’ wisdom, but he was determined to remain polite to Seliethin’s face.

“How, then, may I prove to you my wisdom?”

“Fortunately, my lord, there is a simple test,” Seliethin said. “The Daniri left a riddle behind, as they left so many other things, and we may use it to better ourselves. I am told that you are close to deciphering the Daniri tongue?”

Korriphus waved a hand lazily in the air. “I have yet to properly apply myself. I am sure that the solution is not so complex as most believe.”

“Then this puzzle shall not trouble you long. When you solve it, you shall find me among your most vocal supporters.”

“Very well,” Korriphus said. “Show me your riddle.”

Seliethin, Korriphus, and a team of Korriphus’ closest friends and advisors set out that day, guided by the six-eyed ape. They rode for an entire cycle of the moons before they found themselves in front of the smallest Daniri tomb that Korriphus had ever seen. It was only a single obelisk, sticking up out of the gray dust of Lirial, covered in the writing of the Daniri people.

“Tell me what words are written upon this stone,” Seliethin said. “You may use any means at your disposal. Only when you find the answer to this riddle will I call you truly wise.”

Seliethin bowed to Korriphus and left, vowing to return in one year’s time for the Traveler’s answer.

In the first year, Korriphus rallied the top scholars of Lirial. They spared no expense in attempting to decode the language of the Daniri, and to some degree they succeeded. It is thanks to their work that we can now read the marks on the outside of many Daniri tombs.

But when the year ended and Seliethin returned, Korriphus was no closer to reading the words on the stone. He made three guesses, and when none of them were correct, Seliethin left once more. Again, he promised to return after one year had passed.

The next year, there was a famine in Lirial. Some of the underground mushroom farms had failed to produce a full yield, and blight had struck many of the flocks. The people turned to Korriphus for a solution, but he had nothing to give them.

“If I am not wise enough to solve the riddle of the stone,” he said, “then how can I be the one to solve your problems? Go, turn to another for answers.”

His advisors rationed the remaining crops, and the city was saved, but Korriphus hardly noticed. Another year passed with Korriphus still unable to read the stone.

This time, when Seliethin arrived, Korriphus challenged him. “What do
you
know of the Daniri secrets?” he mocked. “You are just an ape from the gray wastelands of Lirial.” He arranged a hundred puzzles and riddles in front of them, and dared Seliethin to solve even half of them, if he was worthy.

Seliethin bowed before him. “My lord, I am secure in my own wisdom. Are you? What does the stone say?”

Korriphus had no answer. Once more, Seliethin left.

This time, Korriphus promised a fortune in gold and powerful artifacts to any Traveler who could bring him the key to the stone’s secret. Lirial Travelers are not immune to greed, and they spread out into the unexplored wilds of Lirial. Even Travelers of other Territories came to Lirial, eager to try their minds against the riddle that had bested even the famous Korriphus.

That year, a rebellion rose against the Travelers of Elysia. Their ruling council sent to Korriphus, asking for Lirial Travelers (for, in those days, the Lirial Travelers served and supported the Elysians without question). Korriphus had few Travelers of any worth to give them, for all his best and strongest were out of the city, trying to solve Seliethin’s riddle.

At the end of the year, Seliethin returned. This time, Korriphus had a dozen possible answers to lay before him, but the ape rejected them all.

“I see why men call you learned,” Seliethin said. “I simply fail to understand why they also call you wise. In one year, I will return.”

The ruling council of Elysia was not pleased at Korriphus’ poor support in their time of need. That year, they sent Elysian Travelers into Lirial, where they removed Korriphus from power and put another in his place.

By that time, Korriphus did not care. He brought a tent into the endless gray sands, making his home outside the Daniri obelisk. Some of his old friends and servants brought him food every once in a while, and thus he passed the rest of this life, meditating each day on the stone’s words.

Every year, Seliethin came from his distant home to challenge Korriphus. And every year, Seliethin left, saying that the Traveler was not yet wise.

In this way, Korriphus came to the end of his allotted years.

As Korriphus lay dying, his sightless eyes staring up at ancient words that he had long since memorized, he heard Seliethin approach one last time.

“Please, before I die, tell me the answer,” Korriphus said. “Is it a map? Is it nothing more than nonsense? What have I done wrong? Tell me, before I leave this world forever.”

Seliethin placed one of his hands on Korriphus’ bony shoulder. “It is an old Daniri proverb. A warning, to men such as you and I. ‘Wise men seek understanding so that others might gain. To pursue knowledge at all costs is the mark of a true fool.’”

So Korriphus died, and the wind buried him at the foot of the prize he had chased for so many years. There are those who say he lies there still.