say no, although of course I will have your corpse mounted on a flagpole for the slightest defiance."
"The will of the Underlord be done," Gesha said from the ground, her face still in the dirt. Her shaking had grown more noticeable.
None of the strangers dared to make a single sound.
Lindon passed a hand over his face. With lowered voice, he said, "Please, Underlord."
Eithan's eyes widened. "Am I to be condemned because she takes things too...no, fine, all right." He knelt at Fisher Gesha's side and spoke in a much gentler voice. "I beg your pardon, Soulsmith. Please rise and address me face-to-face." He raised his voice. "All of you, on your feet and on your way."
With the speed of Gold sacred artists, the crowd vanished. It was as though the breeze had blown them all away.
Gesha rose, but she did not face him.
"On my word as an Underlord, you will not be punished for anything you say here or have said today," Eithan said impatiently. "Now follow my instructions, Highgold."
Finally she let out a breath and met his eyes. "Thank you for your mercy, honored Underlord. Tell me how I might serve you."
Eithan looked to Lindon. "You see how much faster it is when I just tell them what to do? It's infuriating. I don't want to phrase everything as a command for the rest of my life."
"It sounds hard on you, Underlord," Lindon said carefully.
"Yes, the endless subservience and instant obedience wear on me. But if you call me anything other than 'Eithan' again, I'll have you sleep in a cave full of bats." He stroked his chin for a moment, considering. "You could call me 'brother' instead, if you preferred. Yes, that would be—"
"Thank you, Eithan," Lindon cut in.
"Hmmm. Well, as I was saying: Fisher Gesha, I must borrow your pupil for an hour or six. I'll return him to you in one or more pieces."
"As you will, Underlord."
"And I had something to ask you as well." Eithan drew himself up and addressed the old Soulsmith with full authority. "You will not be punished for any decision you make here, on my word and the honor of my family. We depart for one of my homes in the Empire very soon, perhaps today. I
would be honored to have you accompany Lindon as his Soulsmith tutor, but you are free to decline and stay with your sect. There will be no repercussions of any—"
"I decline," Gesha said instantly. She didn't even look at Lindon. He hadn't expected any different, but it still stung.
Eithan clapped his hands. "A firm decision! Wonderful. Then, good- bye!"
He extended an arm to shepherd Lindon and turned as though to continue walking down the road, but Gesha had already scurried away. A wooden door slammed shut; Lindon wondered if she'd escaped into a random nearby building.
"For a woman her age, she really is spry. Good for her. Not everyone keeps up with their physical exercises as they get older, and a healthy spirit lives in a healthy body."
Lindon adjusted his pack, hitching it up on his shoulders. "I'd like a chance to bathe before I continue my training, if you don't mind. I've been in the forest for three days, and water is scarce."
Eithan turned to him with an expression of obvious disappointment. "Do you think you'll be able to defeat a Truegold in a year with such halfhearted resolve? How much valuable training time do you plan to waste on baths?"
Lindon bowed hurriedly. "Forgiveness, please, I spoke out of turn."
"No, I was pulling your strings again. But you really shouldn't waste soap on yourself yet, you filthy mud-caked animal. After a day of this training, you'll be covered in sweat. And probably some blood."
Eithan considered for another moment as they walked. "In fact, it would be best to expect the blood."
Chapter 3
Eithan led him all the way across the territory of the Five Factions Alliance, the ramshackle encampment that had sprouted up after the Transcendent Ruins rose from the ground. The cobbled-together buildings of stone and lumber leaned up against the base of the Ruins like roots at the foot of a great tree.
Lindon hadn't been back inside since Eithan had rescued him from Jai Long's wrath. He fervently wished never to go back; fifteen days trapped in darkness was enough for a lifetime.
The pyramid dwarfed everything else for miles around, like a mountain made of stacked blocks. Its bottom tier took up more space than the rest of the encampment, and its top tier scraped the clouds. Now that the Soulsmith foundry at the top was open, the scripts powering the Ruin had settled into equilibrium. They no longer had to draw vital aura from miles around; instead, it relied on a steady trickle from its immediate surroundings.
In Lindon's Copper sight, each block of the pyramid looked like a softly yellow-glowing cube of golden lightning. That would be the earth aura in the stone itself; the same power that ran through the ground beneath his feet, just far more concentrated. Whenever he looked down into the earth, he had the dizzying sensation of staring into a yellow ocean filled with glowing, crackling bolts.
Aura empowered the entire world with strokes of color: the wind blew hazy green, the sun's rays were a gold richer than the earth, and the broad lake next to the pyramid shone with vivid blue-green ripples. Each person was a mass of color with vibrant green and bloody red predominating.
It was like staring into a world of fractured rainbows.
Lindon had to close off his senses before his head began to throb. Focusing on any aura gave him information about that aura's aspect,
So opening his aura sight was like staring into the sun and reading a hundred books at the same time. A headache followed in seconds.
The thousands of sacred artists who had gathered to explore the benefits of the Ruins had started to drift away as soon as the pyramid stopped drawing in aura. Now, only three days later, half of these newly built buildings were abandoned. The dirt paths leading all over the Alliance encampment were all but empty, not choked with traffic as they had been only half a week before.
But news had already traveled fast. Everyone they spotted on the road bowed at the sight of Eithan, murmuring respect as he passed. Usually seconds before scurrying out of their way, lest the Underlord become displeased.
Eithan continued to ignore everyone, chatting with Lindon and occasionally stopping to sweep dust from a windowsill or snip a branch from a bush with the black iron scissors he seemed to carry everywhere. He never glanced at anyone else, whether they bowed or not, and many of the strangers looked relieved by that fact.
Lindon knew better.
Eithan didn't look at them because he didn't need to.
They finally arrived at the end of Fisher territory, amid a collection of
wooden buildings that looked as though they had been built in a day and abandoned just as quickly. A bucket of nails rested on a half-finished fence, and a hand plane sat abandoned in the grass.
Eithan gestured to the biggest building, which smelled of fresh-cut wood and sat in a bed of sawdust and wood chips. "Behold," he said, "your new training hall! The crew started and finished it last night."
It was a barn. Fisher Gesha's foundry looked almost exactly the same, except this one was unpainted.
Why was Eithan having new buildings constructed? Weren't they leaving soon?
"I'm eager to see what's inside," Lindon said diplomatically.
"Are you? That's strange. I designed it to look as uninteresting as possible." Eithan swept up the plane and the bucket of nails, placing them next to a pile of other tools. "I'm sure Yerin's reaction was much more entertaining."
Lindon resisted the urge to apologize, instead approaching the barn.
There was an average-sized door on the side, obviously made for foot traffic, and broad doors in the middle designed for livestock. Although if it was built only a day ago as a training hall, why would there be animals here at all?
After a second's indecision, Lindon hitched up his pack and hauled with both hands on the livestock door.
Yerin sat inside, legs crossed, with a white-bladed sword across her knees. She was roughly Lindon's age, about sixteen, but while Lindon had been raised among the comforts of civilization, Yerin looked like she'd grown up in a never-ending knife fight.
Blades had left their tracks in the pale scars on her face and hands, in the tattered edges of her coal-black sacred artist's robe. She cut her hair with her sword madra, so it ended in absolutely straight lines across her eyes and above her shoulders.
The rope tied around her waist was the red of spilled blood, but Lindon couldn't bear to look directly at it. There was something alive about that belt, as though it could slither away at any moment.
Her Goldsign grew from behind her shoulder, a silver arm ending in a blade like a scorpion's stinger. Even seated on the floor in a cycling position, she looked deadly, as though she were poised to dive back into a battle.
She nodded a greeting to Lindon, but addressed Eithan. "Daylight's wasting. Am I going back to cycling, or are we going to start hitting these guys?"
She jerked a thumb behind her, and Lindon took a glance over her shoulder. Except for the beams supporting the roof, the barn was wide open from wall to wall. And filling that space was a circle of eighteen wooden dummies.
They were only crude outlines of men: rough shapes of a head and torso, with boards sticking out like arms. They had no legs, only a single pole driven through the floorboards beneath them.
But what drew Lindon's attention, and made him walk forward for a closer look, were the runes carved into those boards. The dummies had been arranged all around a script-circle the size of the barn, and it was one of the most intricate circles he'd ever seen. There were two lines of script circling the dummies, one on the inside and one on the outside, and the
runes were packed small and tight; each symbol was only the size of his thumb. He picked out a rune he recognized here and there, but a circle like this was far beyond him.
A second circle, much smaller, overlapped at the far end of the barn. It was only big enough for a single person to stand inside, and a wooden podium rested in the center. Lindon guessed that those were the controls.
Eithan put his hands on his hips and looked over the eighteen dummies with the smile of a proud father. "Six Soulsmiths worked alongside the carpenters all night for this, and I have to say, I think they did a wonderful job."
Lindon could tell that the runes had been carved quickly, but he was still having trouble accepting that this had been done in one night.
"This is a traditional training method from my homeland," Eithan said, walking over to stand by one of the dummies. "I've seen similar setups elsewhere, but I'm partial to this design. Yerin, did your master ever take you through one of these?"
"Master wouldn't let me draw my sword on a wooden man," Yerin said with a shrug. "If it didn't bleed, it wasn't good enough training."
"I suspect that, in a few years, you'll have drawn enough blood to satisfy even your master. No need to start too early."
Yerin looked pleased by the compliment, but Lindon was wondering what exactly the Underlord had planned for them over the next few years.
Eithan moved on. "These dummies are more than wood, you see. They are moved by small constructs inside, and are used to practice basic steps in combat."
Yerin's face fell, her disappointment clear. Lindon perked up.
She might not need such simple instruction, but Lindon was looking forward to his turn in the circle of wooden men. He was lacking in many areas, and hand-to-hand combat was one of them. As an Unsouled, he had been encouraged to practice the simple exercises of the Wei clan, but never trained for a real fight.
Eithan strode over to the podium at the center of the control circle, pointing a finger at Yerin while moving his other hand over the podium. "I know how you feel, but be patient. I'm making a point."
The air between Eithan's hand and the podium rippled. The smaller circle around Eithan lit up white, then the light flowed into the bigger circle.
Soon, the entire barn was lit with pale runelight.
Suddenly, one of the wooden dummies spun on its axis. A previously
invisible circle of runes lit up on its left arm—green—then in its lower torso —blue—then on its face—white. The lights faded away in seconds.
"Hit the circles as they light up. Simple, isn't it? If you do it correctly, and your strikes carry enough madra, the circles will stay lit instead of dying out. When all three circles on all the dummies remain active at the same time, you have won."
Air rippled between his hand and the controls again, and a deafening chime sounded from all the dummies at once. They each spun in place, and the three circles on their bodies continued to shine instead of dying out.
Eithan stepped away from the controls, though the circles in the floorboards remained lit.
The dummies stayed bright for a handful of seconds, their three rings shining, before finally going dark.
"Yerin, if you wouldn't mind demonstrating for Lindon how the system works, I'd like to see you defeat the dummies. As quickly as possible, please."
Yerin stepped between two of the mannequins, tucking her sword-arm closer to her shoulder so it didn't catch on a wooden head. "I just have to hit them when they light up?"
"In the correct timing. If you miss one, the target will go dark again, and you'll have to start over."
She nodded, approaching a dummy. "How do I start?"
When she stepped closer, a green circle of runes lit on the wooden plank it used as an arm. Before Lindon had fully registered the light, Yerin had already struck it dead-center. The arm swiveled back from the force...
...and the other arm came to life, swinging at the back of her head.
She caught the blow with her left hand, striking at the dummy's torso with her right in the instant the blue circle appeared. The wooden man bowed in the middle to deliver a headbutt, but she sidestepped as though she could see it coming, her sword-arm whipping forward to strike the white circle.
Before the chime sounded, signaling that she'd beaten the first dummy, she was already stepping up to the second.
If Lindon hadn't attained the Iron body, he wouldn't be able to catch her movements. The three strikes would have looked like one motion. He'd seen his clansmen punch through walls and dodge arrows, but he'd never seen anyone move so quickly, so easily.
Not up close, anyway. He'd watched Yerin fight before, but when she was in an actual battle, her movement seemed...rougher. More natural, somehow. This was smooth and practiced, like she was executing a routine for the hundredth time.
"This is her first try?" Lindon asked, as Yerin stopped a separate strike with each hand while delivering a kick that lit up a green circle. She'd taken down three dummies already.
"This much is expected," Eithan said, examining his fingernails. "Jai Long could clear this course with his eyes closed."
Lindon slipped his hand into the pocket where Suriel's marble rested—a transparent orb about the size of his thumbnail with a single blue candleflame burning within. Its warmth comforted him, reassured him.
Eithan flashed him a smile. "Don't worry," he said. "The heavens are on your side."
Lindon started. Did Eithan know about Suriel? Lindon wasn't particularly afraid of the story getting out, since no one would believe it anyway, but how had Eithan found out? Had Yerin told him?
Could the Underlord read minds?
"...because the heavens sent you to me," Eithan went on. "That's nothing if not a miracle."
Slowly, Lindon let out a breath.
The eighteenth chime sounded, and all the dummies glowed softly. Yerin slid backwards and came to a stop in the center, her breathing a little ragged.
"Fifteen seconds," Eithan announced. "Not bad for your first time. The dummies are set to delay you more than injure you, but after a week or two, you'll go through this like wind through a forest."
"What's the fastest I can get?" Yerin asked.
"Twelve seconds is the minimum the script can handle. When you reach that, I'll have a better one built."
Yerin crossed her arms. "How fast is yours?"
"An excellent question. As I said, I grew up on a course very similar to this one, but recently I had the Arelius Soulsmiths build me a course set for two seconds."
She waved a hand at the surrounding dummies. "You could clear this in two seconds, if the script let you?"
Lindon's eyes widened as he tried to picture that, but Yerin looked skeptical.
Eithan laughed. "Couldn't your master do as much?"
"You are not my master," she said with confidence.
He'd already moved over to the controls, and the colored circles on the
dummies died down as the circle reset. "I am not, and I'm sorry I never got the chance to meet him. There aren't many who know him in the Blackflame Empire, but he has quite the reputation in the outside world."
The outside world. Lindon hadn't even seen the Empire yet, and he was already impatient to reach beyond it. The world Suriel had shown him was impossibly vast, and Eithan had seen more of it than anyone else Lindon had met. That alone was enough to make him thankful he'd joined the Arelius family.
The Underlord gestured to the circle. "Lindon. Pretend that I have given you this task to prove yourself as a new member of my family. Act as though these are not training dummies, but enemies, and I have tasked you with our defense."
Lindon looked past Eithan's smile. There was something hidden in those words, though he wasn't sure what. Nonetheless, he shifted the way he thought about the training circle.
If this were a real life-or-death scenario, he'd need more information.
He walked around the edge, glancing at the dummies. As he'd expected, the target circles weren't invisible; they were simply sketched lightly in the surface of the wood and difficult to make out at a distance. The dummy was ringed with other such scripts, carrying instructions and power from the circle on the floor. He'd have liked to look at the constructs within—even if he couldn't understand how such advanced devices worked, he at least might learn something.
Finally, his steps carried him next to Eithan. "Let me clarify, if you don't mind. As long as I light up the circles on a dummy, I have defeated the enemy?"
"Just so."
Lindon nodded. Then he reached a hand out over the controls and sent madra flowing into a command circle.
There were nine circles engraved on the wooden podium, and it took him a moment to find the one he wanted. The first made some dummies spin around, the second darkened the circle, the third had no reaction he could see, but the fourth worked. Eighteen chimes sounded at once, and all the targets on all the dummies lit up.
"Victory," Lindon said, "for the Arelius family."
He bowed so that Eithan wouldn't hear any disrespect in his words, but Eithan only nodded. "Five seconds. He seems to have beaten you by ten, Yerin."
Yerin's ears reddened noticeably, but her tone was dry. "Well, cheers and celebration for him. Let's have him try it the right way, see if he lasts more than a breath."
Lindon kept the proud smile off his face—this was no time for gloating. "No, that's not necessary, I know I could never keep up with you. And it seems like all the enemies are dead."
A smile did touch his face then, as he glanced at Eithan for signs of approval. Eithan's gaze had gone distant, and he stared into the wall of the barn for a moment before waking with a start.
"Ah, I'm sorry. It seems company is on its way, so we'll have to work faster than I'd planned. Why don't you do as Yerin suggests, Lindon?"
Lindon's smile withered as though it had never been.
Moving hesitantly, his mind working for an escape, Lindon slid his pack to the ground and stepped into the ring. He calmed himself with reason— there was nothing to be nervous about. Of course he wouldn't be able to match Yerin's time, but no one expected him to. She was Lowgold, and he was only Iron. They wanted to see him perform a training exercise, that was all.
A few moments ago he had been excited to give it a try; with a little effort, he called some of that feeling back.
The wide circle of runes on the ground glowed white, giving the dummies a somewhat ghostly cast. He stood in the center of the circle, taking a deep breath. He cycled his madra faster in preparation for battle, running his madra to his limbs, readying the Empty Palm technique.
"Begin," Eithan called, and Lindon stepped forward.
A green circle lit up on the inside of its wooden arm, and he struck it immediately with a low-powered version of the Empty Palm. The full use of the technique would exhaust him quickly, but this was enough to inject madra into a script. The target brightened as he hit it.
Then a second wooden arm smacked him on the back of the head, sending him facedown into the fresh planks.
This is the second time I've been hit in the head today, he thought as he struggled back up to his feet.
Eithan was still grinning, and Yerin wore her own satisfied smile. "Good news!" Eithan said. "You've beaten my time."
Lindon bowed to cover his flushed face. "Your pardon; I have forced you to watch an embarrassing sight."
Eithan leaned his elbows on the control podium. "I said I had a point to make. Yerin, which was the best way to clear the course?"
She gave Lindon a sidelong glance. "I'd still contend that facing it head- on is the best way."
"Why so?" Eithan asked. "Activating the controls accomplished the same result."
"Real enemies don't have control scripts, do they?" She glared at the wooden dummies as though she longed to behead them. "Can't lean for too long on a cheat. The top way, the solid way, is to make yourself strong enough to cut through anything."
She spoke with such ringing confidence that Lindon found himself swaying. That was the path that had led her to powers beyond anything his clansmen had ever dreamed of.
He couldn't pick out anything she said that he disagreed with, but somehow he felt like she was leaving something out.
Lindon inclined his head to her. "You two are the experts, so please correct me if I speak out of turn. But in my humble experience, you cannot wait until you are stronger than your opponent to fight. Sometimes the game is rigged against you, and your only option is to flip the board."
Yerin gave him a blank stare. "You're my prime example. You saw you couldn't make it six feet in this world without a Goldsign, but your clan wouldn't let you train. What did you do? You walked right off. You've been
fighting against stronger opponents since the day I met you, rigged game or no."
Lindon searched for a response, but none came.
That was exactly what he'd done.
Suriel had shown him that he wouldn't make it anywhere without a
certain level of strength, so he'd struck off on his own. He should be the first one in line to agree with Yerin.
But he couldn't. Something about her words gnawed at him.
Eithan hopped over, hooked one arm around Lindon's neck, and dragged him over to Yerin. He threw his other arm over her as well. She looked as uncomfortable as Lindon felt, but Eithan beamed down at them both like a proud father.
"You both have a piece of it, don't you? Yerin, you have to watch yourself so that you don't fall into a rut in your thinking. But Lindon...so do you." He ruffled Lindon's hair, which was uncomfortable and strangely claustrophobic. "In our big, broad world, there's a certain difference in strength that no number of tricks will circumvent. For instance..."
He grinned more broadly. "...at your current stage, the two of you couldn't give me so much as a headache even if you stabbed me in my sleep. Though I know you adore and idolize me, so let's give a more reasonable example: if you want to survive Jai Long in a year, you must learn sacred arts the right way. Even with the full support of the Arelius family, and Jai Long on the run from his clan, you'll at least need to reach Lowgold in a solid and proper manner so you don't collapse into a pile of jelly when he glances in your general direction."
Lowgold. It was the sweet fruit that dangled out of Lindon's reach.
But he hadn't even reached Jade yet. Once he'd longed for Jade, and now he saw it as nothing more than a moat to be crossed. One of many. Even once he reached Lowgold, he'd still have a long journey to match Jai Long.
"Thank you for the instruction," Lindon said. "I never intended to suggest that I wouldn't work hard. I'll train harder than Jai Long, harder than anybody."
"I forget how young you are," Eithan said fondly.
Abruptly he released them, taking a step back and turning to face the door. "We'll resume this discussion soon, because our guest has finally
arrived!"
Yerin frowned and put a hand on her sword.
"If you recall," Eithan went on, "you have yet to meet my family." Lindon had wondered where the rest of the Arelius family was. Scouts
from the Sandvipers and Fishers had spotted Arelius banners approaching weeks ago, and Lindon had expected to meet them by now.
Eithan extended hands to the doorway as though presenting a prize. "It is an honor and a pleasure to introduce...my brother."
The barn door swung open.
The man standing in the doorway looked perhaps ten years younger than Eithan, putting him just past twenty. His hair was the gold of fresh wheat, which must have been an Arelius family trait, but his was tightly curled. He held himself with grace and poise, standing proudly with one hand on the hilt of the slender sword at his hip. A silver bracer covered his right forearm from his wrist almost to his elbow.
He did not wear the traditional layered robes of a sacred artist, but otherwise it looked like he had the same taste in clothes as Eithan: his shirt and pants were deep blue silk, stitched with intricate silver thread, and looked as though they'd been tailored for him only the night before.
He made eye contact with Yerin, then Lindon, nodding to them both.
Before he could speak, Eithan cried out, "Cassias! Brother! It's been too long!"
Cassias smoothly sidestepped without glancing at the Underlord, and Lindon wondered how often anyone managed to dodge Eithan.
"I'm not his brother," Cassias assured them, tilting his chin to say over his shoulder: "I am not your brother."
"Cousin Cassias it is, then!"
"Nor are we cousins, except in the loosest sense. Distant, distant relatives, we are."
Eithan didn't seem put off. "Well, we're like brothers, anyway. You should have come to see me more than two days ago. Did you have to spend so long playing with the Jai clan at the border?"
Cassias straightened, pivoted on his heel, and addressed his...'brother.'
"You saw what happened at the border, I'm certain. And I have my own questions about what I saw from you. If I'm not mistaken, you provoked a Jai clan exile and killed the heir to one of their vassal sects."
"Not me," Eithan said proudly, turning to Lindon. "You'll note that young Lindon, here, was the one who brought down the Sandviper heir."
Lindon felt the attention in the room turn to him, and he almost flinched back. This felt uncomfortably like the Underlord was trying to shift the blame onto him. His earlier misgivings about the Arelius family returned in force, but he showed Cassias a smile and a shallow bow.
"I am Wei Shi Lindon, honored Cassias. Please excuse me for any inconvenience my actions may have caused you."
"Not at all, Lindon, not at all!" Cassias said immediately. "I am more than aware of what happens when my family's Patriarch gets too...enthusiastic. You were caught up in his plans, and it is I who should apologize on his behalf."
To Lindon's astonishment, Cassias bowed deeply. "Forgive us, and do not hold this against our family. On my name as an Arelius, I will send protection for you when you return to your home. You need fear no reprisals from the Jai clan or the Sandviper sect."
When you return to your home. Did Cassias not know he was coming back to the Blackflame Empire with them, or was he trying to give Lindon a graceful way out?
Either way, the greedy part of Lindon wondered at the nature of the 'protection' he had mentioned. If Cassias was willing to part with a weapon or a high-grade elixir, Lindon might be better off taking them and making his own way...
Yerin pulled at the ragged edges of her sleeve, shooting glances at Lindon every second or two as though checking his reaction, but Eithan laughed.
"You didn't watch us too closely, I see! Yerin and Lindon are coming with us. I have adopted them as outer members of the Arelius family."
Cassias straightened slowly from his bow, keeping a blank expression fixed on Eithan. "I...see," he said at last. "I apologize, Lindon, I was not...aware." He seemed to be struggling not to say something, his jaw tightening at the end of every sentence. "Did you inform the branch heads, Underlord? Did you receive their permission?"
"Time flows on, and plans must keep pace!"
"Plans," Cassias said, the word falling like a handful of mud.
"Which brings me to another subject," Eithan said, and suddenly his entire demeanor sharpened. Though nothing about him changed visibly, Lindon shuddered, the madra in his body shivering in its cycle. An Underlord stood before them now, not just Eithan. Yerin even took two steps back, gripping her sword—for comfort, Lindon hoped, and not because she thought she might have to use it.
Eithan continued, his voice still pleasant but carrying an underlying edge. "Your encounters with the Jai clan at the border. Explain what happened."
Cassias glanced from Lindon to Yerin. "I would be happy to inform you aboard Sky's Mercy, if you'd like to—"
"We're among family here," Eithan said softly. "Say it."
"Very well." Cassias relaxed, folding his arms and leaning up against the barn wall. He seemed more comfortable dealing with a businesslike Underlord than a friendly, playful one. Lindon could relate. "I was not only following you to bring you back. My father sent me with dire news shortly after you left."
"Then the Jai clan has seized our assets," Eithan finished, steepling his hands together.
Cassias' eyebrows lifted. "They have. In Serpent's Grave alone, we've lost the flame garden, three warehouses, the sword hall, and two of our medical contractors. Each time, they claim they're settling a private debt. They've sabotaged two major sanitation projects that I'm aware of, and eight full crews have vanished. We don't know if they were bribed away or...silenced."
Eithan spoke in the same lighthearted, half-joking tone as always, but the shivering sense of danger hadn't evaporated. "That's one city. What about the rest of Jai territory?"
"When I left, the worst of their actions were confined to Serpent's Grave. There have been a few unsanctioned duels between our people and the Jai clan, but nothing worse. Of course, that was a month gone."
"And the other clans?"
"The Naru have admonished the Jai clan for their actions, but the Emperor's support will arrive as soon as a winner is made clear, and not before. The Kotai clan has yet to make a statement, but as long as we keep their streets and sewers clear, they won't even notice."
With every word, Lindon felt less and less prepared for this conversation. He had no idea who the major players were in the Blackflame Empire, no sense for the different clans. Or even the function of the Arelius family; Eithan had introduced himself as a janitor, but Lindon couldn't tell whether that was a joke.
"Where did they stop following you?" Eithan asked.
"Two miles east, one mile north. They were forced to break off pursuit, which allowed me to slip through."
Eithan closed his eyes.
Slowly, his smile brightened before his eyes snapped back open. "That puts a wrinkle in their plan, doesn't it?"
"We have a brief window to leave, and I humbly suggest we take it."
Eithan raised fingers to his chin, staring at something in the far distance, thinking. "Soon. I have to adjust to this new information."
Yerin's arms were folded and her Goldsign quivering. Judging by the look on her face, she wasn't happy about being left out of the conversation either. Lindon didn't want to stress his welcome by asking too many questions, but he strained under the weight of his curiosity.
Finally, Cassias remembered they were there. "The Jai clan was trying to prevent me from returning with the Underlord. They weren't bold enough to openly destroy a cloudship flying the Arelius colors, but they've made my life difficult for the past few weeks. If the Jai warriors down below hadn't called for help, I would not have been able to land."
"Called for help?" Yerin asked. "What's got their feathers rustled?"
"I was too high up to see clearly, but it's strange. It seems they were attacked by one of their own."
Chapter 4
Sandviper techniques lit up the shadows with an acid-green glow as they tore through a wooden wall, their caustic madra melting straight through the rough lumber planks. Wood hissed as it dissolved, the sound almost loud enough to drown out the pleas for mercy that came from beyond.
When the wall fell to pieces, four Sandvipers walked into the one-room shack. A flash of white light, then green, a scream, and the fur-clad Sandvipers came out carrying a pair of struggling figures.
Both wore sky blue robes and had black hair that shone like metal in the moonlight. One captive had hair close-cropped so that it looked like a tight helmet, but the other's fell in a stream of dark, gleaming iron.
A young man and woman of the Jai clan, cowering for shelter and hoping the attack would pass them by. They might have been brother and sister, or young lovers, or two strangers who happened to duck into the same abandoned house.
Jai Long didn't care. His spiritual sense washed over them, confirming that Stellar Spear madra flowed through them both, sharp as an axe and white as snow at noon.
"Both," he said, and Gokren gestured to the Sandvipers. They snapped collars around the two Jai necks. When they realized the scripted metal cut off their access to madra, the man's eyes bulged, while the woman continued to beg through a mask of tears.
The Sandvipers dragged them away to join the others.
Jai Long had never used the Ancestor's Spear before. He knew only the legends—that the original Matriarch of the Jai clan had used the weapon to steal the power of her foes. As far as he knew, he might be helpless while siphoning madra, and it was safer to experiment on captives rather than opponents.
They had captured eight sacred artists of the Jai clan. Twice that number had escaped, and even more had been killed rather than let themselves be taken.
Half of the Jai clan shelters in the Five Factions Alliance had been reduced to rubble.
Only days ago, when the power of the Transcendent Ruins was at its height, Jai Long and the Sandvipers would never have been able to pull off a raid of this scale. They would have been overwhelmed by sheer numbers.
Since the Ruins had been picked clean, most of the Jai clan had drifted back to their homes. The Sandvipers had all stayed, waiting for the return of their Truegold chief.
The chief who now stood with Jai Long as his sect members streamed into homes like a swarm of ants, carrying out Jai stragglers.
Seven lights flared in Jai Long's senses, and his eyes snapped to the sky. Shadows flapped against the stars, carrying shapes against their backs, but Jai Long's spirit told him who they were.
Reinforcements. Somehow, the main branch of the Jai clan had sent backup against him already.
Jai Long let his breath out in frustration, but it came through his twisted teeth in a long hiss. How? The nearest stronghold of the main family was weeks away by air. But only the main branch had the authority to summon an elder.
Six of the figures were at the peak of Lowgold, but the seventh was a Truegold master. Before Jai Long could see him clearly, the elder swung his spear, and a white beam of light flashed like lightning.
Sandviper Gokren vanished from Jai Long's side in the same instant, and then he was standing next to the beam of light as another Sandviper stumbled away. The elder's technique scorched a line in the dirt instead of skewering the Sandviper through the chest.
As expected of a Truegold. Before Jai Long had even shouted a warning, Gokren had sensed the attack coming, determined the target, and pushed the man aside.
Jai Long hurriedly flipped open his spear case, removing the shining shaft of white light. He tossed the case aside, ready to defend himself. If the elder struck again, he might not be able to protect anyone else, but he could at least survive.
He had half-expected the Jai elder to gloat from up above and then rain techniques down on their heads, but instead the seven figures descended toward the street. As they got closer, Jai Long could make out their mounts: bats the size of horses, with wings like unfurled sails. The sacred beasts were dirty gray-white, but their eyes shone like tiny stars in the dark.
As the Jai landed, Gokren breathed deeply, cycling his madra so steadily that Jai Long could feel it, like a mighty river rushing next to him. The Sandviper chief ran a hand through gray hair, pushing it back even further, then gripped the short spear sticking over his shoulder.
"I'll move the Truegold back," he said quietly. "A pair of my hunters will move with me. You lead the rest, but I don't have anyone here who can stand face-to-face against that pack."
The six Jai clan warriors landed their bats only fifty yards down the road, fanning out to cover their mounts. The elder stood behind them, his spearhead rising higher than the silver helmet of his hair.
These were strangers to Jai Long, people he must have left behind years ago in his exile to this wilderness territory. The Lowgolds all had a few traits in common: black hair that gleamed like polished metal, blue outer robes marked with the star-and-spear emblem of the Jai clan, and tall spears that they held with confidence.
Though they were less advanced than Jai Long by one stage, they would never have been chosen as escorts unless they were competent. And while the Sandvipers specialized in hunting the beasts of the Desolate Wilds, the Jai clan was equipped for battle.
"I need them to harass only," Jai Long said, his voice as low as Gokren's. "Split them up, keep them from crashing on me all at once, and I'll handle them."
Gokren's fingers flickered in a signal, and Jai Long felt the Sandviper powers behind him spreading out.
"Sandviper chief," the elder drawled, ignoring Jai Long entirely. "You've interrupted our business tonight."
Chief Gokren jerked his head toward Jai Long. "Not me."
The elder pushed through his escorts, using the butt of his spear as a walking stick. Jai Long's opinion of the man fell lower. He was grinding his weapon into the dirt with every step—didn't he know what that would do to the wood?
"We'll expect a generous apology for this," the elder said. "Go back to your homes and wait for me there. I will have a word with the exile about his new weapon."
Jai Long swept out his perception, looking for another Stellar Spear presence. This group was too far from home to be alone—they would have brought supplies, and left at least one scout to report their fate if they were attacked.
To his shock, he felt only the dim presence of a few more bats roosting two streets down. Extra pack animals, but no sacred artists.
"Where is your scout?" Jai Long asked.
The elder sneered at Gokren; he still refused to look in Jai Long's direction. "We're in the territory of our branch family. Word of what happens here will reach the Underlord, and the chief knows that."
Gokren was a seething mass of power standing next to him, his Sandviper madra foul and bitter in Jai Long's senses. Despite their battle plan, Jai Long couldn't believe the Sandvipers would actually fight for him. The Jai clan were his enemies, not Gokren's.
But if they left him, he would be facing six trained fighters and a Truegold elder. His breath came faster, his madra cycling quicker as he looked for an exit. If he moved quickly enough, he could pull them into the Wilds. Away from Jai Chen, and into terrain where he might be able to fight them one at a time. So long as they didn't get back to their bats.
Gokren moved.
The Path of the Sandvipers had no techniques for speed. In a battle of Truegolds, Gokren would be among the slowest.
But he was still far faster than the Lowgold guards.
His short spear flickered out, launching a green ghost of itself that flew at the Jai clan like an arrow. His second spear was in his left hand, already shining green with another technique.
The elder moved like a ghost, breaking the Forged missile into sparks and knocking Gokren's spear aside before he could reach the average soldiers.
The Sandviper chief ended in a low stance, his spears spread to either side like wings. The Jai elder stood on the defensive: back straight, knees bent, weapon pointed straight as a ruler at Gokren's chest.
"Your life is over," the elder said, almost sadly.
"My life ended three days ago."
After another long moment, the Truegolds vanished. By unspoken agreement, they leaped over the buildings to the left, moving to where their battle wouldn't kill their subordinates. Leaving Jai Long and twenty Sandvipers facing six elite Jai sacred artists.
Jai Long ran forward like a wolf into a pen of sheep.
The fighters of the Jai clan did not flinch. They formed up into a wall, side by side but with enough distance between them that they could fight. One raised a hand-carved whistle to his lips and blew.
The seven bats rose with a screech, blacking out the stars. Their wings sent a gust of wind blowing across Jai Long's face, and with screams like glass shattering, they pounced on the Sandvipers.
Jai Long cursed himself. He had forgotten about the bats.
He cast them out of his mind, even though the battle sounds behind him were horrific. He had his own worries to deal with: he was charging into half a dozen enemies, and it was too late to stop. Even if he was charging alone.
Though he was still a good thirty feet away, the Lowgold bodyguards raised their spears and stabbed in his direction. Six spearheads blazed white as they executed the Jai clan's orthodox Striker technique: the Star Lance.
Lines of finger-thin light blasted toward him, each sharp enough to drill through his skull, but his weapon was already spinning
He spun his spear in both hands, executing a technique of his own: the Serpent's Shadow.
His spearhead trailed ribbons of white light as it spun, and those ribbons came to life, slithering through the air with a will of their own. The Forged snakes raised their heads and hissed, coiling themselves between him and the incoming techniques.
Such was the gift his Remnant had left him.
The Star Lances tore holes in his serpents, breaking off chunks of madra with every impact, but none of the techniques penetrated to Jai Long.
Jai Long didn't wait to see what his enemies would do next. He cycled his madra according to another technique: Flowing Starlight. This was an orthodox Stellar Spear technique, which his Remnant had left largely unaffected.
The Jai clan won their duels through superior speed.
The light-aspect madra circled through his channels faster and faster. Lines of white light slid out from his stomach, covering his skin in glowing, serpentine lines, marking the progress of Flowing Starlight. They looped around his shoulders, spilling up his arms and down his legs.
Power gathered in his limbs along with the lines, and when two knots of madra curled up and ended at his eyes, the world around him slowed.
This technique was a way to gradually prepare the body for handling intense speed. It reinforced and fueled him, finally sparking his senses so that they could keep up with his newly empowered limbs.
Six pairs of eyes narrowed as they realized what he was doing, six spirits revolving just like his, lines of white light spilling out of their robes and flowing onto their limbs as they engaged their own Enforcer techniques to catch up with him. The marks on their skin were a matrix of straight lines, not a nest of twisting serpents as on his, but there would be no functional difference in the technique.
Except that he was a Highgold. They were too slow.
He had been reluctant to test out his spear in battle, but now it seemed he had no choice. Whether he liked it or not, he was about to have his questions answered.
Jai Long closed the thirty-foot gap in a blink, coming in low next to the first enemy. The man had started his own Flowing Starlight technique, so he was fast enough to get the butt of his spear between him and Jai Long. But that was all he could do.
The white spear swerved around his, stabbing him in the lower abdomen. Into his core.
Most sacred artists Jai Long knew would have hesitated to fight someone a stage lower than they were, and even if they were forced into that undesirable position, they would avoid killing their opponent. It was shameful and embarrassing to lower yourself to that level, especially in public.
But Jai Long had no pride he didn't mind losing.
Jai Long's spiritual perception confirmed he'd struck the right target, and he withdrew his spearhead in an instant. The man's madra leaked out visibly, spilling starlight and blood in equal measure, but his spear should have stolen some of that power. Had it worked at all? He didn't feel any—
A rush of force slammed into his hand from the spear, flooding his madra channels with white light, and he stumbled in his steps.
This was only a fraction of the victim's full power, but it was enough to make Jai Long feel like his channels were about to burst. The next Lowgold thrust at him even as a second swept at his legs, and off-balance, there wasn't much Jai Long could do to stop them. A spearhead sliced his shoulder, and a shaft of solid wood hammered his shin.
He fell onto the grass, pain flaring, but he still gripped his weapon in one hand. Half a breath of hesitation meant death.
Jai Long flooded his madra into the Serpent's Shadow, sweeping his spear in an arc. He left a burning rainbow of white light between him and his opponents, which came to life as a snake thick as his arm. The living technique slithered to face his opponents, hissing.
The snake seized a spear in its jaws, shearing the weapon in half. The head tumbled away, wooden shaft smoking. A Jai woman brushed her arm against the body of the Serpent's Shadow, and she cried out, blood spraying from the cut—the light was sharper than the edge of a razor.
The other enemies ran to surround him, encircling him and preparing their attacks. They had caught up to him in speed by now, as skilled in the Flowing Starlight technique as he was.
Four spread out to cover him, his Serpent's Shadow fading even as it hissed and lunged and tried to protect him. He watched them through watery eyes, his breath uneven, spirit straining to contain the energy he'd swallowed. The glowing lines on his skin pulsed unsteadily, flickering between too much energy and too little.
Any moment now, the four enemies would coordinate, and he would die. He had to break their cooperation somehow, try to get one of them between him and the other three, to throw off their cooperation. He watched for the slightest opening even as madra thundered through him, burning his thoughts at the edges, distracting him with every breath.
Then the heavens intervened on his behalf.
A Sandviper stumbled away from the bats, blood streaming over her face, but there were four acid-green javelins Forging over her head. Before anyone reacted to her presence, she gestured to one of the Jai clan, and her technique blasted forward.
The Jai fighter saw it, bringing his shining spearhead around, but he was a beat too slow, his attention fixed too fully on Jai Long.
Four green lances pinned the young man to the ground.
Jai Long didn't waste the instant the Sandviper had bought him. He swept his spear in a whirlwind around himself, drawing twisting lines of Serpent's Shadow in the air until he was surrounded by a nest of seething white snakes. The effort of Forging such a huge defense would have usually drained his core, but now it just relieved some of the pressure.
Star Lances cracked on the outside, burning holes in his protection, but none were strong enough to completely break through.
He focused on controlling the storm of madra inside of him, funneling it into his spear, piling the energy into the pale spearhead until it glowed.
This was the second Enforcer technique in the Path of the Stellar Spear: the Star's Edge. It reinforced his weapon rather than his own body. Madra surged according to a rough pattern, fueling the deadly star at the end of his spear. By the time it was so bright he couldn't look directly at the weapon any longer, he could breathe again.
Now, his core was merely full.
Jai Long released his Forger technique, and the cage of white snakes dispersed into essence. Thousands of white pinpricks rose into the sky like a bucketful of glimmering dust falling the wrong way.
With his Flowing Starlight twisting around his skin and the Star's Edge on his spear, Jai Long glowed like the moon fallen to earth. Two of them were pulling bloody spears out of the Sandviper who had distracted them, and the other two were desperately trying to put some distance between them and Jai Long.
Finally in control of himself, Jai Long faced four off-balance enemies. He finished them all in a second.
The first woman he stabbed in the chest, to see if he had to strike the
core dead-on to absorb its powers. Another rush of madra filled him, though not as fully as the first kill had. The second man he sliced in the arm, and if he gained any madra from that, he didn't feel it. He finished him off with a stab straight through the skull. The third took a spearhead to the throat, and the fourth through the belly.
All before the first of the four bodies hit the ground. Leaving him to deal with his own exploding soul.
White light stormed through his channels, tearing him apart as though he'd swallowed a razor-sharp flame. He tried to vent it from his skin where he could, white light spearing through him and leaving tiny, bleeding cuts with every ray.
It was like getting stabbed by a dozen nails at once, from the inside. He screamed.
Through a haze of pain and tears, he saw the Remnant rise.
Only one. The bodies he'd cut with the Ancestor's Spear remained still and quiet, but the single individual the Sandviper had killed vented its Remnant into the air.
Even through his mind-numbing agony, Jai Long glared at the spirit. His thoughts were strained, fogged, but he still recognized the classic Stellar Spear Remnant. The Remnant he was supposed to have bonded.
He could barely see it, half-blind as he was at the moment, but they always looked the same.
It looked like a constellation. Points of bright light formed joints, hands, eyes, and a heart, like stars floating in the air. Thin, faded lines connected those points until the spirit looked like a bent, hulking skeleton torn from the night sky.
The Remnant's roar sounded like the rush of a bonfire.
Jai Long staggered forward, leaving bleeding footprints in the grass behind him. More shards of madra cut through his skin, but he could no longer feel them.
Gokren yelled something to him, but he was beyond hearing.
With no technique, no art, he jammed the Ancestor's Spear into the lines of the Remnant's rib cage.
This power was nothing like what he'd stolen in battle. It flowed into him, still and obedient, a gentle rain instead of a vicious flood. His core drank it up greedily until it strained against its limits, pushing to expand and contain this feast.
Jai Long dropped to the ground, cycling desperately. If it weren't for his long hours of cycling every day, he didn't think he would have made it. His soul moved without his conscious will to guide it, looping in precise patterns as it had done millions of times before.
Every Path had cycling techniques for different purposes: cycling to absorb and process aura from the atmosphere, cycling to use a technique,
cycling to restore lost madra, and cycling to refine and control the power you already had. It was that fourth pattern he used now, revolving his madra along with his breath. Faster and more urgently than he ever had before.
The stolen light burned him and tore at him, even as the power from the Remnant threatened to drown him.
He knew nothing but guiding that river, losing himself entirely in the rhythm of the madra spinning within him, processing as much of the power as he could.
He swallowed everything he was able, making it a part of him, stretching his core to its breaking point, but it was like trying to drink a lake one cup at a time. There was more here than he could have handled in a week, and it threatened to tear his soul apart.
He shouted again, thrusting his spearhead into the sky.
A Star Lance thicker than his head rushed out of him, sending a beacon of white light into the clouds.
The extra madra in his veins dimmed slowly down. When his wounds finally stopped shining, the pain shrunk to manageable levels, and his breath grew too ragged to continue cycling, he let the technique and his weapon drop. He sagged, face-down, into the wet grass.
At some point, the sun had fallen to the horizon. Golden light died as twilight approached.
With a twitch of his head, he could see Gokren standing to his right, arms folded. The Truegold was bloody, missing one spear and leaning all his weight on his left leg, but he didn't look worried. He stood within arm's length of Jai Long, apparently unconcerned about the dangers of standing next to a Highgold blasting uncontrolled madra in every direction. The certainty of an expert.
Jai Long struggled on the ground, reaching for his spear. His madra was completely fresh and full, but his channels had been seared, and he felt as though one more technique would be one too many. But he'd learned years ago that he couldn't assume anyone else would protect him, not even Chief Gokren. If someone else decided to attack, he had to muster up a defense from somewhere.
Gokren clapped him on the back of the head, though the wrappings around Jai Long's hair cushioned the impact. "They're dead. Not the bats—
my hunters wrangled them up. All seven of them, and only two of mine. Not bad for a night of work."
He spoke lightly, but there was a steely resolve when he said 'two of mine.' He may have been prepared to lose his followers, but he wasn't happy about it.
Before Jai Long could muster up the strength for a single word, Gokren pulled out his one remaining short spear and tapped the Ancestor's Spear lying on the grass.
"That would work for me, wouldn't it? If I could find some Sandvipers who weren't worth as much as their madra." He bent down, running a finger along the body of the weapon. "It's white, but it isn't Stellar Spear madra, is it...no, it's something else."
Jai Long struggled over to the spear, grabbing it with weak hands and cradling it to his chest. Gokren straightened up and folded his arms again. "Don't go shy on me now, boy. I could take that from you if you were at full strength, and you're not. You think I'm going to turn on you now, after I pulled arms on the Jai clan for you?"
Jai Long felt guilty for a moment, but he didn't loosen his grip on the spear. He'd seen people do worse things out of greed.
Gokren shook his head, but turned away and raised his weapon in one fist. "A good hunt!" he roared.
The other Sandvipers cheered. They had gathered without Jai Long noticing, staring at the white spear. It was unlimited power, in their eyes. They could gain weeks of power in minutes.
It was all there for the stealing.
They circled him in a wall of fur-clad bodies, crowding him. He hugged the spear tighter, but despite the fresh madra filling his core and eager to be used, he didn't think he could fight if the heavens descended and ordered him to. His body and spirit felt like twisted-out rags.
Gokren saw him and let out a heavy breath. With one motion, he seized the Ancestor's Spear and wrenched it away.
Jai Long sagged, weak and helpless. This was how it ended. He'd finally begun his revenge against the clan that had rejected him, and now...
Gokren picked up the case, slid the spear inside, buckled it closed, and tossed it to the ground in front of Jai Long.
"Get some sleep," the sect chief said. "We've got a long journey ahead."
Chapter 5
Lindon hit the rough board that served as the dummy's right arm, then its torso, then the head. The circle was unpowered, the target lifeless. If he fueled the training course, it would knock him over instantly, so he practiced on the dead version first. Once he got the routine down, he could try the real course.
The targets flickered with color when he struck them, as his madra passed through the correct spot. They would have stayed lit had the main circle been powered.
He stepped back, rubbing his knuckles. They didn't hurt, but they would have before his Iron body. It was a strange sensation, knowing that his hands should be scraped raw by the rough wood.
From further away, he examined the dummy again, as though watching it could help him somehow.
He just needed to be faster.
Each dummy had a different pattern of strikes and blocks, but he'd gone through all eighteen already, committing them to memory. His mind could keep up, and his body should be fast enough. But he still couldn't quite do it. Only an hour ago, he'd powered the circle again, and the dummy had still knocked him on his face.
The sun had long set, the barn lit by a single flickering candle that was starting to burn down. He could have used a scripted light, but it would have lasted for less time than a candle before needing to be powered again, and he wanted to conserve his madra.
It left the dummies bathed in shadow, lending them a sinister aspect. Only the brief flicker of a scripted light at each of his strikes dispelled the darkness.
Lindon moved forward, running through the three strikes again. He sped up this time, pushing his Iron body to the limit, and missed the third hit.
The first two sent light rippling through their tiny runes, and the third remained dark.
He forced himself to slow down, breathe deep, and keep the power cycling steadily through his madra channels.
Cool air rushed in, and a door shut.
Yerin walked inside, only the silver blade over her shoulder and the red belt around her middle standing out against the shadows. "Training hard, or you have a grudge against wood people?"
Lindon hurriedly straightened himself, squaring his shoulders and smoothing his clothes. She'd seen him in worse states, but he didn't want to look like he'd exhausted himself against a bunch of wooden statues.
"Only working out a few things," he said, leaning closer to one of the dummies as though trying to figure out its script.
She eyed him for a moment and then walked inside the circle, plopping down onto the ground. She leaned up against a dummy's support pole and sighed. "I'm the last one to tell you to stop working. Heaven's truth, I just got done with three hours of meditation cycling and two hours of technique practice. But even my master would say you need an easy day every once in a while."
"I've stopped to cycle two or three times," he said, but then he wondered if that were true. "Maybe it was four times. Or...six?" How long had he been here?
He glanced at the candle, which was a half-melted lump of wax in the middle of the circle. The woman who'd sold it to him had sworn it would burn all night. Perhaps it had.
A break couldn't hurt, so he sat beneath the dummy next to her.
Without a word, she passed him a rag. He nodded his thanks, then began wiping the sweat from his head and neck.
"Trick to an Iron body," Yerin said, "is to recognize when you're tired and when you're not. Gets harder to tell the difference. You'll pick it up after a while, but until you do, you're more than likely to run your feet down to the nubs."
Lindon's eyelids did feel heavy, his arms ached, and his hands were cramped...but those sensations faded almost as quickly as they came. Madra trickled steadily from his core, called by his Bloodforged Iron body to heal his fatigue.
"Is that so?" He looked at his hands, feeling the tight ache in his knuckles drain away with his madra. "Incredible. I really can't tell."
"That's how you run into more trouble than you can handle. If you ask me, you've got..." Something shivered through Lindon's spirit, and he recognized the touch of her spiritual sense. "...well, that's a puzzle and a half."
He'd seen Yerin walk into battle with a smile on her face. Now, after scanning him, she was frowning and mumbling to herself, staring at his stomach.
Though he had just toweled off, sweat broke out over his skin again.
Lindon dove into his own soul, almost in a cycling trance, clutching at his core with both hands. "What's wrong? What have I done? Did I cycle too much? Am I dying?"
"You're about a thousand miles from dying," she muttered. "As expected of an Underlord, I guess."
"Eithan? Did Eithan do something to me?"
"He handed you that Iron body, true?" Lindon didn't remember Eithan handing him anything, but he guessed it was true enough. "Unless I'm wide of the mark, it looks like it's keeping you fresh. You could work your body until your core's dry."
Lindon had felt the same thing already, but he had assumed it was a function of the Iron body. " my ignorance, but isn't that normal?"
"It's normal for the Undying Lizards of the Bluefire Desert. I hear it's normal for some plants." She jabbed him lightly in the stomach. "People get tired sometimes."
New possibilities bloomed in Lindon's imagination, and he had to resist the urge to start taking notes. "As long as I restore my madra, I could keep training? How often should I stop and cycle, do you think?"
"Whoa there, rein it in. If you could work all day and night, you'd be fighting Eithan in a year, not one little Jai Long. The spirit needs rest just like your body does. You don't want to strain your madra channels, I'll tell you that one for free."
She clasped her hands together and stretched them over her head. "You're an Iron, not a Remnant; you still need sleep. Food. Your spirit's a weapon, and you've got to keep it clean and polished. But you don't have to worry about pulling a muscle, or collapsing in a heap. I'd kill you for that, if I thought I could take it off your Remnant."
Lindon chuckled uneasily, wiping his face with the towel again. So he could work for longer than most people, but not too long. What was the limit? How could he tell? It was easy to know when he was running out of madra, but what did strained madra channels feel like? How much more time was his Iron body buying him, exactly?
Lost in thought, he almost handed the sweaty rag back, but he caught himself at the last minute and tucked it inside his outer robe. He could wash it in the lake in the morning.
Lindon dipped his head in thanks and spoke carefully. "Gratitude. You've given me a lot to think about. But if you'll allow me another question: what are my chances? With Jai Long? Do I have enough time?"
"You've got no time at all," Yerin said immediately. "Sleep or no sleep, if Eithan doesn't have something planned for you, then you're dry leaves to the fire."
The truth of that settled onto him, and Lindon couldn't think of anything to say.
Yerin scratched the side of her neck, and in the dim light, he thought he saw her flush. "I, uh...sorry. Didn't intend to say it like that." She hesitated for another moment. "When I was Iron, my master didn't press me to fight a Highgold in a year's time. That's a rotten gamble, no matter what training he gives you."
Yerin knew he couldn't do it. That he was going to die in a year.
He stared at the dummy across the circle because he didn't want to see the truth on her face.
"I'm not going to gamble," he said quietly. "There are other ways to get to him, before the duel. He eats, he sleeps, just like anybody else. He has enemies. He has a family."
Yerin's Goldsign arched, as though the blade were trying to get a better look at Lindon's face. "Dark plans for an Iron," she said, voice dry. "You want to hold his crippled little sister hostage, do you think? You want to go to his enemies for help instead of Eithan?"
"I don't know enough about him yet," Lindon said, embarrassed. "You know, there's always poison. Ambush."
"There's always poison," she repeated. "Yeah. You could poison his food, then wait until he falls asleep. Put a different poison on your knives, so even if he wakes up, he can't..."
She trailed off, blinking rapidly.
Her master. That was what the Jades of the Heaven's Glory School had done to her master.
Lindon fell to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cool wooden floor. "I did not think. I—"
He glanced up and saw that she was holding up a hand for silence. She waited for a few seconds, visibly swallowing a few times, before she spoke. "They were dogs and cowards," she said at last. "Don't think like them. You don't learn to stand against your enemies by crawling in the dirt."
"As you say. I have no excuse."
"You're on the path now, stable and true. In a year, you won't recognize yourself."
He certainly couldn't disagree with her now, not to her face, but he filed his plans away carefully in the back of his mind. Surely Eithan wouldn't mind if he prepared for contingencies.
Lindon had just risen to his feet when the door slammed open, and Eithan marched in, carrying a lantern caging a burning star. It lit the barn like midday, making Lindon wince and shield his eyes.
Eithan saw them and paused, as though he'd just noticed them. "Oh, I'm sorry, I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Before they could respond, he added, "I was just being polite, I heard it all."
Lindon was going to find it hard to relax over the next year, if Eithan listened to every word he ever spoke.
The Underlord walked over to the melted candle and kicked it aside, sending a puff of smoke into the air and chunks of wax tumbling across the floor. He set his lantern in its place at the center of the course, then turned to face them with hands on hips.
"I will be truthful with the two of you: I'm facing a bit of a crisis here."
His demeanor was cheery as ever, but his smile had shrunk to nothing more than tightened lips. Maybe this was his serious face.
"We'll do whatever we can to help you, of course," Lindon said, knowing that he could never help an Underlord do anything.
"You made a mess out of something," Yerin said, her tone absolutely confident.
Eithan pointed to Lindon. "I will take you up on that offer, don't worry." Lindon's heart sank.
Now Eithan pointed to Yerin. "That's an uncharitable way to put it, but I can't say you're wrong. You know, I do wish I could tell the future. There are sacred artists out there who can, to varying degrees. It would make planning so much easier. And I don't expect you to understand this, but seeing everything makes surprises so much worse. You always feel as though you should have seen them coming."
He sighed, flipping his hair over his shoulder. "That's enough of my problems, so let's talk about our problems. The Jai clan has all but declared war on our family."
"All but?" Yerin repeated. "Is it war, or no war?"
"If they declared it openly, the Emperor's forces would cripple the aggressor in a day. But the Skysworn stay out of the petty squabbles between clans. As long as the Jai pretend that's what's happening, the Emperor will stay clear."
Lindon had seen similar situations back in Sacred Valley, as the Wei clashed along the border with the Li, and the Kazan raided them both. He saw the problem immediately.
"They'll claim Jai Long."
Eithan nodded to him. "He and his sister were exiled here so that they could serve the main family without being underfoot and embarrassing. Has to do with his wrapped-up face." Eithan waved a hand vaguely around his own head. "They still won't take him back, but once the duel is over, they can pretend he was one of them all along. He wins? They take credit. He dies? We killed a Jai Highgold, and they'll use it as an excuse for open war."
He sighed. "And I thought all I'd have to do was write a letter..."
There was an obvious solution here, but Lindon proposed it carefully. "Not to overstep my bounds, but the situation has changed. Couldn't you tell the Jai clan that you changed your mind?"
Eithan braced one foot on the star-filled lantern and leaned forward. "One's word is the currency of the powerful. Reputation and honor are all that prevent us from slaughtering each other, and keep us operating with
some degree of civility. What stops an Underlord from killing everyone weaker? Their reputation. What shields their family from reprisals and attacks? Their reputation. Many experts value their good name more than their life."
A dark pall settled over Lindon. Eithan wouldn't change his mind about the duel, then. That had been one of Lindon's final hopes.
"Besides, I still have a use for your victory," he said. "Jai Long's defeat will give me leverage, whether the clan claims him or not, so I would still prefer you fight. However, there is another option..." Lindon's dead hope flickered to life again. "...I can allow you to leave the family. Your actions would not reflect on my word if you weren't a subject of the Arelius."
Lindon turned to Yerin, who wore a troubled expression but said nothing. Would she come with him, if he left? She might, if he asked her, but would that be fair to her? He didn't know much about the Arelius family, but he knew they represented both a risk and an opportunity. Yerin could grow there, with the support of a well-connected clan.
For his part, anywhere outside of Sacred Valley was a land of limitless opportunity. The Fishers could advance him past Iron. He had other roads he could take.
But he'd be giving up the chance to be trained personally by an Underlord.
Eithan met his eyes, speaking earnestly. "I'll be as clear as I can: the Arelius family employs hundreds of thousands of people, and their livelihoods will be impacted by the results of this duel. If you stay, I will do whatever I have to so that you win. Even if it kills you."
Lindon leaned against a wooden dummy for support. "Killing me...to win. I see. How likely is that to happen, exactly?"
Eithan's smile broadened. "It's my last resort. I have every confidence that I can raise you to victory without destroying your future. I can't say you will enjoy the process, though. And I will catch you every time you try and run away."
Yerin still hadn't said anything since Eithan entered the room. She stood with one hand on her sword and one on the blood-red rope around her waist, as though considering her options.
"If you don't mind," Lindon said, "I'd like some time to consider."
Eithan straightened, brushing wrinkles out of his turquoise robe. "Perfectly understandable, but I'm afraid we're running short of time as it is. We're leaving at dawn. If you would like to join us, look around the Fisher territory for a tall building with blue clouds surrounding the foundation and Arelius banners hanging from the walls. That is our vehicle out of here, so if it's still there, so are we."
He executed a small, shallow bow in Lindon's direction and then started to walk off. Over his shoulder, he called, "I don't like to make decisions for others, Lindon...but I hope to see you in the morning."
The door swung shut behind him, but it fell into Yerin's hand. She hitched up her red belt as though to distract herself.
She still looked troubled, even as she spoke. "In the sacred arts, you don't want the clear path. You want the rocky one. The strongest aren't the ones who climb the highest mountains, but the ones who choose to do it one-handed and blindfolded."
She hesitated as though to add something else before shaking her head. "But it's a short distance between 'rocky' and 'looking for suicide.' I don't know what you should do. I...I don't know."
Then she left too.
***
Lindon blinked sleep from bleary eyes, sitting up on the barn floor. The
touch of sunlight streaming through the wooden slats warmed him, bright and cheery. He started to cycle his sluggish madra, prodding his body into waking and his mind into thought.
Last night, he'd stayed up after Eithan left, trying to clear his mind and make the right decision. He'd known what the best answer was: to stick with the Arelius family. But that didn't make the decision easier.
If he stayed, the Fishers could take him to Truegold.
Truegold. Would that really be his limit?
When he had walked among the Eight-Man Empire, Suriel had said that
even ten thousand Gold sacred artists couldn't scratch their armor. How far above Truegold were they?
How far above them was Suriel?
He'd pulled Suriel's marble out of his pocket, and the sight of the steady blue candle-flame inside the glass orb had made up his mind. He'd activated
the course, matching his newfound determination against the eighteen animated wooden dummies.
When he joined Eithan and the Arelius family at dawn, he wanted to do it after squeezing out every second of practice he could. Maybe he could produce a miracle, defeat the course, and join Eithan and Yerin with pride.
The dummies had knocked him flat, but he'd gotten up again and again. Eventually he'd stopped to cycle, but meditation had turned to sleep...
Sunlight streamed in through the walls.
He jumped to his feet, the unfamiliar power of his Iron body launching him two feet in the air before he landed.
He was late.
He'd missed them.
Lindon stormed through the door, hoping against hope that they'd
decided to wait a few hours for him.
The instant he opened a crack, air blasted him in the face, shoving the
door all the way open and slamming it against the frame. The wind was almost strong enough to push him off his feet, Iron body or no, and the light was blinding.
He had to throw up his arm against the all-present light, which surrounded him as though he'd been tossed into the sun.
When his eyes finally adjusted and the gusts slowed for a moment, he squinted into the brightness and saw...not the dusty yard outside the barn. Not the collection of ramshackle buildings making up the Five Factions Alliance.
An endless ocean of sunlit clouds, stretching out beneath him.
Lindon shouted and fell backwards, kicking the door shut, trying to catch his breath. The barn was in the sky. In the heavens, maybe? Had Suriel grabbed this whole building and lifted it from the earth?
He grabbed the warm glass marble from his pocket and rubbed it between his hands to comfort himself. As his breath and mind settled, he started to notice details he hadn't before: the floor dipped and sagged beneath him, like he was lying on a boat drifting over a lake. Wind whistled through and around the barn.
Lindon leaned on a wooden dummy to prop himself up, catching his breath and staring at the door as though it might open and drag him out into open air.
Wood creaked, and he turned to see the back door swinging open. Eithan stuck his head in, smiling.
"A good morning to you!" he said cheerily. "Come join us for breakfast."
Lindon took a deep breath before answering. "You didn't leave me." He closed his eyes and took another breath. "This one thanks you, honored Underlord."
"I kept an eye on you after I left. I could tell you'd made up your mind, so when you didn't make it on time, I decided to drag you along."
Following the Underlord, Lindon pushed open the back door of the flying barn. It swung open into bright lights and furious wind, but there was another door only a foot or two away. This door was painted dark blue, with a black crescent at eye level, and the frame was all white. The colors of the Arelius family.
Between him and the door was a stretch of dense blue cloud. To the left and right, he saw nothing but endless sky and white fluff. Beneath him, a soft blue carpet.
Lindon hesitated, but Eithan didn't. He was already striding across the cloud with full confidence, his steps pressing down as though he walked across a mattress.
It's a Thousand-Mile Cloud, Lindon reassured himself, just...bigger. Big enough to carry two buildings.
If he'd needed an illustration of the Arelius family's wealth and power, this would do.
Eithan held the door for him as Lindon fought the wind to enter.
He stepped into a cozy sitting room, all decorated in Arelius colors. Dark blue chairs and couches were arranged into a half-circle around a fireplace of black metal. A spiral staircase led up to a second story, and a pair of tall, arched windows spilled sunlight into the whole space.
Through an open doorway against the other wall, Lindon saw into a second room, this one surrounded entirely in glass that looked out over the clouds. Cassias stood in the glass room over a podium that looked like the control panel for the training course. As Lindon watched, he spread his hand and injected a pulse of madra speckled with silver. Circles lit up one after another on the polished board.
The house veered to the right, cutting through the clouds like a ship through waves.
Yerin had her legs crossed on one fluffy chair, her hands on her knees and breathing measured. When Lindon crossed the doorway, she cracked her eyes open and gave him a little smile.
"Sharp decision," she said.
"I fell asleep."
Eithan hopped over the polished wooden counter that separated the rest
of the room from a wall of brightly colored bottles, then started fixing himself a drink. "This is Sky's Mercy, the personal cloudship of the family's Patriarch. It serves us as a mobile base when we need to take our business outside of the usual territory."
Cassias didn't turn from his controls, shouting over his shoulder to Lindon. "We stay as high as we can, for the sake of stealth. S