His new arm might be exactly that solution, but there was no telling until the construct was completed. She backed away, turning to face him head-on. "You want me to sit around on my hands until I advance again? If Eithan can make me a Truegold tomorrow, sure, I'm not going to spit on that. Short of that, I'm not waiting. I'm going with whoever's raising their swords against Redmoon Hall." "But who is that?" he countered. "Who's going to take us? Who can use us? What can we even do? We have to know what we can do before we—" "The Skysworn," she interrupted, folding her arms. "They'll jump to take us." Lindon wasn't sure they would jump to take him, but he had to admit he was tempted by the facilities he'd seen in Starsweep Tower. Then again…what did the Skysworn have that Eithan wasn't already giving him for free? "Let's not rush into anything," he said in a reasonable tone. "We can wait until Eithan gets back, at least." "Eithan's out there fighting Underlords and emissaries and heavensknow-what right now," she said fiercely. "When he gets back, we're out of time." A bearded man in hooded green robes slid open the door, peeking his head inside. "Excuse me, I'm here to see the patient?" Yerin gave Lindon a razor-sharp stare, but she took a breath. "Turn over what I said, see if it looks any better to you. I'm going to see Cassias tonight. If I don't hear what I like, I'm gone. The door's open for you to join me." After Lindon left, he continued turning her words over in his mind. She was rushing to a decision too quickly. There was no reason to take this fight personally; Redmoon Hall wasn't after them. At least they could weigh out their options, they didn't have to dive straight in. No matter how he thought of it, there was nothing to gain from going after Redmoon Hall. It would be a foolish move. Maybe Cassias could talk Yerin around.
Chapter 11 Cassias sat on his mat, covered in bandages, with a frog's tongue stuck onto his wrist. The fat, blood-red bullfrog sat on a little dais, an ornately carved platform the size of Lindon's hand, and pumped blood through its tongue with every exhale. It was one of the most fascinating sacred beasts Lindon had ever seen, and he couldn't help wondering what sort of blood Path had produced it. The healer had said that it would slowly replace the blood Cassias had lost, as well as purging any remaining influence from the bloodspawn, but that he had to rest. And, if possible, he should avoid strenuous activity or stressful conversation. They were putting that last advice to the test. "I'll be fighting Redmoon Hall if it's just me and my sword," Yerin said, arms crossed. To Lindon's eye, she still looked odd without the red belt, as that had been the brightest splash of color about her. "Don't have the legs to go very far if I'm not Truegold, but I'd go if I were Copper. You get me to Truegold, you'd be lending me a hand up." Lindon recognized his opportunity. "The sooner we reach Truegold, the sooner we'll be ready to contribute to the Empire. And the more useful we would be to you." Cassias glanced at the frog and took a deep breath. "I don't have the full list of training materials you've used in the time since you've been with us, but it's extensive. Running the Blackflame Trials alone cost the equivalent of two top-grade scales a day, not to mention my own time. That's more than the training budget for all our other students combined. And then there are those Four Corners Rotation Pills we provided. We could have hired five new workers for the same price. Yerin, you've been using our sword aura cycling room so extensively that we had to replace some of the aura sources and upgrade the scripts."
"That's a fair point, but most of those decisions were made by Eithan," Lindon pointed out. "He obviously thought we were worth the expense." "He did, which is why Eithan paid for most of that personally," Cassias responded. "If he spent his time doing nothing else, he could generate three or four top-grade scales a day, which is absolutely stunning. Most Underlords could not do the same. So additionally, we have the cost of his time when he went to the Desolate Wilds to retrieve you. Every day he spent on you has cost this family a sizeable amount of income." Yerin turned as though to leave. "I've heard my fill. I need to track down Eithan, not you. Is he on the battlefield yet?" "Eithan has been recalled to a secret location by order of the Emperor," Cassias said, carefully watching the frog. The frog croaked and gave him a stern look, so Cassias settled back against the wall. "If you want help before he returns, you'll have to go through the family system." "System?" Lindon asked, intrigued. "Workers are paid for their living expenses, of course, but anyone who contributes to the family beyond the scope of their job receives additional resources. We invest in those who provide a benefit to us." "And how are those benefits measured?" "There's an extensive chart in any of our facilities," Cassias said, and Lindon perked up. A clear-cut list of tasks and rewards sounded perfect. "Essentially, we want you to advance as quickly as possible if you're serving the family." "Sounds like a load of fetching and carrying for nothing, if we're already getting the same from Eithan for free," Yerin said. Cassias looked to Lindon. "Yerin has already earned several rewards from the Arelius family, for tasks she performed while you were…isolated. She earned a set of pills that condensed several months' worth of sword aura, five thousand sword scales, quite a bit of time in our highest-level sword cycling room, and time with our most experienced sword Path instructor. Which so happens to be me." Lindon looked to Yerin, astonished. He imagined that she spent all her time cycling and training alone. That was most of what he'd seen her do, when she had the choice. "What did she do for the family?" Yerin gave an impatient sigh. "Killed a Remnant, killed another Remnant, pushed away some guy who was needling the cleaning crews a
little, stopped a big lizard from running through the sewers...Probably more, I don't know, it slips through my mind." "Those sound like things I could do," Lindon said eagerly. "That's the point," Cassias said. He sounded exasperated. "Most employees of the Arelius family join us because they are not suited for combat. If you can protect them from rivals or remove obstacles—such as Remnants—that pop up in the course of their ordinary duties, you are rewarded. There are other ways to demonstrate excellence than fighting, but I imagine this is the area in which you will excel." "I don't have time for more of the same," Yerin said. "I know what bloodspawn can do to a town. Someone's getting run over while we're locked in here chatting." The red frog croaked at Cassias, who took another deep breath. "This is the problem with how Eithan treats you. Neither of you have an appreciation for the expense that has gone into your training." "You think so? I grew up paying for it all myself," Yerin said proudly. "My master made sure I know what sacred arts cost." "And yet a minute of your master's time was worth more than a day of Eithan's." She scowled at him. Cassias closed his eyes, clearly waiting for them to leave. "I'm happy to provide you with the same support we would to any of our disciples. As long as you earn it." "This is it," Lindon said in the hallway outside Cassias' room. "He has everything we need. If we see the family rules, I'm sure we can find a way to make them work for us." "The family rules can go rot," Yerin said, gripping her sword and marching down the hall. "The Skysworn will let me fight." Lindon stopped in place, forcing her to spin and eye him. "…that's it?" he asked. "We're leaving the Arelius family? After all this?" Yerin's scars stood out in the pale white rune-lights of the hall. "Not joining another family, are we? The Skysworn don't ask you to throw your family away. We're just serving the Empire, like good and proper boys and girls. Now let's go." Lindon didn't move. "I…really don't think we should." Color rose into her cheeks. "I'm not just thinking about it. I'm doing it. Thought you were with me."
Lindon felt like a Remnant had reached into his chest and made a fist, but he swallowed. "I am," he said, "of course I am. But I don't understand why we're rushing into this. If you'll just give me a few more days…" "Don't have 'em to give," Yerin said, and she kept walking. Lindon stayed where he was. *** Yerin found Renfei and Bai Rou talking intently over a low table, which was heavy with food. Empty plates were piled around Bai Rou, and he was sucking the meat from a chicken bone as she approached. Both of them were in full armor, though they had stayed close to the Arelius family guests. No one had taken them off babysitting duty yet, and as the days passed, they were starting to get restless. Yerin had no news of the outside world. That was part of the weight she felt pushing down on her—what was Redmoon Hall doing now? How many towns had the bloodspawn ruined? Grabbing a chair from a nearby table, Yerin spun it around and sat down, joining them. Renfei eyed her as though trying to figure out whether to be amused or irritated, but Bai Rou just kept eating. "You mentioned you're recruiting. What do you need the recruits for?" Renfei frowned. "You've seen them. Redmoon Hall is washing over the southern Empire like a tide. We've lost contact with three cities on the southern border, and have confirmed bloodspawn sightings a hundred miles north. People all over are beginning to panic, and that's when you need order. If we had five times as many Skysworn as we do, it wouldn't be enough." "And here we are," Bai Rou said between bites, "waiting." "You're fighting the bloodspawn? And Redmoon Hall?" "Of course we are. What do you think we do with our time?" Bai Rou swallowed. "When we're not trapped here." Yerin nodded sharply. "All right. I'm in." Renfei and Bai Rou exchanged glances, then Yerin felt a whisper of power tickle her soul. She was being scanned. "We don't usually take people on slaughter Paths," Renfei said, and Yerin gave an inward sigh of relief. The Skysworn had sensed the presence of the Blood Shadow inside, but had assumed it was just a part of Yerin's power.
Sacred artists on Paths of blood and the sword weren't the most popular people around. They were known for murdering anybody they came across just to cycle. It had earned them the nickname "slaughter Paths," though Yerin had heard others. "...but you're a Highgold," Renfei continued. "We're not in the business of turning down eager Highgolds while we're in a state of emergency. But we'll be checking your rank, and you still have to go through the same qualification process everyone does." Yerin had no problem with that. She'd never been afraid of trials. *** Officially, Eithan was on a private cloudship on his way to the capital. The cloudship had actually departed from Stormrock that morning, and the city's records showed him aboard. From beneath a hood, and with a veil over his core to make him seem like an ordinary Gold, he had waved goodbye to the ship himself. The Emperor had commanded his presence. Naru Huan, Patriarch of the Naru clan and sole leader of the Blackflame Empire, was officially on a tour of their southern defenses. He was addressing this crisis personally. In reality, that was almost correct. He was just doing it a bit more...directly than the public believed. He waited at the top of the Starsweep Tower at the center of Stormrock. When Eithan entered, the Emperor had his back turned and wings spread, looking out vast windows over the city. From here, they could see the edge of the green cloud that supported all of Stormrock. And below them, a dome of hazy red light. Eithan was the last to arrive. The other Underlords were already there. There was a table in the center of the room, laden with fruits and drinks, but no one sat. They all stood separately, each man and woman an island, though many in the room were related. A control console of ornate gold stood a few feet from the Emperor, though no one was manning it. Its script-circles were dark, and the city was still. Eithan made his way to the food as the Emperor spoke. "We have chosen you to serve us in the most important tasks. We will address the others later, but you are the ones who will truly defend the Empire."
Naru Huan turned, spreading his vast, shimmering emerald wings for effect. He cut a heroic figure, with a jaw like a brick and eyes like knives. His royal robes didn't hide his muscular figure, and the outfit was impressive in its own right. His robes had a green dragon and a blue one twining around each other, the cool colors complementing his wings, and his hair was pinned up with a jade pin. Eithan nodded at the presentation even as he took a bite of a steamed bun. Naru Huan wasn't a master of capturing an audience, but he had presence, personality, and a flair for style. He'd learn. There were seven others around the table, including Eithan: the top seven Underlords in the Blackflame Empire. Only a few months ago, Eithan had been rated merely eleventh, but his confrontations with Jai Daishou had raised him a few spots up the ladder. Had he not been invited, he would have been forced to eavesdrop on this meeting. And that would have been rude. Besides, it was much harder to advance his own plans if he wasn't in the room. "This has been nothing less than a betrayal by one of our number," the Emperor said, spearing each of them with his gaze. "He has risked the very existence of our nation for selfish greed." When it was Eithan's turn, he raised his half-eaten bun in salute, and he caught a brief twitch of Naru Huan's eyelid. When he had let the moment sink in with appropriate gravity, the Emperor made a sharp gesture with his right hand. Wind aura surged, and a box drifted up on a cushion of air. It was sealed with layers of script-circles, and even the Emperor had to use three different keys to open it. With great ceremony, he turned the box toward them and lifted the lid. Several of the others gasped or muttered at the sight of the Archstone, sitting on a cushion. The dull light within swirled as though with motion, and Eithan could sense its hunger tugging at their spirits even from so far away. After only a second or two, the Emperor shut the lid. Its scripts shone, sealing away its power once more. "The Archstone, as described in the Draconic Records. It was sealed deep in the western labyrinth, where Jai Daishou retrieved it." The Emperor inclined his head toward his uncle, and Naru Gwei stepped forward. The second-ranked Underlord in the Empire had positioned himself near the door, as though hoping he could leave as soon as possible.
His hair was even more matted and dirty, if possible, and it seemed to be wet this time. He still wore his battered Skysworn armor, though he hadn't brought his sword along this time. Perhaps he felt safe in the heart of his headquarters. He had withdrawn his wings as well, so there was nothing to mark him as one of the elders of the Naru clan. "We believe the Underlord of the Jai clan entered the western labyrinth to retrieve a weapon that would allow him to settle a personal grudge," Naru Gwei recited, as though reading from a dull schoolbook. "We cannot confirm how long the seal was breached, but it was long enough to alert the Bleeding Phoenix." Another general murmur swept through the room, though they all must have known as much already. A crack came from the edge of the table as the Emperor's sister lost control of her strength. "Based on the movements of Redmoon Hall and the influence of the Phoenix, we believe that it has nested only a few miles south of our border this time. Our dream-readers suggest we have weeks, perhaps months, before it is fully conscious and able to move." "Will the Skysworn be enough to stop Redmoon Hall?" Eithan asked through a mouthful of food. He didn't have to be subtle here. Very few of the others considered him important enough to care what he was doing, and the ones who did wouldn't stop him. Naru Gwei gave him a look, though it lacked impact coming from his dead face. Eithan wasn't exactly sure what that expression was supposed to be. "We will serve the Empire with honor," Naru Gwei said, raising his fingers to touch the burn scars on his left cheek. "And we are recruiting as we speak. But we could use as many applicants as we can, if only to keep the peace while we focus on the real battle." Eithan nodded thoughtfully, sipping a crystal goblet of blazewater. It was a popular drink in the East, and he enjoyed the novelty. Every sip made him feel like his mouth was on fire, but with no actual pain. It was infused with spirit-fruits and dream aura, he heard. Some Paths considered it invaluable for cycling. Naru Huan fixed his imperial gaze on the third-ranked Underlord. "Underlord Kotai, what is your assessment of our situation?" Kotai Shou walked up to the table, pressing his fists together in a salute —one of his fists was five times bigger than the other—and then standing
straight with hands at his side to report. Shou was a grizzled old sea captain with his head shaved except for a dangling gray braid in front of each ear. He had storm-gray skin, and he had lost his left arm in battle as a child, replacing it with the limb of a massive stone-madra Remnant. "We've got three problems," he barked. "The bloodspawn are the first. They're part of the Phoenix's power, so they will only show up in the red zone around the nest. But they will spread further as the Dreadgod wakes, until every drop of blood inside a hundred miles will hatch into a monster. I'd call that a regional emergency on its own. "Second, Redmoon Hall. They've got two levels. The vassals are the ones who let their Blood Shadows take control. They can be managed. They can raise bloodspawn if they want, but they're mindless and weak enough to be taken over in the first place. We can handle them. And they'll stay close to either the Phoenix itself or the emissaries." His gray-skinned face remained calm, but his prosthetic arm gripped so tightly that the madra creaked. "That's the real threat of Redmoon Hall: the emissaries. They were powerful sacred artists even before they controlled their parasites. With a Blood Shadow, they can each fight beyond their stage. Battle reports we've received from the Akura clan, based on their encounters with Redmoon Hall outside of the Empire, confirm multiple emissaries at the Underlord level." A few of the others had already started muttering again, but Eithan knew he hadn't finished. "...as well as at least one Overlord." The muttering intensified. "And, supposedly, the Sage of Red Faith." This time, the room was quiet for a long moment. "Then we have the third and final problem," Underlord Kotai continued. "The Dreadgod itself." In the ensuing silence, Kotai Shou bowed to the Emperor once more and backed up. "We have plans to handle each of those issues," Naru Huan assured everyone. "First, let us hear from the only one to have fought a Redmoon Hall emissary. Underlord Arelius, if you would?" Eithan walked forward, giving an exaggerated wince and touching his shoulder as though it pained him. In truth, it was just a little sore. The Underlady of the Jade Eye School had treated him herself, so he was healthier than before his battle. In fact, she was in the room, and he was
sure she was rolling her eyes at him. Unfortunately, it was hard to make out anything of the old woman's expression under her thick black veil. "I crossed swords, so to speak, with an emissary of Redmoon Hall only yesterday," Eithan confirmed. "I can confirm that he was indeed an Underlord. A skilled and powerful one, at that." He hadn't even relied on the power of his Blood Shadow, and he had still knocked Eithan around the mountain. It had been embarrassing, not to mention painful. He had almost forced Eithan to resort to a contingency plan. "If he was the only one of his kind, we could manage. Honored Chon Ma could surely have destroyed him," Eithan said, dipping his head to the number-one Underlord in the Blackflame Empire. He was the head of the Cloud Hammer School, and the dark cloud hanging over his head seemed to indicate the Underlord's perpetual mood. The bearded man scowled, folding his arms and revealing the hammers he wore at each hip. Supposedly, he doted on his only daughter, who had the potential to become an Underlady herself one day. Eithan had trouble imagining him softening enough to dote on anyone. "...but he was not alone," Eithan continued. "He had allies in the mountains, and though I could not measure their strength accurately, the fact that I could sense them at all from so far away suggested that they had at least as much raw power as I." That wasn't necessarily true, but it could be, and it suited Eithan's purposes. "With so many Underlords in the enemy's forces, it seems right to me that we should count ourselves as the front line of defense for the Empire. I know it will be difficult to set aside our own agendas for the duration of this crisis, so in the interests of unity, I propose that we should assist the Skysworn directly." Eithan projected absolute sincerity, but he hadn't pierced the cynical looks on most of the others. It was just as well; someone would have proposed it anyway, but by being the one to bring it up, they would make sure he was forced into participating. So he could nobly accept the role of a temporary Skysworn officer. Where, he gathered, at least one of his beloved disciples was about to enroll.
Naru Saeya pounded the table with her fist, sending a crack through the polished wood. The Emperor's little sister was tall and strikingly beautiful, with smooth skin and a delicate face that had "inspired" any number of ambitious painters in the Empire. She, the Emperor, and Eithan were the only ones in the room who appeared younger than fifty. She wore a fan of peacock feathers over one ear—they were either powerful constructs or nothing more than decorations, because Eithan had never sensed any power from them. Her wings, spread in agitation, were much smaller and thinner than her brother's or uncle's, and her agility in the air was almost unsurpassed. She had been the youngest Underlord in the Empire before Eithan, and her senses rivaled those of the Arelius family. Which was almost a shame, because her sensitivity was comparably lacking. She had a reputation of bulling her way through problems headfirst. Now, she was rolling her sleeves up as though getting ready to punch through a wall, pacing in agitation. She looked restless for a fight. "We know what to do. We have the Underlords and the Overlord, we just need to find a Sage. Then we can take the fight to them. We might be able to destroy Redmoon Hall in one stroke!" "Then we only have to deal with the Dreadgod," Chon Ma said, still scowling beneath his cloud. "We'll evacuate! People do it all over the world, all the time. Without its servants, it has nothing to weaken us before it wakes up." Mentally, Eithan had to applaud her plan. It was vague on the critical details, but the general outline was good. If they simply weathered this storm without destroying Redmoon Hall, they would be inviting another apocalyptic crisis in the future. It was never good to leave enemies behind you. Of course, they didn't know the enemy's full strength. And they didn't have the power to deal with the forces they knew about. "Finding a Sage might be tricky," Eithan said. "I have it on good authority that the Sage of the Endless Sword was killed not so long ago, which leaves..." "Frozen Blade and Silver Heart," Underlady Li Min Redflower put in, her voice creaking behind her dark veil. She was the one who had healed his shoulder, and from his understanding, she rarely spoke in these meetings. She was the only one with a chair.
Kotai Shou turned his gray face to Eithan, flexing his stone fingers as he spoke. "What about the Arelius homeland? The Sage of a Thousand Eyes has an honorable reputation. She would come to our aid." Eithan winced. He hadn't been to the homeland for seven years, but memory of his last failure was still harsh. "I'm afraid the doorway doesn't open for another three years. Besides...last I saw them, they didn't have any help to spare for anyone else." If the Sage of a Thousand Eyes was still alive after all this time, then she was much wiser than he had given her credit for. Or she'd found a powerful ally. Somewhere. The Emperor reached out a hand to the golden console beside him, and one of the circles shone. Starsweep Tower hummed to life around him, but the enormous cloudship went nowhere. Eithan extended his senses, confirming that they were indeed hovering over Lastleaf Fortress. This must be their target. Once the meeting was over, the battery of launcher constructs on the bottom of the floating city would fire at once, in a barrage that would reduce anything beneath them to dust. The Underlords would be expected to contribute their power to that effort. "We have all the facts we need," Naru Huan said, staring out the window. "At the least, we must beg the help of a Sage...and a Monarch." Good luck to you, Eithan thought. Monarchs were practically myths. It would be hard enough to find a Herald, and very few Monarchs could be reached at all. By mortals, anyway. Those few that stayed in one place and ruled steady kingdoms all had something...wrong with them. Not that Eithan would ever say so aloud; some of them could hear their names spoken from all the way across the world. Still, supplicants had an equal chance of being ignored for centuries, granted an audience, or unmade. It was like begging the help of a volcano. No one else could drive off a Dreadgod, it was true, but the Blackflame Empire could employ the strategy that had served humanity for millennia in front of overwhelming natural disasters: fleeing like mice. "Underlord Arelius," the Emperor said, spearing him with that swordsharp gaze. "You will be our representative to the Akura family. Using our name, you will beg an audience with their Monarch, as one of her loyal servants. They have shielded us from the dragons for generations, and they might grant us grace this time as well."
Eithan's mind froze. The room came into focus as it did when he was in battle, his emotions chilling. The smile slipped from his face. "You're sending me to die," he said. His voice had an edge. As befit the sole Overlord in the country, the Emperor did not back down an inch. "We do not waste resources in times of war. But if your death will grant us the chance at an audience with a Monarch, yes, then your blood is cheap to us." Eithan stared down Naru Huan for a long moment as he considered. The logic was sound. It took a moment for his feelings to catch up, but he accepted the decision. It was the right move. Eithan's smile came back as though it had never left, and he bowed before his ruler. "Your command is my heart's desire. However, you have never sought the Akura family's support before. Why now?" "In our reign, the Empire has never faced such a crisis." The rampage of the Blackflame family had occurred during his mother's rule, so technically Naru Huan had never faced a true crisis. Well, this could be considered a test for him. The Emperor paused a moment, then added, "We may also reveal that the Akura family has recently asked a service of us. As we have agreed to their terms, currently we are on better footing with their clan than we ever have been before." Fascinating. Eithan had been unaware that there was any more than incidental contact between the great Akura clan and the relatively unimportant Blackflame Empire. The Akura protected the Empire from dragons simply because they were both humans, but otherwise they were utterly apathetic. Only their lack of motivation kept them from enslaving the entire populace or razing them for cultivation resources. What favor could the Emperor possibly do for a Monarch's family? Eithan was dying to find out.
Chapter 12 The Soulsmith foundry in the Skysworn's tower was advanced enough to support the creation of Truegold and Underlord constructs. Lindon had picked up a rumor in the city that suggested the Emperor's Overlord-stage weaponry had been created here. He wasn't allowed to use those facilities. Instead, he and Fisher Gesha had been pushed to one of the apprentice rooms. It was barely big enough for the two of them and their tools. Fisher Gesha stood next to her drudge—the huge purple spider—rather than riding it around, as she was used to. Little Blue clutched Lindon's hair, piping up every once in a while in a high-pitched burble. The foundry had a basic set of tools on the wall, though they were goldsteel-plated instead of made from pure goldsteel, and they were chained to their rack to prevent theft. In the center of the room was a boundary formation in the shape of a large bubble. It would keep the project suspended so that Lindon and Fisher Gesha could work on it together without letting their construct rest on a table. Lindon wondered what a higher-level foundry would have allowed him. Could he have made his new arm stronger? Fisher Gesha had assured him that he would have to replace this one when he became an Underlord (though she found that possibility unlikely). It was made of Gold-stage components, so it wouldn't handle the stress of a transition to Underlord. Then again, when he was an Underlord, maybe he would find the materials for an even better arm. Fisher Gesha floated the Shifting Skies arm into the center of the boundary field. It floated there peacefully, gleaming like glass in the light, its spiked fingertips drumming against the air. Then she sat cross-legged on the ground. "Cycle," she commanded. "It calms the mind and the soul, hm? You should be at your sharpest when you Forge a new weapon."
Lindon followed her lead and began cycling his pure madra, but he couldn't contain his excitement. His imagination kept providing all the things he would be able to do with his new arm. And the alternative was to focus on the fact that he was missing a limb. He preferred daydreaming. Their preparation seemed to stretch on and on, but finally Fisher Gesha levered herself out of her cycling position—moving stiffly—and started to limber up her shoulders. "Well, it's not naptime. Let's get moving." She sounded nervous, eyeing her chest which sat in the corner. Lindon knew why: even through the restrictive scripts on the box, he could sense the power of the white binding. It felt like intense hunger. The more they prepared it for use, strengthening it with pure madra as though watering a flower while attuning it to Lindon's soul, the stronger it felt. Now it shone with power, which even the chest couldn't contain. Using a set of halfsilver tongs, which would disperse any stray madra, she withdrew the small book-sized box that contained the binding itself. Then she shut the large chest, placing the small box on top. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out the notes that they had taken from the Transcendent Ruins along with the binding. She and Lindon had both practically memorized those notes in preparation for today. They tended to be very technical, though they referred back to a "Subject One" as the source of the hunger madra. Lindon very much wanted to know about Subject One, as it seemed the entire purpose of their research in the labyrinth was to duplicate Subject One's unique madra. "Soulsmithing is blending three elements," she said. She had given him this lecture before, but he still focused on every word. A mistake here might mean weeks of going without an arm. "You have the binding, the material of the construct itself, and the Soulsmith's madra, hm? But unlike blending physical materials, you are working with the stuff of souls. Madra lives. It changes. Even the same Path, taken from two different people, can have subtly different properties." She traded her halfsilver tongs out for her goldsteel set. These could seize immaterial madra without damaging the subject. She opened the small box, which let a feeling of ravenous hunger wash over the both of them. Then she withdrew a finger-sized shard from within. It was one of the pieces left over from the Ancestor's Spear.
"A Soulsmith must learn to predict those changes, hm? It's no good making a weapon that will turn on its owner. But even with the best drudge in the world and years of experience, we are working with living components. No two constructs are exactly the same." Gingerly, she placed the shard of white within the bubble at the center of the room. The transparent arm and the shard of bright white orbited one another, though the smaller piece seemed to be squirming through the air toward the larger. Gesha crossed her arms. "Now," she commanded. Lindon reached out with his perception, sensing both the arm and the piece of hunger madra. They gave him very different impressions, but he didn't focus on that, instead pouring pure madra into combining them. They drifted together faster than he'd expected, and he focused on Forging them like he would a scale. He held the shape in his mind, pushing it together with his will. The shard entered the clear-as-glass surface of the arm, staining six inches of the forearm white. Pale strands ran through the limb like veins, and the sharp fingers shuddered. Fisher Gesha gestured, and her spider scurried up beneath the floating boundary field. It lifted two legs, poking at the substance of the construct, spinning it around as though spinning a web. After a moment, it hissed in three sharp patterns and withdrew its legs. "Unstable," Gesha reported. "Keep holding it." She produced another shard of the Ancestor's Spear, and Lindon repeated the process. The stress of holding onto the construct felt like cycling the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel for too long: his soul was under pressure, every breath was heavy, and he was having trouble holding onto the appropriate breathing pattern. Sweat had begun to bead on his face. But there was a distinct difference. The presence of the arm had begun to change, as the Shifting Skies madra in the original limb was suffused with the power of the hungry white madra. Instead of tapping, the fingers now flexed, grasping, and he sensed... Well, he wasn't sure what he was picking up on. Maybe Fisher Gesha could tell him, if he could spare the attention to ask. It felt as though the arm wanted something, and it twisted in the floating bubble like a hunting snake.
It must have been an effect of the hunger madra, as she added more samples inside and Lindon used his pure madra to Forge them together into one. With every piece, it seemed to become more aware, like they were building a Remnant instead of a Remnant arm. This time, when Fisher Gesha's drudge tested the limb, it gave a high whistle. Immediately, she withdrew a shiny, twisted form of pure white light with a corkscrew pattern. The binding. A crystallized technique, the binding was the heart of any construct. Without it, a construct would only have the properties of its material and whatever scripts they added on top. That would make it no better than any scripted object. Ideally, this binding would allow him to feed on someone else's madra, though Fisher Gesha insisted that it would only allow him to pull another's power into his arm and then vent it elsewhere. Either way. Both ideas intrigued him. As the binding approached, the arm squirmed toward it, fighting against the hold of his spirit. He tried to ask her to wait, but the word came out as a croak. Then the binding slid into the arm, and he had to absorb it. The actual process of completing the arm was simple. He worked it into the Forging, and the arm flared with a brilliant white. Now it was all spotless and pale, and the claws had smoothed out into fingertips—Lindon didn't want to use an arm with needle-sharp fingers. It looked almost skeletal in shape, though it was thick enough to fit on his arm. Fisher Gesha let out a breath. "Good. Now, normally we would add scripts at this point, but it will be attached to your body. Your own spirit will do the maintenance, protecting it from decay. It seems stable, but for a while you'll have to...prepare for..." Her words drifted off as she watched the arm. Lindon was staring at it too. It had gone wild, twisting and writhing as it pushed its hand at the edge of the boundary field. He could almost hear a snarling in his head, as it sought to devour...something. An instant later, the boundary field vanished. The hand lunged for Lindon's head. No...not for his head. The link he shared with the arm gave him an instinctive understanding, and rather than ducking, he threw himself to the side.
It wasn't after him. It was after the Sylvan Riverseed. Little Blue scurried down the side of his head, hiding in his robe, peeking her sapphire head out of his collar and trembling. Lindon reached out with his power again, but the arm wouldn't respond to him anymore. All he could sense from it was a boundless hunger. "What now?" he asked, his voice creaking from disuse. "It's out of control," Gesha said sourly, pulling the goldsteel hook from her back. Sharp on the inside and as big as her torso, it was more of a sickle than a hook, and it gleamed white in the light of the room. "This is why you don't use unique parts, hm? Something goes wrong, and you can't learn from it and try again. You have to give up all your wasted time." She stepped forward, preparing to swing her weapon, but the arm was still scurrying across the floor on its fingertips. Toward Lindon. Lindon kept his attention on the limb. There had to be something he could do to salvage this—it would be a waste of not only irreplaceable materials, but also far too much time. And a unique opportunity. He held out a hand to Fisher Gesha, begging for restraint, even as he studied the arm. What he called hunger wasn't just that. It felt similar to hunger, but it was more textured, with deeper layers. He felt ambition, greed, gluttony, an endless desire to reach for more and more. The hand lunged at him, but he caught it by the wrist. It burned his palm, as though he'd grabbed onto solid ice, but he kept his attention on it. Without context, the arm was out of control. It needed a mind to control it. A will to keep it in check. And it fit him. There was a little of this hunger in him already. He focused on that, stoking his desire for power, the feelings of envy and awe he'd felt when Suriel had demonstrated absolute authority, the aching helplessness of living as Unsouled and his desire to get stronger. As strong as he could. The arm stiffened, like a dog catching a new scent. Lindon threw more at it. His feelings as he looked over the Heaven's Glory School's treasures: he wanted it all, but even that wouldn't be enough. He remembered the sensation of Blackflame, the desire of a dragon to conquer and to destroy. Then he shoved the end of the arm onto his stump. The construct didn't resist him, but pain blacked out his memory for a moment. When he came back to himself, he was on the floor, his back
propped up against a cool wall. Fisher Gesha was muttering, her hook on the ground next to her, holding her wrinkled hands over his elbow. Where flesh met pure white madra. "Dangerous," she muttered. "Too dangerous. Could have devoured you, you know that? Hm? And you made me Forge it on, so that will hurt your compatibility. An impulsive Soulsmith is a dead Soulsmith, I can say that much for certain." He forced a smile. "Forgiveness, and thank you. I can only tell you that I thought it would work. I felt...like it would," he finished, though it sounded limp when he put it that way. She grunted and thwacked him on the forehead with her knuckles. "You have to stay open to your instincts when you're Forging a construct. That's important. But don't go sticking things on your body just because you feel like it, hm?" Full of expectation, Lindon flexed his new white arm. It twisted backwards, fingers twitching, reaching for Fisher Gesha's face. She stepped back, sighing. "It will take you some time to adjust so that you can control it naturally. Scripts could speed the process up, but they would eventually restrict you, so it's better to adapt over time." Lindon nodded, focusing on his spirit. The arm's madra wasn't flowing into his body, but his power was flowing into it, and it was quite a burden. It took more madra to maintain his arm than to Enforce the rest of his body together. "Don't try to use the binding yet," she warned him, sticking a finger in his face. "Lindon? I could not be more serious. Your madra channels are having enough trouble with the load of a Remnant's arm. If you try to use the binding, your spirit might tear itself apart. You have to get used to your new arm, and preferably strengthen your channels, yes? You should really wait as long as possible before you try to use the technique. At least four to six weeks." Lindon nodded attentively, but his mind was focused on controlling his new arm. Finally, he got it to run its white fingers over the floor. Sensation was...odd, through the new limb...as though the arm were talking directly to his brain and spirit instead of his body. Like he knew the floor was rough and cold, rather than feeling it as he would through a hand of flesh and blood.
But at least he could tell if something was hot or cold, smooth or rough. He would take it. Forcing the arm to move as he wanted it to was stressing his spirit, and Little Blue seemed to react to that. She reached up from his collar, slapping her tiny hand on his chin. A cold spark traveled through him, soothing his channels and giving relief to his spirit. When the spark reached his arm, it shuddered and stilled for a moment. "That's better, thank you," he said, smiling down at little blue. She dipped her head in respect and then gave him a broad grin. Where had she learned that? No matter how much trouble it caused him, he had an arm. He could be careful for a few weeks if it meant having two hands again. He leaned his head back against the wall, exhausted, and met Fisher Gesha's face. She seemed concerned. "Gratitude, Fisher Gesha. I'm excited to see what I can do with this." Gesha watched him quietly for a few seconds before folding her arms and addressing him with the look of a strict grandmother. "What is wrong with you, boy?" That wasn't the first thing he had expected her to say. "Honored Fisher, I humbly apologize for anything that I—" "You've been running at a full sprint for more than a year. Well, I guess I can understand it at first, considering your fight with the Jai boy. Afterwards, I thought you'd settle into a routine, hm? No, it's adventure after adventure with you. You're going to burn yourself down to ash if you keep this up." Lindon held his hands out in a pacifying gesture, trying to reassure her. Well, he held one hand out. The other squeezed into a fist and shook itself aggressively. "I have a lot farther to go," Lindon said reasonably. "If my goal was only Jai Long, then certainly, I could have given up and gone home by now." "You think you hike up a mountain by sprinting all the way, do you?" she snapped. "You need a place to rest as much as anyone, if you don't want to crack like bad steel." "I can't afford a break yet. I started too late; only last year, I was still Copper. If I don't try as hard as I can, I can't catch up."
She threw her hands in the air. "Catch up? Who exactly are you trying to catch up to, hm?" Only two names flashed through his mind, but he was embarrassed to say them out loud. "They call you the twenty-fourth ranked Lowgold on the combat charts," she said. "You know what that means?" "That there are twenty-three Lowgolds stronger than I am," he said immediately. "That you're ranked higher than three quarters of the Empire! If you settled down and lived in the Arelius family, you'd be Highgold by twentyfive. Considering it's you, probably Truegold ten years later. You could be an Underlord in your fifties. And that's living peacefully! You could settle down, rest, find a nice young lady, raise a family. You don't have to live every day like you're looking to die!" She was shouting by the end, and Lindon winced as every word landed. Because they hit him too close to home. Since leaving Sacred Valley, he had risked his life almost daily. He'd given everything to move forward. He didn't regret it—if anything, his only regret was that he'd advanced too slowly. But it was scraping him raw. He felt like a man who had started to run down a hill, going faster and faster until he couldn't stop. Now he had to keep accelerating or stumble and fall. The problem was, he really couldn't stop. As enticing as that vision was, he could never return to his homeland as an Underlord. Not if it took him more than thirty more years. His home would be gone by then. Lindon started to speak, and was surprised to find his voice rough. His vision had blurred—were those tears? Fisher Gesha looked down on him sympathetically. There came a single knock at the door, and then Yerin pushed her way in. "They said you'd be fussing around with constructs in here," she said, glancing around the room. "Didn't want to bump your sword-hand, so I knocked." She saw the white arm and brightened. "Skeleton arm! Scarier than a tiger's teeth, I love it. With your black eyes, that'll have them messing themselves before you ever throw a punch."
That hadn't been Lindon's actual goal, but he was glad she was pleased. And it did remind him of another issue: he had to test the arm with Blackflame. All of the tests performed on samples by Fisher Gesha's drudge had suggested the two types of madra wouldn't interfere with each other, certainly not after his soul acclimated to the limb, but there was no way to be sure without testing. "I'll take any advantage I can get, in a fight," Lindon said, surreptitiously swiping at his eyes and rising to his feet. Yerin straightened her back, the silver Goldsigns over her shoulders rising. "That wasn't why I came. I have news for you, and the sand's running down." She met his eyes with a firm gaze. "Skysworn are going sword-to-sword with Redmoon Hall. I'm joining them." Lindon's new arm twitched as he lost control of his breathing technique. He had known she'd spoken with the Skysworn, but not how it had turned out. She hadn't told him, and he'd been afraid to ask. But now...Yerin was going. And he wasn't. "Already?" he asked, and he sounded like he'd swallowed sand. "Told you I wasn't burning time," she said, meeting his eyes. "They've got some test or something coming up. Could be my last chance, and I'm not planning to miss it." He wanted to say he was going to join her, wanted to leave Fisher Gesha and walk out alongside Yerin. They'd traveled together for so long, it felt wrong to be parting ways now. But she was still rushing, he wasn't wrong about that. The smart thing to do was wait. If only it didn't feel like slicing into his own chest. "There will be another test, though? Perhaps I can join then." "Could be," she said, with half a smile. "Couldn't tell you when it is, though." Then, at least for now, he needed to say good-bye. He bowed at the waist, as deeply as he could. "This one thanks you for your long guidance. He could never have made it without you." She scratched the back of her neck with one hand. "Yeah, well...wouldn't have made it out of the Valley without you, would I? And having you around kept me busy." Lindon straightened and looked into her eyes. "Thank you, Yerin. I can't...ah, thank you." It wasn't adequate, but he was afraid that if he said
any more, he would embarrass himself. She nodded, shifting her gaze. They stood in silence for a few moments before Yerin finally waved and turned on her heel. "Don't need to make this any fancier than it has to be," she said as she walked out. "I'll see you soon, won't I? Not gone forever." "I'll see you then!" he called after her, even as the door shut. Fisher Gesha eyed him. "I'm sorry, boy." Lindon didn't hear her. The excitement of his new arm had been completely dampened. He packed up his things in a haze, and the next thing he knew, he had returned to his room. It was simple—less appointed even than the cell where the Skysworn had kept him before, but mercifully bigger. It was connected to a kind of stable, where Orthos slept. He stood in the center of his room, lost. When Gesha had asked him who he was trying to catch up to, only two faces had popped into his mind: Yerin and Eithan. Both of them were too embarrassing to say aloud. Yerin was the apprentice of a Sage, and a prodigy. Eithan was an Underlord and the Patriarch of a great family. But they had both treated him as though he could catch up to them. They had made him believe it. Now he was on his own. Without knowing what he was doing, he grabbed his pack with his left hand and slipped it on. He froze halfway through, realizing he didn't need it, but it comforted him. Made him feel prepared. Then, aimlessly, he drifted over to Orthos' room. It was broad, empty, and its walls were plated in dark, scripted metal. It had been designed to hold contracted sacred beasts, or so Lindon had been told. Orthos hadn't been asleep, which Lindon had expected from the feel of his spirit. Instead, the turtle was munching on a pile of rocks and broken chunks of street that Lindon had scavenged from around the city. The red circles of his eyes pivoted to Lindon as he entered, but the turtle didn't say anything. He just kept chewing away. Lindon hugged his pack to himself—with one arm, because the other had rebelled again—and sat down. Orthos felt confused and weak again. The years he'd spent with a damaged spirit had left their mark on his mind. Now, he was struggling to
think. Little Blue popped up from inside Lindon's robes, eyeing Orthos. With a quick glance at Lindon, she hurried across the floor, resting her blue hand on one of the turtle's forelegs. His spirit and body shuddered as the Sylvan Riverseed's power cleansed his madra channels, but he kept munching away on the rock. "Lin...don..." he said, through a mouthful of gravel. Little Blue gave him a mournful whistle and then drifted back to Lindon. "Good morning, Orthos," Lindon said. "...arm," the turtle forced out. "It's a new one," Lindon said, holding it up and twisting it with difficulty. "But it should be an improvement." Orthos' consciousness was growing sharper by the second, but he was still having trouble with speech. After a moment, he gave a single nod. "Good. Like it." Well, he'd gotten approval from Yerin and Orthos. "I think you and Yerin will be happier the more frightening I look," Lindon said, idly opening his pack. "Dragons...are frightening," Orthos said, the red in his eyes shining. "That doesn't mean I want to be," Lindon said, flipping through his belongings. He was taking inventory. Here, in this room, was everything he had left. Little Blue, Orthos, and the contents of his pack. Eithan would still help him, but Eithan was gone. Who knew when the Underlord would return? He had been fickle even before the Emperor had needed him to resolve an imperial crisis. He dug down past a portable rune-light, a spare set of clothes, and a ball of string. Counting everything in his pack calmed him, gave him a sense of control. He had prepared for everything he could, and these were the fruits of his preparation. After only a moment, his fingertips brushed old, yellowed paper. He pulled it out: The Heart of Twin Stars, the cover said. Inside, he had written on the blank sheets the manual had included, and had added more pages within as necessary. The Path of Twin Stars, he had written, in his own handwriting.
Here, he had recorded every step of his advancement. The uses of pure madra. Notes on the performance, range, and feel of the Empty Palm technique. He had recorded his experience splitting his core, and how he had used scales he Forged himself to expand his capacity. He recorded when he'd moved on to the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel technique —though he was vague on those details, following Eithan's advice to keep that cycling method a secret. After that, his notes were sparse. He'd recorded the pills Eithan had given him to train, and how he had refined Lowgold and Highgold cores for Lindon's digestion. That was the method Lindon had used to reach Lowgold in his pure core. But that was all. There were still more blank pages left. Lindon sat for entirely too long, holding the manual in his hand. The feel of the old paper, the smell of it, brought back old feelings. How he'd felt when Yerin taught him that an Unsouled was a fabrication of Sacred Valley. How he could carve out his own Path. "Orthos," Lindon said quietly. "Yerin went to join the Skysworn." The turtle grumbled for a moment before forcing out, "Why?" "They're fighting against Redmoon Hall." Rage boiled up in Orthos' spirit. Lindon could feel it, pushing against the sacred beast's restraints. He had heard about the bloodspawn, what they'd done while he slept, and that they'd come from a Dreadgod. In his mind, Redmoon Hall had made a fool of him while he slept. Orthos kept himself under control, but he rose up to his full height, turning his head to face Lindon. "And you? You will allow them to do as they wish, unopposed?" At least he was back to full sentences. "The smarter choice is to stay with the Arelius family," Lindon said. "Get stronger first. If I went to fight now, I wouldn't offer anything. I'd be going to lose, or to die." Orthos backed him against the wall, looming over him. Lindon felt a pang of fear, though he could sense that the turtle was totally in control. He had fought against the wild Orthos too many times to be entirely comfortable. "A dragon does not allow fear to make his decisions for him," Orthos rumbled. "A dragon decides for himself." Lindon glanced down at the manual in his hand.
His own Path. What did he want to do? Little Blue looked up at him from somewhere around his shin, her ocean-blue body shimmering in Orthos' smoldering light. She reached up to pat him, giving him some comfort. He reached down with his flesh arm, scooping her up, and she scampered up to sit on his shoulder. Then he stood. "Let's go," Lindon said. Orthos stomped out the door. "You don't need to tell me we're going. Of course we are. He snapped up a chunk of the floor, munching on it as he spoke. "A dragon always fights."
Chapter 13 Renfei and Bai Rou led Yerin away from Starsweep Tower, toward the class of applicants. Bai Rou loomed over her in a way that made her want to knock him down a peg, if only he weren't a fully armed and armored Truegold. Renfei had a more reasonable height, only an inch or two over Yerin herself. Yerin couldn't help but like her more. "As we return to the capital, Stormrock will pass over Serpent's Grave. The rest of the Arelius family will be sent home then," Renfei said. Yerin nodded. She had been a little worried that they would stay here, so that she might crash into them during her Skysworn training. She itched at the thought of them seeing her train to leave them. And at the same time, she ached when she thought about them leaving her. Her feelings were too twisted to think about for very long; clearly, she needed more training. "There are only fifty other qualified Highgold applicants," Renfei went on. "You'll be competing with them for ten spots." "I thought you'd be begging for as many bodies as you could squeeze into green armor," Yerin said. "We can't let our standards slip," Renfei told her proudly, the cloud over her head lightening. "Now, more than ever, we need the Skysworn to be excellent." She waited a moment before adding, "However, we won't dismiss the other forty, like we might under other circumstances. We will give them a chance to re-apply, or to serve in other ways. And the basic training program for those who join will be accelerated." Yerin translated to herself. They were cutting corners all over the place, but not in places where they had to admit it. So they were desperate, they just didn't want to look that way. She had another question, but before she could ask it, the crowd parted behind them as random passersby were shoved out of the way. A tall, broad
figure loomed behind her, and the brief flash from her spiritual perception showed her a great power moving toward her at speed. Her sword was in her hand immediately, the blades over her shoulders poised. Her master's memories drifted to the surface, sketching the outline of combat in her mind. Not that she needed his experience—she had scars from enough fights herself. She wasn't so raw and unformed that she'd lock up at the first taste of combat. Then she saw who it was and completely locked up. Lindon stumbled up to her, out of breath, dipping his head in apologies to all the people around him he'd shoved out of the way. Orthos rose over him like a smoking mountain, his eyes glaring at her. He looked even angrier than Lindon usually did, though it fit his black, leathery turtle's face. Lindon's pack was hanging awkwardly from one shoulder, Little Blue seated on his head, his arm twisting and bucking like it had slipped his leash. Wasn't a tough guess to see he hadn't mastered it yet. He met her gaze, and his eyes were black with red circles. But that darkness faded as he switched away from Blackflame, looking to the Skysworn. "I'd like to join as well," he said. "To serve the Empire." Bai Rou marched forward, yellow eyes shining in the shadow of his hat, and seized Lindon by the arm. "You idiot," he said in a low voice, dragging him into a nearby alley. The citizens stared after them, and Orthos followed, growling like he was prepared to attack. Renfei's cloud was a solid black as she joined them in the alley, one hand on her hammer as though she expected to use it. "A Blackflame?" Bai Rou snarled, shoving Lindon up against the wall. "In Stormrock?" Orthos stepped up, growling, his eyes blazing red and Blackflame madra flaring from the plates of his shell. Yerin had her own sword out. She'd aim for the back of Bai Rou's neck first, above the armor, while he was focused on Lindon. If she and Orthos killed him quick, then they could turn to Renfei together. The woman stabbed her finger toward the mouth of the alley. "You didn't even hide yourself! What do you imagine they're thinking right now?" Wary of a trap, Yerin shot a quick glance at the opening, but she didn't take her eyes off Bai Rou for more than an instant.
The people had run, peeking in from around the corner. They looked terrified. A shop owner shut his door with a bang. Lindon held up his hands...or his hand, as his white arm rebelled halfway through and started reaching for Orthos. With visible effort, he knocked it down. "I...humbly apologize for causing a scene, but surely you see why I can only join the Skysworn. How can I fight for the Empire when merely revealing my contracted partner causes a panic? Unless I work for the Skysworn." Yerin saw a shred of reason in it. If people knew the Skysworn had a Blackflame under control, it would make them look stronger. Lindon would look weaker, too, but he didn't care what every random person on the street thought. At least, he shouldn't. Renfei was still furious, Bai Rou still had Lindon pushed against the wall, and Orthos' growl was growing louder. Yerin held her sword at the ready, careful not to send any madra flowing through the weapon. If Renfei sensed it, the battle would begin too early. "How did you get out of the tower?" Renfei demanded. "The guards would have stopped you." Lindon looked genuinely confused. "We just...walked out. They seemed busy." Other than Renfei and Bai Rou, every other Skysworn Yerin had seen in the city was scampering around like a scared rabbit. She still couldn't swallow that he'd walked straight out with Orthos following him. She wondered what had really happened. Bai Rou turned to exchange a glance with Renfei. He released Lindon, abruptly taking a step back. Yerin sheathed her sword as though she'd never drawn it. Her Goldsigns withdrew. Somewhere around her core, her uninvited guest sent out a pulse of disappointment. Like a craving gone unmet. It pushed against the seal on her skin, but that dam held. How long will that last? she wondered. If Eithan didn't come back in time, she'd have to find a solution herself. He'd hinted and teased about a way to get this parasite out of her, but he'd also made it clear as glass that he'd rather she use it. He wanted her to be one of these emissaries, or whatever she'd be called if she didn't work for Redmoon Hall.
She had no interest in that. She'd rather walk away from the sword forever than lose to this...disgusting thing inside of her. She couldn't end such a long fight by giving up. Not even by taking it over herself. A handful of her master's memories dealt with her guest—it seemed like every other memory she pulled from his Remnant had to do with her. Eithan said that it was easier to pull up memories that touched you in some way, but she was disappointed. She'd hope to learn things about her master she didn't know. Still, she knew what he'd felt about her Blood Shadow: disgust. He thought the parasite was a burden on her, and he'd only been waiting until she advanced enough to be rid of it. While she was lost in thought, the other four had gone back to an uneasy standoff. "We have to bring him to the Underlord either way," Renfei said at last. "If he wants to invite a Blackflame to try out...well, that's up to him." Lindon nodded along. "I believe I'm qualified to apply for one of the Lowgold positions. I know the application process is today; we could try that before meeting with the Underlord, if time is an issue." "He's at the testing grounds," Bai Rou said, ignoring Lindon. "We'll have to circle around, by the walls," Renfei responded, looking into the shadows of the alley. "We would be even more visible in the air. Just have to take it fast." Bai Rou turned to look at Lindon, face in shadow. "Keep up," he commanded, then took off with a splash of golden liquid madra. "You first," Renfei said. "Try to escape or deviate from the course, and I will take care of you myself." Lindon gave Orthos a nervous look. He'd be wondering what Yerin was: whether Orthos could keep himself under control as they ran. After one reassuring pat on the turtle's head, he scooped Little Blue off his head and into his palm. The Sylvan Riverseed caught Yerin's eye as she was lowered, and Yerin waved. The spirit turned away as though suddenly frightened, huddling on Lindon's palm. Yerin sighed. An instant later, Lindon's eyes were dark again, and the Burning Cloak ignited around him like a red-and-black shroud in the air. He kicked off, Orthos trotting after, and Yerin filled her body with madra.
The Path of the Endless Sword didn't have a full-body Enforcer technique, but her Iron body was strong. She fed madra to her limbs in a general Enforcement, which was nowhere near as good as a true technique, but she had no trouble keeping up with Lindon. They ran side-by-side for a while as she tried to sort out what to say, but the words got tangled up inside her. She couldn't seem to push the knot out past her tongue. As a group, they were darting through damp alleys, vaulting short walls, dodging piles of trash and hopeless-looking people crouched on the sides of the road. She'd seen the decay of cities before, and it almost comforted her to see that the sickness extended even here, to the city of the Skysworn. She had remained silent too long, the tangle of words keeping her frustrated. Finally, she just blurted it out. "You followed me," she barked as she hopped up on top of an eight-foot wall and waited for him to come after her. "Why? Ten seconds ago, you didn't want to fight." He shrugged as he landed next to her, though his white arm folded up with the motion and wouldn't unlock. "You've followed me for the better part of two years," he said at last, taking off and trusting her to keep up. "You didn't have to stick with me after Sacred Valley, and you didn't have to help me through the Blackflame Trials. It seemed like my turn." He gave her an embarrassed smile. "When I stopped looking at all the problems, and I just asked myself what I wanted to do...I realized I wanted to come with you. So here I am." Yerin kept her eyes focused on Bai Rou's broad back, because she could feel heat rising up through her neck and into her cheeks. Her words were stuck in her throat again, but for a different reason this time. "Well," she said at last. "Glad you finally saw it straight." Then, to change the subject, she asked him, "How did you really get past the guards?" "It's a good thing the applications aren't back in the tower," Lindon said, voice low. "Orthos burned a hole in the wall." *** Lindon was losing track of the number of times he'd been imprisoned. Bai Rou walked around him, producing a pair of manacles joined by a short length of chain. They looked like iron, but pale specks like stars deep in the metal told him that they included halfsilver. They would disperse
madra on contact, preventing him from burning his way out of the restraints. Not that he was drawing on his Blackflame madra at the moment. He had switched to his pure core as soon as Renfei and Bai Rou had dragged him into this squat, nondescript building. The Path of Black Flame made him aggressive, made him want to move, to act. If he was filled with Blackflame madra, he was sure he would have tried to run. That would only have resulted in a short chase followed by Bai Rou dragging him down the hall anyway. He could sense that was what Orthos wanted to do; the turtle was safe, but growing restless. Wherever he was, he wouldn't stay there long. Little Blue had crawled back in her case, and though they'd taken his pack, they'd left her inside. The manacle was uncomfortably cold on his wrist of flesh, but it positively burned his Remnant arm. He managed to slip the edge of his sleeve inside, to protect his artificial limb. If he hadn't, Bai Rou would have been dragging his limp body inside. Past an ordinary door was yet another bare, nondescript room. He was growing used to those. At least this one didn't have a bed, so they wouldn't keep him here for too long. There was another door on the opposite wall, and a smooth wooden chair in the center of the floor. A circle of script on the ceiling glowed softly white. Otherwise, it was empty. Bai Rou walked him to the chair and clipped the chain between his restraints to a hook in the floor. Lindon sat down, because it was that or stay uncomfortably hunched. There wasn't enough slack in the chain for him to stand up straight. "You don't need to speak respectfully," Renfei said. "He appreciates direct answers more than good manners. But you should be respectful." "Tell the truth," Bai Rou added from his post by the door. Lindon's breath sped up as he pictured the Skysworn Underlord. The man had shown him no mercy during the duel…but he had, in the end, allowed Lindon to go free. It made him feel better about being cuffed and chained to the floor of what was most likely an interrogation room. The far door swung open and Naru Gwei entered, the man shuffling inside in his beaten armor as though dragging a weight behind him with
every step. Renfei and Bai Rou bowed slightly and pressed their fists together. Lindon mimicked them as best he could in his position. "I am Wei Shi Lindon, sir," Lindon said. He had to force himself not to refer to himself as 'this one.' "I was not able to properly introduce myself last time." The man slipped a long leaf into his mouth, chewing it for a while before saying, "You're part of the Arelius family." "I have that honor, sir. If I could only—" "But you weren't born to it." "No, sir. Underlord Arelius was kind enough to take myself and my companion under his wing." The old Skysworn didn't ask about his companion. "Where were you born?" "Sacred Valley," Lindon said. "It's far to the west, past the Desolate Wilds." For a long moment, he chewed his leaf. "Are there more Blackflames hiding in Sacred Valley?" Lindon forced a polite laugh. "No sir, no. There aren't even any Golds." "So this was something that Eithan Arelius taught you." The old man was drilling for something, and Lindon wasn't quite sure what; surely he'd known all about Lindon's situation before even the duel with Jai Long. The uncertainty made him wary. "I entered a contract with a sacred beast known as Orthos. You have him captive here, somewhere, and I'm sure he could give you a further explanation." Orthos would know more about this situation than he did, though Lindon doubted the turtle would cooperate with any questioning. Only the wet sounds of the leaf between the man's teeth broke the silence of the room. Eventually, he reached out and shut the door behind him. The snap of the door closing echoed in the tiny room. The Skysworn Captain folded his arms and leaned against the wall. Bai Rou took a respectful step away, but the old man didn't seem to care. He examined Lindon through a curtain of matted gray hair. "Did you ever break that arm as a kid?" he asked. "Back when you had it, I mean."
Whatever Lindon's interrogator wanted, he was coming at it from a different direction. Lindon only wished he understood where this was headed. Why hadn't he waited for Eithan before trying to join the Skysworn? Maybe the Arelius Underlord could have persuaded them to hold another round of applications. "Both of them, yes," Lindon said. He'd broken one falling out of a tree, and the other had been broken by a tree. "And how did they treat that break, back in Sacred Valley?" "We weren't the richest family in the clan, sir. We had simple elixirs and a scripted sling." "No life artists?" "Only for more severe injuries, honored sir." Lindon's father had his leg treated by a life artist, but the woman hadn't been on hand soon enough to restore the limb completely. Without her, he wouldn't have kept the leg at all. The man nodded slowly, flipping the leaf over between his lips. "And burns? You ever burn yourself?" Lindon's eyes flicked to the scar on the side of the man's face. "Minor burns only, sir." His voice had grown quiet, and he wasn't sure why. "Well, since they didn't heal burns back in Sacred Valley, I'll tell you how we do it here." Lindon stayed focused on the raised patch of ridged, reddish scar tissue that ran from his temple down to his skin. It only missed his eye by a quarter-inch. "Blood madra removes unhealthy tissue and grows some more. Life madra smooths it all out, heals it together with the rest of your body so that you'd never know you'd been burned at all. And that's just a general picture. If you get a specialized healing Path, or some decent elixirs, the whole thing can be done in a breath." He ran his little finger across his scarred cheek. "Black fire hurts a little worse." Lindon sat, more and more conscious of the chain locking him in this room. He looked to the more familiar Skysworn for comfort, but Bai Rou had his arms crossed, his yellow eyes staring at the far wall. Renfei kept her eyes on her Captain. "They tell me you're requesting entry into the Skysworn," Naru Gwei said, without leaning away. "Did Eithan tell you to do that?"
"No! No, I…I probably should have waited for his permission, but I didn't. He doesn't know." "But he was the one who turned you into a Blackflame," Gwei said. His expression still looked tired, as though he hadn't slept in three days and wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. His tone, by contrast, betrayed no impatience. "He helped me along this Path, yes," Lindon said, hoping this wouldn't reflect too badly on Eithan. The Arelius Underlord had never told him to keep his involvement a secret. The Skysworn Captain gave no sign whether he thought this was good or bad. He kept leaning against the wall, chewing his leaf. "Did he do that to your core?" From his previous conversations with Renfei and Bai Rou, Lindon gathered that they assumed his pure core was a sort of disguise to cover the Path of Black Flame. "I split my core on my own, sir. Before I met Eithan." "And what did he want you to do with this new Path? What purpose did he have for you?" Finally, Lindon saw what the Underlord was getting at. Naru Gwei assumed this was all part of Eithan's plan, and wanted to know what that plan was. "For the duel, sir. I asked him for a Path that might allow me to fight someone stronger than I was." "The way I've heard it," Gwei said, "Eithan allowed the duel. Even proposed it." "His favorite training method is…I guess I would call it extreme duress." The Skysworn Captain swallowed the leaf and withdrew a long straw from within his armor. He placed it between his teeth and continued chewing. "So he proposed this duel, held you to it, and then held out the Path of Black Flame as your only salvation. That doesn't sound like a plan to you?" "He's pushing me forward," Lindon insisted. "He's helping me grow." Naru Gwei unfolded his arms and leaned closer. "Into what?" Lindon had no answer to that. "What did he say you would do after the duel?" "Nothing I know of. He's helping me advance." Lindon felt less confident than he had before.
The Underlord stared at him for a long moment, then jerked his head toward the door. His two subordinates traded looks, though they couldn't do anything but leave. Bai Rou ducked his woven hat beneath the doorframe, and the cloud over Renfei's head passed through with plenty of room to spare. They didn't look back at Lindon. "The duel is over," Naru Gwei said. "Now, in the middle of an imperial crisis that he helped cause, he's trying to slip a Blackflame into my Skysworn. While he tries to take over himself. I know what he's doing, linking Underlords to the Skysworn. He's trying to win them over from me." The Underlord had loomed over Lindon, the air in the room swirling and picking up into a windstorm. His scarred face was hostile: he was working himself up into a fury. Whatever was happening out there had put too much pressure on the Skysworn Captain, whether it was the threat of Redmoon Hall or whatever Eithan had done. Either way, Naru Gwei had decided Lindon was part of it. Lindon's right arm started straining against its restraints, and he almost wanted to help it. The Underlord leaned toward Lindon, his dirty gray hair swinging closer. Lindon shut his mouth. Naru Gwei's weather-beaten face somehow looked both weary and intense, as though he were bracing himself for an unpleasant task that he had performed hundreds of times before. "Lower your head," the Underlord commanded, and Lindon could hear his death in that command. "It's not Eithan!" Lindon said desperately, tapping his Blackflame core. His eyes heated, and he knew from experience that they would have transformed into a copy of Orthos' eyes: pure black with red irises. The Path of Black Flame flooded into his left hand, and his right remained mercifully untouched and intact. He poured that power into his cuffs even as he Enforced his muscles. If he melted them, they would burn through his wrists, so he had to hope he could tear his hand free before the damage was too great. Instead, the madra broke to steam on contact with the cuffs. A spike of cold shot up Lindon's arms, as though he'd driven an icicle through his wrists.
Halfsilver in the cuffs. He'd remembered, but hoped against hope that there was some flaw. "A friend wanted to join! Yerin, I mentioned her earlier, she's the companion that Eithan adopted. She wanted to fight Redmoon Hall, so she insisted on joining the Skysworn! I didn't want to, but I couldn't let her down!" He was babbling as though every word out of his mouth would slow down the Underlord's blow. Considering that he was still alive, maybe there was something to that theory. "She just wanted to help! And…ah, so do I! Of course!" As Naru Gwei's hand drifted upward toward the hilt of his sword, Lindon's breath came faster and faster. His breath started to blur, and the ice in his wrists grew sharper as he poured more effort into breaking the shackles. Even his white arm was writhing with desperation. Just a little more, he was sure. He had to believe that. Just a little more... "Eithan adopted her too," the Captain said quietly, and Lindon forced himself to take deeper breaths. He could feel Orthos growing agitated in his own cell, feeding on Lindon's fear—if it went too far, or if Lindon was killed, the turtle would go on a rampage. "Why?" Naru Gwei continued. "What was special about her?" "She was apprenticed to a Sage," Lindon blurted out. Yet again, he wondered if he should be sharing this, but Yerin had never kept it a secret. She would proudly tell anyone. "Which Sage?" "The Sword Sage!" Naru Gwei's green-armored fingers wrapped around his sword hilt. "Which Sword Sage?" There was more than one? "I don't know!" Lindon insisted. "I don't know! She's on the Path of the Endless Sword, and she learned it from him, but I don't know if he had another name, or..." After a moment, the Captain's hand moved down. He stared at the wall, and Lindon felt a light brush on his spirit as the Underlord's perception moved through him…and kept going. He was looking for Yerin. ***
Naru Gwei wasn't an Arelius, so he had to rely on his spiritual perception to find someone. He'd long been jealous of their bloodline legacy; it was wasted on them, he felt. The world's best scouting tool, and they wasted it on civic maintenance. But there were some things that an old-fashioned spiritual scan did best. He found a nearby Highgold sword artist almost immediately. Her madra moved in smooth, steady rhythms—she was cycling. That would be Yerin. There were other sword artists nearby, but none of them so close. He'd read reports that had mentioned Yerin, but he hadn't paid them much attention. He had been focused on Lindon, the Blackflame. He'd even seen her once himself, briefly, though she hadn't stood out to him. But now he'd found yet another seed that Eithan had tried to plant in the Skysworn. At first, he felt nothing out of the ordinary. She had a powerful soul, with madra that was potent for a Highgold. She may be on the verge of Truegold, or she might have used some elixir. None of that was cause for alarm. But upon closer inspection, he felt something: a seal. Fueled by soulfire. The seal was like a cage embedded in her soul, and it must have been made recently. Soulfire couldn't last forever. What was inside? He ran his perception around the box, probing for gaps, but he found none. Instead, he sat there with his attention on the box itself, waiting for an impression to drift through. After a few breaths of time, he felt a wisp of something from inside the seal: blood. Like a monster that had spilled an ocean of blood and was hungry to spill more. He jerked away, his head actually snapping backward as he broke the connection. Could Eithan have done this intentionally? No, he must have picked this girl up months before Jai Daishou had opened the western labyrinth. And he couldn't have known the Jai Underlord would attract the attention of Redmoon Hall. Or could he? How far ahead had Eithan's plan gone? If not for Naru Gwei's vigilance, Eithan would have slipped a Blood Shadow into the Skysworn.
The Underlord wasn't surprised no one had caught it before. Even without Eithan's seal, most people had never encountered a Blood Shadow before. Renfei must have scanned her before allowing her into the Skysworn, but she could easily have mistaken that impression as a blood Remnant or perhaps part of her Path. But Naru Gwei could tell. If she wasn't part of Redmoon Hall herself, she was well on her way. Now, the Blackflame and the Blood Shadow's host were in his power. He could rid the Empire of both of them. He stood still, thinking, as Lindon squirmed against his manacles beside him. He could kill them both in an instant. And then what would happen? He would provoke the Arelius family at least, on the verge of a national crisis. Everyone expected the Arelius to replace the Jai clan in the ranks of the great clans, now that Jai Daishou was dead. This would be the worst possible time to make new enemies. Even if he were willing to face that problem, there was a greater one: the Sage of the Endless Sword. Eithan said he was dead, and if he had adopted the Sage's disciple, he would be in a position to know. But could Naru Gwei accept anything Eithan said? No, he couldn't. If the Sage showed up alive, and his disciple had been killed by a fellow Highgold, he would have no one to blame. But if she had been killed by an Underlord… Naru Gwei wouldn't last any longer against an Archlord than a Copper would. And the Sages were the greatest of the Archlords. No, he couldn't kill her himself. And he would prefer not to antagonize the Arelius family by executing Lindon either. Now he had two enemies with backgrounds he couldn't afford to offend. Wait, not two…three. A new face popped up in his memory, and he remembered the request from the Akura clan. Take good care of our errant daughter, their messenger had said. Treat her as you would a favored disciple, and place her where the battle is hottest. If she is to fall, there will be no reprisals. Your cooperation will be rewarded.
The Akura clan had entrusted their Empire with this request only months ago, and Naru Gwei himself had been assigned to oversee its execution. The Emperor was counting on him. There was no reason he couldn't fold two more enemies into the plan. Lindon and Yerin would still have to apply. They could go through the evaluation process like usual, and Eithan Arelius couldn't complain. If they failed, they would join the reserve, and Naru Gwei could still find a place for them. And if they succeeded, so much the better. They would share a fate with all the Empire's enemies. Before Lindon could react, Naru Gwei pulled free his sword and struck through the young man's manacles. Halfsilver had its uses, but it was brittle, and it practically crumbled under the force of his blow. "You're free to go," the Captain said. Lindon's expression looked dissatisfied, as though he'd missed the opportunity for a fight, but he sounded only relieved. "Gratitude, Underlord, gratitude." "Better hurry," Naru Gwei said, returning his sword to his back. "The application begins precisely at noon." Without a backward glance, Lindon scurried out of the room. He would be headed for his contracted partner and to Yerin. And, soon, to his death.
Chapter 14 The two Skysworn guided them to a fairground just inside the city walls. Hundreds of people had gathered out in the open, bustling and mixing, and the sheer variety of different sacred artists made it a riot of color and motion. Birds, winged Remnants, and hovering constructs filled the sky. Lindon saw Goldsigns of every description, from shining tattoos to floating clouds of eyes, and weapons Forged from solid fire or living dreams. It was an overwhelming sight, but Renfei and Bai Rou eventually dropped them off by a pair of tents. Each had a pair of characters floating overhead, projected on cloud madra. They spelled out the words "Lowgold" and "Highgold." Yerin made her way to the Highgold tent, and Lindon started to make his way toward the Lowgold area. He stopped almost immediately, when the green-armored guards saw him and their faces went hard. One of them drew a sword, and the other's hands started crackling with lightning. Bai Rou stood with his arms folded, as though whatever happened to Lindon was no business of his, but Renfei stepped up and spoke to them. What she said must have worked, because they backed away, but they still didn't look pleased. "This is foolish," Orthos grumbled, tearing up a chunk of grassy soil and swallowing it whole. "We surround ourselves with enemies." Lindon glanced over at the Highgold tent, where Yerin's silver Goldsigns bobbed over the crowd. "The Skysworn treat their students well. One day inside their Soulsmith library will pay for itself." He was trying to convince himself, and Orthos' skeptical grunt said he knew it. Lindon was still shaking from his encounter with the Skysworn Captain, and his decision to apply for the Skysworn now felt like the most impulsive and stupid decision he could possibly have made.
The woman sitting inside the tent was motherly and soft, and she had a miniature sparrow of crackling yellow sparks sitting on her shoulder. "Name," she demanded. "Wei Shi Lindon." She scanned down a scroll, and her eyes widened when she found his name. Or perhaps when she saw his Path—Lindon couldn't tell what information was written on the scroll, but her eyes flicked to Orthos, at which point they widened even further. The woman looked from side to side for help, but the other people working in the tent were all dealing with other applicants. Finally, she pulled out a small wooden chit with the number "537" stamped onto it. "This is...your, ah, participant number? Please do not lose it...um, if you don't mind. You are one of the final applicants we're accepting today. If you are one of the first fifty participants to reach the end, you will be considered to have passed." It had the sound of something she'd said many times today, but she was too flustered to deliver it smoothly. "The end of what?" Lindon asked, but the woman was staring at Orthos again. That reminded him of a different question. "He's not a Lowgold. Will we have to apply separately?" She shook herself as though waking up. "Ah, no, of course not. As your contracted partner, he is considered part of your strength. He will be competing with you." Suddenly, Lindon wondered if this application might be incredibly easy. On her directions, he and Orthos made their way to a massive group of other Lowgolds. Hundreds of young sacred artists huddled in small groups, matched with people they recognized. Some of them looked nervous, others projected confidence, and still others were seated on the ground cycling to steady themselves. As he and Orthos pushed through the crowd, the turtle earned more than a few angry glances. Followed by second looks, and spiritual scans. Which invariably led to even angrier looks. Orthos may not have noticed, but Lindon grew more and more nervous each time it happened. He was hoping they were upset because he was bringing a Truegold-level sacred beast into a Lowgold competition, but he suspected otherwise. They could recognize Blackflame in the sacred turtle at a glance, and they weren't happy about it.
"Orthos," Lindon said, "can you veil yourself?" The turtle snorted out a puff of smoke. "Do you know how to open and close your eyes? I was veiling myself before your grandfather ever laid eyes on your grandmother. When the Skysworn were nothing more than a sect of servants, I was—" Lindon cut him off before he gained too much momentum. "I think it would help us both if you did." There was a wide circle around them now, and most of the Lowgolds surrounding them were giving them hard looks. Some of them held their weapons in hand, bringing them to life as they filled the blades with madra. Orthos' dark eyes flicked up to him. "You want me to hide before a mob of angry hatchlings? They will make good targets for you to practice Void Dragon's Dance. The survivors will cast their eyes to the ground, and they will know that we are to be respected!" Lindon cleared his throat, trying to think how to phrase this for the turtle's benefit. "I'm trying to infiltrate their ranks, Orthos. To benefit from their unique resources. It would hurt my cause if I killed their young on the way in." Orthos rumbled deep in his chest, clearly displeased, but finally the strength of his spirit weakened. Now, he blended into the feel of the crowd, instead of standing out like a bonfire among candles. Not that it helped the looks they were getting. Lindon had started to identify some patterns among the young men and women surrounding him. Many of them had the emerald wings of the Naru clan's Path: the Path of Grasping Sky, if he remembered correctly. Their wings were not as fully formed as Naru Gwei's, looking more like they were made out of vivid Remnant parts rather than real feathers. Almost as common was gray skin, though he didn't know what family or Path that represented. He even spotted two or three with the shiny metallic hair of the Path of the Stellar Spear, and those sacred artists all had their spears in hand and stared at him avidly. Finally, one of the boys with gray skin stepped out. He carried a round shield on one arm, and held a long knife in the other—the knife rippled, as though seen from underwater. A pink-and-white fish swirled through the air around his head. Lindon assumed that was his contracted partner, as the boy's pink gemstone eyes matched those of the fish.
He held his chin high, looking down on Lindon despite being head-andshoulders shorter. "Blackflame," he said loudly. "You should leave. For your own safety." A general murmur of agreement and soft laughter rose from the crowd. Lindon leaned over to Orthos. "Is he going to attack me?" He had run into situations like this back in Sacred Valley. A number of boys would take out their frustrations on Lindon simply because they could, but the scenario was different here. He didn't understand what was likely to happen—would the young man give up after posturing for a while, or was he actually looking for a fight? Red-and-black flames rose slightly from Orthos' shell as he considered the gray-skinned boy in front of him. "He is looking to stand out by provoking one of the Empire's villains in front of everyone," the turtle said, not bothering to keep his voice down. Everyone heard. "He is not confident enough in his results to let them speak for him, so he has to distinguish himself in another way. He is the weakest sort of scavenger, crawling along the bottom and looking for scraps. Crush him." The words echoed in the ensuing silence, and power slowly gathered and mounted inside the gray-skinned youth. Lindon regretted asking Orthos anything. He plastered on a smile, raising his hands in a show of peace. "I apologize for him, honored brother. Please, can I know your—" His own right hand cut him off. Not satisfied by staying in the air, it instead lunged for a gray throat, grasping with white fingers. Lindon managed to pull it back before anything happened, but the gray young man had raised his shield. He lowered it, pink eyes blazing. "You face Kotai Taien of the great Kotai clan, Blackflame! Defend yourself!" The meeting with Naru Gwei had only been an hour ago. Lindon still hadn't recovered from that, and all he wanted was a peaceful tryout. He bowed carefully, spending most of his madra on keeping his arm under control. "I humbly apologize," he said, and someone kicked him in the back. He stumbled forward a few steps, turning to see who it was, but there was no telling. It was a circle of hostile faces. For the second time that afternoon, he started to sense real danger. There were more than five hundred Lowgolds around him, and none of them had
any love for the Blackflames. If it hadn't been for his confrontation with the Skysworn Captain, he may have tried to run. But this time, he'd reached the end of his patience. Against an Underlord, he had no choice but to beg and whimper. There was no standing up against overwhelming strength. These…were not Underlords. Lindon shifted the pattern of his breathing, tapping into his Blackflame core. He could see those nearest him flinch as his eyes filled with black and red. He turned to see Kotai Taien, resolving to try one more time. "I have no reason to fight you, Kotai. We are not enemies." But he'd miscalculated. He'd hoped to push the boy away, but he should have known that he was giving Taien exactly what he wanted: a villain. Pink eyes brightened, and he held up his shield, reversing the long knife in his right hand. "This Empire is no longer yours!" he declared, and charged. Orthos' laugh was like that of a hungry dragon. Lindon ignited the Burning Cloak before Taien had taken a step, launching himself forward. He drove a punch at the gap around Taien's shield, fully expecting him to shift and block the strike. The momentum should knock him back, giving Lindon time to... Taien's ribs crumpled like a cage of dry sticks. His body slammed backward into the crowd, tossing aside a group of other gray-skinned Lowgolds. His weapons tumbled from limp hands, his fish swam in agitated circles above him, and blood sprayed from his lips in hacking coughs. Lindon stood, staring, from within the black-and-red haze of his Burning Cloak. Orthos' laughter grew until it deafened the entire crowd, and he stomped the ground, howling in mirth. His eyes were almost closed, and if he were human, Lindon was sure he'd be crying with laughter. Everyone in the crowd took a step back. Still chuckling, the turtle walked up and sniffed at the fallen boy's shield. "Spoils of war," he said, snapping it up and chewing. The sound of twisting metal cut through the air even louder than his laughs had. Taien hacked up blood again, letting out a loud moan, and tried to roll on his side. Abruptly, Lindon realized that he hadn't canceled his Burning
Cloak yet, and finally let the technique fade. He had only intended to show everyone that he couldn't be pushed around. He hadn't want to kill anybody. Everyone in the group of Lowgolds seemed allergic to him all of a sudden. Even the other gray-skinned sacred artists backed away from Taien, as though to help him was to associate themselves with him. The crowd rippled as someone pushed through, and Lindon turned, readying his madra in case it was another challenger. He sincerely hoped it wasn't; he had never had to adjust his strength to avoid hurting someone before. If they attacked, he couldn't hold back. From the wall of people, a girl stumbled out. She was slender and a little taller than Yerin, with her hair pulled back into a long black ponytail. She wore white-and-black sacred artist's robes, with a breastplate of smooth purple armor over her chest. The armor matched her eyes, which were a startling, vivid purple. The eyes looked human, not as though she'd borrowed them from a sacred beast through a contract, but he couldn't be sure. She carried a staff in one hand. It was as tall as she was, thick as her wrist, and made of smooth-looking black tendons. The tendons coiled up to the top of the staff, which was capped by a dragon's head. The girl stumbled as she came out of the crowd, steadied herself, and then dropped to her knees next to Kotai Taien. "Oh, wow! You really hammered him, didn't you? Just…" She gave the air a little mock jab. "He's on the Path of the Unstained Shield, too. Must have been skipping his training, huh?" She looked around at the other gray-skinned youths standing around. They shifted in place, clearly unsure how to respond. Taien coughed again, blood splattering his lips. "Are you his…friend?" Lindon asked hesitantly. "I try to be friendly, when I can!" she chirped, brushing a lock of hair away from her eye and smiling brightly. "But no, I can't say that I've ever met him before." She put two fingers to his ribs and winced. "Sorry, you must be in pain. Give me a second." She removed a pouch tied at her waist, rummaging inside. Her hand seemed to dip further into the pouch than it should have, and Lindon noticed that she wore tight black gloves up to her wrist. They seemed to be
made out of the same substance as her staff, as though she had dipped her hands in glossy black liquid. Her Goldsign, perhaps? After a moment of rummaging around, she brightened, withdrawing a smooth white bottle with a cloth tied over its opening. She untied it in one swift motion, popping out a round green-and-gray pill. Lindon could smell it from where he stood, like a rainstorm in a pine forest. "Open up," she called down. When he didn't respond, she propped his head up and shoved the pill into his mouth. He gagged for a moment, his face turning red, but she held his mouth closed and he eventually swallowed. The effect was immediate. Light of green, red, and purple burst from his chest in long strings, and the aura inside of his body was ignited into a storm. He sat up as though someone had pulled him on a string, gasping loudly, pink eyes wide. The fish flying in the air around his head grew excited, bobbing up and down and all around his face. The girl slapped him on the back, smiling proudly. "There we go, good as new! Try not to eat for an hour or two, or you might start vomiting up living creatures. I've done it, it's not pretty." Only a few seconds later, Taien was conscious again, breathing steadily. He glanced once at Lindon and then looked away, turning instead to the young woman who had saved him. "I thank you. The Blackflame attacked me before I was—" At the sight of her eyes, he froze. She waited patiently, seeming to expect what was coming. "…Akura?" he asked, voice hoarse. "Akura Mercy," she said. "I'm honored to meet you." If everyone had taken a step back when they'd seen Lindon crush the other guy's ribs, they fled at the mention of Mercy's family name. Even the other gray-skinned members of the Kotai clan abandoned their fallen cousin, scrambling to get away. There were two types of people who stayed: the ones who looked as confused as Lindon felt, and the ones who were bowing too deeply to run. Not everyone had heard of the Akura name, it seemed. But all of the students from major clans had: none of the Jai, Naru, or Kotai remained. Except for Kotai Taien. His gray face went ashen, and he planted his forehead on the ground. "Forgive me my disrespect," he said. "I am not
worthy of your help." Mercy pushed herself to her feet and swayed for a second as though unused to her own legs. She leaned on her staff for balance, and the dragon's head at the top shone with purple light. Its eyes were glowing purple pinpricks, and Lindon thought he heard it snarl. "No atoning necessary," Mercy said with a smile. "Just don't bow to me anymore, how about that?" Taien jumped up as though the ground had become red-hot, and vanished into the crowd just as quickly.