Chapter 23 - Mil

With one motion, she hurled the spear into the land below—the momentum of the throw caused her to stumble and almost fall. Lindon caught her by the green-armored elbow, and she looked up at him gratefully. "Sorry. Still don't have my legs back." "Back?" he asked. While waiting for her to respond, he watched the spear. It landed between the bones...and for the first time, Lindon noticed black spots covering the bones. They almost looked like beetles crawling over the carrion, though they weren't moving. Maybe more like barnacles. As the spear drove itself into the ground, cable uncoiling behind it, the scripts on the weapon's shaft activated. Those black spots darted over to the spear's shaft like bits of iron pulled by a magnet. "My Puppeteer's Iron body gives me great control over my movements," Mercy said, springing into a handstand. And almost immediately starting to fall. "Or...it used to," she said calmly as she toppled. Wisely, she had moved away from the cliff for this demonstration, so flopping onto her back only kicked up some dust. "Having my coordination sealed was one of the prices for leaving home. With enough training, I'll get it back." She sat up, brushing herself off. "Looking on the bright side, I've learned a new appreciation for physical training! My Iron body made things too easy. Would you light up that circle for me, please?" The long cable connected to her spear on one end was tied to a stake at the top of the cliff. The stake was driven into a stone block with a script on it, and Lindon activated it. Immediately, the cable came to life and started drawing the spear back. The spear, now covered in black spots and glowing with a hazy green light itself, was reeled back like a fish on the end of a line. "Incredible," Lindon said, as he watched the process. "The death aura is too strong to go down personally, so you bring the natural treasures to you." "Not just the aura!" Mercy said, popping to her feet. "There are Sylvan Graveseeds and other natural spirits down there, not to mention nasty Remnants that like the power of death. It's safer from up here." She gestured to the long row of spears. "Most of the treasures growing in the valley have some system like this when it comes time for harvest." "What do your servants do with the natural treasures they...harvest?" This Night Wheel Valley seemed too good to be true, like walking into a forest and finding that every tree was heavy with ripe fruit. The Akura

family obviously lived here, so why didn't they make sure not a single treasure went to waste? Mercy glanced over the cliff at the spear, which had almost returned. "A lot of it is sold or burned for soulfire," she said, and Lindon made a quick mental note of that. "But the rest of it is stored in a vault not too far from here until it's needed." "This vault," Lindon said, "would it be open to...any members of your family?" The spear rattled up the side of the cliff, pulled by the cable, returning to drive itself into the ground again. The cable landed in a perfect coil at the end. Now Lindon could see what the barnacle-like objects were covering the spear's shaft: they were skulls. Tiny, black skulls, from some that would have fit on the end of his pinky to a few bigger than his whole thumb. Each of them glowed from within with a soft, unearthly green light, and they radiated a sense of fear and decay that reminded him distantly of destruction aura. Mercy stopped, mouth open in the middle of speaking. She held up a finger, then lowered it. She scrunched up her face. "I, uh, well...it actually is, but I've been cut off from family resources. Although technically they're not allowed to help me, so they would be the ones..." Finally, she shook her head. "No, I can't. This is Aunt Charity's property. She wouldn't notice the loss, but she doesn't tolerate cheating. She only allows a break in her rules in order to keep things fair. Or if she thinks it would bring enough of a benefit to the family." [It sure is a good thing no one in their clan knows you left Harmony to die,] Dross said. [That's a relief, isn't it? Such a load off your mind.] Lindon pushed that thought away and walked over to the spear. There were baskets next to each one, which he supposed was how the treasures were meant to be collected. But how to remove the skulls from the spear? Surely you weren't supposed to peel death treasures off by hand. "There's a separate script-circle on the butt of the spear," Mercy said. "I'd activate it at a distance if I...were...how did you do that?" Lindon had placed his fingertips on the end of the spear, where the death aura was weakest, and activated the spear as soon as Mercy had spoken. By

the time she'd suggested activating it at a distance, it was too late, and the tiny skulls were already tumbling to the ground. The nearby basket inhaled them, presumably as the result of another circle he hadn't seen activate, and it filled itself quickly with green-andblack skulls. He stopped with fingers halfway back from the spear, suddenly panicking. Was that even more dangerous than he'd imagined? It hadn't felt too dangerous. "Golds can't get too close to death aura," Mercy said, waving her hand near the basket to demonstrate. A few inches away, her arm jerked away as though it had been slapped, her fingers curling against her side. "The life aura in your body reacts automatically to protect you." She squinted at him. "I wish I could take a closer look at you. I've never looked at your lifeline before, but it must be thick as an oak!" That must be... Lindon began to think, and Dross finished his thought. [That's right. Life Well,] he said. [Doing its job.] "Ghostwater," Lindon explained aloud. She slapped his armored chest with the back of her hand, which had about as much impact as a leaf blown by the wind. "I'm so jealous! Getting to tour Northstrider's pocket world...it must have been incredible." A second later, her expression was bright again. "But the Valley has some sights worth seeing too. We should move on." Lindon looked back over the field of skulls. "There's so much here, though." He wasn't familiar with the prices of natural treasures back in the Blackflame Empire, but he knew he was looking at a fortune. "Natural treasures are sold in mixed sets," Mercy informed him. "It's better to grab as many as you can. And there's an ancestral tree not far from here that weeps gold." Lindon snatched up the basket. "Lead the way," he said. Then he deliberately opened his void key. He left it open for a moment, making sure that she could see the savagelooking axe with the bone haft sitting within. Harmony's axe. He was trusting her with two things, now—the existence of his void key and of Harmony's weapon. But if they were going to be gathering treasures together, she was going to learn about the void key sooner or later. He couldn't tell her to turn around every time he wanted to pack something

away, and he certainly wasn't going to leave any empty space in his void storage that could be filled with valuables. And if she didn't want him to discuss Harmony aloud, he could try to bring it up without any words. She stopped as she saw the inside of the storage space, her stance softening. A cloud passed in front of her face. "It's all right," she said softly. "What's taken in battle is fairly won. If...someone...wants the weapon back, they will simply ask you for it. You won't be punished for having it." Lindon left the key open for a moment, waiting to put the basket inside. "Gratitude. That's good to know. But you..." He trailed off. He wasn't sure how to phrase the question, especially not without using Harmony's name. He just wanted to know how she felt. "No problem," she said. "I understand." But as she led the way through the darkened forest to the next site, her steps were heavy. ~~~ In the dream tablet, the Blood Sage—the Sage of Red Faith— manipulated his own madra. It was the same pattern as a basic cycling technique, but all tangled up in some places and reversed in others. Rather than waiting for the Shadow to feed on his spirit, he was funneling his own madra to it. When you choose to channel your spirit yourself, the Sage's voice said inside her head, it contains your own will. In the short term, this will give the Blood Shadow more power over you, which is why the weak and simple will never even think to try it. But over a few short months, the Shadow will begin to act as a true shadow of yourself. A blood copy of your own spirit. This is but the first step on the road to true power. As for the second...first, tap into your soulfire... Yerin released the dream tablet, as she always did at that point. The second step of the Blood Sage's instruction was a set of soulfire control techniques, which at that point were about as useful to her as a bird telling her how to fly. She and Orthos had followed Eithan to a patch of the shadow-drowned forest where the trees were covered in mushrooms that softly glowed purple or dark blue. They didn't look like soft, regular mushrooms, but rather like

they were made of crystal. They felt like stone, too, but they still gave slightly in her hands. Like they were squishy, but covered in a hard outer shell. The light hardly pushed the darkness back at all, and the aura the mushrooms gave off felt...strange. She couldn't put her finger on it, and since she couldn't open her Copper sight to look at it, she didn't even try to guess. But Eithan assured her they were safe to touch, so she peeled them off the trees and dumped them into sacks that Eithan had packed in advance. Each one of the hand-sized mushrooms was worth more than a decent cycling sword back in the Empire, so she was cramming her sacks full. But that didn't make the task any less boring, so she kept her mind focused on advancement. Or, at least, advancing her Blood Shadow. Her own advancement was on a smooth track until she reached the very end of Truegold or Lindon ran out of his miraculous water. "This would be a fine place for a dragon to find an adventure," Eithan said. He and Orthos had been chatting non-stop since they'd left, and Yerin mostly blocked them out. "Once I'm at the peak," Orthos responded, "the quality of the aura will not matter to me. You know that. It's a sacred journey." "One that is traditionally taken with family," Eithan said. He was leaning with his arms folded and his back against a tree, but mushrooms still drifted into his sack. She normally didn't question how Eithan did anything, but pure madra couldn't lift and move anything. Curious, she extended her spiritual sense to him. Vital aura was moving the mushrooms physically. He was controlling them with some kind of Ruler technique. How? Pure madra had no... The answer came to her at the same time as Eithan said it aloud. "One of the uses of soulfire, Yerin. It grants you weak control over any aura, though it's practically useless in battle. Nothing even close to a real Ruler technique." She should have realized. Her master had lit campfires and brightened rooms with the wave of his hand, and she had long ago gathered that it had something to do with soulfire. Then again, he was a Sage. No matter what he did, she wouldn't have found it strange.

Yerin ran her thoughts lightly over her dream tablets, drifting quickly through their memories. They had a lot to say about soulfire as well; the second stage of the Blood Sage's instruction was using her soulfire to push her own life and blood aura into the Blood Shadow. That would cause it to take on a version of her physical strength, personality, and appearance. She focused on his vision of a complete Blood Shadow, raised according to his method. Others, weak of vision and will, keep their Shadows as formless, shifting weapons. Or they feed the Blood Shadow with the powers of sacred beasts, creating monstrous forms. She could feel his contempt flowing through her, even as his words were accompanied by flashes of image and memory. If she dove deeper into the tablet, she would find herself drawn into the vision, but she kept half her attention on harvesting mushrooms. Such techniques show a pathetic lack of commitment. Bestial or formless Shadows are easy to control, but how can they stand up to mine? I am the first to perfect the true form of the Blood Shadow: an absolute copy of myself, a second body, with my own powers and will. It is often said that a Blood Shadow counts as an extra ally in combat. Is this true? Not for the weak and uncommitted! For the dregs, it is worth only as much as a sacred weapon. What a waste of a Dreadgod's power! No—only those who follow my path to the end can truly be called masters of the Blood Shadow. It is a partner of absolute loyalty, who can operate in perfect coordination with me because its thoughts are my own. Such a partner is worth more than simply one more ally. Together, we form a greater whole. She wasn't only listening to his words, but his thoughts. The Sage of Red Faith knew his technique for raising a Blood Shadow was an unrivaled power. He believed himself truly invincible against anyone of the same advancement level. But he was also a revolting slime of a man who would do anything, to anyone, for his own personal power. He would think nothing of bleeding a village dry if his Blood Shadow was a tad thirsty, so why would he care about giving the Shadow a mind of its own? Of course it wouldn't revolt against him. He gave it everything it wanted. Yerin stared deeply into the mass of blood madra sleeping inside her soul, and once again she was filled with revulsion. And fear. If she got too

weak, and the Shadow remained strong, it would wear her like a husk. Not a day went by that she didn't have to wrestle it down at least once. "I thought my Path was over," Orthos said to Eithan. Yerin was still only listening with half an ear, focused on her own spirit. "Now, I face decisions that I...did not expect." He stretched out his neck, biting off a crystal mushroom the size of a human head. "Not yet, you don't," Eithan said, pulling out a pipe. He filled it from a pouch as mushrooms continued to slowly drift over his shoulder, but lit it with a scripted fire-starter. Now, if he could control fire aura using his soulfire techniques, why didn't he use it to light the pipe? "Soon," Orthos rumbled, and Yerin thought he sounded sad. "Soon," he repeated. Eithan patted the turtle on the shell. "Don't be so grim! You sound like you're facing down the end of your life, but you're practically starting it again. How many years do you think that Life Well gave you back? A century? Two?" Orthos shook his head as though to clear it. "I'm losing myself. It's the shadows." "Enough to cast gloom on anyone," Eithan said, taking a puff from the pipe. "Speaking of which..." He glanced over to Yerin. "There's more than one tablet in there, you know. You have options. It's not as though you have to train your Blood Shadow in the same way Red Faith does." "That's clear as good glass," Yerin said, walking over to a tree to snatch up a mushroom. She'd glanced through all the tablets already. There were three paths before her: The most common was feeding her Blood Shadow primarily with blood madra. Usually in the form of scales. It would still leech from her a little, but it would eventually become little more than a mass of easily controlled blood madra. This was what the Sage called a "formless" Blood Shadow, and allowed the Shadow to be used essentially as a weapon. It was the most common and easiest to both control and create...and the Sage of Red Faith spat on those who chose that path, because he considered it the weakest. The second method, and the one that Redmoon Hall often encouraged, was feeding the Blood Shadow with actual blood. The Shadow would absorb power and substance from the blood, eventually taking on a

monstrous form. It was like storing a very solid Remnant or a vicious sacred beast inside her spirit. The Sage considered a bestial Blood Shadow to have its uses—feeding the Shadow exclusively dragon blood, for instance, would eventually result in a blood dragon that lived in her soul. But he favored the third option. The clone. He had cultivated his Blood Shadow further along this path than anyone else, and now he was effectively two Sages in one body. It only meant that Yerin had to give the Shadow a mind of its own. She had to feed it not just her own madra, but her blood aura—the power of her body—and her life aura. The power of her life itself. It required soulfire techniques to control those aspects of vital aura, since her sword Ruler techniques certainly wouldn't do it. So she couldn't make her final choice yet, even if she wanted to. But the day was coming soon when she would have to choose. Feed it her own life and power, or settle for a weaker weapon. "You could turn your Shadow into a weapon," Eithan said idly. "Or a pet. Or a clone of yourself that will make you an unstoppable force of pure destruction." "Hard work is quiet work," Yerin said. "Take your time deciding. Just because two techniques are relatively common and one is the legendary power of a Sage doesn't make one better than the others." "How has no one killed you yet?" "Sheer laziness. Listen, you shouldn't worry: my wisdom is vast and deep. I have ideas about how to improve whatever Blood Shadow you create. There's a rare metal that can bond with a formless Shadow and still be stored in your spirit, which would give you a shifting, metallic weapon that responds to your every thought." A sword that could change shape as she fought. She could see some uses for that. What the Blood Sage considered the weakest option was only his opinion, after all. Eithan breathed out a cloud of smoke. "Yes, if Lindon had chosen a Path other than Blackflame, I would have worked with him. Never let it be said that I stop people from making the wrong decision. Like, let's say you don't want to combine the power of two Sages in one body—well, in two bodies..." Yerin threw her sword at him.

Chapter 7 Hours later, the group met back up, Lindon and Orthos drifting closer to one another over the course of the day. The whole group had ThousandMile Clouds stored in their emerald armor—except for Orthos, of course— but they all walked, comparing natural treasures. Eithan assured them that there was no need to hurry anymore, and it soon became apparent why. While the darkened forest had been largely empty on their way in, now that they were headed back out, it was bustling with activity. Sacred artists flooded through the trees, mostly Truegolds, but with Highgolds here and there. The closer they came to the towering portal of darkness, the more people they ran into. Some were already clearing trees and assembling huts, or driving wagons through gaps in the forest. Shadows passed overhead, both cloudships and flying creatures. The bustle reminded Lindon of the Five Factions Alliance in the Desolate Wilds, but when he emerged from the trees, he realized how wrong he'd been. This was on a greater scale entirely. It looked like an entire nation on the move. The ground for miles on either side—so far away that the distance was choked in shadow—was covered in an army streaming from the portal. The sky was packed with ships, and the earth with carts and wagons, all bearing the symbols of different Blackflame Empire factions. He spotted mobile gardens pulled by the Redflower family, small contingents of servants under the banner of the Arelius family, emeraldwinged flyers from the Naru clan, massive stone elephants draped with the emblem of the Kotai clan, small Skysworn squads here and there, and dozens of flags and symbols that he couldn't identify.

His spiritual sense was suppressed by the overwhelming shadow aura of the Night Wheel Valley, and he couldn't even see as far as normal, but the scope overwhelmed him. It looked as though every land they'd passed on their cloudship journey from Ghostwater had been squeezed empty of people, though he knew that couldn't be the case. The Emperor had called to Blackflame City only the strongest and most influential, as well as their servants and staff. So this was the power of the Blackflame Empire. Without discussion, they all boarded their Thousand-Mile Clouds and took to the air, Eithan expanding his to accommodate Orthos. An official on a red cloud was directing streams of air traffic, though in their Skysworn armor, they were allowed to pass easily. Eithan wove deftly through the chaos, and Lindon didn't question that he knew where he was going. He led them down the outer edge of the army of settlers, where people were starting to find space to stop their wagons or begin erecting shacks. They landed near a half-completed barn, where an ancient, miniature woman with her hair in a tight bun was ordering a squad of workers. And a bustling contingent of purple spiders. "That's worth more than you and me put together," Fisher Gesha snapped at a young man unloading a huge wooden chest. "You want me to carry it myself, hm?" Purple spider-legs of Forged madra stretched out from beneath her, raising her to ordinary height, and a hooked blade of gleaming goldsteel hung on her back. Lindon had seen her only a few days before, but he still wasn't used to feeling her with the strength of a Truegold…although he supposed that went both ways. "Fisher Gesha!" Eithan said pleasantly. "How wonderful to find you here." Gesha turned to stare at him through her mask of wrinkles. "Underlord. I can't say that I'm pleased to see you wearing…that. Is this a work visit, then? Are you here for the Skysworn?" Eithan put on a shocked look. "Fisher, what could you have done to possibly offend the Skysworn? I am here merely to pick up my order." She snorted. "Only finished this morning, and that was quick, mind you. Quick. Should have known you'd be sniffing around two seconds after I…"

Gesha continued grumbling as she dug through one chest after another, placing some gently aside and hurling others away so that they tumbled over the dirt. Finally, she emerged with an ornately carved and delicately scripted chest, slightly bigger than Lindon's two hands together. Eithan reached for it, but she didn't hand it to him. "I don't want to cast doubt on the Underlord's reputation, but how about payment, hm? Easier for all of us." "Your words are especially sharp today," Eithan said, which Lindon had noticed too. "Apologies if I overstep myself," Lindon said, "but it is nice to see you in such a good mood." Gesha's lips twitched up in the smallest possible smile. She must have been excited to enter the Valley. Or perhaps for the business opportunities in his massive army. Eithan placed both hands together, exhaled, and then a perfect bluewhite scale appeared in his hand. Shaped like a coin, it radiated the power of an Underlord—this would be considered a superior-grade scale in the Blackflame Empire. A scale had to be the perfect size, quality, and density, which could be measured by several common devices, but Gesha took this one and swept it with her spiritual sense. The design of the coin didn't matter, but Eithan had managed to Forge a sketch of a face in profile on one side. Lindon didn't have to look any closer to know that it was Eithan's face. Gesha pocketed the scale, then waited. "Four," she said. "Right you are," Eithan agreed, and reached into his pocket. "Remember this, Lindon: even if you have the madra reserves to make as many scales as you want, you should never Forge more than a few per day. A properly Forged scale, of sufficient density and stability, is difficult to produce and must be created all at once. It strains the madra channels. Too much can result in permanent damage." He pulled three more coins from his pocket and sighed. "But it's so much more impressive to pull money out of thin air." Gesha snatched up the scales, idly scanned them, and then put them in her own pocket. Only then did she hand the chest over to Eithan.

He turned to them, holding the box out proudly. "Gather 'round, children, gather 'round!" he announced. Lindon could feel Dross staring. Little Blue climbed out of his pocket and slid up to the top of his head. Yerin looked as though she'd exerted all her effort not to roll her eyes, and Mercy was leaning forward in excitement. Orthos blew smoke. "Children?" he said, but Eithan had moved on. "Behold, the wonders I commissioned on your behalf on the very day of our reunion, more than eight weeks ago. Four constructs of such power and delicate complexity that they straddle the border between elixir-refining and Soulsmithing itself." "Made me split the commission with a refiner," Gesha grumbled. "Can't stand working with them, can I? They always stink." "Ladies, turtle, spirit, one-armed man, for your enrichment and education, I present to you…the Heaven's Drops." With a flourish, he flipped open the lid of the box. Four orbs about the size of Suriel's marble drifted up, hovering in midair over the box. They were transparent orbs of a dull gray-green, wrapped in rings of Forged script. Dim color swirled inside, and each orb spun slowly in place. They looked…bland. As though they'd been made from Iron-level Remnants that weren't quite stable. They felt weak to Lindon's spiritual senses. Even Mercy looked skeptical, but Dross was making appropriately amazed noises. Lindon wasn't sure if he knew enough to really be impressed, or if he was excited by Eithan's dramatic presentation. "Truly, each of these is a bottled miracle," Eithan went on. "These special constructs can be taken like a pill, even by those who have not opened their soulspace. They will sit in your spirit and improve the quality of your cycling. For those as close to the peak of Truegold as you three, they will help you gain control of your souls in only a few short weeks!" "…these?" Yerin asked, and the one word dripped with doubt. "Ah, but these are incomplete! The Heaven's Drops must be catalyzed with a soul-strengthening elixir before they are taken. Depending on the quality of that elixir, the Heaven's Drop can be nothing more than a minor benefit, or a permanent transformation that will reshape your entire soul." Mercy looked around. "Oh, did you bring the elixir too?"

"I have prepared some," Eithan said, "to the best of my limited abilities and resources. Alas, the supply of truly great elixirs in the Blackflame Empire is…nonexistent. I would certainly be grateful if someone had a soul-strengthening elixir of a higher grade." Mercy looked regretful. "I'm sorry, but I'm all out. I only brought a few. I have a few plants left…" "If only someone," Eithan said loudly, "had access to a substance that strengthens and refines the soul. One that might be prepared in a Monarch's pocket world, for instance." Lindon sighed, reaching out for his void key. He should have known that he could never keep a secret from Eithan. "Some kind of, oh, let's say, spirit-enhancing water…" "Please," Lindon said. "I understand." He would usually be excited that Eithan had found a way to maximize the power of the water, but this time he felt defeated. If Eithan had known, why hadn't he said anything? And now offering the water to Yerin had meant nothing. He glanced to Yerin as he opened the void key, and she gave him a sympathetic look. His supply of Spirit Well water was getting low. Yerin had used it only sparingly in the last two months, but he had taken some himself, to push his pure core closer to Truegold. He only had three bottles left. While he wanted to see the water's effect on these pills, it was no longer entirely his to give away. "I promised this to Yerin," Lindon said. "This is her decision to make." Eithan turned gravely to Yerin. "Would you allow me to use the remainder of this water? I assure you, we will be maximizing its benefits." Yerin chewed on her lip for a while, watching Eithan. She wasn't trying to make up her mind, Lindon knew—she was choosing her words. "Just so you know, I'd contend that Cassias had a good point. It really scrapes you raw dealing with somebody who always knows best." Eithan gestured, and Lindon took the bottles from the void key. Why resist? If the Heaven's Drops worked as claimed, Eithan was giving them a great gift, even if it still felt like Lindon had lost somehow. "What about when they really do know best?" Eithan asked. "Even worse," Orthos rumbled.

"I should have known you'd see the key," Lindon said, handing over the bottles. "I tried to respect your desire not to discuss it," Eithan said. "But now that it's all out in the open, let me say: you have truly exceeded my expectations. Strengthening your body like that must have been painful. Ghostwater was a treasure trove for you, but I know it pushed you to your limits. I could not be more proud of my disciple." He spoke so earnestly that it soothed Lindon's disappointment. Eithan liked to show off, but he also always pushed Lindon forward. Eithan threw his arms wide. "And quickening your mind! I had a sixteen-step plan for perfecting you as a Gold, but I couldn't believe it when I saw you move. Mental enhancement at Gold is a rare and valuable thing. You have a stronger foundation than I ever dared to hope, and thanks to Northstrider, we're ahead of schedule!" His phrasing caught Lindon's attention. Dross, has he not scanned you? Lindon asked. [You know, I don't think so, but now I'm questioning it. I'm starting to wonder if he can see thoughts.] "Once you reach Underlord, then your real training can finally—" With a gentle effort, Lindon pushed Dross out of his palm. The spirit manifested, one-eyed and purple, and raised one of his stubby arms in greeting. Eithan froze in mid-speech, his wildly gesticulating arms stopping in the air. [These things can be awkward, can't they? I know who you are, but I'm not sure if you know who I am. Do you know who I am?] Lindon imprinted Eithan's expression of pure astonishment in his memory forever. Eithan slowly lowered his arms. His spiritual sense swept through Dross, and then—in a focused probe—flicked through Lindon's spirit. He focused especially on the spot at the base of Lindon's skull where Dross usually lived. "I had no idea," Eithan breathed. "Even now…if I couldn't see you before me, I would have no idea there was a spirit inside him. With a fully formed consciousness and madra system. Tied to…" His eyes widened, and he slowly shut the box of Heaven's Drops, setting them to one side. "…tied to his brain…"

He waved frantically at the bustle around him, where workers and spiders were still moving around them. Some glanced curiously over at them, but most continued setting up Fisher Gesha's barn. "Fisher!" he shouted. "Would you clear the area for us, please?" Gesha gave a loud 'harrumph.' "Underlord or no Underlord, if you're walking into my place of business and telling me to clear out—" Eithan pulled out one of the sacks of natural treasures, which—at Lindon's rough guess—was worth enough to buy Gesha's entire business. He shoved it at her, as well as reaching into his pocket and throwing an entire purse of scales after it, and Forging another superior-grade scale out of nowhere. He pushed it all at her, adding, "You can return if you like, but keep everyone else away." Gesha's eyes bulged almost out of her head. "Right away! Never said I wouldn't do it, did I? All of you! Drop what you're holding! Drop it on the ground and get away!" As the spiders and workers scurried away, Eithan fumbled behind him for a seat, pulling it up. "I'm not used to asking this," Eithan said. "What happened?" So, with a certain pride, Lindon told his story in Ghostwater from the beginning. From finding Dross in the Dream Well, combining him with the Eye of the Deep, to upgrading him over the entire facility. All the way to the end, when they completed Northstrider's grand work. Orthos crawled off to chew on some nearby lumber—he had been present for the entire story. But everyone else, even Little Blue, listened attentively. He skimmed the parts with Harmony, for Mercy's sake, though that left some holes in the story at the end. He had shared most of these details with Yerin already, but not everything. He hadn't had a chance. Now, he was glad to have the whole story out there. Fisher Gesha returned at some time in the middle, listening quietly. Dross popped in every once in a while to add a correction or embellishment, but for the most part Lindon was allowed to tell the story without interruption. When Lindon finished, Eithan sat quietly, hands pressed together, staring off into the distance. The darkness of the Night Wheel Valley settled around them, the wind cold.

In the end, he turned to Dross. "If I'm not gravely mistaken, then you are only a seed of what you will eventually become." [I don't like to think of myself as a seed. Not very flattering, is it? Maybe an egg, but a really nice egg.] "Oh, we will make sure you grow. Yes…" Eithan's smile slowly widened until Lindon would have called it manic. "Planted in the fertile soil of Lindon's spirit, we will grow you until you dwarf Dreadgods and tower over Monarchs! The world itself will struggle to contain you! When I fear I have set my sights too far, I find that I was not ambitious enough! Who will dare to hold us back when we have such an ally? Let the day you completed Northstrider's work be known as the day that the very foundations of history trembled!" He cackled like a madman, and Lindon honestly couldn't tell if it was for theatrical effect or not. A thread of doubt wormed over from Orthos, Yerin folded her bladed arms in front of her, and Mercy looked at Eithan askance. Little Blue pressed herself against Lindon's head and shivered. Dross, by contrast, laughed along with him. [Aw, go on! No, really, please continue.] ~~~ Eithan spread the four Heaven's Drops before him, hanging gray and dull in the air. "What you are about to experience is a myth for many Golds. It is their life's ambition. The glory their families strive for." He lifted a bottle—provided by Lindon—over his head. "Let's get it over with, shall we?" He tipped the first bottle over a Heaven's Drop, spilling vivid blue water into the hovering construct. Lindon, Yerin, and Orthos sat before Eithan in a lonely hollow amidst the darkened woods of the Night Wheel Valley. They hadn't sold any of their natural treasures in the camp, but had instead traded a few. They now had packages that exuded aura of many different aspects waiting for them nearby. Mercy was next to them, but she didn't sit. She stood, toying with her staff, a complicated expression on her face. The Spirit Well water fell into the construct and was absorbed, as though the energy drank it down. As the water vanished, the Heaven's Drop grew

brighter and brighter, from a transparent and colorless gray-green to an almost blinding emerald. The scripted circles around the outside of the construct spun faster, until it spat out bolts of vivid green lightning. Eithan stopped his pour precisely at that point, reserving the last of the water in the bottle. "Orthos, if you would," Eithan said. "Age deserves consideration." Orthos approached the Heaven's Drop, but not with the excitement Lindon had expected. Instead, the turtle felt resignation, almost fear. As though he had dreaded this day. Other than when he was forced to fly, Orthos never showed this sort of apprehension. Lindon wanted to ask what was wrong, but the turtle snapped up the Heaven's Drop in an instant. His madra began to swell almost immediately, growing more dense and potent by the second. Eithan had told them the effects would be quick, but in Lindon's experience, pills and elixirs always took time to cycle. Even the Spirit Well water worked best over time. Eithan repeated the process with the second Heaven's Drop, emptying the first bottle and beginning on the second. When it shone like a green star and shot out lightning, he beckoned Yerin forward. Yerin showed all the eagerness that Lindon had expected from Orthos; she couldn't swallow the construct and return to her seat fast enough, taking a cycling position. While Eithan prepared the third construct, Lindon watched Yerin. He couldn't feel her spirit as clearly as he could his contracted sacred beast's, but he still sensed her growing stronger. In only seconds, her Goldsigns grew more solid and defined, as though they had been cast in real physical steel. Then they slid back into her back. More advanced Truegolds gained control over their Goldsigns, but the degree seemed to differ depending on the Goldsign itself. He hadn't imagined that she would be able to withdraw them like that, and seeing her without the sword-arms sticking out of her back felt incomplete. Like he was seeing her without her real arms. A moment later, the Goldsigns reappeared... Along with two more. And two more.

Six arms of sword madra stuck out of her back, stretching farther until the ones on her left side almost stabbed Lindon. He shuffled out of the way, but she was only flexing them as she would her muscles, and had already pulled them back. Her eyes were still closed in a cycling trance, but there was a gentle, content smile on her face. She looked warmer than she ever did. At peace. There was another green flash, and Eithan called Mercy's name. Lindon recalled what he was doing and turned to watch Mercy. ...but as she faced down the construct crackling with green lightning, her face crumpled. "I can't," she said. "I'm sorry." Eithan looked down at the flashing orb in front of him. "This is unfortunate timing." "I know. I'm sorry. I want to keep up with the rest of you, but..." She looked over to the east, where the massive castle took up the entire horizon. "I can't accept this. I would only have to admit my faults and return to my family, and my mother would shower me with resources like this. I can't take a treasure from you to preserve my pride." Eithan took a long look at her, then shrugged. "Suit yourself. Lindon?" Lindon didn't move. "Apologies, but I'd rather Mercy have it." That wasn't entirely true—he could find room between his cores for a second elixir easily—but he'd made his choice. "If you don't want to go back to your family, you shouldn't have to. Take it. We won't hold it against you." Mercy twisted uncomfortably. "It's a little more complicated than that." "I know what it's like to not want to return home." Eithan pointed to the glowing orb. "I'd really prefer you take this, and then we can debate the next one. This is losing energy by the second." He added a couple of drops of Spirit Well water to it, sparking up its power again, but he was running low. "It will be a waste if I take it," Mercy said. "That's all right with me," Lindon responded. Eithan watched them for another couple of seconds, then grabbed the construct. It hovered in the middle of his palm. "And the winner is...Lindon!" He hurled it toward Lindon, who really had no choice but to take the crackling globe of energy himself. He swallowed it down, consoling himself with the knowledge that at least Mercy would have a chance with the last one.

Then he dropped into a cycling trance himself, watching the Heaven's Drop sink down between his cores. [Now, that has a comforting glow to it,] Dross said. [Beautiful to watch. I'd like to keep one around, liven up the place.] Lindon couldn't spare much concentration from siphoning the energy of the Drop into his channels, but he asked, Could you use one? [Better for me if you have it. I'm basically a parasite infesting your soul.] Lindon shook aside that thought and focused on the Heaven's Drop. If it was anything like using the Spirit Well water directly, it would slowly nourish his cores and channels, refilling them before... In an instant, his pure core advanced to Truegold. It was faster, easier, and smoother than his Blackflame advancement had been. Comfortable and effortless. [Almost disappointing, isn't it? Too easy. It's always more fun when I get to watch you suffer.] Not only that, but the Heaven's Drop spun faster in his spirit, pumping power to every corner of his soul. His madra was already dense and potent, thanks to long treatment by the Spirit Well, but his channels were washed clean, his cores filled to bursting. His Blackflame core advanced to the very peak of what it could contain, a dark sun hanging on one side of his spirit. The blue-white core on the other side was now just as bright, shining for the first time as an equal to his Blackflame madra. After only minutes of cycling, it too was pushing at the boundaries of Truegold. Lindon thought back to what Ziel had told him about pills that could take him to the peak of Truegold in minutes. He never thought he'd see one. Now that he had reached full capacity in both his cores, he could sense his spirit far more clearly than ever before. His spiritual sense was intensely powerful, and he could visualize his channels as though they hovered before his eyes. For the next step, opening his soulspace, he'd already done some research. From the Underlord dream tablets he'd found in Ghostwater and questions he'd asked Dross, he already had a sense of what was required. Many Truegolds reached this point in their lives; it was a measure of complete control over one's own spirit.

With his newly enhanced awareness, Lindon focused on a space between his channels, in the very center of his spirit. Then he flexed his power, as though there were an invisible lung at that point and he was trying to force it to inhale. It felt like straining to pull a breath of mud, but after a few seconds of straining, the space expanded. His soulspace was a dark hole the size of a thumbnail at the very center of his spirit, but feeling it filled him with light. He had opened it himself. Not only that, but now he could hold simple constructs at the center of his spirit. Well, he would have to continue widening the soulspace before he could hold a real construct. He could at least start holding soulfire. Soulfire. The real mark of an Underlord. He opened his eyes to find Eithan grinning at him. "Well, I see we have a tie." Lindon wiped sweat from his brow—he hadn't realized he'd been sweating—and turned to Yerin. A scar at the edge of her lips quirked as she gave him a lopsided smile. "I beat you to it," she said. "Ten seconds to spare." Then he saw that Mercy was gone. The fourth Heaven's Drop was still there. "Can we save it for her?" Lindon asked, and Eithan shook his head. "We could, but we won't. We have to believe her that it's more complicated than we know." He upended the last half-bottle of Spirit Well water, shaking it to get every drop into the flashing, sparking Heaven's Drop. "Sometimes, we have to let our friends make decisions that we believe are wrong." Lindon was disappointed, but he reached out for the Drop anyway. He could use it to replenish his pure core, or maybe cycle some of it to Little Blue... Eithan pulled it away. "Yerin," he said, and she looked as surprised as Lindon was. "If you'd like a quick upgrade to your Blood Shadow, there'll be no opportunity like this one." "Step easy," Yerin warned him. "I've heard everything I intend to hear from you." He spread his hands. "No matter which method you pick of shaping your Blood Shadow, this will be nothing but a benefit."

She watched him and the lightning-flickering Heaven's Drop before finally, with visible reluctance, she summoned her Blood Shadow. It extended from her spirit, a crimson shade in her general shape. She didn't need to urge it any closer to the Heaven's Drop; it pounced forward like a hungry wolf on raw meat, gulping down the construct. The green light shone from within it as it passed down the Shadow's throat and into where its core should be, hovering there like a masked star. The Blood Shadow shuddered, and it seemed to look in Lindon's direction for a moment. Then it collapsed and withdrew back into Yerin's spirit. Yerin shuddered. "Feels like I'll regret that." "Nonsense!" Eithan cried. "But you may want to keep that Shadow under control for now." With a last, regretful glance at Lindon, Yerin sank back down into a cycling trance and closed her eyes. Lindon couldn't help but be disappointed. He'd been excited about reaching the end of Truegold and opening his soulspace, but now here he was alone in a dark forest with Eithan and a meditating Yerin. He wanted someone to join him in his excitement. [Wow, Truegold?] Dross exclaimed. [Amazing! Compared to when you did it months ago, this was way better. And your soulspace? Incredible. You could probably fit a…maybe a…bean. You could carry around your own bean!] Lindon actually appreciated that Dross had tried. "Apologies," Lindon said aloud, "but where did Orthos go?" He could sense the turtle's location—he wasn't far—but he hadn't noticed when Orthos had left. Eithan paused while packing up the sacks of natural treasures and the empty box that had contained the Heaven's Drops. "Why don't you go check on him?" Eithan suggested. "We still have to open Yerin's soulspace and get you both weaving soulfire, but there's no rush. Now that the Skysworn have caught up to us, they'll want us working." He waved a hand. "We have a while off, that's my point." Lindon pressed his fists together. "Thank you, Eithan. I'm eager to continue." If he needed a few weeks to adjust to his soulspace, he would take them, but the Heaven's Drop had worked so well and so quickly that he was impatient to move on.

"Go find Orthos." Lindon did so, jogging through the shadowed trees. He activated the Soul Cloak to feel his Truegold pure madra, and he marveled at how easy the trip was. For fun, he leaped up and kicked off one tree, flipping over a neighboring branch, then slid down another trunk. He followed Orthos in the most acrobatic way he could, spinning around, over, and through trees. He fell more than once, but always caught himself and sprung back up. Little Blue joined him, leaping out of his pocket and scampering over the leaf-strewn forest floor. She laughed like tinkling bells as she danced after him, holding her arms out to the side while she ran. He paused to wait for her whenever she fell behind, and the creatures hiding in the shadows melted back from the feel of his Truegold spirit. By the time he reached Orthos, he and Little Blue were both tired and laughing. Orthos, however, was a somber presence in Lindon's soul. The broad, black turtle stood out as a smoldering red presence against the dark of the Night Wheel Valley. He stood on a hill with the Blackflame Empire camp spread out behind him, looking up into the clouds. He stared at the swirling purple center of the Night Wheel, and Lindon couldn't tell if he was watching something or simply lost in thought. Little Blue cooed out her concern, and Lindon scooped her up to carry her closer to Orthos. "Apologies if we're disturbing you," Lindon said, drawing alongside the turtle. Black-and-red eyes studied the clouds. "Only a few short years, and you have reached further than many sacred artists ever dream. The heavens have blessed you, Lindon." Lindon stood next to Orthos, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the glass marble with the blue candle-flame burning steadily at the center. "I am grateful," he said. He owed Suriel his life…and a much better life than he would have had otherwise. "Not just to the heavens and their messenger. Without Eithan, or Yerin, or Dross, or you, I would be…" Dead in Sacred Valley. Dead in the Desolate Wilds. Dead in Serpent's Grave. Dead in Ghostwater. "…buried somewhere, most likely," he finished.

Orthos gave a deep rumble, and Lindon couldn't tell if it was agreement or correction. "And now, you move on. If at least one of you doesn't end up selected for this tournament, I'll give up my shell." "We're not Underlords yet," Lindon protested, though privately he felt the same way. Underlord felt closer now than it ever had, and which young Truegolds in the Blackflame Empire had the advantages that he and Yerin did? "You will be," Orthos said. "Don't pretend you don't know it. Even if you wouldn't fight and claw for Underlord, by now Eithan would drag you there whether you liked it or not. Once you've started to ride the tiger, it's harder to stop." Lindon didn't like Orthos' tone or the melancholy feel of his spirit. "Why are we talking about me? You're right there with us." Dross suddenly slipped out of Lindon's soul, hovering on his shoulder. But contrary to Lindon's expectation, he didn't say anything. He only watched Orthos with his one wide eye. Little Blue chirped, so Lindon held her close enough that she could pat the wall of black, leathery skin next to her. Orthos blew a long cloud of smoke into the air, watching it drift up. "Sacred beasts advance differently than humans," he said. Lindon's discomfort advanced to full-blown alarm. "Why don't we head back to camp? I'm not sure what happened to Mercy, and Yerin is probably finishing up cycling by now." "Humans have to discover what drives their souls to action," Orthos continued. "It's the spark that starts their transformation. Sacred beasts do not have to discover who we are. We have to choose." "Can you choose to become a dragon? That would make it easy." Lindon had intended to lighten the mood, but he failed. "Mmmm. Or a turtle. Or even a man. Traditionally, this involves a journey alongside others making the same choice. But I am the only one." He turned to Lindon. "Until only days ago, I convinced myself I could make the journey alongside you. But you move so quickly, and I am, after all…a turtle." He gave a smile, but Lindon couldn't return it. "There's time until the tournament," Lindon said desperately. "Months until anyone is chosen. It might not be me! And the tournament isn't for a year anyway."

[Good-bye, Orthos,] Dross said. In Lindon's palm, Little Blue sobbed with a sound like pattering rain. She leaped from his hand, landing sprawled on Orthos' head, crying. "I won't be gone forever," Orthos said. "A few years. But by that time, I expect you'll have left me far behind." When Lindon spoke again, his voice was thick. "Where will you go?" "There are many places that could use a dragon." Lindon swept at his eyes, drawing pure madra, trying to keep his emotions under control. Orthos extended his head, resting his forehead against Lindon's. "A dragon is not ashamed of tears," Orthos said. And Lindon lost control. He threw his arms around Orthos' neck and wept with Little Blue, as Dross drifted silently overhead. After a while, a familiar feeling in his spirit drew his attention to the side. Yerin stood there, looking horrified, six Goldsign arms gleaming in the dim light. She was out of breath, her tattered robes in disarray, and dead leaves in her hair. "Bleed me, but it looks like you're trying to sneak off without me," she said, and her voice quivered. Orthos shook his head. "I would not dare." Lindon released the turtle's neck only for Yerin to replace him an instant later. She didn't cry, she just shook, and he murmured something to her that Lindon couldn't hear. Only a minute later, Orthos drew back, and Yerin stepped away, rubbing her own eyes. "A dragon does not wait around," he said, red eyes passing over them all. "Protect yourselves. I expect you to stay alive until I see you again." "What about Eithan?" Lindon asked. "Where is he?" Orthos snorted. "I'd bet he knew I was leaving before I did. Of all of you, I worry about him the least." He raised one leg, gently sliding Little Blue off his head and to the ground. "Farewell, little ones," he said, and then he turned, walking slowly into the shadows. Lindon watched until the red light faded into darkness. Then he held Blackflame as he felt Orthos' spirit passing into the distance. Eventually, Orthos passed through the portal back to the Empire, and was gone.

Chapter 8 Seishen Kiro's father, King Dakata, had erected a castle in the Night Wheel Valley. Made of raw stone called up from the earth by Ruler techniques, the castle stood in front of their portal, projecting the majesty of the Seishen Kingdom. Or such was the intention. Next to the awe-inspiring mountain-sized fortress of the Akura clan, it looked like a child's toy. In the heart of that castle, Kiro faced his proud father in horror. "My King, we cannot attack." His father laughed uproariously, slapping the crude map of the Night Wheel Valley he'd spread across his table. "Why not? We have the chance to drive the Empire out entirely. All the sacred grounds of the Valley would be ours." Kiro looked over the markers the King had placed on the map. It was a simple plan: a sudden attack, ramming through the Blackflame defenses and shoving them back through the portal. It would work, so long as the Blackflames didn't defend the territory with their lives. If they started retreating to protect the more vulnerable civilians at the heart of their formation, they would have to continue the retreat. "Of course it will work," Kiro said. "They don't expect us to attack. But they don't expect it for a good reason. Even if we avoid wholesale slaughter, this attack will not be bloodless. What if the Sage decides we have pushed too far?" Daji, Kiro's little brother, lunged hungrily at the map. He had a wolf's smile on his face. "Don't be a coward! The Sage needs to see our overwhelming strength." King Dakata waved a hand at his second son. "Quiet. This is a matter for Lords." Daji's face fell. "I have no—" "Quiet!" The King shouted, and Daji wilted back. "Your brother managed to advance where the aura wasn't a tenth as strong as it is here.

Can you not handle even this much?" Daji's dark eyes flared. It looked like he was trying to stab Kiro through the chest with his glare. Kiro's heart ached, but before he could say anything, Daji had already stormed out the door. "…he's trying his hardest," Kiro protested, once his brother had left. Dakata grunted, returning to the map. "You were worried about the Sage. In my grandfather's day, Akura Charity pitted our kingdom against the Winter's Blade sect. While blood was spilled, she only intervened when they started to kill our children. She accepts a measure of bloodshed as the cost of competition, but we can't weaken the Blackflame Empire too much. That, she would see as an affront to the Akura clan's authority." Kiro knew his father was more intelligent than his appearance would suggest. He only looked like a bear, he didn't think like one. But he was still somewhat surprised that his father knew so much about a Sage. If he questioned the king too much, he risked punishment, but he dared to push a little harder. "There's still our political relationship with the Empire to think of." King Dakata drove a spike of Forged madra through the corner of the map, pinning it to the table. "We have roughly two months remaining before the first day of summer. If we hold the Valley ourselves during that time, we can raise enough Underlords that our 'political relationships' will lose all meaning. You can forget about punishment. The Akura clan might even give the Empire to us." He surveyed the map proudly, as though looking down on his own newborn child. Kiro pushed one more time. "This is still a gamble," he said. Dakata raised his head, and Kiro knew he'd pushed his father too far. "Even you won't listen to my commands?" he asked quietly. "Even you? If my First Prince does not trust me to lead, how can anyone else?" Kiro backed away, but his father had risen, his armor adding to his bulk. Kiro considered summoning his from the Divine Treasure in his soulspace, but that would only set his father off even further. "Forgive me, father, of course I will follow your orders." He bumped against the back of a chair, his father looming uncomfortably close. Kiro may have been an Underlord, but his hands shook and his chest tightened.

In the Seishen Kingdom, they entered a period of intense personal meditation when attempting to advance to Underlord. It wasn't clear what specific change triggered advancement, but the process could last weeks. On Kiro's successful attempt, he had spent most of the time terrified of his father's reaction to failure. Kiro privately believed that it was fear of his father that had pushed his soul forward. Dakata gripped Kiro's shoulder painfully tight. "You are the only one I can trust," he said, his voice low. "You are the face of the Kingdom. My words must come from your mouth." "Yes, father," Kiro said, struggling to maintain eye contact. Dakata cut off, his eyes sliding to the side. "Tell your gardener that everything is all right," he said. Meira stood behind the King. She held a long shaft of wood in her hands, and a scythe-blade of green flame extended from the end. The blade curled into the King's throat, stopping an inch away. The Underlady's eyes were icy. As always, she wore drab clothes that made her look like she had walked in from the garden only moments before, and the pink-flower Goldsigns shone brightly in her gray hair. Meira may have been one stage of advancement lower than King Dakata, but from this position, she could at least damage his lifeline, slicing away at his life itself. He would kill her, but she'd take a piece of his lifespan with her. She might even manage to trade her life for his. And she was ready to try. Kiro pushed forward, separating them, terrified for both of them. He couldn't allow Meira to die, but King Dakata was still his father. Not to mention the ruler of the Seishen Kingdom; losing him to an apparent coup might cause the Kingdom to collapse. He bowed deeply at the waist. "I apologize, father, and take full responsibility. Please punish me in her stead." Meira hadn't withdrawn her spirit. Now that she had been separated, his father could kill her with little effort, but she was still prepared to throw herself at him given the slightest opportunity. The King stood with his spirit still veiled, but he could erupt into violence at any second. For a long moment, the room was frozen with tension. "You live," King Dakata said at last, "only because of your loyalty to my son."

Meira nodded, lowering the scythe. Her madra retracted. Kiro breathed again. His father knew Meira well enough to know that she had restrained herself. She would not have held back against anyone else that had threatened Kiro. But he also knew that if anything happened to him, his father would have her executed within the day. "The attack moves forward," Dakata said, returning to the map. "Come here, gardener, this concerns you too." He tapped a section of the map. "While the rest of us push forward, the two of you will be headed here. "It's where our scouts have seen the Blackflame boy." ~~~ Lindon sat cross-legged in the center of the Night Wheel Valley forest, extending his spiritual sense to the vital aura around him. He couldn't open his Copper sight, but he could feel the power of the world pressing against him, and with his senses he could trace each aspect of aura back to its source. [Follow the unity of aura,] Dross recited. This was a mantra that he had repeated constantly for weeks now. [Each aspect links to the next. Vital aura has no beginning and no end. It is all one. Follow the unity of aura.] It had been a month since Orthos left. In the Night Wheel Valley, they had settled into a routine. They patrolled for the Skysworn for most of the day, defending the border of the Blackflame Empire's territory within the Valley. Even at the border, they had only caught glimpses of the Seishen Kingdom's sacred artists. They hadn't clashed with any enemies except the occasional wild Remnant. When they finished their shift, they followed Eithan or Mercy to unclaimed natural treasure deposits. Then, at night and in the morning, they practiced sensing the unity of aura and burning treasures for soulfire, progressing through the second stage of Underlord advancement. They had repeated this every day for a month. Under Dross' chant, Lindon finally felt connected to the whole world around him, from the cold wind to the decaying leaves on which he sat. It was a strange sensation, like he had stretched himself out for five feet in any direction. It sometimes took him half an hour or more to sense the unity of aura, even when he was fresh—when he was tired, it could take him much longer.

Now that he had, he quickly felt the power of the natural treasures lying on the ground around him. A burning acorn carried the power of fire on his left side, balanced by a bead of spinning water on the right. A death skull waited in front of him, and a blooming flower teeming with life behind. In one quick inhalation, he pulled on the vital aura link between him and the treasures, reducing them all to ash. And leaving behind a wisp of colorless flame that drifted into his soulspace. Dross' mantra changed accordingly. [Soulfire is vital aura distilled. It is the power of the world condensed.] Lindon had never asked where Dross found this chant, but the spirit obviously hadn't made it up. It flowed too naturally and made too much sense. [Feel how it resonates with everything around you, drawing you closer to nature. Now, follow that sensation back into yourself, deep into your soul. Into your mind. Now, tell me why....why do you practice the sacred arts?] "To protect people," Lindon and Yerin said at the same time. Lindon braced himself, straining to detect any change in the soulfire inside him or the aura outside. What was supposed to happen was a transformative resonance. Lindon's personal revelation would connect him to his own spirit, and the soulfire would carry that resonance to the outside world. For reasons he still didn't understand, that would draw on the aura to fuel his soulfire and burn away his old body and spirit, leaving him reborn as an Underlord. The more soulfire he had inside him, the easier it was to trigger the resonance. Many potential Underlords, Eithan had told them, found their true revelation but failed to realize it because they hadn't gathered enough soulfire. And the strength of the aura around them played a factor too. It was easier to connect to the unity of aura the thicker the vital aura was, and it made the actual advancement process faster and safer. Since the aura around here was a hundred times stronger than in the Blackflame Empire, it was a hundred times easier to cycle and to feel the unity of aura. In fact, there had been many breakthroughs in the Blackflame Empire camp. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of Highgolds had broken through to

Truegold, and Lindon had heard half a dozen stories of advancements to Underlord. None of them young enough for the competition. But more importantly to Lindon, none of them were him. He shot to his feet, stomping through the ashes left from his natural treasures. "This is ridiculous. I know why I started practicing the sacred arts. This is why." He and Yerin had even tried different phrases for the same thing: To protect those closest to me. To protect those who can't protect themselves. To protect friends and family. None of it worked. For either of them. Yerin had run down a few very different paths: So I can do what I want. To get revenge. Because I enjoy it. To get stronger. …and she had sensed nothing. Still, for a change, she seemed perfectly content to take her time. It was Lindon who paced and shouted in frustration at the end of every day's attempt. [Maybe it's because my voice isn't soothing enough,] Dross suggested. [Do you think I should try for a motherly voice?] Mercy hopped down from a nearby tree, where she had been watching over them. "I found it very soothing!" With all the shadow aura around, Mercy had broken through to Highgold two weeks before. They had celebrated with her, but Lindon didn't understand why she wasn't Truegold yet. For that matter, he still didn't understand why she had rejected the Heaven's Drop. She gave up most of the natural treasures she gathered to Lindon and Yerin to fuel their soulfire, guarded them while they practiced sensing the unity of aura, and asked for nothing for herself. It was starting to get on Lindon's nerves. Something tapped Lindon on the shoulder, and he turned to see nothing there. Wind aura. Yerin sat ten feet away, still with her legs crossed. She wouldn't be able to infuse her techniques with soulfire until she advanced, but she could still manipulate aura. A little. She was much better at it than Lindon was, perhaps because of her years of practicing a Ruler technique.

"I had a thought to try again," Yerin said. "You aiming to give it another go?" "Not right now." At the moment, he thought he was just as likely to set fire to everything around him as to sense anything. "Do you need Dross?" "I don't suspect I do." Lindon nodded and strode off. He needed a break. At least when you were cycling aura, there was no chance of failure. Trying to trigger his advancement felt like rolling the dice day after day and getting nothing but losses. He walked into the forest to catch his breath. He knew it was Orthos leaving that had gotten him so worked up. He was short with Mercy and Yerin, he quit his cycling early, and he wanted nothing more than a good fight to clear his head. Even Eithan was gone—either working for the Arelius family or for the Emperor. As an Underlord, he got called away every once in a while to serve the Empire in the fight against the Seishen Kingdom. The fight that Lindon still hadn't seen. He walked further into the shadows before Dross said, [Hang on. Do you hear that?] Lindon stopped moving and strained his ears, but the Night Wheel Valley was always full of rustling. [It's your armor!] Dross said. [The communications construct. I'll boost it, no problem.] There was a moment of silence. [Never mind, that makes it quieter. I'll translate. Um, this is an emergency message for any Skysworn, ah, they're under attack, there are some muffled screams, a few pleas for help, and then a lot of sobbing. Not much to go on, really.] Which direction? Lindon asked silently. [Must be nearby. Not much makes it through shadow aura this thick. Off that way, I'd guess,] Dross said, mentally indicating a direction. Away from their camp. We're going to check it out. Can you let the others know? [I can, but they don't have any way of contacting us back if the range on the Skysworn communications is that low.] Lindon started sneaking through the underbrush, so Dross continued, […and I guess I will do that then.]

Creeping through the shadowed forest was like crawling through a nightmare, all shifting darkness and phantom sounds, but Lindon kept his senses focused on the battle ahead. Bursts of light lit up the forest, and the aura was in disarray. After only a few minutes, he came to the top of a hill, peeking out of the trees down on a camp below. A wagon was overturned, flames licking up its wooden sides. There were no horses to be seen. The wagon displayed a red blossom: the symbol of the Redflower family. Half a dozen people with matching Goldsigns stood huddled nearby, the crimson flower on their chests bright. They crouched at the foot of some trees as armored Skysworn fought for them. And died for them. A six-man squad had been dispatched here; two Truegolds and four students, one Highgold and three Lowgold. Four of them were still alive. A Truegold in green armor faced their enemies with a sword in each of her hands and bright yellow spikes sweeping forward from her shoulders. Lindon remembered her: he had hurled her onto a pile of other Truegolds only a few months before. He didn't recognize the rest of her squad, though he may have met them before. A young Highgold man stood next to her, holding a Forged sword of pale light in both hands. His eyes glowed as well, and Lindon couldn't tell if that was a Goldsign or an Enforcer technique. Before them, a corpse in Skysworn armor lay covered in blood. And another body, split almost in half, wearing the pin of a Skysworn apprentice. One of the Lowgolds. The four Skysworn, including the two surviving Lowgolds, stood facing their opponent: one lone Underlord. He was at least as tall and broad as Lindon himself, but he wore plates of Forged gray madra over his entire body that made him look even bulkier. His helmet was a rounded fortress that shaded his eyes, and the plates of madra on his body interlocked so tightly that Lindon couldn't see a gap. He held a silver blade in one hand, which crackled with blue lightning. In his other, he held a rock-steady shield carved in the likeness of a lion's snarling face. Both his weapons were covered in blood. "Call him here," the Underlord commanded.

"We can't," the Truegold woman said tightly. "The shadow aura is too thick. No one can hear us." She was lying. Good for her. No reason to give anything away. Dross, Lindon asked silently, keep an eye on the Underlord. I want a combat solution as soon as you can. [Not a problem! As soon as he uses a technique, I'll keep a record of it. As soon as he does that.] "Then I'll give you another chance," the Underlord said, lowering his sword and shield. "Surrender to me. In my name, I will allow you to live, as long as you cooperate." The Truegold Skysworn closed her eyes. The Highgold shifted, looking nervous, and the two Lowgolds behind them simply clutched their weapons and stood over the Redflower family. Lindon wanted to act here, but this was an Underlord. He would have better chances if he went back and gathered the others, and they all fought together. Or better yet, if they could put a call in for backup. But he raised his eyes, looking over the sea of black trees. This was not the only place where light flashed in the darkness of the Night Wheel Valley. Lights streaked into the sky all around, and—distantly—he could sense power flaring all around him. [This is not likely to be an isolated event,] Dross reported. [This looks like the Seishen Kingdom pushing against the Empire. Probably. There's a good chance.] If this was part of a coordinated attack on the Blackflame Empire, then he couldn't expect reinforcements. He remembered another village he'd visited as a Skysworn trainee; a village that burned because he didn't defend them in time. Yerin would fight here, Lindon said to Dross. [Good, then let's call her here. While we watch her fight, I can compile a combat solution. I like that plan. In fact, watching this Underlord kill all these other people will give us some great information.] The Skysworn shouted, pushing her swords forward, and a cluster of a dozen deadly yellow-white lights flashed toward her enemy. The enemy Underlord raised his shield, which projected a half-dome of solid gray madra in front of him. Her Striker technique detonated harmlessly on the shield, the lights cracking like eggs thrown against a boulder.

Still a dozen paces away, the Underlord swept his sword at her. Madra poured from the weapon, Forging in an instant into an extended blade that slashed into her side. There was a flash of light as she protected herself with madra, but the weapon cracked her armor, sending blood spraying into the air as her body was hurled to the side. Lindon activated his void key and reached inside. Stepping forward, the Underlord swept his enlarged sword around, bringing it down onto the Highgold boy. The Burning Cloak sprung up in the air around Lindon, and his kick exploded against the ground. He came to a halt in front of the Highgold, holding up a massive axe in both hands. Lindon's blade caught the Underlord's as it descended. The Forged gray sword met Harmony's blade and stopped. The axe's broad, curved head shimmered with a red light that felt like blood, and its shaft was one long bone. To his spiritual sense, the axe felt hungry. His right arm agreed. [I was wondering when you were going to use that,] Dross said. The enemy's blow rang through Lindon's entire body, almost driving him to his knees, but he held. The Underlord pulled his blade back, the extra length dissolving into gray essence and blowing away on the wind. He even lowered his shield. "Take your Truegold and run," Lindon said to the Highgold beside him. The boy leaped to obey, running to scoop up his leader. Lindon couldn't tell if she was alive or dead, and he couldn't spare the attention to scan her. His every sense was fixed on the Seishen Underlord. "If she had told me she'd called you, I would have let her leave," the man said. His helmet dissolved, revealing a rugged, handsome face with piercing eyes and a stately bearing. "I am the Seishen Kingdom's first prince, Seishen Kiro." Lindon's stomach dropped. A prince. Not only would he have been given the finest tutors and materials since childhood, he also would never go anywhere alone. He would surely have soldiers or bodyguards on the way. "You should be Wei Shi Lindon." That gave Lindon a far greater blow. "Apologies; I didn't realize I had done enough to attract the attention of royalty."

Kiro glanced skyward, and Lindon saw a silver-and-purple owl circling overhead. "I have heard of your deeds indeed, Wei Shi Lindon. In the name of justice, and with an honored witness, I have come to punish you." Lindon now felt like a mouse who had stepped into a tiger's mouth. An enemy Underlord had come looking for him. [Oh no, he's here for justice,] Dross said. [You're doomed.] Lindon tightened his hands around the axe. He could hear the Skysworn scrambling with the Redflowers behind him; if he ran for help, they would be in the Underlord's way. And what should he have done? Stayed silent and watched the Highgold get split in half? What will the Akura family think of a Truegold who fights an Underlord? [If you acquit yourself well, you will be almost guaranteed a spot in the Uncrowned King tournament. Assuming you also make it to Underlord by the deadline, of course. But the question you should really be asking is 'What will the Akura family think of a Truegold who recklessly challenges an Underlord and is murdered?'] Is that your honest estimation of my ability? If Dross could predict this fight well enough to visualize it ahead of time, and he saw Lindon losing, then Lindon would have no choice but to run. Dross sighed. [...I don't have an accurate reckoning of the enemy. There is a chance you could win, and I don't know how small of one. Probably very small.] Lindon squared his shoulders, holding the axe before him in both hands, and cycled Blackflame. His eyes burned. "Ready yourself, your highness," Lindon said. And with a flare of the Burning Cloak, he launched himself at the enemy.

Chapter 9 Dross' voice interrupted Yerin's cycling meditation. [We're catching a Skysworn distress signal coming from close by. Don't worry about us! But catch up as soon as possible if you have any compassion in your soul.] She extended her spiritual sense, trying to pierce the dark fog around her, and was immediately assaulted by the sense of distant battle. She would wager her sword that the flashing lights on the horizon came from a dozen different fights beyond the range of her senses. None of them came from Lindon. She activated the dream binding in her bracer. It gave a squeal—dream constructs didn't like being activated by sword madra—and then conjured a flickering purple butterfly that hovered over her wrist. "Contact Mercy," she said. "Mercy, get down here." The purple butterfly dissolved, maybe invisibly going to deliver its message, or maybe failing entirely because of the shadow aura. She'd done what she could. Yerin kept a tight rein on her own fear. If there was a broad attack from the Seishen Kingdom, as she feared there was, then there was no predicting what could happen. Lindon didn't know the limits of his own strength yet. He could easily find himself trapped with no way out. Mercy dropped from a nearby tree, tendrils of darkness laying her down gently. "I'm down here!" she announced. "What's the problem?" "We're saving Lindon," Yerin said, straining her spiritual sense further. She caught something that might have been Blackflame madra and advanced toward it. A cold spark touched her ankle, and she looked down. Little Blue stood down there, her ocean-blue face anxious. She stared up at Yerin with wide eyes.

Carefully, so as not to startle her, Yerin lowered herself to a squat. "Easy," she said. "I've got his trail." She winked at the Sylvan. "Even if he wants to die, I'll drag him back by his tail." Little Blue peeped, and Yerin thought she heard agreement. Yerin sensed a change in the forest and rose to her feet. "Mercy, hold on to the little one. It's about to get heated." From the darkness of the trees, a pale green light began to shine. That light brought with it an ominous weight, a phantom sensation of dreadful power. It was coming from a different direction than she thought Lindon had gone, which gave her a breath of relief. A few seconds later, a woman stepped from those shadows. She was dressed in threadbare clothes—a colorless dress torn at the hem, no shoes, and sleeves shorter on one side than the other. Her gray hair was woven through with vines and pink flowers of madra, and her gray eyes were cold. In her hands, she held the source of the light: a long wooden shaft with a scythe blade made of pale green flame. She was doing nothing to veil her soul, and her spiritual pressure reminded Yerin of a vast, untamed forest. A life artist. And an Underlady. "Where is Wei Shi Lindon?" the woman asked softly. Yerin cycled her Truegold madra, releasing all three sets of her Goldsigns. She held her master's sword out in one hand, feeling the aura around it. "Mercy," she said. Mercy settled Little Blue into her void key with one hand, transforming her staff into a bow with the other. "Yes?" "Can you cover me?" "Of course!" Mercy said, full of confidence. "Good." Because either way, Yerin was going in. ~~~ Kiro was surely blessed by the heavens. He and Meira had split up to look for the Blackflame boy. Their information had suggested he was close to the border of Empire territory, which suited them; they were not allowed to risk themselves by delving too deep into enemy control. His greatest fear was that Lindon would have sensed the rest of the attack from the Seishen Kingdom and retreated. And his second fear was that Meira would find the boy first.

She would surely have contained Lindon and gone to contact Kiro, in order to give him the credit. That would have stained him with shame and guilt he could never wipe free; he would have enough trouble repaying the debts he already owed her. But the heavens had favored him. He had been the one to find the Blackflame, and quickly at that. The Sage was watching him through her owl. He was being given a chance to prove his worth. And Lindon had not only stayed to fight, but had charged straight at him. He re-formed his helmet. His armor was a Divine Treasure that he kept in his soul; all he had to do was feed it madra from his Path of the Steel Guardian, and it would rebuild itself. The Treasure was created to work alongside his Goldsign: the breastplate and centerpiece of his armor. The Truegold moved with explosive speed, his red-ringed eyes burning, a blazing black-and-red aura around him marking his Enforcer technique. Kiro activated his Forger technique: the Titan's Blade. It flooded into his sword, quadrupling the weapon's size in an instant with condensed madra. His blade met the bone-hafted axe an instant later, Kiro striking with all the force of his Underlord body. The axe was an Underlord-level sacred instrument, Kiro could feel it. Which meant that Lindon couldn't control it yet. He would likely not be able to activate it at all, and even if he did manage to, he would be crippled for the rest of the fight. The axe was nothing but a weapon. And Lindon obviously wasn't familiar with it; his motions had all the subtlety of a servant chopping wood. Kiro hit the axe with the Forged blade of his extended sword, intending to sweep through the axe and chop Lindon in half. His blade ran into Lindon's…and his arms rang with the impact as his blow was thrown back. He managed to hang on to his sword, staggering back a step. The Forger technique around the blade cracked. Lindon reeled back himself, gripping the haft of the axe in two dark green gauntlets. He raised black-and-red eyes to Kiro's, and Kiro felt his mind flooding in shock. How was this the strength of a Truegold? Kiro's Mountainroot Iron body activated, increasing his weight and keeping him bound to the earth. It made him heavier and more stable all the

time, but when he poured his madra into it, a team of rampaging horses couldn't pull him from his feet. This time, with his stance steadied, he raised his shield against Lindon's next attack. Lindon lifted his axe in his white Remnant hand. He brought the other palm up to point at Kiro, and dark fire kindled. Kiro had been waiting for this. This was the Path of Black Flame he had come to counter. He used his Titan's Blade again, this time focused on his shield. This was one of the most versatile Forger techniques known to his Kingdom, and would enlarge any weapon. His shield was built to work with the technique; artists on the Path of the Steel Guardian were known as impenetrable bulwarks. A half-dome of earth and force madra burst into existence around his shield, blocking him from Lindon. He was ready. The bar of Blackflame madra, a liquid-looking stream of black and red, slammed into the barrier above his shield. In an instant, the layers of madra began to dissolve. Essence flew away as particles of silver light, and the technique shrieked as the power of destruction eroded his protection. If not for instinct pounded into him by years of drills and training, the bar of Blackflame would have blasted straight through his shield. On the reflex his tutors had created in him, he drew on his reserve of soulfire. Colorless flame flickered through the shield in an instant, and his halfdome barrier went from a hazy gray light to a dome as solid as a stone wall. The Blackflame technique ended, leaving essence drifting up like smoke, but it didn't break his protection. He released the shield to attack, but defending himself had taken too much out of him. He was a split second too late. Now Lindon was bringing the axe down on his head, and he had to use his sword to defend. Once again, the weapon came down with enough force that he would have sworn it came from an Underlord, but this time Lindon was swinging one-handed. Kiro was still stronger, and his stance was solid as stone. He held off the blow, punching out at Lindon with his shield. Lindon caught the edge with his left hand, his white prosthetic arm straining to push his axe down, the other wrestling with Kiro's shield. Kiro looked into the man's black-and-red eyes and snarling face, and he thought he

understood why the Sage of the Silver Heart had taken hostile notice of him. He had the bearing of a violent demon, a savage fixed on violence. Akura Charity's nephew must have met a horrible fate at this brute's hands. But Kiro's body had still been bathed in soulfire, and Lindon's had not. In a few more seconds, the prince would win this contest. Then Lindon's eyes cleared. The black and red bled out of his eyes like ink being wiped away. The aura around him faded away, and the pressure on Kiro eased up. He didn't understand why Lindon would drop his Enforcer technique, but he wouldn't miss an opportunity when he had one; he shoved the axe away and pushed harder with his shield, intending to bowl Lindon over. The Blackflame began to slide back. A new aura of light surrounded Lindon, this time a nimbus of hazy bluewhite madra. Lindon stopped sliding back, holding the shield. Only a second later, he was standing upright. Kiro felt a chill. The other Enforcer technique had given Lindon explosive strength and speed, but this brought the feeling of steady strength, like a placid lake. He was matched. He swept down his sword, but Lindon reached up with one fist and struck his wrist. There was a pulse of madra, and Kiro's hand went numb. The crackling light surrounding his sword went out. It was no longer drawing on his madra. And it felt heavy, as though his Enforcer technique could no longer reach it. That was one mystery too many for Kiro. How had a Truegold met him in strength? How was he using what seemed to be an entirely separate Path? The Sage had mentioned nothing about that. How had he negated Kiro's madra? And how had he managed a hit like that in the first place? Hitting Kiro's wrist as he struck with his sword sounded easy, but doing so in an actual battle required inhuman levels of control. Or insanity. Burning his madra for a burst of strength, Kiro shoved himself away from Lindon, taking two steps back. The Blackflame didn't pursue him, burning with that cold light, waiting for Kiro to make a move. Watching him. Kiro held up his sword and shield, keeping the fear from his voice. "Who are you?"

Lindon's eyes started to bleed black-and-red again, the pale haze around his body fading away. "You came looking for me." Coming from that face, the words felt somehow like a threat. "Are you the grandson of the last Blackflame Emperor?" Kiro had come up with all sorts of theories ever since Charity had pointed out Lindon's existence. "Are you a secret weapon of the Naru family?" He didn't entirely expect an answer, but sometimes pride got the better of sacred artists. Maybe Lindon would let something slip. And he had to know. There was no way a Truegold that fought like an Underlord could come out of nowhere. "Who sent you after me?" Lindon asked. "Tell me that, and I will gladly tell you about myself." He spoke pleasantly, even politely, but Kiro's spirit warned him. He extended his senses to the aura around him. The darkness of shadow aura had retreated before a slowly swirling tide of smoldering red. The Redflower family wagon was still burning. Still releasing aura of fire and destruction. And Lindon had been gathering control of that aura the entire time. It was spinning slowly, all around him, like a newborn whirlpool. And like the Night Wheel overhead. Kiro had no time to say anything, only time to react. He threw himself to the ground, ducking under his shield, activating the Titan's Blade and covering himself in a shield that he poured soulfire into. As he did, Lindon clenched a fist and activated the aura. Kiro was consumed in swirling black-and-red fury. ~~~ Yerin dashed at the gray-haired woman, whipping a Rippling Sword Striker technique at her. The wave of sword madra and aura exploded forward, slashing a groove in the soft forest floor, and Yerin ran in its wake. Mercy suddenly emanated the power of a Truegold. Yerin didn't have to turn to feel her conjuring an arrow on her string, and an instant later that arrow blasted toward the Underlady. The woman raised her blazing green scythe, then pounded it against the earth. Black roots shot up from the ground like Striker techniques. They wove thick as a web in front of the life artist, burning with the vibrant energy of Lord-level madra.

Mercy's arrow shattered into specks of shadow on the first root. Yerin's wave of sword madra cut through the first layer, but broke on the second. Yerin hit the wall of roots herself and kicked off, flipping back to land on her feet. The roots retreated to reveal the woman's face. It was so blank as to be a mask. "I am Riyusai Meira, keeper of the Seishen royal garden. Tell me now: where is Wei Shi Lindon?" Yerin used the Endless Sword technique, activating the aura around her body and her six Goldsigns. They erupted into a storm of uncontrolled slashes; Yerin didn't bother focusing on making her technique like the wind. She didn't need one specific cut, but a host of aura blades to slice through a forest of brambles. Mercy lowered her bow and actually responded to the Underlady. "No!" she shouted. And that said it all, really. Meira reversed her grip on her scythe, leaning forward like she was about to use quarterstaff techniques. Yerin had trouble thinking of a scythe as a practical weapon, but the difference in power would make up for that. "Where is he?" the Underlady asked. The pressure from her suddenly flared, green light wrapping around her feet, and she dashed forward. A blink later, Yerin was staring into empty gray eyes from five feet away, with a fiery green blade sweeping up from below. Yerin jumped to the side, lashing out with the Endless Sword as she did so, and there was a sudden heat on her sword-wrist. Then a chill. The green flames of the scythe had brushed past her skin. Without even cutting her, it had taken away a chunk of her life aura. She didn't know much about her lifeline, but she didn't want to lose any of it. It represented the power of her life force itself. Had she lost a day off her lifespan? Or would she be weaker for the rest of her life, if she didn't replace it? She didn't know. But she wasn't about to take a solid hit from that scythe. She opened her Copper sight for an instant, bearing the pain that came from opening it in the Night Wheel Valley. She caught a glimpse of a green ball of liquid-looking green life aura hanging in the air where it had been chopped away from her. Meira's scythe swept after it, still hungry, looking for more of Yerin to cut.

Yerin activated the Endless Sword. The silver aura around her sword rang like a bell, sending force resonating out. Yerin controlled it, directing it like a gust of wind, so an invisible blade struck the haft of Meira's scythe. The Underlady's blow was knocked backwards, but Meira spun with it, reversing the scythe and bringing the butt of the weapon up toward Yerin's chest. One of Yerin's sword-arm Goldsigns swept up to intercept, and another lashed forward, sending a Rippling Sword technique at her opponent like a deadly crescent moon. With one sweep of her scythe, Meira knocked the Goldsign aside, crushed Yerin's technique, and forced Yerin back a step. Her strength wasn't too much greater than Yerin's—her Iron body obviously specialized in something different—though she had been reforged in soulfire. But Yerin wasn't alone. Mercy stepped up, radiating the power of a Truegold, firing black arrow after black arrow into the enemy. They seemed to blast from the surrounding shadows, impacting Meira's wrists like ink stains. They didn't seem to hurt the Underlady, but they slowed her down, forcing her to spend time and madra burning them away. Yerin let madra flow into her sword. "So you know, you should keep away from that scythe." Mercy gave her a sidelong glance. "I planned on it." Light flashed like a green sun rising. Meira stood, surrounded by a vibrant aura, her blazing scythe held in both hands. Around her, vines rose from the ground; some of them looked to be black roots manipulated by a Ruler technique, whereas others were clearly Forged of life madra. "Where is he?" Meira asked again. "Where is he? Where is he? Where is he? Whereishewhereishewhereishewhereishewhereishe?" Her gaze was no longer dead. Now it was feverishly hot. More vines, both black and green, shot up from the ground. The pressure around the Underlady grew stronger and stronger. "She's got one too many cracks in her head," Yerin muttered. Mercy poured all her spirit in to a single arrow that grew darker and darker as it absorbed layers of shadow madra. "Would you mind keeping her off me?" Mercy asked, voice tight with strain.

Would have been easy enough if their opponent wasn't a Lady. A tidal wave of plants slammed into them with the force of an Underlord soul, and Yerin pushed her Endless Sword as hard as she could. An invisible wall of sword aura churned the physical roots to mulch like a thousand spinning blades, but the bright green vines of madra were unaffected. They slithered through like hungry snakes, and Yerin had to slash and spin with her white sword and her six Goldsigns, keeping them away from Mercy. After only a breath or two, Yerin was about to be overwhelmed. She pushed herself harder, but her madra channels were strained, and she was moving too fast. Finally, when she could hold no longer, she leaped out of the way. Purple eyes shone as Mercy faced the enemy, a black arrow thrumming with power sitting on the string of her bow. The weapon, taller than Mercy, was woven from slick black strands knotted like vines. Its violet-eyed dragon's head sat in the center of the bow's shaft, the arrow emerging from the dragon's mouth. This was the weapon Mercy had inherited from her Monarch mother. She called it Suu. Without a word, Mercy loosed the arrow. It blasted through the air, growing in power as it went, until it flew like a dark and hungry void toward the Underlady. She stood with a loose wall of roots around her, and for whatever reason—whether she didn't sense it coming in time, with all the shadow aura around, or whether she didn't consider it a threat—the arrow struck Meira in the chest. It slammed into her with what Yerin would describe as a flash of darkness, sending a chill through her spiritual sense. …and it did nothing. Mercy drew in a breath. The black arrow stuck from Meira's chest, but she glanced down at it dispassionately. A moment later, a flash of green reduced the weapon to essence. Mercy's spirit faded from Truegold back to Highgold. Her weapon shifted from a bow back into a staff, and she leaned on it, sagging down. Yerin didn't know if Mercy had truly given up, or if she was counting on her identity to save her. But Meira turned her attention to Yerin, which left Yerin with precious few options. She looked within herself, to the red mass of ravenous power that had been strangely quiet throughout the fight. As though it had been waiting for her to call. Yerin turned to the ball of life aura that hung in the air nearby, slowly dissipating. Vibrant green aura was running through her arm again, replacing what she'd lost, but it had come from the lifeline running down her spine. That line was getting noticeably thinner. Which couldn't be good. But there were chunks of her life lying around. She might as well put them to use. "You hungry?" she asked. The Blood Shadow surged out. It was a featureless copy of her, like a rough model of red clay, and unlike the last time she'd seen it, six red blades stood out on its back to mirror her own Goldsigns. The Heaven's Drop had increased its power to dangerous levels. And here she was, giving it more. The Shadow flowed toward the life aura in the air, greedily trying to take it. And failing. Meira lowered her scythe, preparing to dash forward. Desperately, Yerin cast back in her mind for the method the Blood Sage had outlined for feeding his Blood Shadow. Her control over life aura was poor, her ability to weave soulfire only basic, but she strained to reach out to the life aura that had once belonged to her. To push it into the Blood Shadow. She still felt a connection to the severed aura. She couldn't swallow it— it was separate from her now and couldn't be reclaimed. The Sage of Red Faith's dream tablet had been very clear about that. But it had still come from her. She could choose to feed it to the Blood Shadow. It was only that getting it to move with her pathetic control was like trying to tip over a bottle by blowing on it. The hazy globe of green drifted slightly… And the Blood Shadow snapped it up like a bird taking a fish. She'd barely had to touch the aura at all. The Shadow was greedy for it, and the sense of its presence swelled as it slurped up the life aura. Its hair, a mass of red color, split into strands. Lines appeared on its face; suggestions of eyes, a nose, a mouth. It was still tied to her by a strand of madra that extended to her core, and she could feel it suddenly pulling through that strand like it was inhaling through a reed. Not life, this time. The aura in her blood. The strength of her body.

Weakness flooded her, and she fought back by powering her Steelborn Iron body with madra, but the Shadow was taking from her spirit too. Even the pathetic few wisps of soulfire she had managed to gather in her soulspace slipped away, devoured by the parasite. Its blades were becoming sharper, its eyes clearer. It was draining her dry. The Blood Shadow had slipped its leash.

Chapter 10 As the Underlord hunkered down under his shield, hiding from the Void Dragon's Dance, Lindon begged Dross for a plan. His madra channels were strained by the use of so many techniques so quickly, his spirit burning with the effort.