Chapter 17

When the white light rose like a full moon over the city, Eithan knew where it had come from. He saw the man who had launched the technique, with white metal hair down to his waist, and the young man at his side with the red-wrapped face.

And he heard the screams beginning all over the city as the Jai clan began to systematically hunt anyone wearing a black crescent. They were following a script that had been laid out for them months ago, while his eye was turned elsewhere.

Eithan was on the roof of an Arelius family tower, and he clenched his teeth to stop from crushing the broom in his hands.

He had only returned to the city at all because of Cassias’ message about Orthos, and had immediately seen that Lindon and Yerin had the situation in hand. He would give the turtle a few more Underlord scales to keep his burning spirit under control until Lindon was ready to advance to Lowgold and take on a greater burden. It had all been going so well.

He felt so blind.

The Jai clan had played him perfectly: they had continued to work against the Arelius family, even when they knew he was watching. If they had pretended to cooperate while he was in the city, he would have known they were biding their time. But they had been forced to back off because of Jai Long…and because of his own actions against them, subtle though they had been.

Eithan had been sure he was winning the game, right up until his opponents swept the cards off the table and stabbed him.

An unfamiliar fear flooded him. If they had hidden this from him, what else had he missed? What unseen threats lurked beyond his sight?

With that fear came anger, cold and bright.

He leaped away from his half-swept rooftop garden, broom still in hand. His madra spun the Hollow Armor through his whole body—it wasn’t the best Enforcer technique, his not being the best Enforcer Path, but combined with an Underlord’s body, the fall wouldn’t hurt him.

It would shatter the street, though, so instead he grabbed a windowsill for an instant as he passed, then kicked off the wall, slowed himself for a second on the edge of a nearby roof, snagged a tree branch, and landed without breaking anything. A few loose leaves fluttered to the ground behind him, and he swept his sleeve so that the wind carried them into a nearby trash box.

Servant One-Thirteen sat on a bench nearby, a girl leaning against his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing his Arelius robes tonight; instead, he was dressed in a layered red coat that must have been the best he owned. She wore pearl silk, with matching jewelry pinning up her hair. Minutes ago, they’d been having a lovely evening.

Now, they both had daggers in their hands, but seemed too afraid to move; a Jai Highgold was sweeping down the street with spear in hand. Screams haunted the distance.

All three of them froze on seeing Eithan.

He strode up to the unfamiliar woman on One-Thirteen’s arm. “You look lovely tonight, madam. The Arelius family will reimburse you for this.” Then he pulled a pin from her hair and hurled it over his shoulder.

The dagger would have been sharper, but he didn’t want to leave her defenseless. Besides, the pin drove through the Highgold’s throat easily enough.

One-Thirteen and his date stared behind Eithan as the Jai’s spear went one way and his bleeding body the other.

“One-Thirteen,” Eithan said, “emergency drill number one. Ring the bells.” He pulled another pin from the woman’s hair.

The servant rose and saluted, grabbing his date by the hand and pulling her with him as he ran to sound the alarm. Loose strands of hair fluttered behind her.

Eithan waited another instant for the spiked Stellar Spear Remnant to rise before he sent a wisp of madra flowing into the hairpin and threw it. It blasted through the spirit like a ballista bolt.

He was off again, leaping whole buildings with the power of Hollow Armor. He watched every servant of the Arelius die, heard their pleas for help. They tore his heart.

Eithan was halfway up the mountain when he felt the boundary formation spring into place.

He had leaped up from one cliff to another, ignoring the roads, and he’d just landed on a bare plateau when all the aura around him froze. In his Copper sight, it was like he was caught in an upturned bowl of swirling color, blocking him from the outside world.

It didn’t stop the power of his bloodline legacy. His detection web still swept the city, carrying every death to stab him in the gut. And now they’d trapped him here, where he couldn’t save anyone.

The six Jai clan Truegold elders who had placed the formation flags waited for him, just on the other side of the barrier. He’d felt them pacing him, but he had expected them to provide backup for Jai Daishou in the fight between Underlords.

Now, he realized, they were meant to keep him in one place until their Patriarch came to join them.

Half a dozen old men were feeling very proud of themselves right now, but they watched him from beyond the boundary formation like mice watching a trapped hawk.

Eithan stood on a shelf of black rock, the white-robed elders surrounding him. He gripped his broom in one hand as the icy wind blew his hair and his robes around him.

He tried to pull up a smile, but it wouldn’t come.

“Gentlemen,” the Underlord said, “this is a mistake.”

***

As the daylight died, Cassias cycled his madra and waited for Lindon and Yerin to attempt the Ruler Trial. They were inspecting the instructional tablet already, and he knew from watching them that they would try the course immediately afterward.

He felt like Eithan as he grinned in anticipation, staring at them through the scripted window. He would take it easy on them this time, since they’d only be able to run through one time before the sun set completely. They would feel like they had a chance.

And then, tomorrow, he’d pour everything he had into the Trial. He felt like he was the one competing, though it was just a break in the routine he wanted. He couldn’t admit he was excited about pushing a Jade and a Lowgold to their limits, but he looked forward to seeing—

One of his strands of awareness, stretched out behind him, caught a white light flaring high in the air. Curious, he stretched his perception back into the city.

As the sun fell, Stellar Spear madra took its place.

A whisper of fear threaded its way through him. The clan was probably just confronting Jai Long and his forces, but he focused the entire web of his Arelius bloodline on the city.

Shining white, a spearhead pierced a blue-and-black outer robe, driving a bloody hole through a crescent moon symbol.

“I’m not Arelius, I don’t work for them, please!” a woman begged.

A door shattered as a Jai Truegold blasted his way into an Arelius facility, and the crowd’s murmurs of uncertainty rose to shouts and panic.

…a coordinated attack. All throughout the city.

And these were only the first seconds.

His breathing came so hard that it threatened to throw off his cycling technique. His son was three years old. His wife was a member of the imperial Naru clan and a powerful Highgold, but if a Jai elder was feeling particularly cruel or clever…

Cassias launched himself from the temple so fast he blasted his wicker chair to pieces. The paperwork swirled in a whirlwind behind him, but he didn’t spare a glance back.

He needed to get home.

The Silver Step was an Enforcer technique with Striker elements, meant to help mobility in a short-range fight. It was the only movement technique he knew, and all but useless over long distances…but he used it anyway, kicking off the ground and leaving a silver ripple behind. The technique launched him forward with speed that pushed the limits of what a Highgold should be capable of, but it was only one step. His madra might burn out before he reached his home, leaving him helpless.

He stretched his web out toward the bone tower in the distance, trying to get a glimpse of his family, but it was like trying to find someone by running house to house and peeking in keyholes.

His wife was strong, even on an imperial scale. Stronger than he was. Jing would survive.

But there was always someone stronger…

His Silver Steps carried him down into the streets, which were already choked with combat. He rushed past Arelius servants defending themselves with swords and spears, with claws of ice and arrows of fire. He ignored whips of blood and slipped around toxic mists.

It wasn’t just Arelius family members dying tonight. The Jai clan were reclaiming their territory with ruthless efficiency. They targeted those in Arelius colors, but anyone who got in their way, or resisted, or looked like the slightest threat…they were blasted apart by regimented ranks wielding white light.

Only the Redflower family was untouched, as expected: a pair of Jai clansmen escorted a group with flowers on their chests away from the chaos of the battle. The Redflowers grew food for the Empire, and if one of them died, the Skysworn would come down on the Jai clan like a hammer.

His wife’s family should be exempt too. If a Naru were caught in this crossfire, the Emperor would make the Jai clan pay for it.

But he could see the Redflowers, safe and escorted away by the Jai warriors. He couldn’t see anyone with the green wings of the Naru family’s Path of Grasping Sky.

Until he saw Jing, he couldn’t relax.

He looked up at the tower through a haze of smoke, and something slammed into his forehead with the power of a kicking horse. He flipped backward, his own momentum turned against him, and only years of training let him stumble to his feet.

Blood was in his eyes.

He gripped his sword, though he didn’t remember drawing it.

The tower of yellow bone filled his vision, closer now, but still so far away.

Three Highgolds from the Jai clan closed in on him, spears wet, faces tense. Six more were spearing a Truegold Remnant to death nearby; that explained why so many of the Jai clan’s mid-level fighters were together.

That couldn’t have been an Arelius Remnant; none of their Truegolds were in the city. Someone had tried to intervene.

There were nine enemy Highgolds, most of them with spirits as strong as his own. Nine.

Head still ringing from the blow, thoughts fluttering like a cloud of butterflies, Cassias took one staggering step forward.

A white light crashed into him, but somehow his sword had knocked it away, filled with enough madra to break the technique. A flash of silver and white exploded.

“Highgold,” one of them said. “Yellow hair. Arelius?”

“Could be dyed,” someone else said. Blearily, Cassias focused on her face.

He recognized her. He knew most of the famous people in the Jai clan. Jai Yu, that was her name. The two hundred and sixty-fifth strongest Highgold in the Empire.

Out of the hundreds of thousands of Highgolds, she was considered to be among the top three hundred. Strong. A strong opponent.

Cassias focused his awareness on the bone tower, desperately sweeping for a glimpse of his wife’s face.

A man poked him in the arm. Cassias couldn’t get his silver bracer, his Goldsign, up in time to block, and blood spurted. He didn’t feel the pain, but his arm gave a spasm and his sword clattered to the bricks.

“There are only two bloodline Arelius in the city,” Jai Yu said, “and our Truegolds have them both. If he’s an unregistered blood relative, we’ll turn him in for the bounty.”

“No crescent,” the man said, inspecting his clothes.

A crash came from two streets over, and Jai Yu muttered something under her breath. “Forget it. I’m not carrying him around.”

Light gathered on her spearhead, and Cassias’ breathing sped up, because he still hadn’t found his wife. The ringing in his head had sharpened to a scream. He poured all his madra into his detection web, scanning the tower from top to bottom, racing to see that his family was safe.

Then…he saw her.

She wasn’t in their rooms, but at the base of the tower, on her way to a shelter with more Arelius family employees. Black hair streamed behind her, and her left eye was dark and furious. Her right was an orange globe of madra, a construct to replace one she’d lost in battle years ago. Her wings spread—one the natural emerald Goldsign of her Path, and the other a matrix of sunset-colored energy. Her second prosthetic.

She was safe. They were both safe.

That was all he needed to know.

…before his mind cleared and the ringing in his ears faded. He thrust his palm into Jai Yu’s spear, sending up a pulse of sword madra and slicing it in half.

He opened his eyes afterward, letting the spearhead fly over his shoulder. “Jai Yu. I’m disappointed you didn’t recognize me.”

Her face paled.

White lines began creeping over her skin as she prepared her Flowing Starlight technique. “We…I’m sorry, we didn’t…we thought you were…” She swallowed, and then yelled, “Run! Everyone run!”

Two of them took her advice, but one of the more distant Jai fighters gripped his spear as though ready to join the fight. “What is it?”

Jai Yu shouted back while fleeing. “It’s Ca—”

Silver Step.

The technique rang like a bell under his foot, launching him behind Jai Yu. He drove his hand into her back, and silver light pierced her heart.

Another Silver Step, and he stood beside the Jai clan Highgold who had asked the question. Cassias hadn’t bothered picking up his sword.

The spearhead pointed in his direction quivered. “Number…two…”

Cassias placed a palm on the man’s head, and sword madra blasted through his skull and into his brain. He died silently.

Nine Highgolds would have been too much of an opponent, even for him. If they had cooperated. But splitting up and coming at him one at a time…

There was only one Highgold in the Blackflame Empire who could fight with him face-to-face, and she was carrying their child into a shelter.

Naru Cassias Arelius, former heir to the Arelius family, had been allowed to marry into the Naru clan for three reasons. First, the recommendation of his family Underlord. Second, the personal feelings of Naru Jing, star of the clan’s young generation.

And third, his personal strength.

Another Silver Step, and he sent a head spinning onto the street, its metal hair striking sparks against the stone. Six more Steps later, he was out of madra, and there were six more bloodstains on the streets.

Of all the Highgolds who had tried to ambush the second-ranked Highgold in the Empire, none remained.

***

“This is what you get, trying to see new places at your age,” Fisher Gesha mumbled. A Lowgold Remnant sank into the flagstones in front of her, and she sheared its head off as she moved. She wanted to collect its eyes and check it for bindings, but her drudge was currently carrying her along the flagstones, and she certainly wasn’t going to run on her own two feet.

“Came to get a taste of the Empire, didn’t you? Came to teach a promising student. And where is he, hm? Tucked away in a mountain, isn’t he, not even thinking of Soulsmithing.”

A swarm of spider-constructs scuttled over the street around her, escorting her through the screaming city and up to a hatch in the ground.

She pressed a scripted key against the aura lock and used her madra to pull on a catch on the other side. This was a Soulsmith’s underground storehouse, meant to hold volatile substances, but it was the most secure location she knew of outside the Arelius shelters. Forget the shelters; a bunch of victims packed inside like weeds waiting to be plucked.

Gesha hopped down into the cellar, pulling the heavy doors shut behind her with strands of purple madra. She locked them, and then sealed them with layers of invisible threads. Then she Forged a few purple wires and physically tied it shut, positioning half a dozen spider constructs at the entrance.

Finally, she ran to the back of the storehouse and webbed herself to the ceiling.

“Wasting my time,” she muttered. “Risking my life. Too old for this.”

Withdrawing all her madra, she cycled power in a shell around her core, veiling her power.

Then she waited for the noise to end.

***

Jai Long and Gokren hiked over to Shiryu Mountain’s second peak, a handful of Sandvipers in tow.

Gokren ran a hand over his gray hair, slicking it back. “We’ll take the strong disciple together, then move on to the Iron.”

This was their task, entrusted to them by the Jai Underlord. Eithan’s pair of students would soon sense the uproar in the city, and would emerge from their training. Rather than gamble everything on a duel in the fall, eliminate the Arelius family’s new recruits here, in the spring.

Jai Daishou’s pride would take a hit if this plan became public knowledge, but Jai Long had to respect the decision. It may not have been the most honorable course of action, but the Patriarch certainly wasn’t underestimating his enemies.

Jai Long leaped from one outcropping to another. “Not together. I’ll kill the Lowgold, you handle Wei Shi Lindon.” The sword artist could live, but he didn’t want Lindon sneaking off.

Besides, she had traded blows with him before, even a full stage behind him. Her advancement could not have kept pace with his; he wanted to see how much stronger he’d become in the past half a year.

They landed by what Jai Daishou had described as the exit for the Blackflame Trials. An aura barrier covered the opening.

Gokren itched to break through—he had a short spear in each hand and was pacing back and forth, barking at his men for being too slow as they arrived.

On Jai Long’s orders, they all backed higher up the slope, so they could watch from a vantage point. Gokren had to pull himself away from the entrance, but he ultimately obeyed. Once everyone had spread out enough to cover any possible exit—even if they dashed out of the cave—Jai Long sat on a rock and began to cycle aura.

He could wait.

***

The sun’s last rays were drifting up the canyon as Lindon and Yerin knelt before the Ruler Trial’s tablet.

“Blackflame madra burned the body and the…mind, I’d say, although it could be spirit. Or dreams.” He tapped a picture of a screaming person grasping at his own head. “The point seems clear. Using Blackflame slowly ruins you, building up damage and eroding the soul, destroying your advancement, your sanity, and your lifespan.” He tried not to feel the Blackflame raging inside him, deadly and explosive, instead returning his focus to the ancient symbols.

“That is the price you pay for the…largest hammer? Ah, ‘greatest weapon.’ Blackflames rule by…one man on the battlefield?” He traced his finger between the symbol and a nearby picture of a man standing alone with flames in each of his hands.

“Last man standing,” Yerin said quietly.

Lindon shivered. That was impressively reliable, but somewhat grim for his taste. They ruled by virtue of having killed all their opponents. And this was core enough to their philosophy that they engraved it in their basic training course.

Well, he’d chosen this Path for its ability to win duels, not for its outstanding moral values. And he’d want the biggest weapon he could find if he had to fight the creature destined to attack Sacred Valley.

The next phrase was in more modern language:

The dragon conquers.

He said it aloud, and Yerin nodded along. “Ruler techniques conquer. Fits like a good boot.”

The dragon advances.

The dragon destroys.

The dragon conquers.

Orthos’ core was unsteady and had been for days, but the words resonated with his spirit. He was a sword rather than a shield, a force of destruction, and a jealous king.

That wasn’t a comfortable personality to share a soul with, but it described a weapon that Lindon could use.

Yerin nodded to the rest of the Ruler Trial. “Rather than that…these guys tickle your memory at all?”

Lindon had been trying not to look out at the field of opponents arranged for him in the final Blackflame Trial. There were ninety-nine dark, humanoid figures in the field, each clutching different weapons, and he sensed different madra from each of them. Ninety-nine mannequins with faceless heads.

Ninety-nine dummies, arranged in a circle.

The activation crystal was on a pedestal in the center, and Lindon had to use his Ruler technique to some degree before he could power the course. He wasn’t looking forward to it. The Striker Trial had only taken them ten days to pass, but based on how long it had taken him to fight eighteen dummies, almost a hundred would take…

…very probably the rest of his short life.

Lindon moved on to the technique section. “Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness,” he said.

“Not ‘Fierce’?” Yerin asked. “Nothing fierce about this one?”

Lindon shook his head, trying to remember a story that Orthos had told him months ago.

“Then I like it. Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness…what about Dance of Emptiness? Plain and stable. Doesn’t look like you have to do any dancing, though.”

He searched the characters, trying to figure out how else they could be read, before the memory clicked. “Void Dragon’s Dance.”

Yerin slapped him on the back. “There’s the winner. That’s a name you’d be proud to put in a manual.”

White light flashed in the darkening sky overhead, and they both looked up.

Lindon extended his Jade perception, and was sure Yerin had done the same. He had the brief sense that the light felt cool and sharp, but that was all before it faded.

“A celebration?” he asked. The Wei clan had shone colored lights into the night sky at every festival and most holidays.

Yerin’s face went from distracted and curious to deadly serious in the space of a blink. “Get your pack, bring it here. We should put our backs to an exit.”

Lindon strained his perception, but he didn’t even get a vague sense of the city. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing’s sure yet,” Yerin said, “but it’s not a party.”

He turned to run back to the cave, but stopped before he’d taken a step. To his surprise, he did sense something. Something a lot closer than the city.

Orthos’ core quivered like a bomb on the edge of exploding.

His shock and outrage echoed inside Lindon—he must have felt the same things Yerin did. Whatever that was, it hit the turtle like a gong. His spirit shivered, teetering off balance for an instant.

Then it fell into rage.

“I’ll go back later,” Lindon said, worrying for the Riverseed. “Right now, we need to—”

A roar shook their little valley. Dirt trembled, and the walls shivered.

Yerin’s sword was in her hand, and her Goldsign buzzed with sword aura. “That’s your turtle?”

“Not at the moment,” Lindon said. Blackflame madra swirled within him in furious, explosive bursts, ready to be used.

A deafening series of crashes filled the canyon, and gray smoke rose between them and the Enforcer Trial. The stone pillars were collapsing as Orthos got closer.

He was crashing straight through the forest of columns on his way to them.

“Yerin,” Lindon asked, his voice surprisingly calm. “Where would you put Orthos’ strength, if you had to rate him?”

She leaned on the balls of her feet, ready to dash into battle. “Hard to weigh sacred beasts, but I’d call him Truegold.”

“That’s what I thought.” He swallowed. “Gratitude, Yerin. I would never have made it out of Sacred Valley if not for you.”

Her spirit flared, and silver aura condensed around her like a shell. “Wouldn’t make it out of this valley without me, either. Talk when the fight’s over. Eyes up.”

Lindon had never taken his gaze away from the approaching sacred beast, but he still almost missed it when the huge black bulk hurled itself through the arch of their Trial, body blazing with the Burning Cloak, red eyes shining with madness. If Lindon had been any less than fully focused, he wouldn’t have made it in time.

But a Burning Cloak of his own sprung up around him, and he dashed off to the side, kicking up a spray of dirt, everything from his ankles to knees screaming at the strain. His Bloodforged Iron body kicked in instantly, stealing more of his madra and sending it to his legs.

Yerin ducked so low she looked like she’d plastered herself against the ground, slashing up with her Goldsign and her white sword both.

Orthos kicked out, and both of her attacks met burning claws.

Then the turtle’s momentum carried him over her body, and he slammed into the earth, roaring and turning in an instant. Yerin was back on him, slamming an aura-assisted blade at his neck.

They traded six blows while Lindon took stock of his options.

He could go back to the cave and get the Sylvan Riverseed to try and cleanse Orthos. It might not work, but he’d intended to try whenever Orthos showed up sane again. But the pack was all the way back in the cave, and by the time he returned, Yerin could be dead.

He could try to lure Orthos out the exit. He could probably get the turtle to follow him, and then Yerin could knock him through the aura barrier to the outside. If he was trapped, he’d be harmless until Lindon could bring the Riverseed to heal him.

Of course, that was assuming he couldn’t just drill a hole with Blackflame straight through the stone and come right back inside.

Or…Lindon patted his belt, feeling the weight there. He’d brought his halfsilver dagger along to the unknown Trial. He gripped the hilt in a sweaty hand, flared his Burning Cloak, and dashed into battle.

One cut. If he could stab Orthos at all, the halfsilver would disperse his madra, and Yerin would have an instant to stop him. It might even be enough to relieve the pressure on his spirit and make him sane again.

When Yerin rolled in the air over his shell and came down behind him, Orthos turned to face her.

And Lindon leaped in, striking at the turtle’s tail. He could cut anywhere, with a halfsilver blade, and it would work just as well. The important part was that the metal contacted the madra.

He stabbed Orthos in the tail, and his blade snapped in half.

Halfsilver was a brittle metal, and the turtle’s skin was thick as leather armor. He should have seen it coming.

Lindon cursed himself as he tumbled backwards, having been sent flying by Orthos’ tail. He eventually rolled to a stop, but hopped straight up to his feet—he’d been hurt worse than that in the Enforcer Trial.

If Orthos was in full command of his powers, they would both have been dead by now. Lindon could feel that in the power echoing through their contract. But fueled entirely by blind rage, the turtle could hardly string two thoughts together.

That was their only chance.

Clutching that possibility, Lindon dashed back into the fight.