Chapter 22

Years ago, when Renfei had first earned her way into the Skysworn, her instructor had congratulated her with these words:

“You’ll stop rebels, rivals, and runaway killers all over the empire, and you’ll do great service to the emperor. But somewhere, someday, you’ll run across somebody trying to revive the Path of Black Flame.” He’d chewed on a straw as he spoke, tapping the burned half of his face. “When the Blackflames return, that’s when you’ll really stretch your oath. Can’t help but wonder if you’ll fight, or if you’ll leave your honor behind.”

The challenge had hovered over her, unanswered, for twelve years. She had fought with the Kotai clan against walking sharks on the beaches of the Trackless Sea, executed exiled criminals trying to sneak in across the eastern border, and returned runaways to the Stonedeep Mines. But, though she had kept her spirit open in special vigilance, she had never encountered a Blackflame.

Until a week ago.

She and her partner had been patrolling near Serpent’s Grave, keeping an eye on the battle in the city with their spiritual perception. They wouldn’t interfere in the battle; a clan was well within their rights to pass judgment on citizens in their territory. But conflicts led to crimes, so they remained vigilant wherever swords were drawn.

Of the many things they sensed that night, one in particular had drawn them to Serpent’s Grave like flies to rotting flesh: the power of Blackflame.

The Arelius turtle, Orthos, was known to them. His madra had flared during the battle, which was to be expected, but what they hadn’t anticipated was a second source of the Path of Black Flame.

As they had for the past seven days, Renfei drifted next to Bai Rou over the dragon-bone city, dodging horned skulls and yellow ribs that clawed the sky. They flew on emerald green Thousand-Mile Clouds: the symbols of the Skysworn.

Over this week, they’d sensed occasional flares of Blackflame through the city, but not much they could track.

“South-southeast?” Bai Rou asked, his voice coming from the shadow beneath his broad bamboo hat. His great bulk was shrouded by a huge, heavy coat that covered him from shoulders to toes, and his eyes—his Goldsign—shone yellow from within the shadows over his face.

She extended her own perception and checked. Not a Blackflame, just a fire artist practicing. “No. Two more days, and then we confront the Jai Underlord.”

Renfei had come to her own conclusion: their mysterious source wasn’t a sacred artist at all. Rather, it must be a Blackflame weapon that one of the two Serpent’s Grave Underlords had unearthed for their battle. The hints they’d gotten since then were only the weapon being transported throughout the city.

They had planned to confront both Underlords once they had evidence of the weapon’s existence, but thus far, they’d found none. And the Arelius Patriarch had fled the city before the Skysworn arrived. That suggested a guilty conscience to Renfei, but she needed more than suspicions to pursue claims against a Lord.

So if they found no more trace of the weapon soon, they would take Jai Daishou’s testimony anyway.

Bai Rou wordlessly agreed—he was only twenty-eighth among the Skysworn Truegolds, while she was rank thirteen and a disciple of the prestigious Cloud Hammer School. While they were assigned together, her opinion would override his.

Deadly heat flashed in the direction of the great black mountain that loomed over the city, and she started to call its position to Bai Rou.

Then flames blasted into the sky from Mount Shiryu’s peak.

The fire was streaked with red and black, and Blackflame aura gushed into the sky. All over the city, scripts flared to life, as sacred artists scrambled to defend themselves from another attack.

Renfei and Bai Rou streaked toward the dark peak, their clouds leaving green trails behind them.

“Testing,” Bai Rou said, voice hollow.

She agreed. Someone had decided to test the weapon; it must be based around a Ruler binding, based on the vital aura and flame that erupted from the mountain.

As part of standard procedure, the Skysworn each veiled their spirits, suppressing their power so they wouldn’t be detected as they approached. An Arelius would see through it, but Naru Cassias Arelius was with his family at the moment, and Eithan Arelius was gone.

They hovered over the mountain until they looked down into a canyon. The same narrow canyon that contained the Black Dragon Trials.

Renfei had checked this location as soon as they had arrived, finding no extra lingering Blackflame power, but obviously someone had managed to hide the weapon from her. It was their own foolishness that they had revealed it so soon.

She and Bai Rou flew over a circle of ninety-nine black, scripted dummies. The Ruler Trial. No better place to test out a Blackflame Ruler weapon than the course that taught them to use their Ruler technique.

Warm air still gushed from the canyon, buffeting their clouds, but it only took a minor expenditure of madra to stay steady.

There were two people inside the canyon, neither of whom Renfei had seen before. One, a shrunken old woman with gray hair in a bun crawling around on spider’s legs. She had a goldsteel bladed hook on her back, and she was tinkering with one of the dummies, exposing the construct inside. A Soulsmith, then, in charge of the course’s operation.

The other must be the one using the weapon, but his hands were empty. He was tall and looked stern despite his age, and a very careful scan of his spirit didn’t pick up anything of his madra.

She couldn’t check him more thoroughly without alerting him to their presence, but he must be very skilled to have veiled his spirit from even a cursory scan. His madra almost felt pure, which was a testament to the power of his veil.

Currently, he was sitting in a cycling position, a tiny blue Remnant on his lap.

“The weapon?” Bai Rou asked, but she shook her head. There was no way to make Blackflame madra look so much like pure water. If she had to guess, she’d say that was a natural spirit. Maybe it helped activate the weapon.

“We’ll wait until they draw it again,” she said, as the young man stood up. “It shouldn’t be too—”

The young man’s spirit changed.

His veil must have dropped, because his soul suddenly burned like a hungry flame. His eyes turned black with shining blood-red irises—that wasn’t the Goldsign from the Path of Black Flame she remembered, but otherwise his power felt just like a black dragon’s.

“A Blackflame in the wild,” she muttered.

Bai Rou’s yellow eyes flared. “Who would be this stupid?”

Aura gathered like clay, wrapped around the activation crystal for the course, and then flared to black-and-red light. The Ruler Trial began.

One dummy came to life, drawing an orange bow and firing a blast of light at the young Blackflame. A lance of sword energy followed, and then a fireball, then a crystal of dark ice stabbed up from the earth beneath his feet.

The course was designed to keep its participants on the defensive, pressuring them so they couldn’t hold on to their Ruler technique. When the Blackflames had taken these Trials, their guardians had countered the techniques while the one on the Path of the Black Flame readied the Void Dragon’s Dance.

But this boy…

Black-and-red madra covered him like blazing fog, and he dodged the arrow of light, took a cut from the sword energy, shattered the fireball on his fist—which must have left burns on his hand—and broke the ice with a kick.

All the while, his madra was still gathering vital aura, scooping it up like piles of gold. He took control of all the Blackflame aura he could, building a mountain over the dummies.

He fought as the attacks continued, dodging with his Enforcer technique active, blasting projectiles from the air with short bursts of dark fire, and taking cuts to the body that should have stopped him in his tracks. He was a bloody mess, and his core should have gone dry in seconds—he only felt like a Lowgold, and not a strong one.

But he kept going. In Renfei’s Copper sight, the canyon looked like a seething mass of red-tinged darkness.

Finally, long after she thought he should have collapsed, he ignited that pile of aura.

The entire top of the mountain rose in a column of black-spotted fire.

Renfei had never considered taking shelter. Her Cloud Hammer madra spread into a haze around her, shielding her from the heat and the impact.

The shock hit her harder: this was a real Lowgold on the Path of Black Flame. One of the living weapons that had carved out an empire using sheer power. Even though he wasn’t much yet, the Schools and sects and clans would fight to control his future.

The firestorm had died almost as quickly as it was born, but for a moment, it had looked as though Mount Shiryu were transformed into a volcano.

Even this wasn’t enough to pass the Ruler Trial. A true Void Dragon’s Dance should have devoured the dummies and nothing else; the tower of flame rising into the air was just wasted energy.

But he was sitting on the ground with his legs crossed, and his spirit was veiled again. She sensed madra flowing to his flesh, his wounds drinking it up…and closing. Visibly healing before her eyes, no life madra required.

“Someone,” Bai Rou said, “is making a monster.”

Renfei released her aura and flew down into the canyon, her partner flying with her. A raincloud hovered over her head: the Goldsign of the Cloud Hammers. Her actual hammer rested at her side, and if the Blackflame boy showed the slightest intention to resist, she’d draw it.

The old woman scurried up to the young man, and they both looked up in shock. The boy’s eyes weren’t dark anymore, Renfei noticed. They were ordinary, human eyes.

A clever deception.

The two in the canyon were bowing and sweating by the time the Skysworn landed. That showed wisdom, but Renfei still considered striking the Lowgold Blackflame dead.

It would certainly simplify matters in the future.

But in the end, her honor won out: Truegolds did not strike down Lowgolds to make their lives easier.

“Name, sect, and rank,” she demanded.

“I am Gesha of the Fishers,” the old woman said. “A guest of the honored Arelius family. As for my rank, I—”

“Not you,” Bai Rou said, his burning yellow eyes on the boy.

Sweat dripped from the young man’s forehead, and he didn’t dare to glance up at the two Skysworn. “This one is Wei Shi Lindon, an adopted disciple of the Arelius family. This one apologizes, but he can’t be sure of his rank. Among the outer disciples, this one believes he is ranked second, but he is only aware of two in total.”

“The Arelius family has thousands of outer family disciples,” Renfei said, her voice dry. If he was trying to deceive her by saying he didn’t know his rank, he wasn’t working hard enough. “Who is your master?”

“This one is honored to be the disciple of Eithan Arelius, though regrettably, this one’s master is not in the city at the moment. He has gone to the capital. This one would be honored to lead you to—”

She interrupted him. “Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, in the name of the Emperor, the Skysworn are taking you into custody. You will not be tried or punished until a representative of your clan can be found to speak for you.” That was the end of what she was required to say, but she added, “Eithan Arelius has no authority in this matter—we speak with the voice of the Emperor himself. A Blackflame cannot be allowed to run wild.”

Lindon looked distinctly uncomfortable, like a child caught in a lie, and only then did Renfei remember how young he was. Not even eighteen, she was sure.

Which made him all the more dangerous.

“Excuse me if this one misled you, but this one has only recently begun learning the Path of Black Flame, with the guidance of the Patriarch. This one is not a member of the Blackflame family.”

“You might as well be,” Bai Rou muttered.

They shackled his spirit, reducing his power. He was more cooperative than most of Renfei’s prisoners, though he did repeatedly insist that they tell his family what happened to him.

He might as well not have bothered; the Arelius family never needed to be informed about anything. Renfei’s only report would go straight to the Emperor.

The Blackflames had returned.

***

Emperor Naru Huan spread his wings as he walked through an ornate doorway. He had a fifteen-foot wingspan, but all the doors in the palace were made to accommodate the Goldsign of the Path of Grasping Sky. Etiquette dictated that he brush both sides of the frame with his outer feathers, demonstrating that anyone else would have to give way. When two members of the Naru clan met in a doorway, the lower-ranked had to defer.

No one had walked past Naru Huan in almost twenty years.

Servants closed the door behind him as he entered his home, a luxurious complex of black wood, red paint, and golden dragon statues. He had three joined towers within the imperial palace, all for himself, his wives, and his servants. Palaces within palaces.

He still remembered a time when it had been his job to scrub these floors.

Naru Huan paused on the inside of the doorway. Ordinarily, three servants were stationed here to take his robes of office, his slippers, and the heavy circlet woven into his hair in lieu of the imperial crown.

He opened his Copper sight, which was tuned to wind after his long years on his Path. The entire complex was a placid lake of pale green.

The air was still. No one moved inside.

Madra spun within him, faster and faster. He had no need to call his guards; anyone who could sneak into his home was a greater opponent than they could handle.

Green swirled as the wind stirred. He raised a hand.

A man walked around the corner, where he’d been seated and still a moment before. Long, yellow hair streamed behind him, and his outer robe was threaded in intricate patterns of blue silk. He was fifteen years younger than the Emperor, though they both looked about thirty: Overlords aged even more slowly than Underlords.

Eithan Arelius grinned and plucked a grape from a bunch that he must have stolen from Naru Huan’s table. He popped it into his mouth.

“Welcome home,” Eithan mumbled through a mouthful of grape.

Naru Huan glared at him. “Where are Our loyal servants?”

He usually had people to ask questions for him—Emperors were never supposed to demonstrate a lack of knowledge.

“Someone altered the schedule last night,” Eithan said, shaking his head. “It seems everyone believes it is someone else’s shift.”

The Emperor had never expected his security to hold up to Eithan Arelius; it had been a joke for generations that if the Arelius family wanted the throne, they would have it. Their bloodline gifts were so dangerous that, if they hadn’t shown such a complete lack of ambition, one of the Blackflame Emperors would have exterminated them centuries ago. Total awareness combined with access to the Empire’s maintenance facilities gave them the keys to all secrets on the continent.

But the Emperor should never be left unattended because of a shift change. He’d have to order some adjustments to security.

“We are not pleased at the disrespect you have shown,” Naru Huan announced, his tone a dire pronouncement. “Our office is nothing—”

“No one’s listening,” Eithan assured him, eating another grape.

Naru Huan’s eyes flicked to the nearest bedroom, where he still saw no movement in the air. Which meant anyone inside was either unconscious or dead.

His calculated anger started to turn real, and the air of the hallway began to thicken.

Eithan held up his hands, the bunch of grapes dangling from one thumb. “Wait, wait, wait! She’s shopping, you hear me? Shopping! She’s with your sister, who owed me a favor.”

Naru Huan let out a breath, finally relaxing. He tugged the replacement crown out of his hair, tossing it onto a nearby table that existed solely for that purpose. “You could have warned me, Eithan. You can’t just pop up anywhere you want to.”

“It’s better when I don’t explain how I do it,” Eithan said, sighing around another grape. “Explanations ruin my all-knowing mystique.”

“If anyone knew you had entered the palace without my permission, I would have to take action against your family. When a Patriarch acts recklessly, he is not the only one to pay the price.”

“If I thought an official message would get me an invitation in a timely fashion, I would have sent you a message,” Eithan pointed out.

Every message the Emperor received became common knowledge in Blackflame City within a day. Every message he responded to became a political talking-point. “Inviting the Arelius Underlord to the palace would be a rebuke against the Jai clan,” Naru Huan said, struggling out of his heavy robes of office—never easy, thanks to the wings. “For now, we still need them to hold the west.”

“As long as you don’t need them to have an Underlord,” Eithan said, pulling a grape off with his teeth. “He initiated an open attack against me in Serpent’s Grave, and I was forced to take out the broom.”

“I’ve never heard that expression. I assume you mean an actual broom.”

“Of course I do. What better weapon is there for an Arelius Patriarch?” He squinted into the distance, thinking. “Maybe I could have the Soulsmiths make me a better one…”

“Well, if you had to fight him, you should have killed him,” Naru Huan said, sliding out of his slippers and walking around Eithan to get to the dining room. “I could have assigned you as the temporary guardian of the western territories while the Jai dissolved to infighting.” He stopped as he realized Eithan hadn’t followed him, turning on his heel to see what had happened. “What is it?”

The bunch of grapes hung forgotten from Eithan’s fingers. His smile was gone, and he stared at the Emperor as though ready to do battle on the spot.

Which would result in nothing more than a dead Underlord, so Naru Huan folded his arms and waited.

“I did kill him,” Eithan said.

The Emperor raised both eyebrows. “I have a dream tablet from him that arrived yesterday, demanding I punish you for your insolent actions in Serpent’s Grave, and requesting imperial assistance in establishing his authority over the city.”

Eithan looked like he’d accidentally killed his own mother. He paled, braced himself against the wall, his eyes distant and unfocused.

“Am I to understand that I just received accurate information before the Arelius Underlord? Let me just…” Naru Huan took a deep breath. “…breathe it in. This is a good day.”

He continued walking to the dining room, where a table was laden with fruit and delicacies. Eithan staggered after him like an animated corpse. “I killed him, Huan. I killed him myself.”

“You left an enemy alive,” the Emperor said in disbelief, pouring himself a glass of wine. “Do you know how to tell whether someone is dead? Would you like me to teach you?”

Eithan dropped the grapes, snatched the pitcher of wine away from Naru Huan, and started pouring it into his mouth. He only stopped to come up for air.

“I haven’t made a mistake like that in…no, it’s never happened. Well, I’m going to need a new plan now.”

That reminded Naru Huan of another matter—one he had planned to visit the Arelius family to address personally. His mood instantly soured.

“What part of that plan involves reviving the Path of Black Flame?” the Emperor asked, his tone dark.

Eithan waved a hand. “Oh, that.”

“That? I need an explanation, if only to know what you could possibly have thought you were doing. You had to realize I would take him from you immediately.”

“Teaching someone the Path is not illegal.”

“Neither is hanging yourself, but that doesn’t make it wise. He’s going to be isolated both for his own safety and to stop him from causing a panic, Eithan.” Naru Huan slammed his glass down, remembering at the last second to cushion it in wind madra so it didn’t shatter.

Eithan sighed and replaced the pitcher on the table. “That does bring us around to the reason I’m here. I have a request.”

That was about as surprising as the sun rising in the east: no one ever came to see the Emperor without a request. “The Skysworn already have him in custody. I can’t let a Blackflame go, Eithan. He’ll cause a riot.”

“Let him go? No, no, not at all.” His smile returned. “I want you to make sure he still has to fight.”

THE END

Cradle: Volume Three

Blackflame

Lindon’s story continues in…

SKYSWORN

Cradle: Volume Four