Chapter 14

The two Skysworn guided them to a fairground just inside the city walls. Hundreds of people had gathered out in the open, bustling and mixing, and the sheer variety of different sacred artists made it a riot of color and motion. Birds, winged Remnants, and hovering constructs filled the sky. Lindon saw Goldsigns of every description, from shining tattoos to floating clouds of eyes, and weapons Forged from solid fire or living dreams.

It was an overwhelming sight, but Renfei and Bai Rou eventually dropped them off by a pair of tents. Each had a pair of characters floating overhead, projected on cloud madra. They spelled out the words "Lowgold" and "Highgold."

Yerin made her way to the Highgold tent, and Lindon started to make his way toward the Lowgold area.

He stopped almost immediately, when the green-armored guards saw him and their faces went hard. One of them drew a sword, and the other's hands started crackling with lightning.

Bai Rou stood with his arms folded, as though whatever happened to Lindon was no business of his, but Renfei stepped up and spoke to them. What she said must have worked, because they backed away, but they still didn't look pleased.

"This is foolish," Orthos grumbled, tearing up a chunk of grassy soil and swallowing it whole. "We surround ourselves with enemies."

Lindon glanced over at the Highgold tent, where Yerin's silver Goldsigns bobbed over the crowd. "The Skysworn treat their students well. One day inside their Soulsmith library will pay for itself."

He was trying to convince himself, and Orthos' skeptical grunt said he knew it. Lindon was still shaking from his encounter with the Skysworn Captain, and his decision to apply for the Skysworn now felt like the most impulsive and stupid decision he could possibly have made.

The woman sitting inside the tent was motherly and soft, and she had a miniature sparrow of crackling yellow sparks sitting on her shoulder. "Name," she demanded.

"Wei Shi Lindon."

She scanned down a scroll, and her eyes widened when she found his name. Or perhaps when she saw his Path—Lindon couldn't tell what information was written on the scroll, but her eyes flicked to Orthos, at which point they widened even further.

The woman looked from side to side for help, but the other people working in the tent were all dealing with other applicants. Finally, she pulled out a small wooden chit with the number "537" stamped onto it.

"This is...your, ah, participant number? Please do not lose it...um, if you don't mind. You are one of the final applicants we're accepting today. If you are one of the first fifty participants to reach the end, you will be considered to have passed."

It had the sound of something she'd said many times today, but she was too flustered to deliver it smoothly.

"The end of what?" Lindon asked, but the woman was staring at Orthos again. That reminded him of a different question. "He's not a Lowgold. Will we have to apply separately?"

She shook herself as though waking up. "Ah, no, of course not. As your contracted partner, he is considered part of your strength. He will be competing with you."

Suddenly, Lindon wondered if this application might be incredibly easy.

On her directions, he and Orthos made their way to a massive group of other Lowgolds. Hundreds of young sacred artists huddled in small groups, matched with people they recognized. Some of them looked nervous, others projected confidence, and still others were seated on the ground cycling to steady themselves.

As he and Orthos pushed through the crowd, the turtle earned more than a few angry glances. Followed by second looks, and spiritual scans. Which invariably led to even angrier looks.

Orthos may not have noticed, but Lindon grew more and more nervous each time it happened. He was hoping they were upset because he was bringing a Truegold-level sacred beast into a Lowgold competition, but he suspected otherwise. They could recognize Blackflame in the sacred turtle at a glance, and they weren't happy about it.

"Orthos," Lindon said, "can you veil yourself?"

The turtle snorted out a puff of smoke. "Do you know how to open and close your eyes? I was veiling myself before your grandfather ever laid eyes on your grandmother. When the Skysworn were nothing more than a sect of servants, I was—"

Lindon cut him off before he gained too much momentum. "I think it would help us both if you did."

There was a wide circle around them now, and most of the Lowgolds surrounding them were giving them hard looks. Some of them held their weapons in hand, bringing them to life as they filled the blades with madra.

Orthos' dark eyes flicked up to him. "You want me to hide before a mob of angry hatchlings? They will make good targets for you to practice Void Dragon's Dance. The survivors will cast their eyes to the ground, and they will know that we are to be respected!"

Lindon cleared his throat, trying to think how to phrase this for the turtle's benefit. "I'm trying to infiltrate their ranks, Orthos. To benefit from their unique resources. It would hurt my cause if I killed their young on the way in."

Orthos rumbled deep in his chest, clearly displeased, but finally the strength of his spirit weakened. Now, he blended into the feel of the crowd, instead of standing out like a bonfire among candles.

Not that it helped the looks they were getting.

Lindon had started to identify some patterns among the young men and women surrounding him. Many of them had the emerald wings of the Naru clan's Path: the Path of Grasping Sky, if he remembered correctly. Their wings were not as fully formed as Naru Gwei's, looking more like they were made out of vivid Remnant parts rather than real feathers.

Almost as common was gray skin, though he didn't know what family or Path that represented. He even spotted two or three with the shiny metallic hair of the Path of the Stellar Spear, and those sacred artists all had their spears in hand and stared at him avidly.

Finally, one of the boys with gray skin stepped out. He carried a round shield on one arm, and held a long knife in the other—the knife rippled, as though seen from underwater. A pink-and-white fish swirled through the air around his head. Lindon assumed that was his contracted partner, as the boy's pink gemstone eyes matched those of the fish.

He held his chin high, looking down on Lindon despite being head-and-shoulders shorter. "Blackflame," he said loudly. "You should leave. For your own safety."

A general murmur of agreement and soft laughter rose from the crowd.

Lindon leaned over to Orthos. "Is he going to attack me?"

He had run into situations like this back in Sacred Valley. A number of boys would take out their frustrations on Lindon simply because they could, but the scenario was different here. He didn't understand what was likely to happen—would the young man give up after posturing for a while, or was he actually looking for a fight?

Red-and-black flames rose slightly from Orthos' shell as he considered the gray-skinned boy in front of him. "He is looking to stand out by provoking one of the Empire's villains in front of everyone," the turtle said, not bothering to keep his voice down. Everyone heard. "He is not confident enough in his results to let them speak for him, so he has to distinguish himself in another way. He is the weakest sort of scavenger, crawling along the bottom and looking for scraps. Crush him."

The words echoed in the ensuing silence, and power slowly gathered and mounted inside the gray-skinned youth.

Lindon regretted asking Orthos anything.

He plastered on a smile, raising his hands in a show of peace. "I apologize for him, honored brother. Please, can I know your—" His own right hand cut him off. Not satisfied by staying in the air, it instead lunged for a gray throat, grasping with white fingers.

Lindon managed to pull it back before anything happened, but the gray young man had raised his shield. He lowered it, pink eyes blazing. "You face Kotai Taien of the great Kotai clan, Blackflame! Defend yourself!"

The meeting with Naru Gwei had only been an hour ago. Lindon still hadn't recovered from that, and all he wanted was a peaceful tryout. He bowed carefully, spending most of his madra on keeping his arm under control. "I humbly apologize," he said, and someone kicked him in the back.

He stumbled forward a few steps, turning to see who it was, but there was no telling. It was a circle of hostile faces.

For the second time that afternoon, he started to sense real danger. There were more than five hundred Lowgolds around him, and none of them had any love for the Blackflames. If it hadn't been for his confrontation with the Skysworn Captain, he may have tried to run.

But this time, he'd reached the end of his patience.

Against an Underlord, he had no choice but to beg and whimper. There was no standing up against overwhelming strength.

These…were not Underlords.

Lindon shifted the pattern of his breathing, tapping into his Blackflame core. He could see those nearest him flinch as his eyes filled with black and red.

He turned to see Kotai Taien, resolving to try one more time. "I have no reason to fight you, Kotai. We are not enemies."

But he'd miscalculated. He'd hoped to push the boy away, but he should have known that he was giving Taien exactly what he wanted: a villain.

Pink eyes brightened, and he held up his shield, reversing the long knife in his right hand. "This Empire is no longer yours!" he declared, and charged.

Orthos' laugh was like that of a hungry dragon.

Lindon ignited the Burning Cloak before Taien had taken a step, launching himself forward. He drove a punch at the gap around Taien's shield, fully expecting him to shift and block the strike. The momentum should knock him back, giving Lindon time to...

Taien's ribs crumpled like a cage of dry sticks.

His body slammed backward into the crowd, tossing aside a group of other gray-skinned Lowgolds. His weapons tumbled from limp hands, his fish swam in agitated circles above him, and blood sprayed from his lips in hacking coughs.

Lindon stood, staring, from within the black-and-red haze of his Burning Cloak.

Orthos' laughter grew until it deafened the entire crowd, and he stomped the ground, howling in mirth. His eyes were almost closed, and if he were human, Lindon was sure he'd be crying with laughter.

Everyone in the crowd took a step back.

Still chuckling, the turtle walked up and sniffed at the fallen boy's shield. "Spoils of war," he said, snapping it up and chewing. The sound of twisting metal cut through the air even louder than his laughs had.

Taien hacked up blood again, letting out a loud moan, and tried to roll on his side. Abruptly, Lindon realized that he hadn't canceled his Burning Cloak yet, and finally let the technique fade.

He had only intended to show everyone that he couldn't be pushed around. He hadn't want to kill anybody.

Everyone in the group of Lowgolds seemed allergic to him all of a sudden. Even the other gray-skinned sacred artists backed away from Taien, as though to help him was to associate themselves with him.

The crowd rippled as someone pushed through, and Lindon turned, readying his madra in case it was another challenger. He sincerely hoped it wasn't; he had never had to adjust his strength to avoid hurting someone before. If they attacked, he couldn't hold back.

From the wall of people, a girl stumbled out. She was slender and a little taller than Yerin, with her hair pulled back into a long black ponytail. She wore white-and-black sacred artist's robes, with a breastplate of smooth purple armor over her chest. The armor matched her eyes, which were a startling, vivid purple. The eyes looked human, not as though she'd borrowed them from a sacred beast through a contract, but he couldn't be sure.

She carried a staff in one hand. It was as tall as she was, thick as her wrist, and made of smooth-looking black tendons. The tendons coiled up to the top of the staff, which was capped by a dragon's head.

The girl stumbled as she came out of the crowd, steadied herself, and then dropped to her knees next to Kotai Taien. "Oh, wow! You really hammered him, didn’t you? Just…” She gave the air a little mock jab. “He’s on the Path of the Unstained Shield, too. Must have been skipping his training, huh?”

She looked around at the other gray-skinned youths standing around. They shifted in place, clearly unsure how to respond.

Taien coughed again, blood splattering his lips.

“Are you his…friend?” Lindon asked hesitantly.

“I try to be friendly, when I can!” she chirped, brushing a lock of hair away from her eye and smiling brightly. “But no, I can’t say that I’ve ever met him before.” She put two fingers to his ribs and winced. “Sorry, you must be in pain. Give me a second.”

She removed a pouch tied at her waist, rummaging inside. Her hand seemed to dip further into the pouch than it should have, and Lindon noticed that she wore tight black gloves up to her wrist. They seemed to be made out of the same substance as her staff, as though she had dipped her hands in glossy black liquid. Her Goldsign, perhaps?

After a moment of rummaging around, she brightened, withdrawing a smooth white bottle with a cloth tied over its opening. She untied it in one swift motion, popping out a round green-and-gray pill.

Lindon could smell it from where he stood, like a rainstorm in a pine forest.

“Open up,” she called down. When he didn’t respond, she propped his head up and shoved the pill into his mouth. He gagged for a moment, his face turning red, but she held his mouth closed and he eventually swallowed.

The effect was immediate. Light of green, red, and purple burst from his chest in long strings, and the aura inside of his body was ignited into a storm. He sat up as though someone had pulled him on a string, gasping loudly, pink eyes wide. The fish flying in the air around his head grew excited, bobbing up and down and all around his face.

The girl slapped him on the back, smiling proudly. “There we go, good as new! Try not to eat for an hour or two, or you might start vomiting up living creatures. I’ve done it, it’s not pretty.”

Only a few seconds later, Taien was conscious again, breathing steadily. He glanced once at Lindon and then looked away, turning instead to the young woman who had saved him. “I thank you. The Blackflame attacked me before I was—”

At the sight of her eyes, he froze. She waited patiently, seeming to expect what was coming.

“…Akura?” he asked, voice hoarse.

“Akura Mercy,” she said. “I’m honored to meet you.”

If everyone had taken a step back when they’d seen Lindon crush the other guy’s ribs, they fled at the mention of Mercy’s family name. Even the other gray-skinned members of the Kotai clan abandoned their fallen cousin, scrambling to get away.

There were two types of people who stayed: the ones who looked as confused as Lindon felt, and the ones who were bowing too deeply to run. Not everyone had heard of the Akura name, it seemed. But all of the students from major clans had: none of the Jai, Naru, or Kotai remained.

Except for Kotai Taien. His gray face went ashen, and he planted his forehead on the ground. “Forgive me my disrespect,” he said. “I am not worthy of your help.”

Mercy pushed herself to her feet and swayed for a second as though unused to her own legs. She leaned on her staff for balance, and the dragon’s head at the top shone with purple light. Its eyes were glowing purple pinpricks, and Lindon thought he heard it snarl.

“No atoning necessary,” Mercy said with a smile. “Just don’t bow to me anymore, how about that?”

Taien jumped up as though the ground had become red-hot, and vanished into the crowd just as quickly.

Mercy looked after him for a while, then sighed, and walked into the distance idly twirling her staff.

“…what just happened?” Lindon asked Orthos.

No response. Lindon looked to the turtle on his left.

Orthos had withdrawn his head and all his limbs into his shell. His core seemed small and quiet, though that could have been because of the veil over his spirit. After a moment, his voice echoed from within the shell. “Is she gone?”

“She didn’t seem so bad to me,” Lindon said, watching Mercy’s ponytail vanish into the crowd. Every few steps, she tripped over her own feet and had to catch herself on her staff.

Orthos peeked out of his shell, confirming that she really was gone, before he finally emerged. “If she’s really a descendant of the Akura clan, we’re lucky she was in a good mood. Her family owns three-quarters of the continent.”

“Not the Empire?”

“The Blackflame Empire is one of their territories,” Orthos said, still staring at where Mercy had vanished. “And not their most valuable. She might receive the Empire as a coming-of-age present.”

“Then why doesn’t the Emperor come from the Akura clan?”

Orthos snorted smoke. “The Emperor runs the Empire. They own it. They don’t put one of their own on the throne because they don’t have to. Naru Huan knows enough to do whatever they want him to.”

Lindon rested a hand on the turtle’s head. Though Orthos would never acknowledge it, Lindon knew he found it comforting. “She must be impressive, to get a dragon to back down.”

“Even dragons,” Orthos said, “know when to bow.”

***

Eithan stared up at the fortress of death and wondered how he had gotten in so far over his head.

The heart of Akura clan territory was clearly designed to intimidate anyone who laid eyes on it. The wall—which rose high over his head and stretched for miles beyond sight—was made of absolutely black Forged madra and topped with man-sized sword blades. He was fairly certain that the material of the walls had at least some aspect of death-madra to it, from the icy cold dread that pressed against his senses and the cold howls that he heard from deep within.

And that was just the outer wall. The Emperor had a gatekey that had transported Eithan over ten thousand miles straight to the entrance, but even such a key couldn't get him in the door. The Akura family Matriarch must have created the gatekey herself, or one of her close disciples, because no one in the Blackflame Empire had such control of space.

The guards were even more intimidating than the wall they guarded. The two Remnants were the dark green of murky swamp-water, and they looked like dried lizard-corpses. Only they were fifteen feet tall, and each of them carried a halberd that blazed with black-and-violet flame. A different breed of dragon's fire than Blackflame, but just as deadly.

They each rested on piles of bleached human bones that were undoubtedly there for effect.

...not that they were a deception. They had just chosen to leave the bones of those the guards killed as a declaration to future visitors.

Remnants they may have been, but they looked down on Eithan with cold intelligence. They had been left by Lords on the same Path and slowly cultivated by the Akura clan until they could match Heralds for power. The signs were there, if you knew what to look for.

It was enough to make Eithan painfully aware of his status as an Underlord. Or rather, his lack of status. If the guards were to blast him to vapor, word would never reach the Blackflame Empire. Even if it did, the Emperor would be the one to apologize.

Even in mortal danger, Eithan had never been one to give in to intimidation. He smiled brightly, pulling the gatekey from his pocket and holding it forth. It was made of purple-tinted black crystal, and it pulsed like a heart in his hand.

"I represent Naru Huan, Emperor of the Blackflame Empire," he declared. "I seek an audience with the highest-ranking member of the Akura clan available to me."

He certainly couldn't request a meeting with their clan leader directly. Disrespecting a Monarch by implying that he was worthy of her time would kill him on the spot, and might even spread to the rest of the Arelius family.

The Remnants inspected him with unreadable reptilian gazes. Even his bloodline powers were of no use to him here, as the spirits gave no physical clues for what they were feeling.

However intelligent and advanced they were, they were still Remnants. They would act according to their nature unless given reason to do otherwise, and these had clearly been given guard duty. One sent out a spiritual pulse—the heft of which felt like it would push Eithan to the ground—in an obvious signal.

Eithan waited. Somewhere behind the wall, the fortress itself spewed fire into the air.

He hoped they wouldn't ask him to go inside. It would severely derail his plans if he was captured in an Akura holding cell for a hundred years.

Finally, a center section of the wall dissolved into a black puddle. An old man with a long, wispy beard and purple eyes strode out of the gap, hands crossed in front of him. Those hands looked as though they'd been dipped in tar up to the elbow: the Goldsign from the Path of the Chainkeeper. He would be a blood descendant, then, as though the purple eyes weren't enough of a clue.

He walked out with stately dignity, but he did not carry himself with arrogance. His black-and-white robes were simple, and he met Eithan's eyes with a placid gaze. Eithan liked him already; a different member of the Akura clan might have made him bow and scrape for an hour before deigning to hear a word.

Eithan did not scan him directly, as that would have been an appalling breach of manners, but he did gingerly reach out his spiritual perception to get a sense of the man's advancement. As he suspected, he couldn't tell. The man might as well not have been a sacred artist at all.

That meant he was at least an Underlord skilled in veils. Most likely, he was far above that stage.

Eithan bowed deeply, pressing his fists together. "As an unworthy servant of the Blackflame Empire, I greet the representative of the honored Akura clan."

The old man dipped his head in acknowledgement. "I am Akura Justice. The clan welcomes you, Eithan Arelius."

Eithan was not at all surprised that the Akura clan knew his name, but he was somewhat surprised that Justice had chosen to use it. "I am honored that you have taken such notice of me," he said, without straightening from his bow.

"Our Matriarch, eternal and all-knowing, employs the greatest dream artists in the world," Justice said calmly. "They have seen you. It seems there has been a great shift in fate recently. The currents of destiny change rapidly these days, and the dream-readers have seen you in their flowing currents."

Eithan began to sweat. Though their talents all varied, the legendary Monarchs could see far. Depending on what they decided about his destiny, he could be killed here. Or worse.

"She has left words for you," Justice said, and his voice was awed. He must have been a descendant of his clan's Matriarch, so he was talking about his own mother, grandmother, or great-grandmother, but his tone suggested he was referring to a divinity made flesh. "In other circumstances, we would have a feast for anyone so honored, but time runs short."

Eithan fell to his knees, pressing his head to the ground three times in the direction of the fortress. He resisted the urge to grimace while facing downward—Justice might not have been able to see it, but a Monarch would. If she were watching.

Better to play it safe.

"I am not worthy," Eithan said. And then, far more sincerely, "I will engrave the Monarch's words onto my heart."

That, at least, was true. Whatever she had gleaned from the future, it would be invaluable to him.

"The following words are not mine, but the Monarch's." Justice drew himself up, words rising in a proclamation. "Once, and once alone, will I defend your empire from the fiend that rises against it. Soon, I will have greater concerns…so you must raise protectors of your own. They will defend us all from the great calamity that follows. I await your success, Underlord."

"She left those words for me?" Eithan asked, raising his head.

"For you, by name. She has seen your plans, and knows that you have a chance of success."

Eithan tried not to shiver. A Monarch's help could make everything infinitely easier...but no one at that stage was selfless. She might take over, and there would be nothing Eithan could do to stop her.

However, any information about his fate was invaluable. "I cannot express my gratitude in words. If the time does come where I may defend the Akura clan's territory, I will do so." He was careful not to admit debt. His soul might hold him to such words, especially when he was dealing with a Monarch.

Justice nodded, gesturing for Eithan to rise. He did so, trying to ignore the mudstains on his outer robe.

"I do not wish to overstep my station," Eithan said, turning up the charm in his smile. "But are there any instructions I should pass to my Emperor?"

Justice ran a black-gloved hand down his beard. "We have made our will known to your Empire regarding our fallen daughter, and they have interpreted our instructions in an acceptable manner. It is important only that the daughter is pushed to the brink. Whether she learns to fly or falls to her death, the imperial clan will be rewarded."

Eithan was doubly glad that he had researched the Akura clan's "fallen daughter" before coming here. Otherwise, he would have been completely in the dark, and there was little he hated more than ignorance.

He bowed once more, extending his gatekey in both hands. "I regret the inconvenience, but if I could beg you for one further favor..."

Justice smiled in a grandfatherly way and extended one finger to touch the crystal key. "Good-bye, Underlord. Until we meet again."

Eithan vanished.