by Will Wight
She continued without his prompting. “That’s top eight. Now, top four? My master talked about top four, but he scraped himself to the bone making it to the solo rounds at all. The honor and glory from top four are more than nothing; they’d stretch your name all across the heavens.”
“Honor and glory are—” Lindon began, but she cut him off.
“Not your sorts of prizes, that’s a truth. See if this doesn't light a fire in your shoes: the top four each get a gift from all the other teams. Seven gifts, each one hand-picked with your name on it. Not even mentioning that everybody who has ever made top four in the Uncrowned King tournament has ended up as a Sage, a Herald, or ascending to the heavens.”
“What does the winner get?” Lindon asked. He realized he was leaning forward, waiting for the final prize.
Yerin leaned back against the stack of pillows behind her, folding her arms. “You're asking me, but who am I supposed to ask? Sure as the sun rising, they get something worth burning your own soul for, but I don't know what it is. And I'm not likely to find out.”
Lindon's breath stopped. Had she given up? Did she expect to die before the tournament?
“First place is just a dream,” she went on, and Lindon started breathing again. “Akura Fury won one year, and he's a legend. Reigan Shen won, and he ended up as a Monarch, though that was an age and a half ago. First place is for freaks who were born eating Truegolds alive.”
“I’m surprised to hear that coming from you,” Lindon pointed out. “Why fight if not to aim for victory?”
“Victory is making it to the solo fights at all. That's as far as my master made it, and he was older than me when he did. If I pushed that far, he’d be...I mean, I'd...”
She ran a hand roughly through her hair. “Ah, bleed and bury me if I know what I mean to say. Too soon for me to be dreaming about eighth, anyway. I've got a long trail to walk before I'm the eighth strongest anything in this Blackflame corner of nowhere.”
“Underlord is the first step,” Lindon said, as casually as he could manage.
Yerin nodded along. “Yeah, and you've got a wall in front of you, that's sure and certain.”
“Me?” He’d been trying to keep her from realizing how difficult her journey looked; he hadn’t expected her to turn it around on him.
“Somebody stitch your ears shut? That prince and his...crazy bodyguard, or whatever she was...they were after you. Don't want you to make it to Underlord, I'd say, though I couldn't tell you how the prince of another country heard your name in the first place.”
Someone had directed them to him specifically, but he didn’t know anyone who had contact with the Seishen Empire. It could have been Akura Charity, but she wouldn’t need to act through surrogates.
“They failed,” he said. “Next time I see them, I'll be an Underlord.”
“You sound sure and certain, but they knew where to find you. Best make preparations for them to pop up at the worst time. And I...” Her face fell. Her gaze grew long again. “…you might be walking alone this time.”
Lindon spent a long moment wrestling with his thoughts, trying to figure out what to say. Dross stayed quiet and let him think, for which he was grateful.
What does he tell her? Does he say he can't go on without her? Or how there was no need to worry, because they'll make it?
He realized she had returned her hand to her sword, and he had never moved his. His fingers rested on hers.
She looked into his eyes again. He couldn't read anything from her expression, but she was waiting for him.
[He is truly an artist when it comes to lurking outside doorways,] Dross said. [Do you think he’d teach me?]
Though Dross had to use Lindon's senses, the spirit seemed to get far more use out of them than Lindon did. Lindon felt nothing until he directed his perception backwards and found a presence of pure madra poised outside the tent. There was a train of people, of all different strengths and madra types, stretching out behind him.
Eithan was waiting for his opportunity. He was going to burst in.
That would be a relief. Lindon wouldn't have to figure out what to say, and it would be Eithan's fault.
Tell him to wait, Lindon said. He couldn't use the Underlord as an excuse. He had too much to say to Yerin, and now was the time. If he didn't say it now, he wasn't sure he'd ever get the chance.
Dross projected something to Eithan, and Lindon could feel Eithan's surprise. The Underlord didn't enter immediately, which meant Lindon had his moment. He had to say something now.
“Yerin,” he said, “this won't stop us. You're going to be fine.”
It wasn't what he needed to say.
He could feel it, and so could Yerin. She forced another smile, pulling her hand back. “Couldn't beat me this easy.”
The silence after her words seemed to stretch. His hand sat dead and heavy on the sheets next to her.
[I don't know what the right thing to say was, but that was wrong.]
The entrance bulged inward.
Lindon stood up and sent a pulse of unshaped pure madra at the entrance. “Stop!” he shouted.
Eithan slowly retreated, the flap sliding back into place.
Yerin was frowning at the entrance, but Lindon sat down and grabbed her hand in both of his. He thought he might have been better off using only his real hand rather than his Remnant replacement, but there was no turning back now. If he lost his courage, he'd never regain it.
“Yerin, I don't know what I'd do if you were gone. When I think about the future, you're in it.” He didn't know what he was trying to say, but the more the words spilled out, the easier they came. “I don’t care if we go home, or stay here, or end up wandering in the wilderness, as long as you're with me.”
He was surprised to realize that his eyes were hot. “Please…I don’t want you to leave me behind.”
He was shaking, and every word had felt wrong. He had messed it up, and now he couldn’t read her expression, so he didn’t know how badly. She hadn’t pulled away from him yet, so maybe he’d have another chance.
“Well,” Eithan said from behind him, “I think—”
One of Yerin's Goldsigns emerged from her back, pointed at the Underlord. “Eithan, keep your teeth together or I will skin you like a deer.” She looked back at Lindon. “I want to meet your family,” she said. “And I want to see the parts of Sacred Valley that aren't trying to kill me.”
Hope sparked inside him, and some of his nerves faded. Her gaze was intense, and her grip on his hand was slowly getting tighter. “I've never seen much of it outside the clan.”
“I don't care. And I want us both in this tournament. Wishing for top eight might stretch the heavens, but top sixteen would be a gem and a half.”
“…out of how many?” he asked, but she was already moving on.
“And I need you to be an Underlord. Get your brain spirit to dive around in there and dig up whatever you need, or I'll be squeezing your soul for secrets myself.”
“You first,” he responded seriously.
She gave him a lopsided grin, and the old Yerin was back once again. She squeezed his hands one more time, then released him. “You’ve grown some kind of spine, if you think you’ve got room to worry about somebody else.”
Lindon felt something and turned to see Eithan leaning over them, his fingertips pressed together, smiling like a madman. “Yes,” he hissed. “Good, good, very good.”
[You know, it’s nice to see someone with such a positive outlook on the world,] Dross said. [Positivity, that’s what you need.]
Would you call that positivity?
A second Goldsign emerged from Yerin. “I thought you put a higher price on your skin.”
Eithan recoiled. “Not my skin! It's my second-best feature!”
Lindon still felt at least a dozen presences waiting outside, so he stood up and pushed open the tent. It was something to do to distract him from thinking about the fact that Eithan had heard every word he’d
said. If he dwelled on that too much, his shame would burn him up from the inside out.
“If you don’t mind me asking, who are all these people?”
A long train of servants in dozens of different colors wove throughout the rows of medical tents, each of them carrying a tray piled high with food. Some of them pushed carts.
Eithan followed him out of the tent, holding it open so Yerin could see. “I was hoping to pop in with a surprise. On our way out, I came across an Underlady from the Seishen Kingdom who had been preparing herself a personal feast from the bounty of the Night Wheel Valley's forests. After we had a little talk, she kindly donated it to our cause.”
Lindon felt a silent moment of pity for the unknown Seishen Underlady.
“It is time, everyone!” Eithan announced, directing the servants one-handed as though he were conducting an orchestra. “Come, come, these people are hungry!”
Servants slid between and among the wounded, handing them plates of food. Lindon expected the healers to protest, but he could sense the spiritual weight of the food himself: slices of meat rich with strengthening blood aura, crystalline vegetables woven with healing strands of life, shining fruits that nourished the soul, jugs that emanated the feel of elixirs.
Eithan held out his free hand, and a servant in Arelius colors delivered him a massive platter piled with enough food for at least five people. A jeweled pill sat on a satin cover, glistening like a ruby. A stoppered bottle sat next to it, leaking shining green smoke.
He swept back into the tent, trusting Lindon to follow. He replaced the flower next to Yerin's bed with the tray, setting the plant on the ground.
“The meat increases the density of blood aura, strengthening the body. The vegetables cleanse the body, the fruits cleanse and restore the spirit, and also there's some rice in there. Rice is good for you. The pill is a Flowering Heart pill, and the bottle contains a Lifeseed Elixir. This will give you more life and blood aura than any single human body could possibly hold.”
Lindon saw a faint hope in Yerin's eyes, and it reflected what he felt himself.
She sat up straighter. “Will this...”
“Heal you? I'm afraid not.” He didn't sound terribly concerned. “Damage to your lifeline is not so easily cured. What it will do is get you back into fighting shape quickly...and more than that. It will contain excess aura that you can do with as you wish; feel free to feed it to whichever spiritual parasite you’d like.”
He swept a hand toward the tray. “Eat, my child! Eat and grow strong.”
How much power is in that meat? Lindon asked Dross, watching Yerin tear a chunk off a bone with her teeth. He had passed out the first time he had tried a bite of Silverfang Carp meat.
[A little less than in the Carp, but still a deadly dose,] Dross said grimly. [She’s in for seizures, organ failure, paralyzing pain…]
Lindon tensed, but he held himself back when Eithan looked calm.
Yerin took another bite. Then another. Then she took a sip of elixir-laced water.
[...unless she has a stronger body than you did, of course. Then she’ll be fine. You’re very tense right now; you need to relax.]
Lindon accepted a plate of his own, which was less than a quarter the size of Yerin's, and dug in.
Eithan sidled up next to him, whispering into his ear. “By sheer coincidence, I have also stumbled upon a gift for you.”
Lindon edged away from him. “Please don’t whisper like that.”
“I wasn't talking to you. To your purple friend.”
Dross slid out of Lindon's spirit, materializing in his floating one-eyed form. His mouth—full of tiny fangs—moved when he spoke, even though he spoke in the mind and spirit as always. [For me? Oh, that’s flattering.] He glanced from side to side. [It’s not food, is it? Not that I don’t appreciate food, but I don’t have a stomach, that’s all. Or a digestive system of any kind.]
Eithan flourished his arm in a grand gesture. “This is too humble a place in which to present your gift, but not to worry: I will bring you to the proper stage!”
Dross made a disgusted sound. [Where am I supposed to put a stage?]
Chapter 12
Mercy had worked hard to find a spot to herself. The land around the Blackflame capital was packed for miles, and she didn’t want to go too far from Yerin. She ended up worming herself between medical tents, sitting with her back against a pile of supplies.
She spread a cloth beneath her so she didn't have to sit directly on the mud, draping another over her head to keep off the rain. Cold water still seeped through, but it was as dry as she was going to get without taking up space in one of the tents.
She cradled Harmony's axe in both hands, eyes and perception fixed on the feast happening only a few dozen yards away.
Yerin was seriously injured. She needed to advance, or she would die. Mercy yearned to help...and there was one thing she could do to make a difference.
But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Mercy consoled herself with the thought that surely, Yerin wouldn’t need her help. She would reach Underlord soon, and everything would be all right.
Guilt pricked Mercy like a thorn. For the sake of her own selfishness, she was leaving a friend to suffer.
A silver-and-purple owl fluttered down to land by her.
“Are you after him because he killed Harmony?” Mercy asked quietly.
“He or that beast of his left him to die,” the owl responded in Akura Charity's voice. “They sealed the exit.”
Another thorn pierced Mercy's heart. Before they had reached the island, she'd had no idea that anyone in the Akura family would be anywhere near Ghostwater. Even if she had known, there would have been nothing she could do about it. But she still felt somehow responsible.
“Was it my fault he was there?”
The owl flapped up to land on something invisible in midair...and then the veil was lifted, and Akura Charity stood with the owl perched on her shoulder.
She wore the ordinary, even rough, clothes of a peasant worker. A cloth belt tied around a brown dress, with a rag to keep her hair back. With her spirit so thoroughly veiled, she might have been a young Lowgold servant.
“If you hadn't left the family, it's possible you would have been sent in his place,” the Sage told her. “But it's also possible we would have sent him to gain experience on his own. You didn't need any help to reach Underlord.”
No, she had needed help, just not in the same way Harmony did.
Mercy looked to Charity. Her 'aunt' was actually her grand-niece, but the Sage was so much older that she had always referred to Mercy as a niece. Mercy felt more comfortable with this arrangement. It would have been too strange to have a woman a hundred and fifty years older than her call her 'Aunt Mercy.'
“Are you all right?” Mercy asked. Harmony was Charity's grand-nephew. She had watched him grow up. It must have gouged out her heart to be right there and unable to save him.
Even though the Heart Sage should have absolute control over her own thoughts and feelings, she was still human.
Charity looked away, revealing an unusually troubled expression. “Lindon could not have stopped me from saving Harmony. Nor, I think, would he have wanted to. I could not see into Ghostwater clearly at the end, but I believe it was Harmony that pushed their conflict to the level of a feud. You know he could be...competitive.”
Harmony had shattered a statue and denounced her publicly, breaking off their engagement when she had defeated him in swordsmanship in front of a crowd. It had been embarrassing, but also a relief.
Harmony had not lived up to his name.
“Someone stopped you?” Mercy asked. Who even could?
“I suspect Ghostwater's owner is still alive,” Charity said grimly, and Mercy's eyes widened.
Northstrider, the legendary dragon-eating Monarch. He had been a walking myth since before Mercy's own mother had risen to power.
“Poor Harmony,” Mercy said. She hadn't li
ked him much, but she had known him. She didn't want to think of him locked in a crumbling world.
Charity nodded. “Whoever was at fault, the Blackflame boy still intervened with the Akura clan. He needs to know that he cannot get away lightly.”
Mercy held out the axe. “Take this back. Please stop sending the Seishen Kingdom Underlords after him. That's not teaching him a lesson, that's just cruel.”
The rain running down Charity’s face made her look more real than she often did. More mortal. She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Do you think I am a cruel person?”
“No, I don't mean that. But...I think you can be, if you want to be.”
“I did not send young Meira and the prince after Lindon as a punishment. I am finding the best competitors for the Uncrowned King tournament. Eithan Arelius' two apprentices are the most appropriate opponents for the two Seishen Underlords. It will push them all forward, resulting in a net gain for us. Indeed, it has already done so.”
Mercy's guilt turned to anger. “Yerin was badly hurt.”
“Advancing will heal her. I cannot imagine a better incentive to reach Underlord quickly.”
Mercy was familiar with Charity's Book of the Silver Heart. It contained seven techniques of shadow and dreams, so Charity lived in a world of abstractions. Of thoughts and visions. Her plans were so far beyond Mercy that Mercy could never comprehend them, but she tended to lose sight of other human beings.
Mercy's anger faded as quickly as it had come, as it usually did. “I would call that cruel. And no matter how you look at it, you put two Underlords against two Truegolds. That's not a fair competition.”
“You were there.”
“I don't count,” Mercy said bitterly. There was a lot to enjoy about her exile from the family, but it was tough to relish the feeling of helplessness. And yet, if she were to take advancement resources from Lindon and Yerin, she would feel like a rich woman robbing a pauper.
“Of course you do,” Charity said. “And the Truegolds acquitted themselves well. If the roles were reversed, with your friends at Underlord and their enemies at Truegold, how do you think their skirmish would have gone?”
