Underlord (Cradle Book 6)

by Will Wight

  “Yerin and Lindon would have left them in pieces,” Mercy said with a sigh. They could be ruthless, at times, but no more so than her own family.

  Charity reached up to run a hand down her owl's back. Maybe the spirit was more than a technique after all, because it leaned in to the motion, cooing softly. The rain passed straight through it. “Kiro has a noble bloodline and the finest tutors his nation can afford, but he is at the end of his mentality and his talent. He may reach Overlord someday, but barring a substantial evolution, that will be his limit. Meira's talent and skill are exceptional, but she is blinded by obsession. She has created chains in her own mind that are difficult to break. I would like to use them to push your teammates to advance, which would fill my quota. Or perhaps they will be pushed to the brink instead and exceed my expectations of them. Who can say?”

  “It seems like a lot of suffering,” Mercy said, looking out over the tents full of wounded. The rain had slackened slightly, and the food Eithan's servants brought had done much for the atmosphere. And maybe for the injuries; Mercy heard fewer groans now than before.

  “They compete because there is a limited opportunity, and everyone wants it badly enough to spill blood for it. Not because I make them.”

  Mercy looked at her skeptically. That was not a strong argument. “When you throw a steak between two starving dogs, is it their fault for fighting over it?”

  She turned, brushing water from her forehead, and looked in the same direction: at the many tents. “I concede that I may have leaned too hard on your friends in part because of your relationship to them.”

  Another thorn jabbed into Mercy's heart. She wanted to be outraged, but she wasn't entirely surprised. That was as much Mercy's fault as Charity's; the Sage could afford a heavier hand, because Mercy could embrace her former power and save Lindon and Yerin whenever she wanted. Mercy's mother would encourage such tactics.

  “Therefore,” Charity continued, “I acknowledge that I owe you a favor. Call it in as you wish.”

  Mercy looked up to the other woman in surprise, watching Charity's flawless face looking down on the mortals in front of her. A favor from a Sage was no small matter. This had to be a concession on Charity's part.

  “Thank you, Aunt Charity.”

  “The boy still owes the family for Harmony. I can't let that go entirely, and he may be useful.”

  “I understand,” Mercy said. As long as Charity took a strict stance, to show that the Akura clan can't be opposed lightly, Lindon could be let off with nothing greater than a proverbial slap.

  Mercy had thought the Sage would melt back into thin air at that, and so she was surprised when the other woman spoke. “You were young for the last Uncrowned King tournament.”

  “I was eight,” Mercy said, smiling at the memory. She had spent most of the tournament in the head family's floating platform, watching a projection of the fights. She hadn't been interested in the fighting at all, and had spent most of the time trying to catch a glimpse of her mother. Who, she later found out, had never come in the first place.

  “This will put the last one to shame. All of the current Monarchs will be in attendance.” Charity looked deeper at Mercy, as though to ensure that her message was clear. “All of them.”

  Mercy shook. It was hard enough for her to get an audience with her own mother. She didn't know if anyone alive had ever been in the presence of all the Monarchs at once.

  “What's happening?” Mercy asked.

  “The movements of Monarchs are beyond even my understanding, but something last year disturbed the flow of fate. Many things that we once thought were certain are no longer so. One Dreadgod has risen early, and the others are stirring.”

  Charity's purple eyes shone through the rain. “We have no records of the last time all four of them rose together. It resulted in the eradication of the previous generation of Monarchs.”

  That was too heavy for Mercy, and fortunately far above her level. So she kept her tone light. “Good thing we're having a tournament to keep everyone’s spirits up!”

  At the moment, Charity looked as though she had never heard a joke in her life and wasn't looking forward to the first time. “War is coming. If not with the Dreadgods, then with each other; now that the future is uncertain, there is no trusting anyone. This is our chance to demonstrate our power and to raise up a new generation of warriors.”

  “...I was only joking,” Mercy muttered.

  “We must at least fill one spot in the top eight of the individual matches, to show that our next generation is as strong as that of the others. That is no small order. That would be a challenge even for you at the height of your power, because you can be sure that the others will do everything they can to put forth the winning candidate. This is also a chance to take power from the others, in the form of the prizes. If we do not hold to at least that standard, it will mean losing territory. We will have less of a voice in the operation of the world. And perhaps it will mean a loss to humanity as a whole.”

  Charity was nothing if not vigilant against the non-human factions, but Mercy understood why. The Akura clan were not the only Monarch faction on this continent; they shared it with Seshethkunaaz, King of Dragons. His territory was a lawless jungle where the weak were food, and only strength reigned.

  Not somewhere where human civilization could flourish.

  “You only need three!” Mercy said brightly. “Between the Blackflame Empire and the Seishen Kingdom, there must be three that won't embarrass us. And who will care about the vassal states, anyway? There are plenty of extraordinary talents in my generation of the family.”

  “There was one extraordinary talent in your generation,” Charity said.

  Mercy coughed and shifted her eyes.

  “Your mother won't say so, but she regrets letting you go. When she did, she thought we had plenty of time and that a journey on your own would be good for you. We no longer have such luxury, but she cannot revoke her given word.”

  Charity was none-too-subtly trying to guilt Mercy into embracing her destiny and returning, and it was working. At least a little. It hurt to think that she had pushed her responsibility on others.

  “How's my brother?” Mercy asked.

  “He feels that his sister abandoned him,” Charity said, the owl on her shoulder giving a whistle. “He is in pain, and he has let that pain drive him to try and fill your shoes. In doing so, he has worked tirelessly, and has finally reached Underlord.”

  Mercy let Harmony's axe slip. She tried to rise to her feet, stumbled, and ended up having to brace herself against a barrel. “Underlord! That's amazing! Can he compete?”

  “He is currently fighting the heirs of the other family branches for the right to fight on the Akura team.”

  Mercy's heart was now so full of spikes that she could tear it out of her chest and call it a hedgehog. She had abandoned her little brother.

  But no matter how Charity framed it, Mercy had plenty of reasons to walk away from the Akura clan. At least for a time.

  Mercy met the Sage face-to-face, staring her down as though they were equals. “You know it isn’t healthy. The family isn't fighting for a cause, like you or Uncle Fury. We're fighting to keep power over those beneath us, and for approval from those above us. That isn't right.”

  Charity met her gaze, and Mercy felt the strong, gentle, ocean-deep power of the Heart Sage behind it. “You could change that. You could lead the family in a better direction, regardless of their personal motivations, as Fury and I do. On your own, you lead only yourself.”

  Mercy stayed silent. Charity's words battered at her.

  “If you returned without being forced, it would go a long way toward demonstrating your maturity. You are not the only one who has had trouble facing the truth of yourself on the brink of becoming an Underlady.” The face of a Sage cracked, and then Charity was a concerned aunt looking down at her niece. She placed a hand on Mercy's arm. “And you must surely be frustrated by these restricti
ons. Such a weak soul. A body you can barely control. Come back.”

  Mercy pulled away, thoughts whirling.

  She liked it on her own, but she still wanted to go back. Was she fooling herself by thinking she could accomplish anything out here?

  “I can’t lead anyone,” she finally said, “if I’m always fighting for mother’s approval like the rest of them.”

  Charity tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, still looking at Mercy with motherly concern. “The revelation is nothing more than a trigger. It means accepting who you are, not who you will always be. You can still grow and evolve afterwards.”

  “But I don't accept myself the way I am.”

  The peaceful sounds of the rain settled around them, along with the murmur of the people in the tents nearby. Those had gradually transformed from the cries of the wounded to the laughter and muttered conversation of a feast.

  Charity shook her head, letting out a long sigh. “I suppose I understand. We all need to see the world outside the family sooner or later. But it's a shame.”

  Shadows started to devour Charity from the feet, slowly moving up. Mercy sensed nothing; either this was one of her mysterious Sage powers, or her madra control was at such a level that she could completely avoid Mercy's senses. Probably both.

  “Fury has yet to make his selection for our primary team, but you were to lead, and I had chosen Harmony to be the second. If your brother Pride can replace you, that still leaves an empty space for Fury. And one for me.”

  The shadows had reached her neck, and her face started to fade away. “And I can fill that slot however I want…”

  Her vivid purple eyes faded last, along with the echo of her voice.

  Mercy shivered. “That's spooky, Aunt Charity, stop that. And what do you mean?”

  She was probably still around, veiled and invisible, but Mercy could neither see nor sense anything.

  Only the wind answered her.

  “Aunt Charity? ...Charity?”

  The silver-and-purple owl fluttered and flew away.

  Chapter 13

  Since flying was temporarily forbidden, it took Eithan all day to lead Lindon through the massive camp outside the city walls and to Fisher Gesha. By the time they arrived, the sun was setting.

  Dross had spent the entire journey trying to guess what his gift was and trick Eithan into giving him hints. His guesses had ranged from ‘a mind sword’ to ‘an egg that hatches into a monster.’

  During their time in the Night Wheel Valley, Fisher Gesha had finished constructing her barn…and, in fact, had mounted it on massive purple spider legs like the ones she used to walk. Her mobile Soulsmith foundry had roamed around to provide service to the entire Blackflame camp.

  Now, the barn sat with its legs withdrawn amidst the packed sea of refugees around Blackflame City.

  Eithan ignored the 'Closed for Business' sign and pushed through the door, striding in as though into his own home.

  Gesha stood hovering in the middle of the room on her spider-drudge, which was suspended from the ceiling by its own extended legs. She held a lens up to one eye, through which she examined a dangling Remnant's corpse. It looked like a donkey fashioned of rainbows, and it bled motes of multicolored essence up into the air. If not for the scripted strips of cloth she'd wrapped all over it, the dead matter would have dissolved completely.

  The tiny woman spoke without looking. “Are you trying to get beat, hm? Closed! The sign says closed! I do not work at night.”

  When she did finally look at them, her one eye magnified because of the lens over it, she seemed disappointed. “If a customer was rude enough to come in at this hour, I would give them a beating. Who should I beat now?”

  Eithan gestured grandly to Lindon. “By all means, satisfy yourself! But meanwhile, I have an experiment for you.”

  Gesha's drudge released the ceiling one leg at a time, driving its spiked feet into grooves in the walls as it slowly made its way down. Its central body remained steady as it lowered.

  After only a breath or two, the construct reached the ground and skittered over to Eithan. The legs extended, raising Gesha until she could squint into Eithan's face from equal height. “You have another Underlord for me to shoot, do you?”

  That caught Lindon's attention, but Eithan laughed it off. “I'm afraid I'm not up to anything quite so much fun. Dross, it's time.”

  Dross spun out of Lindon, his single eye shining. [Oh! Is it a horse? I bet it's a horse.]

  Eithan reached into his outer robe and pulled out a shallow, slender box. It was so wide that Lindon wondered how Eithan could possibly keep it in a pocket without it showing.

  It was impossible, he realized. And this wasn't the first time that Eithan had pulled something seemingly out of thin air.

  He was either hiding these things somehow, or he had a void key of his own. And drawing from his pocket was his way of disguising the key itself.

  Lindon needed to figure out a way to do that himself.

  Eithan met Dross' eye, resting his fingers on the top of the box. “Within this box rests the key to unlocking your gift.”

  [You know what, never mind, I couldn’t do anything with a horse. Stupid idea. If it’s a horse, don’t tell me.]

  With a grand gesture, Eithan whipped open the lid, revealing two rows of scales. Ten in total. They were shaped like coins and stamped with the crest of the Blackflame Empire, Forged from purplish madra that swam with vague images. They gave off a hazy, illusory light. Dream madra.

  They radiated the power of a Truegold, which made them high-grade scales. Valuable, but not the best Eithan could have afforded.

  If Eithan had made them travel all day and visit Fisher Gesha just so he could hand Dross a box of scales, Lindon was going to set him on fire.

  [Oooooh, dream madra! This is...very exciting, but...are you sure there isn't more to it?]

  Eithan picked up one of the scales and held it out to Dross. “Why don't you try cycling one? You might like it.”

  Dross' eye swiveled to Lindon as though looking for approval, but he snapped up the scale between his teeth before Lindon could say anything.

  [Mmm ga mmph muph,] he said.

  Did having something in his mouth really stop him from talking clearly? Or was he imitating humans?

  Dross slurped up the scale, making an exaggerated gulping sound and then closing his eye. He started to shimmer with a violet light, and Lindon could feel madra passing through his channels and into his core.

  [Yes, yes, I think I do like this. It's kind of a tingly feeling.]

  “This is only the key,” Eithan reminded him. “I want you at your peak condition before I try my experiment. Can you show Lindon an illusion?”

  Gesha let her drudge walk her over to a nearby table, where she started polishing a tool. “Do they need to be in my place of work?” she said loudly. “No. Bothering me at all hours. Could have come and found me when I was needed, done all the rest of this outside.”

  [Anything specific?] Dross asked.

  “Dealer's choice,” Eithan responded.

  Dross thought for a minute, and suddenly Lindon saw a horse burst through the doors. It wasn't a very convincing horse; it was largely transparent, and as it tossed its head, sparkles flew from its mane. It trotted around the room, demonstrating that it was as long as a wagon train and had sixteen legs.

  [Majestic creatures.]

  “How is it, Lindon?” Eithan asked.

  “It's a beautiful horse,” Lindon said to Dross, “but it isn't quite realistic.”

  [Well, maybe I didn’t get the shading down. Or the shape. It’s really a lot easier if I have something to model it on.]

  “Keep cycling,” Eithan instructed, then turned to Gesha. “Fisher, I apologize for the delay. Could you give Lindon a project he might complete, given a little experimentation? Something with the materials you have here.”

  Fisher Gesha grumbled, looking Lindon sharply in the eye. Without a word, she le
t him know that if this ended up being a waste of her time, he would be the one to suffer.

  But in the end, she popped open a series of boxes, laying out the ingredients for a simple construct. First, a crimson Truegold-level fire binding shaped like a thin, twisting corkscrew, which hissed as it sat on the table. Second, three collections of dead matter, like piles of Remnant bones: one pile white, one gray, and one striped in multiple colors that she had no doubt stripped from the rainbow Remnant that day. Finally, she set down a Forged circle of madra the rough size and shape of a scale: the sample of the customer's madra.

  “The customer would like an explosive construct that will detonate when he wants it to, with minimal power loss, and of course without exploding in his pocket, hm? However, he has brought us only one binding to work with. What would you do?”

  Lindon knew the problem. He had to test the interactions between the binding, his own madra, and the sample from the customer without destroying the binding itself. Then he had to try it with all three types of dead matter, choosing the best one. Incompatibility might result in weakening the binding to Highgold or Lowgold output, effectively wasting the Truegold technique. But instability could result in the construct exploding on its own.

  If he had three bindings, he could be fairly confident of success. If not in his own safety. With only one...

  “Apologies, but I can't do it. I would need a drudge.” A drudge would be able to test each sample in detail, giving him a much more thorough understanding of the composition and how they should interact.

  “Hold that thought!” Eithan said. “Instead, use your perception to sense each piece deeply. Get a complete feel for it, and how they relate to one another, as though you were the drudge yourself.”

  A still-cycling Dross cracked his eye and drifted slightly closer, as though he found the task intriguing but didn't want to admit it.

  This was an exercise in futility, and Lindon looked to Fisher Gesha for support, but she gestured for Lindon to get on with it. He would never be able to duplicate all the functions of a drudge himself. If he could, there would be no need for drudges.