Nabab

Usually, there wasn't much for Cassias to do in running the Striker Trial. He could guide the spears to some degree, or empower them with his sword madra, but none of that would significantly increase the difficulty or value of the test. His real role was going to come during the Ruler Trial, the most difficult of the three Blackflame Trials, so he spent most of his time packing that course's reserves with power. They wouldn't run through that like they did through the Enforcer Trial, he could guarantee it. Cassias was reading reports when he sensed Orthos' arrival. He'd grown up with stories of Orthos, so he was initially nervous, until he reminded himself of Lindon's contract. The sacred beast should be much more stable than before. That was a relief. If he went crazy, the children's lives weren't the only things at stake: this course was a loan from the Empire, and it was worth more than the Arelius family made in a year. If Orthos ruined it, Cassias would have to answer to the branch heads. Now that he thought of it, maybe that was why Eithan had left him in charge… Shaking his head, he returned to his reports. The Jai clan had slowed their aggression, giving the family some breathing room at last. It seemed that having Eithan back and working was having some effect after all. He was still working on the reports when he sensed the power of Blackflame blaze up. Cassias actually shouted and drew his sword, primed for battle, before remembering that the enemy was outside. He manipulated the window, focusing on the Striker Trial—on Orthos. The turtle was going wild, spraying Blackflame madra in all directions, tearing up dirt and stone alike. He would exhaust himself in a few minutes, but if the contract wasn't enough to restrain him, Cassias needed to call Eithan. When he saw a figure in dark blue robes creeping closer to Orthos, Cassias first thought the window was malfunctioning. Lindon snuck up right behind the turtle, snatched his pack away—it had miraculously avoided obliteration—and dashed back toward the Enforcer Trial. Orthos must have sensed his presence, but somehow, the turtle didn't kill him.

Cassias let out a slow, heavy breath and returned to his table. Snatching up a fresh sheet of paper, he began a report to Eithan. *** Lindon and Yerin didn't attempt the Striker Trial again for a few days, instead hiding from Orthos. The turtle wandered back into the tunnels soon after venting his anger in the Trial course, but he didn't go far. Lindon could feel him prowling in the nearby tunnels, like a predator waiting to strike. He'd grabbed the Sylvan Riverseed and tried to use her to heal Orthos, but the turtle had tried to attack him on sight. So he'd stayed away, resolving to try again the next time Orthos regained his sanity. Though Lindon stayed in his cave for three days, he didn't waste the time. Instead, he tried out an idea. He didn't have the skill to keep Blackflame madra under control for as long as Orthos had. That was the result of years of practice, and Lindon wanted results now. But it wasn't as though he needed to pierce the clouds with his Striker technique. He just needed to hit some targets through an aura shield. So he asked himself: what was the minimum he needed to complete the dragon's breath? Lindon explained the process to Yerin as they finally snuck out of their caves and headed back to the Striker Trial. His pack was mostly empty this time, half-filled with a few necessities. "I only needed something to hold the madra together for a few seconds," he said as they stepped through the arch to the Striker Trial. "Once the madra is dense enough, it's easier to control, and the dragon's breath will go as far as I want it. So I came up with these shells: they're made of pure madra, so they hold the Blackflame power in place just long enough before they melt away." The gray wall of aura boiled up, and Yerin scratched at her neck. "Cheers and celebration for you, but it doesn't sound like you learned the Striker technique." "No, I did! I did, I'm just using some…props." She eyed him over one shoulder as she pulled her sword free. "You try out a technique for the first time in battle, and you'll be walking away with your guts in your hand."

Lindon reached into his bag, pulling out half a dozen blue-white globes the size of his hand. He set them on the ground as though they were made of glass; the slightest impact would reduce them to dust. Pure madra was not an effective weapon, even Forged. "I've practiced," Lindon said, though it had only been a few days. "Keep the spears away, and I can destroy the targets." "You might recall I don't smile especially bright on cheating," Yerin reminded him. "Don't want you to take the wrong lesson." "I'm happy to practice the Striker technique when we get out of here. Once I get those scales, and you get your pill." She nodded to him. "We have a bargain." He stood, cupping an empty shell of pure madra in his hands, and they both faced the wall of aura. Three black blobs floated behind the hazy barrier, though they had been quiet so far. The Striker Trial didn't seem to respond to small movements, or the spears would never stop coming. Only large, quick motions attracted the course's attention. Yerin stood perfectly still, Goldsign poised over one shoulder and white blade held off to one side. Lindon clutched the pure madra shell in his hands and concentrated, sending a ball of Blackflame into the center. A dark stain showed through the semi-transparent madra, growing larger as he poured more Blackflame inside. Always keep it spinning. Pack more inside. Keep it spinning… His control slipped once, but instead of exploding, the half-formed technique ate through the inner layer of the shell like it was made of ice. The barrier was thinner now, but he continued pouring Blackflame inside. After a few seconds, it melted through the outer bubble of madra, and Lindon was holding a rolling ball of Blackflame madra suspended between his palms. It was stable now, and much easier to keep under control; only while it was forming did it take concentration to stop an explosion. "You close to done?" Yerin asked him, barely moving her lips. No matter how loudly they spoke, it didn't seem to matter to the Striker Trial, but she had decided to stay cautious. "Now," Lindon said, and she stepped left. A spear shot out at her, and she slapped it aside, but another streaked through the air.

Lindon held the ball of black fire between his palms, raised it until it was level with one of the targets, and pushed. A bar of Blackflame, thick as his arm, tore through the air. It streamed through the gray wall of aura, passing through the center target and blasting it apart like a wisp of cloud. The other two targets both sent out Forged spears, and Yerin knocked them away, but more came. It appeared they were speeding up. Lindon clenched his jaw as he watched the dissolving target. If it reformed from this… A gong echoed through the canyon. Maybe the same gong that had announced failure in the Enforcer Trial. And this time, the target didn't reform. The spears were coming so fast now that Yerin's motions were a blur. "Two…left…to go…" She forced out, in between blasting Forged weapons apart. Lindon snatched up the next hollow ball of pure madra. *** When the third gong sounded, Cassias stepped away from his paperwork. It had only taken them ten days for the Striker Trial, though he hadn't watched their final, successful attempt; Orthos must have given Lindon some pointers. Cassias cycled his madra, touched his spirit to the silver aura around his sword, and readied himself. The Ruler Trial was his true test; he would pour everything he had into this one. They would either give up, or he would be forced to admit that Eithan had been right about them. When he moved to the panel, he left behind the two reports that had arrived today. Both regarded the city's Underlords: The first message warned him that Jai Daishou had deviated from his schedule today. It seemed that he was going to take care of Jai Long's rebellion personally. That was a relief to Cassias, though Eithan might take it differently; if the Jai Underlord was acting, then Jai Long wouldn't survive to fight Lindon. The second message said that Eithan had returned to the city. He'd left again only a week or so ago, and Cassias hadn't expected him back for weeks, so Eithan must have received his report about Orthos. Other than the

Underlord, there was no one in the Arelius family who could soothe Orthos without killing him. Both letters contained valuable information, but nothing alarming. If Jai Daishou meeting with Jai Long was cause for alarm, Eithan would know and deal with it. Cassias could focus on his task. In situations like this, at least, Eithan was reliable. *** For months, Jai Long and the Sandvipers had waged a guerilla war against the Jai clan. That mostly meant ambushing them as they tried to sabotage the Arelius family, which was still enough to make Jai Long laugh. Every time the Jai clan tried to capture another Arelius warehouse, Jai Long was there, gathering food for his spear. Every time they moved against Arelius street crews under cover of night, Jai Long spilled their blood in the streets. And servants bearing the black crescent moon were always right there to scrub it clean. He was doing a better job of protecting the Arelius family than their Underlord was. More than once, he'd wondered about the legendary powers of the Arelius bloodline. If they really could sense a speck of dust on a single tile at the top of a hundred-foot roof, as the stories claimed, then Eithan had to know what Jai Long was doing in the city. He could have stopped Jai Long at any time, removing a steadily growing threat to his own adopted disciple. But he'd been the one to promise that disciple a duel in the first place. Jai Long was glad he didn't work for the Arelius; that family must treat its disciples lives as tinder for the fire. Thanks to Jai Long and Gokren, the Jai clan had been forced to lighten its grip on its enemies. Jai Lowgolds had a curfew now, and the clan had distributed valuable communication constructs to carry word of any suspicious sightings. Most of the clan had retreated to the very peak of Shiryu Mountain, living as close to their Underlord as possible, and a Highgold had been assigned to every house. Not that it would do them any good. Jai Long had broken through to Truegold weeks ago. At this point, draining Lowgolds of their Remnants did virtually nothing but replenish his core. Only Highgolds or better would help him advance,

and Truegolds were the best. Which was why he was here, crouching on the roof of one of the Jai clan's lesser palaces, waiting for the first Truegold patrol of the night. The sun was dropping behind the mountain, casting long shadows over Serpent's Grave, so it would be harder to see now than in the middle of the night. Ordinarily, the streets outside the Jai clan homes would be packed at sunset, but the curfew required everyone except designated clan guards to be inside a safehouse before dark. None of the palaces in this district were secure, so they would be empty. Defended only by a Truegold at the beginning of a long patrol. He gripped the case for the Ancestor's Spear. There would only be one opponent this time, so no need to capture a Remnant—he could drain the elder dry right there on the street. No witnesses. Gokren and two Sandviper Highgolds waited nearby, ready to provide backup if Jai Long encountered any difficulty. He was powerful enough now to rank in the top twenty or thirty of the Jai clan, but a true elder had been practicing the sacred arts since long before Jai Long was born. Who knew what crafty tricks they might have prepared. As Jai Long slowly cycled, keeping his spirit calm, he felt it: the approaching force of a Truegold soul. He hadn't needed to scan the target directly to confirm that it was a Truegold, because they weren't bothering to hide their power. There was a slightly muffled feel to it, as though they'd tried to veil themselves but had given up halfway. Maybe it wasn't intentional; nerves could interfere with cycling. Perhaps they feared the attacker in the shadows. If that was true, they would try to flee and sound the alarm rather than doing battle. Jai Long would have to strike so hard that they never had the chance to shout. A white-clad figure with pale hair strode by beneath him, hands clasped behind the back. Through the shadows, Jai Long couldn't make out if it was a man or a woman, but the force of a Truegold radiated from them. Jai Long leaped off the building, Ancestor's Spear shining in his grip. Stellar Spear madra ran through his muscles and bones, Enforcing him for the landing, bracing his body for the strike.

The Flowing Starlight technique settled in as he fell, until the wind seemed to whip past for long breaths of time. The white-haired head tilted, and Jai Long prepared himself for impact. Then dark eyes swiveled up to meet him, showing no surprise. An invisible fist gripped Jai Long's heart and squeezed. Jai Daishou, Underlord of the Jai clan, took a single step to the side and let his rebellious descendant crash to the ground. Less than half a year had passed since Jai Long arrived in Serpent's Grave; he'd expected to have months more before Jai Daishou personally acted. By then, he would have had more leverage. He'd underestimated the Underlord's insight, or overestimated his pride. Either way, the bill had come due long before Jai Long was prepared to pay. Just like that, his revenge was over. The impact of landing shocked Jai Long's entire body, rattling his bones, and the bricks of the street cracked beneath him. The pure white shaft of his spear was driven two feet into the ground, and he'd landed in a crouch. But slamming into the earth was nothing compared to the force of seeing Jai Daishou here, staring at him with the icy strength born from a hundred years of absolute rule. A corrosive Truegold aura moved closer: Sandviper Gokren. He would have heard the crash, sensed the flare of Jai Long's madra, and known that the trap was triggered. He'd never seen the Jai Underlord before; he would assume that Jai Daishou was just a Jai elder who had gotten the better of Jai Long. He would try to help. Jai Long's stomach twisted, but he forced himself to meet the Underlord's eyes. "This humble junior greets the Patriarch," he said, his voice firm. He might have been about to die, but at least he didn't have to show fear. Jai Daishou turned to regard him head-on, his wrinkled face a mask, and Jai Long could no longer suppress his body's trembling. The old man's gaze was placid, like a frozen lake, but Jai Long shook as though he stared down a hungry dragon. "You have killed sacred artists of your own clan," the Patriarch said. "For quite some time now." His tone remained neutral.

"Let the punishment fall on me alone," Jai Long said, through clenched teeth and a burning throat. The words tasted bitter; he longed to spit defiance and die trying to shove his spear into the Patriarch's heart. But if the Underlord had known about Jai Long's activities, it was best to assume he knew everything. Including Jai Chen's presence in the city. If the Underlord grew too irritated, he could wipe her out with a motion of his hand. There was nothing Jai Long could do to prevent his own execution, but if he had to bow and scrape with his last breath to save his sister, he would shame himself a thousand times over. Jai Daishou nodded. "Humility is a virtue, when you face a stronger force. I am pleased to know you've learned to swallow your pride." One slow, shuffling step at a time, he made his way over to Jai Long. The pressure built with every step, until he stood only a foot away. It was like being within arm's reach of an earthquake. The Patriarch extended one hand and waited. Jai Long knew what he wanted, so he forced his pride to bend even further. As though it weighed a thousand pounds, he slowly extracted the Ancestor's Spear from the earth and held it out, presenting it with both hands. The Underlord lifted it with a more pleasant expression than Jai Long had ever seen on his aged face. He held it in one hand and ran the other over the weapon, feeling the script. The spearhead looped in one slow arc, tracing a line of white in the air, as Jai Daishou closed his eyes and savored the sensation. "I have your sister already," Jai Daishou said, eyes still closed, and Jai Long's heart crumbled to ash and blew away. "My men picked her up hours ago. I had intended to use her life to stop you from throwing your life away in a suicidal charge, but you have at least a spark of wisdom." He had known it was a mistake to take her out of the Desolate Wilds. He had known it, but where could he have left her? Where could an Underlord not reach? Jai Long prostrated himself, scraping his cloth mask against the sandy bricks. "She knew nothing of my actions. Please." "You have cost me twenty-three Lowgolds, eight Highgolds, and three Truegolds. So far. More importantly, you forced me to stop my actions

against Eithan Arelius, which has given a servant family the opportunity to surpass our rank and join the great clans of the Empire." Madra flared like the rising sun, and Jai Long jerked his head from the tiles in time to see Jai Daishou disappear in a flash of white. An instant later, he was back, holding Gokren from the back of a furlined collar. The Sandviper's gray hair was mussed, and his left leg looked broken. He tried to choke out a word, but the Jai Underlord released him, and he collapsed in a heap on the ground. "You will repay me everything I have lost," the Underlord said, and Jai Long knew neither he nor Gokren were escaping with their lives. He owed the Jai clan three Truegolds, and here were two, ripe to be plucked. But Jai Chen still had a chance to survive. Jai Long lowered himself to beg again, but the Patriarch held up the Ancestor's Spear like a scepter. He regarded the weapon, lips pursed as though he'd bit into a lemon. "Regrettably, I do not have much time remaining. Five years at most, they tell me. And in the entire clan, I have found no one else who can replace me in that short span of time." Jai Long's breath came faster. He'd known the Patriarch was reaching the end of his lifespan, but if he said five years, that meant it was more likely two or three. The old man had always been one to exaggerate facts for his benefit. "Even with the spear?" Jai Long asked politely. For his sister's sake, he resisted the urge to laugh in the Underlord's face. There were hundreds of thousands of loyal Jai clan members, and he couldn't find one among them who measured up to Jai Long. He hoped the regret burned. "The spear is a wonderful tool, but a tool is all it is. Advancing to Underlord requires an element of insight, of inspiration, that no weapon can provide. Increasing and purifying your madra will take you to the limits of Gold, but no further." The old man spun the spear at minimum speed, agonizingly slow, but every motion fluid and perfect. Centuries of training engraved their habits deeply. Neither Gokren nor Jai Long made a single sound between them. Every second he wasted was another breath for them to live.

"If any of my elders could replace me as Underlord, they would have already," Jai Daishou said as he danced with his spear. "The Ancestor's Spear will not allow them to bridge that gap. I once had many possible successors, and one by one, they have failed me. So I come back to you… with my help, you could be Underlord in another year." A tiny hope joined anger, despair, and humiliation in the war inside Jai Long's heart. "You will only guard the clan in my absence, of course, you will not succeed it. You are a stopgap measure, a deterrent to keep the jackals at bay until a true heir can be raised from the Path of the Stellar Spear. Swear your soul to my control, utterly and completely, and you are a tool that can be used." He came to a stop, swung the spear up to rest on his shoulder, and looked down on Jai Long. Waiting. "My sister," Jai Long grated out. "As the only sibling of our clan guardian, of course she will have access to the very best treatment the Jai can produce." Jai Long inclined his head. "On my soul and my power," Jai Long said, "I swear to take no action against the Jai Patriarch or the Jai clan, to follow the orders of the Jai Patriarch absolutely, and to act always in the best interests of the Jai clan." His soul tightened, restricted by his words, but a true oath always had two sides. Jai Daishou spoke immediately. "In return, I swear on my soul and on my power to protect Jai Long and Jai Chen as my own children, so long as their loyalty remains true." This was a flimsy shield, but a shield nonetheless. Far more of a protection than he and Jai Chen had ever had on their own in the wilderness. All his madra tensed, as though a knot had been tied around his soul, but then the sensation eased. Jai Long let out a breath. Though a voice in his head cursed him as a coward, he shook with relief. His concern for his sister had drowned out everything else, but he hadn't wanted to die. At least living as a Jai clan dog would lead to a cure for Jai Chen.

Jai Daishou tucked the Ancestor's Spear under one arm. "You've gotten enough use out of this. It won't raise any Underlords, but I can always use more Truegolds." He glanced down at Sandviper Gokren as though regarding something he'd tracked in on the tip of his shoe. "Now then. That was sensitive information you just witnessed." A cloud darkened Jai Long's relief. He had been so focused on the discussion that it hadn't occurred to him to think about their audience. The Patriarch crooked his finger, and Jai Long staggered to his side, pulled up by a compulsion so strong it was almost physical. "Underlords may be blessed by the heavens, but we are far from saints. When it becomes necessary, we must dirty our hands." The old man clasped his hands behind his back and turned toward the light disappearing over the peak where the sun had died. He said nothing else. Jai Long gathered his madra and looked down at Gokren. The Sandviper's skin had paled, and there was fear in his eyes. Fear and resentment. He had never seen his son avenged. "Let him swear loyalty," Jai Long said. It was a stretch of his luck, and Jai Daishou might strike him down for sheer impudence, but he had to try. It was the least he could do for the man who had risked the existence of his sect to follow him here. The Underlord half-turned and showed Jai Long a cold smile. "Exercise your own judgment and do as you wish. But I will not be burdened by the weight of extra oaths." Jai Daishou turned his back again, long metal strands of hair swinging behind him. "But hurry," he said. "I have a task for you." Jai Long spoke before the Patriarch could change his mind. "Sandviper Gokren, I swear on my soul and on my power that I will have you executed…if you repeat a word of anything that happened here today, or betray us to our enemies." Gokren brightened, straightening his back. "On my soul and my power, I swear not to divulge a word of your conversation with the Jai Patriarch, nor to provide any information or assistance to your enemies. I offer my life as forfeit." The oath tightened, and Jai Long bowed to the Jai Underlord's back. His role now was to wait for instructions.

"Eithan Arelius' disciples are challenging the Blackflame Trials," Jai Daishou said. Since the fall of the Blackflame family, their Trials had been used to train students from many Paths. Those with the proper access keys could activate the Trials even without Blackflame madra, and the course would challenge any Lowgold, not just one on the Path of Black Flame. The Naru clan only permitted a handful of disciples to use the Blackflame Trials each year, but the Arelius family kept the course defended and maintained. It made sense that they would have access, though using the Trials without permission sounded unwise. Most Underlords would never defy the imperial family, but Eithan Arelius… "The Arelius Patriarch acts on his own whims," Jai Long said. "Unless…is one of his disciples a descendant of the Blackflames?" If so, that was truly chilling. A new sacred artist on the Path of Black Flame would be a scandal to shake the Empire. Jai Daishou turned back and regarded his descendant with scorn. "Certainly not. The only Blackflame they have is that insane turtle, and he's too old to form a contract. But the truth is bad enough. If Eithan Arelius thinks it is worthwhile to risk Naru displeasure by opening the Blackflame Trials, then he must believe his student has a chance against you." Jai Long tried to fit that information into any form that made sense, but failed. Wei Shi Lindon was an Iron. Even if they fed him scales instead of food and elixirs instead of water, they could at best advance him to Jade. If the heavens themselves descended on his behalf, perhaps he could make Lowgold. Jai Long wouldn't retreat from a duel with ten Lindons. "I will not risk a future Underlord in a duel that the opponent has any chance of winning," Jai Daishou said calmly. "That would be an absurd gamble with nothing to gain: you earn us no respect if you win, and endless shame if you lose." Gokren's face twisted in rage, but he bottled it up before he got himself killed. "Patriarch, I am far more than—" Jai Long began, but the Underlord cut him off with a smug smile. "I have another plan. Recruiting you was my final step, and now we can begin." He turned to walk away, gesturing for Jai Long to join him. Confused, Jai Long walked after him, Gokren trailing after.

The Jai clan built their homes in this position on Shiryu Mountain for the view. A curving wall of stone a hundred feet high blocked the wind and sand from behind them, while Serpent's Grave stretched out before them, far below. From this high up, you could get a sense of the majesty the dragons had left behind, their skeletons stretching from one end of the city to another. A single skull made up an entire residential district, and looked as big as Jai Long's hand, even from this distance. Jai Daishou walked out past the houses, to the edge of the cliff, looking down at the city. The sun had long set behind the mountain, casting darkness over Serpent's Grave. Cold wind tore at Jai Daishou's robe and blew between the gaps of Jai Long's mask. "It is difficult to deal with an Arelius Underlord," the Patriarch said. "They see all your hidden weapons, hear all your plans. You can't make any preparations. You can't say a word. Only when the Underlord leaves for months at a time, forcing the one other blood member of the Arelius to go after him…then you can make your plans." He held up a finger. "But you can't strike. He has left the city defended in his absence, arranged for countermeasures. Your preparations lie dormant for weeks and months, as you wait until all the pieces to fall naturally into place." The full scope of Jai Daishou's words hit Jai Long like a falling star. The Jai Underlord had collected his family together in safe houses. Not just to protect them from Jai Long, but to gather his fighting power in a way that the Arelius family wouldn't find suspicious. With the clan's forces marshaled, there was only one remaining variable: the enemy who had struck at them over the last several months. Jai Long shivered. He'd been trying to cut off a spider's legs, only to find himself caught in a web. If he hadn't surrendered instantly tonight, Jai Daishou would have torn out his heart. The plan was already in motion, with no room for delay. The Underlord raised his white spear into the sky. "And then, having never spoken a word to alert the watchers…you strike." A bright light burst from his spear. It rose into the newborn stars and exploded, bathing Serpent's Grave in white. All over the city, Stellar Spear madra flared to life.

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.

Chapter 18 In Yerin's view, you never got used to the fear of death, but you could ignore it. It didn't go away, but when you'd spent more nights in swordfights than in soft beds, you learned to shove the fear into the dark corner where it belonged. But facing the hulking, burning, armored beast that loomed over her and struck with a fury that singed her skin, that fear was creeping out of its corner and showing its ugly face. Orthos was overwhelming her with the sheer power of his madra. He would smash down with an Enforced paw that cracked the ground, cough up a tongue of abyssal flames, and rush forward to crush her with his body weight, all in the space of a breath. She dodged what she could, but some attacks had to be turned, and it took everything she had to shove one of his blows to the side. Her master's voice was finally starting to scrape her nerves. She'd learned so much from the instincts bubbling up from his Remnant that she couldn't believe Eithan had ever told her to get rid of him, but now he was starting to feel like a burden. Her Goldsign twitched like her master wanted her to cut the turtle in half; well, that would be just fine, if it weren't a turtle. There was a big mound of shell in the way. The Sword Sage didn't see the problem. That was a stable enough move if it were him in the flesh; he could cut a mountain in half without a sword in his hand. But she was still a Gold, ten leagues and two oceans behind his stage of advancement. She couldn't cut through that shell if Orthos stood quietly and let her…but her Goldsign was still pulling her to try it. If not for Lindon, she'd be dead already; when she saw him catch a gap in Orthos' defense and rush in to hammer it, she was prouder than a hen with six eggs. Good thing he was there, because he could take hits from Blackflame madra without dissolving like salt in water.

Orthos hadn't gathered himself for a big show like that Striker technique that had pierced the clouds—and a good thing too, or he'd bring the canyon walls down—because he didn't have the presence of mind for it. Best he could manage was belching a few black flames, which Lindon could swat away with his own madra and keep fighting. She had to meet each of those techniques with her sword, or risk losing an arm. But every time Lindon did that, his power dimmed like a dying light. He was faltering, that was plain to see. If she didn't win this fight in the next two breaths, he wouldn't get a third. Smoke and red-tinged light rose from Orthos' shell as he stomped around, swiveling his head to point at Lindon. The turtle's jaw gaped, and his eyes blazed with what she'd call hatred. There was a mountain of shell between her and Lindon, but there was one last thing she could try. With all the strength of her Steelborn Iron body, Yerin hurled the sword between Orthos' legs. It stuck into the earth beneath the turtle, buried up to the hilt, and Orthos didn't notice. Dead on target. Yerin gathered all the sword aura she could pull onto her Goldsign, and even the edge of her fingernails. Sword aura showed its power in motion; when she swung them all forward, she struck with the Endless Sword technique. Her Goldsign rang like a bell. Her fingernails echoed, tiny chimes, as they popped and sprayed blood into the air. All the sword aura resonated in a twenty-foot radius around her, the technique spreading out in a wave and looking for other swords. When it hit her master's blade, the ringing sounded like the gong that announced victory or failure in the Blackflame Trials. Sword aura burst out of the buried weapon, a wave of dirt spraying everywhere, and blasted the turtle's underbelly. She had been hoping to split Orthos from bottom to top, but she could feel when the aura didn't bite. It slammed into his belly, lifting him six inches off the ground and making him roar…but it barely cut him. She'd gotten worse from sharp twigs. In that half-second while all four paws were off the ground, she saw one more chance, but she didn't have the strength to follow up on it. If she had

her sword, sure. But she was unarmed, bleeding from all ten fingernails, and low on madra to top it off. She opened her mouth to shout, hoping Lindon would catch this chance before it passed. Before a sound left her lips, Lindon moved. The months of training together finally showed their worth. Lindon, heavens bless him, saw the opportunity. He slid closer to Orthos and reached down, fist flaring with the black-and-red light of the Burning Cloak. His uppercut caught the turtle on the edge of his shell, sending Orthos flipping upside-down. The sacred beast slammed into the earth a moment later, spraying Blackflame madra from its mouth and roaring. Yerin clambered closer, snatching the hilt of her sword away—only luck had stopped him from landing right on the blade. Another benefit of working with Lindon: she knew exactly where he'd be without looking. She tossed the white sword into the air over Orthos, and Lindon— already at the height of a jump—snatched it out of the air. His thoughts were the same as hers, she knew. They didn't want to kill Orthos, because they'd have to fight his Remnant, but heaven strike her down if she could see a better way. Besides, Lindon could adopt the Remnant; he might not have been instructed through that process, and he may not have been quite ready for it, but that would be better than another fight to the death. Lindon landed on Orthos' belly, swaying like a man on the deck of a ship. He reversed the sword, raised it in both hands… …and he switched cores. His presence went from a fiercely burning fire to a calm, almost invisible lake. He was a Jade on a different Path. And before he killed the sacred beast, something caught her attention. When did he have full strength in both his cores? She'd never noticed much of a difference, since he'd grown so slowly, and he only switched to his Twin Stars madra once in a blue moon. But he used to feel like half a Jade. Now, she'd never know he had a split core without scanning his spirit closely.

His core still wasn't the deepest, but compared to how he was before, the difference was like heaven and earth. Just the core he was showing now wouldn't embarrass a Jade back in Sacred Valley, and she'd eat her sword if his Blackflame core wasn't a notch wider. His cycling technique. Eithan taught it to him. Lindon had never made a secret of that, but Yerin hadn't given it two thoughts before. It was just a cycling technique; every Path had one. Lindon had complained about how difficult his Heavenly Whatever Wheel was, but he was new to the sacred arts. Everything was difficult to him. She'd been jealous of the personal attention Eithan had paid him, but if she was honest, he needed it more than she did. But Yerin had never thought Eithan was teaching him anything great because—to cut right down to the bone—Eithan wasn't treating them like real disciples. He hadn't even told them the name of his Path. But…what if he did think of Lindon as a disciple? What if he was actually passing along his sacred arts to Lindon? Because if that cycling technique had made up for his lack of madra, it wasn't some half-baked technique that Lindon had found in an old scroll. It was on the same stage as the cycling technique his master had passed to her. She expected a fresh surge of envy, but what passed through her instead was relief. A large slice of a sacred artist's future could be told from the quality of their Path. You could get to Truegold without a perfect Iron body, but then your flesh wouldn't survive the advancement to Underlord. Same story for spirits: without a solid Jade cycling technique, your soul would get shakier and shakier at each stage until you couldn't advance any further. The more solid your foundation, the further you could go. When Eithan told them he wanted to take them all the way to the end, he hadn't just been spitting in the wind. Of course, they wouldn't take one step out of the valley if Orthos' Remnant killed them both. The fight wasn't over. Lindon pulled his free hand back for a strike and drove an Empty Palm down into the turtle's midsection, and Yerin could feel the creature's madra going wild. It screamed like an earthquake, so loud she had to cycle madra to her ears to stop her eardrums from bursting. It bucked like a ship in a storm, trying to shake Lindon off.

But it couldn't Enforce its body anymore. Orthos' quick, graceful movements were gone, and he was just a big turtle. Lindon raised the Sword Sage's blade and threw it to one side. Yerin gaped at him. Every rosy thing she'd thought about him flew away and died. Lindon's knees almost buckled when he hopped off the turtle and hit the ground, and he braced himself against the side of Orthos' shell for balance. "Forgiveness, but he doesn't deserve to die here. And the Sylvan might help him." For once, the three voices in her head were all in agreement. Her unwelcome guest, her master's Remnant, and Yerin all told her to kill the enemy before this idiot could ruin everything. "I'm not saying to gut him for the thrill of it. You kill enemies, you hear me? If you don't, they come up behind you and stab you in the back." Lindon looked ashamed, but he didn't pick the sword back up. "I have to go get my pack." Yerin marched over and snatched her master's weapon from the dirt as Orthos squirmed to right himself. Her bloody fingernails sent sharp pain up her arms, but nothing she couldn't ignore. "If you were making this mistake alone, I'd let you. But you're not." She leaped over the turtle, landing next to its head, and raised her blade. Her madra flowed into it, gathering along its edge, gathering aura. The target's black-and-red eyes rolled in their sockets, searching. Not furious any longer. Lost. They stared at her as though begging for an answer. A low groan rumbled in the turtle's throat. "Do…what…you…must…" the sacred beast said, in a voice both ancient and heavy. Yerin paused with her white blade against the black, leathery throat. Everything in her told her to split the turtle's neck. She sheathed her sword and jogged back to Lindon. He started running for his pack, and she joined him. "Not even an enemy, really, is he?" she muttered, as they ran side by side. "I've never thought so, no."

"The Path makes him crazy?" "His mind can't compete with the feelings in his spirit." He gave a sheepish smile. "That's the impression I get." "Well, if it happens to you, I will cut your head off." The Sword Sage taught her not to show mercy to her enemies, but he also taught her to act in a way she wouldn't regret. Well, if his bloodthirsty Remnant and her blood madra parasite agreed on something, she could bet she'd regret it sooner or later. They spent more than a minute chasing Little Blue around the cave and scooping her back into the tank. Otherwise, packing up was easy as a breath; Lindon kept his stuff so organized it would make a librarian jealous, and Yerin didn't have anything. Everything she owned, she kept on her body. They returned to the Ruler Trial, Lindon cupping a quivering Sylvan in his hands. He was certain the Riverseed's power could calm Orthos' spirit, but Yerin kept a grip on her sword. She didn't want to kill someone she'd just spared, but Lindon could be too trusting. When they returned and found Orthos gone, he tucked the Sylvan away as though he'd expected as much, and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Nothing left for us here," she said, grabbing him by a shoulder and dragging him toward the exit. When he didn't move fast enough to suit her, she pulled him into a run. "I doubt we can clear the Ruler Trial now," Lindon said as they ran, looking like a turtle himself with the pack bouncing on his back. "I'm feeling a little doubt myself," Yerin said, voice dry. A chunk of the ninety-nine dummies had been ravaged by the aftermath of their battle, either destroyed by Blackflame or shredded by the Endless Sword. Good thing for them that the course hadn't activated, or the mannequins might have joined in. "You think Eithan will understand us leaving early?" He sounded anxious. Yerin was still picking up flares of chaos from the city. They'd been driven out of the Trials by a wild sacred beast while Serpent's Grave was breaking into a war zone. Eithan was cracked in the head if he expected them to stay where they were.

The exit arch was black, not red, but its script flared at the touch of Lindon's Blackflame madra. It took him visible effort to activate the circle, and his core felt like the spark at the end of a fizzling incense stick. Not that she was in much better shape herself. Madra sloshed in her core like the last drops at the bottom of a bottle, and her fingers throbbed like she'd run over her hands with a wagon. They emerged onto a cliff overlooking Serpent's Grave. A path cut into the rock sloped steadily downward. But they both froze at what they saw. And what they felt. As she'd expected, war had come to the city. Streaks of deadly white light tore through homes. The dragon bone held up, but even at this distance, they could see holes in everything else: wood, plaster, and paint showed smoking gaps where they'd been torn apart by the sacred arts. Gouts of stone, blasts of wind, and flares of color marked sacred artists fighting all through the streets. The ceaseless ringing of bells reached them even up on the cliff, along with the occasional drifting scream. Smoke hung over everything, and the vital aura of blood, fire, and destruction spread through the city like red and black ink seeping into a painting. Here and there, Remnants crawled over and through buildings. Lindon looked horrified, clutching the jade badge hanging from his neck as though for comfort. Yerin loosened her own grip on her sword, because she was squeezing blood from her fingertips. "Eithan's not in the city," she said. "How can you be sure?" "This wouldn't be happening. There'd be heaps of dead Jai clansmen piled up all over the city." "We can go back through the Trials," Lindon said, voice low and determined. "Circle around. We'll come out in the back of Arelius territory. Eithan or Cassias will find us first, we can be sure of that." Yerin patted her pockets, making sure she still had a flask of water, a wrapped packet of dry food, her knife, and the gold badge her master had left her. Those, her robes, and her sword were the only belongings she needed. "We should get started for the capital," she said. "Never been to Blackflame City, but I've been everywhere else, and a couple of sacred

artists with no name, no clan, and decent Paths can find work anywhere." "Eithan wouldn't be too happy about that, I'm sure," Lindon said carefully. That was something to chew on. If anyone could track them down in the mass of a big city, Eithan could. "That's sharp thinking, but he couldn't blame us for striking out on our own after…this." She swept her arm to encompass the ruined city. "Somebody wants to fight with me and mine, you know I'll draw swords. But the Arelius family hasn't given us so much that I'd want to die on their account. Nobody there would shed a tear if they saw my Remnant." For most of her life, the only one who would remember her at all would have been her master. Now…Lindon would cry for her when she was gone. He'd remember her name. Even more reason not to go down there. "We should go back to the Trials," Lindon said at last, though he didn't sound too happy about it. "Big turtle's somewhere back there," she pointed out. "If it goes crazy on us again, we're—" Her spirit warned her, and she shoved Lindon back against the rocks. Two sacred artists landed in front of her, their backs to the cliff, but there were more up above who hadn't shown themselves. One was a man about her height, packed tight like a coiled spring, draped in black fur. His gray hair was slicked back with grease, a pair of spear butts poked up over his shoulders, and he glared at Lindon in a way that reminded her of a snake baring fangs. Next to him, a head taller and wrapped in red, stood Jai Long. Last time she'd seen him, his spirit felt deadly but contained, like a sheathed sword. Now the sheath had been removed—not only was he Truegold as well, with power that pressed against her senses, he felt dangerous. Like he'd cut her just by standing near. The strips of red cloth covered his face, each bandage filled with flowing script. Dark eyes glittered in the center of the mask. This time, he carried no spear. Two Truegolds. 'Show me a fair fight,' her master used to say, 'and I'll show you an opponent who has lost his mind.' Even so, there were rigged games, and then there was suicide.

The old Sandviper snarled and swept his hand through the air. A handful of finger-length needles, Forged of acid-green madra, flew out in a spray. Circulating the Rippling Sword technique, Yerin stepped forward to meet him. Her core might have been filled with hopes and wishes and nothing else, but she squeezed out every drop of power she could get. The needles crashed against her arching sword like a wave against stone, but that wasn't the end of her technique. Her madra flashed out, a crescent-shaped slash of colorless power sheathed in silver aura. For a moment, shock flashed across the Sandviper Truegold's face, and he pulled spears into his hands with blurring speed. Then Jai Long was there, his hand glowing white and crashing into her technique. The Rippling Sword broke like a bubble, sword aura dispersing into the air. "Yerin Arelius," Jai Long said evenly. "Disciple of the Sword Sage. The Underlord told me who you were. If you'd told me last time, I would never have drawn weapons, out of respect for your master." "The 'Arelius' part is still all shiny and new," Yerin said, still channeling the dregs of her madra into her sword. "Guess you might say I was adopted. If you wanted to use words instead of weapons this time, I could show mercy and let you." The Sandviper lifted a spear, eyes glued to Lindon, and Jai Long started cycling madra. In that blink where they weren't focused on her, Yerin spun. She kicked Lindon in the chest, sending him back into the tunnel and closer to the Trial. A Sandviper technique shattered into green light on bare rock where Lindon had been standing, and the gray-haired man was dashing past her, a frustrated growl turning into a shout as he ran. Above her, the other nearby Sandvipers grew closer. She turned back, and Jai Long had already charged. Yerin had a clear obstacle. She had a fight. Now, she just had to do as her master taught her…and cut right through it. In the dark shadows of her mind, the fear of death reared its head again. *** Jai Daishou, Patriarch of the Jai clan, stared through the bubble of aura at the blurred figure with yellow hair and blurred robes.

Ordinarily, sound would not travel well through this boundary formation, but Eithan would be able to see him and hear him. He raised the spear of his honored ancestor, displaying it before the enemy. Then he shook his head, showing sadness on his face to mask the triumph in his heart. "Your path of recklessness led us here, Eleven. You have done as you wished, acting on the whims of youth without respect or consideration. This is a harvest you have planted." The elders around him nodded along. They'd gathered close to the Underlord, like children gathering around their father. Well, let them. This was Jai Daishou's moment of victory, and the more people who witnessed it, the better. Eithan's face was unreadable through the haze of the aura. He held his broom out to one side; it was hard to make out details, but it didn't seem to be a weapon or a construct. Just a broom. Jai Daishou's grip on his spear tightened as he grew irritated. "You could hear me if I were on the other side of the mountain, Eleven. Speak like a grown man, for once in your life, and perhaps we can come to an accord." Eithan spun the broom in a lazy circle, like a staff, and still didn't speak. Finally, Jai Daishou's self-restraint broke. For the past six years, since he came from the other end of the world, Eithan Arelius had been a walking disaster. He'd disrespected the Jai clan, ignored the words of his betters, and insulted Jai Daishou to his face. In front of the Emperor once, and the honored Emperor had said not a word. A man could tolerate only so much before patience reached its end. Jai Daishou leveled the Ancestor's Spear, shifting his stance and letting madra flow freely into his limbs. "Then you'll forgive me for testing the skills of the youngest Underlord in the Empire." This formation had been designed with Eithan in mind. No one knew what Path he used, but there were no reports of his ever using a Striker technique. Most reports agreed that he used a Path focused on Enforcement, probably focused on the force aspect. He might have even trained with the Cloud Hammer School, though he lacked their Goldsign. Eithan's hair blew behind him in the wind generated by the force of the boundary formation. He faced Jai Daishou squarely, until the Jai Patriarch

was sure they were locking gazes. The Arelius held the broom in one hand, pointing it toward one of the Jai elders. No, not to the elder. To the boundary flag. "Whose idea was the boundary?" Eithan asked, and though the words sounded distorted, Jai Daishou could hear them clearly. "I knew I would need something to prevent you from running for your life," he said. The truth was, this barrier would allow the passage of madra. He intended to skewer Eithan with Striker techniques while the Underlord couldn't fight back. Jai Daishou had spent most of his life building up a reputation of honor and respect that anyone in the Empire would envy, but as death approached, he found that saving face in the eyes of his peers had less and less appeal. What could their ridicule do to him? Ruin his clan? His clan would fall apart the moment he was buried. Now, only results mattered. The Jai Patriarch's spearhead blazed like a white sun as he prepared a Star Lance. The other elders spread out around the dome, doing the same. Eithan nodded. "Thank you," he said. "Now there are no witnesses." A dull gray spark passed from the middle of the broom where Eithan gripped it, washing along to both ends. Soulfire: the signature of an Underlord. Where the blaze passed, the broom's color darkened, remade in the fires of condensed vital aura. It would conduct energy almost perfectly now, and would be tougher than steel. All the best weapons were imbued with a Lord's soulfire. That was all within Jai Daishou's calculations. And it was still just a broom. Jai Daishou hesitated before launching his Striker technique. Maybe Eithan Arelius really was arrogant to the point of madness. The young Underlord had always seemed brash with the overconfidence of youth, combined with pride in his admittedly high natural gifts, but now… No Truegold was a match for an Underlord, certainly. Soulfire itself, and the process of weaving it from vital aura, gave Lords powers that no Gold could access. But it wasn't as though a Truegold could do nothing. Where a lone wolf was only prey, a pack of wolves could bring down a tiger. Skilled as they were, these six Truegold elders working together could bring Eithan down

on their own. With Jai Daishou added in, the Arelius Underlord was already dead. He was just speaking out of pride, that was all. Just pride. *** As Lindon stumbled back through the Trial gate, slapping his hand against the script to reactivate the aura barrier, he tried to remember how many times Yerin had knocked him out of danger. It had to be at least six by now, he was sure. It wounded his dignity, being kicked away like a wild dog, but if he had to choose between wounded dignity and a spear through the chest, he knew which he'd pick. All those times, and what could he do when she was in danger? Nothing. Just run. Hating himself, Lindon ran back into the Ruler Trial. His first hope was dashed when he realized Orthos wasn't there; he was still nearby, but he could be anywhere in the Trial grounds or back in the tunnels. A green flash of light shattered the aura barrier and the gray-haired Sandviper crashed through, a short spear in each hand. Endless Sword madra still flickered outside, so Yerin was fighting, and at least she didn't have to face two Truegold opponents at once. Lindon ran for the Trial entrance. If he could make it back to the Enforcer course, he could hide in the rubble of the columns that Orthos had left behind. Then— A nail drove through his calf, and he went down. He caught himself with both hands and rolled before hitting the ground, so the green Forged nail intended to go through his other leg hit the dirt instead. His Blackflame core was hopelessly empty, and his Bloodforged Iron body was draining pure madra to his calf like a bucket with a hole in it. He pinched the needle with two fingers—the Sandviper madra stung his skin like acid—and pulled it out. Then he let his pack slide to the ground, turning to face his pursuer. "My name is Wei Shi Lindon, honored Truegold," Lindon said, spreading his hands. "As you can see, I'm only a Jade, and surely I have nothing to interest an elder of your caliber." "Sandviper Gokren," he growled. "Kral's father."

When the spear came in, Lindon instinctively tried to form the Burning Cloak. Of course, nothing happened—he was cycling pure madra, and it had to be handled differently. But he clumsily Enforced his arms anyway, managing to knock the thrust off course. The second spear followed instantly, and he had to step back to stop it. Which meant putting weight on his bleeding calf. He tried to stop the scream, but when he faltered and took a spearhead to the shoulder, he screamed all the same. Lindon covered his face with his hands as another technique came in, but the spray of needles covered him from head to hips. At first, he trusted in the power of his Iron body and his Enforcer technique to save him, but the strength of a Truegold overwhelmed him. Every wound burned with poison, and his body leaked madra trying to counteract the Sandviper venom. His lungs locked up. He couldn't get a breath. His madra channels flickered and went dark, the pain overwhelming him as his Enforcer technique broke. Gokren was shouting something, face purple with rage, but Lindon didn't hear a word of it. He was drifting away, his flesh distant, as darkness crept into the corners of his vision. Orthos hit Gokren like a landslide. The turtle's roar shook the canyon. Foreign anger echoed in Lindon's soul, and Blackflame power flared against acid-green light. Rocks cracked, men shouted, and fire crackled. The fight continued, but all the other details faded with Lindon's consciousness. Time passed in a haze of pain as the ground shook beneath him. He came back to himself choking on a mouthful of dirt and ash. He was riddled with holes, blood still seeping out of him, and he was starting to shiver. But the Bloodforged Iron body had done its job; at least venom no longer crawled through his veins. He spat out bloody mud and rolled his eyes in his sockets, craning for a sight of Sandviper Gokren. Twilight had passed, the stars bright pinpricks against the dark. He could see no one. He strained his spiritual perception, and sensed… Nothing.

He tried again, taking deep breaths despite the pain, quieting his spirit as best he could. The world remained dead around him. He opened his eyes, staring beyond what he could see, looking to open his Copper sight and catch a glimpse of aura. No color. The world was gray and lifeless, and his limbs now trembled with creeping cold. Calming his panic, he focused on his madra. His core was drained, but he could fix that by cycling. He braced himself for the pain as he tried to push himself up on his elbows. In the dirt, he saw his arms twitch. He felt nothing. Panic rose into his throat again, throwing off his breathing, and he tried to picture the heavy stone wheel in his core. He didn't feel anything; not a spark. His Bloodforged Iron body had drained everything. Though the pain made his vision swim, and fear weighed him down, he managed to shimmy closer to his pack. It had fallen close to him, and there might be a Four Corners Rotation Pill or some scales inside. At least he could see what he had available, take stock. He inched closer, seizing the corner of the pack with his teeth. Through pure will, he managed to slide his hand to the hook at the top. The hook held only a loop of cloth; all he had to do was slide that loop off, and the pack was open. He edged his thumb into the gap. It didn't take. He tried again and again, despair growing like mold in his chest, until finally he caught the loop. With a limp finger, he pulled it open. The pack tipped. Its contents tumbled onto the ground, pelting his face and hand with junk. The pack must have been jostled around during the fight, because even some things that should have been secured in inside pockets had come free: his Path of Twin Stars manual, his Soulsmith primer, a sealed inkwell, a handful of halfsilver chips. It all spilled around him like trash. In his hazy awareness, Lindon could only latch onto one thought: he had to put everything back where it was supposed to go. He pushed his hand, trying to keep his precious Path manual out of the dirt. Without madra, his arm might as well have been a dishrag. He was empty.

The canyon had always been dark, allowing only a strip of light in from the sky, but at night the darkness surrounded him. So when the light came, it hurt his eyes. The blue light seemed blinding at first, even with his eyes closed, but when he swiped muddy tears from his eyelids and squinted into the shadows, his eyes quickly adjusted. He stared into an azure candle flame, burning steadily at the heart of a glass marble. The flame was smooth and bright, the glass flawless. As Lindon bled into the dirt, he stared at the ball of glass and fire. Just stared. In the visions Suriel had shown him, he had died…but not here. Not alone in the dark. He had a long way to go yet. Lindon slapped one hand down on the marble, feeling its warmth. He hadn't been able to cycle before, but given that he wasn't dead yet, he had to think there was some power left in his soul. If he bled to death, he'd do it while cycling. If that didn't work…well, he'd climbed his way up from powerless before. He could do it again. Lindon tried to draw on his Blackflame core, though it was like trying to inhale wood. There was nothing there. But if he could reclaim some shred of power, Blackflame was what he wanted. Pure madra wouldn't do him much good if Gokren came back. The thought made him shiver with fear, but he steadied his breath again and started cycling according to the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel. The pain in his lungs almost made him return to his earlier, simpler Foundation technique, but he persevered. Eithan had told him to practice this cycling technique, and at least no one could say he'd given up. Breath after agonizing breath passed, each one feeling like it hadn't delivered enough air, but he kept going until he started to feel something. An approaching flame, a slight red light, and a tingling feeling on his skin. His eyes snapped open to find that he was staring straight into black eyes with irises the color of shining blood. Orthos.

Chapter 19 Yerin dashed up the black slope, headed for the other peak, but Jai Long followed her. He was playing with her, she could see that clear as glass. Maybe he wanted to hammer out a new technique, and maybe he thought she wasn't worth his best. Whatever the truth, it stung. She had clawed the last drop of madra from her core, and was running on prayers. But there was a mass of silver power left in her spirit, and she begged it for more power. Her master's instincts told her to attack. I can't, she thought. Give me something, and I'll use it. The Remnant had no other advice for her. Just a few wispy memories of running straight at an enemy, weapon and techniques primed and ready. Someone else had a word for her, though. Her long-time guest, unwelcome and uninvited, sat there in her core in a knot of deadly power. If she unleashed it, it could save her. If she released it, she could save herself. As always, she reminded herself what would happen if she released her guest. Unless Eithan popped out of the ground, her guest would destroy everything. And everyone, probably including her. Unless it hollowed her out and used her as a husk, which was worse. No, she didn't need that parasite's help. She needed her master to step up. A twisting snake shot out from Jai Long's palm, and she met it with the edge of her master's sword. Only the sheer quality of the weapon saved her, because she had no madra left to pour into it. Her bloody fingernails drummed with pain to the beat of her heart. Show me what to do, Yerin begged.

The Remnant still urged her to attack. The unwelcome guest still pleaded for freedom. And Yerin's heart bled, because she finally accepted the truth: this wasn't her master. Breaking him open wouldn't be a betrayal, it wouldn't mean abandoning him. If she dug into the Remnant and sucked its power dry, she wouldn't be losing her master's voice. She'd lost that almost a year ago, in Sacred Valley. So, as Jai Long kicked her body down the mountain with a bored sigh, Yerin reached inside herself. Her master's Remnant was just a mass of silver power in her core, but she visualized it as it had appeared when she adopted it: a ghost of silver chrome, armed with six bladed limbs. She reached for that ghost and crushed it with the power of her will. As though she'd lit a beacon, the aura around her ignited. Silver light blazed into the sky, a column of razor-sharp power that turned all the vital aura in the area to sword aura. Beneath her feet, a thousand invisible blades slashed at the stone, pebbles whipping up to sting her skin. Even the air whistled by her ears as it was cut, the wind lashing at her hair and her robe. As the power of the sword raged within and without, she was devoured by a memory. The girl stood before the Sword Sage amidst the wreckage of what had once been a prosperous family. Her power blazed in his spiritual sense, half of it raw and unshaped, half bloody and murderous. She was only seven or eight and scrawny, and she looked like she'd missed more than her share of meals. Ragged hair hung into her eyes. She hauled on a rope of blood madra that stretched from her stomach as though the far end was tied to a runaway horse. Her bare feet were planted, her teeth gritted, arms straining against the power of the parasite. Which stretched out, its end forming into a blade, trying to cut him. She had managed to halt it while the blade was still an inch from his throat. The world came back into focus as Yerin found herself scraped and bloody and surrounded by a furious storm of silver light. Even the droplets of blood running from her wounds splashed up, sliced by aura, covering her with a scarlet mist.