D’art

He caught himself on the edge of a table, which was bolted to the floor, and sank into one of the chairs. He'd discovered over the course of the journey that it was best to take a descent sitting down. Yerin joined him, and Cassias was braced against the control panel with eyes locked on his landing, but Eithan stood with his hands in the pockets of his red-and-gold outer robe. His head was almost pressed against the glass, which reflected his smile. As they fell lower, Lindon started to make out details among the bones. Dark spots in the bones resolved into holes—windows and doors, through which people streamed. The streets wound around the biggest bones but cut through others, which had been hollowed out or stacked together to make buildings. Lindon leaned forward in his seat. Over the years, these people had carved a city into a dragon's graveyard. A long, straight bone, sticking out of the earth, was covered in windows and ringed with stairs. A fractured skull had a huge gong mounted in the eye socket. Four claws reached out of the ground with man-sized lanterns dangling from their tips. The city had even crawled up the mountain, so that the black stone bristled with towers. More bones rose like a thorny crown from the mountain's peak, with palaces nestled between its spikes. Lindon was overwhelmed at the sight of it all. Sacred Valley had what they called towns and cities, but this city dwarfed his imagination. Even leaving aside the size, he had never heard so much as a legend about a city of dragon's bone. This was the world Suriel had opened for him. His myths didn't even come close. Sky's Mercy was circling one location: a rib cage, with the gaps between each rib closed by pale stone and mortar. A pair of banners—blue and black and white—flew from the highest peaks, proudly displaying the Arelius crest. Cassias descended until they were almost on top of the bones, then drifted to the end closest to the mountain. Massive greenhouses stretched in rows behind the buildings, their glass roofs letting in sunlight and allowing Lindon to see the fields of crops growing inside. Scripts shone along the outside walls, and rain fell from one of the ceilings.

The sacred artists here had advanced beyond the need to live off the land. They had bottled up their farmland and taken it with them. One plot with enough space to hold another enclosed farm had been left empty, little more than a wide square of reddish dirt. Cassias steered them until they floated over that square, and slowly edged down the last few feet. Eithan turned from the window and walked to the door, hair streaming behind him. "I don't know about you," he said, "but I'm ready to get to work." Cassias left the controls, running a hand through his yellow curls. He had worn his best today, and he smoothed every crease in his shirt as though worried about leaving the slightest imperfection. Lindon was wearing a sacred artist's robe in the Arelius colors, but it was weathered from the trip. He wondered if he should have asked for something more presentable, but Yerin was wearing the same tattered black she always did, and she didn't seem concerned. Eithan threw open the door, revealing a hundred people arranged in ten rows of ten, all clad in blue with the black crescent on their backs. Lindon had a very good view of their backs, as they had all prostrated themselves on the ground with their heads pressed against the reddish dirt. "The Arelius family greets the Patriarch," they shouted, in a unified voice that shook the ground. Yerin winced and knuckled her ear. "Wouldn't have turned down a warning." "Patriarch?" Lindon repeated. Eithan heard him and turned. "Oh, yes, I'm the head of the family. I expected you to have guessed that by now." Cassias stepped in front of Eithan, his steel bracer Goldsign gleaming in the sun. "Number one, step forward and report." The leftmost servant in the front row, a heavyset woman in her middle years, stepped up and bowed to the Patriarch. Even she was dressed for a festival. Polished blue-and-silver combs held back her gray-streaked hair, her servant's uniform looked perfectly new, and rings glistened on her fingers. Lindon first thought that even the servants lived like royalty here, but he supposed the Underlord's arrival was a big day. Perhaps this was like an audience with a king.

She didn't make her report in front of everyone, as Lindon had expected. Instead, she moved to whisper in Cassias' ear. After a moment, Cassias turned to address Eithan in a normal tone. "Since I have been gone, our misfortune has multiplied. Our fourthranked crew of lamplighters working on the mountain have returned with severe burns. They refuse to implicate anyone, but they were working on the peak, just outside the palaces of the Jai clan." Eithan dipped his head, and the servant woman continued whispering in Cassias' ear. Lindon exchanged glances with Yerin. The whispering was pointless. Eithan could hear everything, and could probably read a list of issues pinned against a wall halfway across the city. The Underlord gave no indication that this bothered him, or was in any way unusual. He nodded through a few more reports before Cassias said, "We've recently received reports indicating a natural spirit has formed in the sewer." Eithan looked over in surprise, though he must have heard the story at the same time Cassias did. "Have we let the sewers back up so badly, then?" "It's a life spirit. Apparently the Jai clan had a mishap some weeks back, when their refiners dumped failed elixirs into the same chamber where the Soulsmiths disposed of their dead matter. It was an…unexpected reaction." Cassias' tone told Lindon exactly how 'unexpected' it had been, but Eithan only nodded again. "Two and a half miles east," the Underlord said. "Just south of the Sandstorm Quarter, directly beneath the fountain shaped like a three-headed dragon." Cassias turned to the rows of kneeling servants. "Ninety-nine and one hundred," he said. The two people in the back rose to their feet, bowed, and then scurried off. The woman whispered again. "The paint was beginning to chip outside the Jai clan's second-ranked auction house," Cassias reported. "We repainted overnight, but the new coat was scraped and marred in the morning. The Jai clan reported our painters, but it was our top-ranked crew." Someone tugged on Lindon's sleeve, and he leaned down to hear what Fisher Gesha had to say. Yerin leaned in next to them, listening.

"You've noticed the ranks, hm? Everything here in the proper Blackflame Empire has its place, numbered and categorized. You always know which restaurant is the best, which public lavatory is the worst, which servant is more useful than another. Everything they do here is about climbing one number higher, you see?" Yerin huddled closer. "That's a twisty way of doing it." Gesha hit Lindon on the side of the head. "The opposite of twisty, isn't it? Everything's clearly laid out. Higher-ranked businesses can charge more, the highest-ranked disciples get the best resources, and the top families get more support from the empire." "What did you mean the proper Blackflame Empire?" Lindon asked. "And why did you hit me?" Gesha hit him again. "Blackflame Empire covers more land than you think. The Emperor holds the title to the Desolate Wilds, only there's nothing he wants out there, so he leaves us to ourselves. The empire stretches past the mountain range to the west of us, but I couldn't tell you just how far, could I?" Lindon had grown up in the mountain range to the west of the Desolate Wilds, and he could say with confidence that no one there had heard of the Blackflame Empire. It was widely accepted that the land outside Sacred Valley was untamed and barbaric. Eithan joined their conversation, speaking out one side of his mouth. "The Emperor hasn't been able to hold on to the full scope of its territory for two generations now, though don't let the imperial clan hear you spreading that around. As for the ranking, I'm proud to say that we are the first of the major servant families, subject only to the great clans of the empire. I myself am considered the eleventh strongest of the Underlords." He flashed a smile. "But I'm first in charm!" Lindon wondered if charm was actually ranked. Cassias discreetly elbowed Eithan, concluding his report with, "Due to a series of anonymous reports, the Skysworn are currently investigating us for negligence. The Jai clan have publicly proposed that the Redflower family supervise sanitation, with our employees given to their authority. The Redflowers have repeatedly declined." Eithan straightened himself up and looked over the servants. "I have witnessed the business of the family, and let it be known that I am more

than satisfied with our performance. The inner and outer members of the family have honored our name, and our employees have behaved with dedication and loyalty. I could not be more pleased with how this family has conducted itself in my absence." Cassias stared wide-eyed at Eithan as though he'd never seen him before. The servants all reacted differently: some bowed lower, some raised their heads to gaze on the Underlord, and others shouted loyalty to the Arelius family or insults to the Jai clan. "We thank you for the honor, Underlord," Cassias said, turning to the servants. "Dismissed." The servants shouted in unison once more: "The Arelius family thanks the Patriarch." Their voices were surely Enforced, judging by how the shouts made the nearby sand shake. This time, Lindon was prepared for the noise, and he cycled madra to protect his ears. Though they were dismissed, they stayed on their knees waiting for the Underlord and his entourage to leave. Eithan strode through the rows of prostrate figures, Cassias keeping pace beside him. He beckoned Yerin and Lindon to join them, so Lindon hitched his pack up on his shoulders and followed, his red Thousand-Mile Cloud drifting along behind. Yerin walked with him, and Fisher Gesha scurried behind on her spider legs. "You conducted yourself with admirable dignity back there," Cassias said to Eithan, as they passed into the giant rib cage. The ceiling between the ribs was painted in murals of a thousand colors, showing sacred artists locked in battle with dragons. The ribs themselves were etched with delicate scripts, though none of them were lit. Eithan smoothed back his long hair as he walked. "They didn't need a friend today, they needed to know I would solve their problems. I had to inspire confidence." Cassias looked him up and down. "It's like I've never met you." "It was nothing much, but feel free to shower me with praise." They continued chatting even as they entered a vast chamber, but Lindon was absorbed by the noise and motion of the Arelius family in action. Workers in blue-and-black scurried here and there—some of them carrying brooms, others buckets. Some wore blood-spattered aprons, others carried sacks over their shoulders. A fireplace big enough to burn wagons

took up a chunk of one wall, with a chimney carved into the bone. Servants separated piles of trash and tossed pieces into the flames. Half of that same wall was taken up by a long desk with six smiling people behind it, all wearing Arelius badges on their chests. Workers lined up in front of them, only to be pointed in a certain direction; it must be where they received their assignments. A collection of maps were tacked against the opposite wall, some freshly painted, others yellowed with age. Workers with white signs painted on their uniforms—Lindon took them to be leaders of some kind—looked at the maps and compared them to lists in their hands. It all reminded Lindon of the bustle surrounding the construction of the Seven-Year Festival, but on another scale entirely. Instead of a hundred Wei clan members working on a dozen jobs over a huge arena, here were a thousand employees of the Arelius family packed into a single room while carrying out hundreds of tasks. This was what they did every day. Yerin was gripping the sheath of her sword, not its hilt, and eyeing every person they passed. "Is it always this...noisy in here?" Cassias heard her and turned, walking backwards and holding a hand on the hilt of his thin saber. He leaned the weapon to the side, moving the sheath out of the way of a passing servant without looking. "The empire prides itself on its appearance, and we are the ones who keep it beautiful. We must stay organized. This is only the seventh largest city in the empire, so there are only four central facilities like this one. In Blackflame City itself, there are a dozen, all bigger and busier than what you see around you." They passed out of the bustling room and into the sun again, which glared at them over the head of a pale stone statue that must have been ninety feet tall. It was rounded and smooth with age, but it depicted a figure with wild hair and torn clothes, eyes furious and teeth bared in a snarl. The statue had a dagger raised as though to strike. It seemed like an odd likeness to carve outside a janitor's headquarters, but before Lindon could say as much, Eithan pointed to it. "The family's original Patriarch," he said. "There are legends about him all over the world. Serpent's Grave was one of the first outposts of the Arelius family on this continent. It isn't the headquarters anymore, even in

the Blackflame Empire—they've moved to the capital city, to stay close to power—but everyone gathers here once every ten years." Cassias sighed. "Though that tradition may also be lost to time." Eithan's smile dimmed. "Yes, well...we'll see in four more years, won't we?" They walked until they reached the base of the spiraling bone tower Lindon had seen in the distance. Cassias abruptly stopped, polishing the silver bracer on his arm with the corner of his sleeve—it was his Goldsign, but the man cared for it like jewelry. He adjusted his collar, brushed dirt from his pants, checked his sword in its silver sheath, and looked at his reflection in the bracer. "You look almost as good as I do," Eithan said, waving him on. "Go on. I can handle family business at least as well as you can." Cassias gave him a doubtful look, but still hurried into the tower. "His wife and son are in there," Eithan said, which fired Lindon's imagination. Cassias had mentioned his wife half a dozen times over the journey here, calling her the strongest Highgold in the empire, but Lindon had taken that as the praise of a husband. Now that he knew they rated everything, he wondered if maybe she was the strongest Highgold in the Blackflame Empire. And if that were true, where did Cassias rank? "…so he will be distracted for at least a day or two," Eithan continued. "That's enough about the family business, let's get to what really matters." The doors to the tower swung back open, and Cassias stuck his head out. "I heard that." Lindon wondered, not for the first time, if there were some way to get the powers of the Arelius bloodline for himself. Cassias had told him no, he had to be born into the family, but Lindon didn't stop wondering. Eithan must have heard Cassias, but he didn't turn back, guiding their group away from the tower and back toward the main building. "Number one-thirteen," he said, and a man separated himself from the crowd of blueclad servants around them, going to his knees before the Underlord. "I want you to prepare Underground Chamber Number Three for entry. Also, take Fisher Gesha to the Soulsmith quarters." He ushered Gesha forward, and she scuttled up to join the servant. Her coffin-sized wooden

chest was strapped to her back, dwarfing her, but she carried it as though it were hollow. "Fisher Gesha is an honored guest from the Desolate Wilds," Eithan said, and the servant glanced up in evident surprise. "However," Eithan continued, "she is to be treated as a guest from anywhere else." Servant One-Thirteen bowed without a word, letting the Underlord and the rest sweep past him. Fisher Gesha nodded to Lindon, and he saluted her back, fists pressed together. Lindon had every reason to believe his Soulsmithing lessons were to continue, but separating from a friendly face in this strange city still made him nervous. Eithan glanced up at the sky, held a hand in the air for no reason that Lindon could tell, and then reversed direction. He took them back out to the base of the First Patriarch's statue, putting one hand on Lindon's shoulder and one hand on Yerin's. "Are we posing for a portrait?" Lindon asked, seeing no other reason why they should arrange themselves in front of a statue while Arelius servants streamed by. "Not for a portrait, no," Eithan said, and turned his smile on an old man walking through the crowd. This man stood tall and straight, though he must have been at least eighty, his white hair flowing down his back. His white robes were intricate and flawless, and like every other set of clothes Lindon had seen since stepping off Sky's Mercy, they seemed to have never encountered a single stain or speck of dust. His face was clean-shaven, and he held his hands behind his back as he came to a stop in front of them. The wind snatched at his sleeves and the hem of his robe, but it didn't touch his hair, which led Lindon to take a closer look. The pale strands gleamed slightly in the light, and each hair seemed somehow thicker than normal, now that he looked closely. After a second of inspection, he realized what he was seeing: metal wire. The Goldsign of the Jai clan. "Jai Daishou!" Eithan said happily. "What brings you down the mountain on this fine autumn morning?"

Jai Daishou kept his gaze fixed on Eithan, never so much as glancing at Lindon or the servants streaming around him. "I was told you would arrive today, and I wanted to offer my greetings in person." "How generous of you! Please, allow me to introduce the two newest members of my family. This is Yerin, the top-ranked student of the outer family, and Lindon. The second-ranked." A feather-light touch brushed across Lindon's spirit, and the old man's wrinkles creased into a frown. "Second." "I ranked them myself! Lindon, Yerin, this is Jai Daishou, the seventh Underlord of the Blackflame Empire." "And Patriarch of the Jai clan," Jai Daishou added, his frown deepening. "Ah, that's right. He is also the Patriarch of the third-ranked of the three great clans." Eithan's smile was sunny. Jai Daishou examined the other Underlord for a long moment. "I don't know if you've heard, but your family's performance in the city has slipped while you've been gone. I can only imagine what it's like over the rest of the empire, without your personal supervision to guide them." Lindon rubbed sweaty palms on the inside of his pocket, keeping his eyes down lest he attract the Jai Patriarch's attention. Of all the things he had expected to happen when they landed, he had never imagined he would end up between two Underlords in conflict. He flicked a glance at Yerin, but she was glaring at Jai Daishou openly, arms crossed and Goldsign quivering. "I'm quite pleased with how the family performed in my absence," Eithan said. Jai Daishou's attention briefly touched on Lindon and Yerin, and he let out a soft noise of disapproval. "An Underlord should have higher standards." "Really?" Eithan sounded baffled. "I've always thought my standards were too high. Well, let me know if the Arelius family can help you defend your territory in the upcoming days. Jai Long can be quite a threat…unless, of course, you intend to take action yourself." That sounded to Lindon like the only genuinely pleasant comment Eithan had made over the whole exchange, but Jai Daishou bristled as though Eithan had insulted his children. "The Highgolds of the Jai clan are more than capable of dealing with an exile."

"I'm relieved to hear it! I knew you wouldn't be forced into action by a single Highgold." The Jai Underlord's face darkened further, but Eithan laughed harder than Lindon thought was appropriate, eventually tapering off and wiping a tear from his eye. "Ah, it's refreshing to have such a friendly conversation." Jai Daishou had the look of a man about to set a house on fire. Eithan gave his opposite a shallow bow. "I know it's been brief, but I appreciate you seeking an audience with me so quickly. When I have more time, I'll be happy to pay your Jai clan a visit in return." He turned, dragging Yerin and Lindon with him, and started walking away before Jai Daishou had a chance to say anything. Lindon couldn't stop himself from glancing back, to see how the enemy Underlord would take the insult. The Jai Patriarch folded his hands behind his back again. Then, suddenly, Lindon's body weighed five times as much. Air rushed from his lungs as his knees slammed into the stone of the courtyard, his head bowing as though a giant palm pressed on his spine. He gritted his teeth and spent all of his madra to Enforce his body. Even with his full strength, he only lifted his head a fraction. It wasn't just Lindon. Everyone was on the ground; children cried, splayed out on the stone. A wagon had dumped over, spilling garbage onto the street, and most people he could see were gasping for breath. Yerin's jaw was set, and she was very deliberately breathing in and out, but she was on her hands and knees just like he was. Even Eithan's knees were bent, his hands held out for balance, his smile gone. The strain showed on his face. Lindon couldn't take a breath. His mouth gaped, but it was as though the air had turned to stone. "I have done you honor by speaking to you in person," Jai Daishou said calmly. "Don't spit in my face, Eleven." Eithan raised his hands and pulled against the air, as though he were trying to pry open an invisible door. He strained for a long moment before, finally, something gave. The pressure vanished. Lindon gulped down a deep breath. Eithan staggered to lean against the statue of the First Patriarch, red-faced and panting.

Jai Daishou's lip twitched into the first stage of a smile. "You have had a long journey. When you recover, come see me, and I will grant you an audience." He departed, striding off through the courtyard at his own speed, paying no heed to the servants who scurried out of his way. When Lindon had recovered himself, he looked to Eithan. In joining the Arelius family, he'd picked up their enemies and rivals as well, and Eithan might not be capable of protecting an Iron from significant threats. Maybe Lindon would be safer if he stayed further away from the Underlord. But as soon as Jai Daishou rounded a corner far away, Eithan stopped breathing heavily. He straightened his back, smile returning to its place. When he saw Lindon's concern, he winked. "People here are all so concerned with high rankings. I've always felt that you get more done when you're not in the spotlight, don't you think?" Yerin rolled her shoulder in its socket. "It's too late to save face. You were hauling like a plow-horse." Eithan laughed. "I was, wasn't I? Well, maybe I have provoked too strong of an opponent this time." He didn't sound too concerned about the possibility. Reaching into his pocket, he flipped Yerin something that looked like a wooden coin. "Yerin, have one of the servants direct you to the refinery. Show them that token, and ask them for a Purple Feather Elixir." She brightened immediately. "This will smooth my path to Highgold?" "Your path to Highgold is very smooth, if only you would listen to me, but this will help you advance your madra base without tapping into your Remnant. Cycle as much as you can over the next three or four days, until the pill wears off." Yerin gripped the token in her fist and ran off without another word. "What about me?" Lindon asked hopefully. He had received a dozen Four Corners Rotation Pills over the course of the journey, though their effects had begun to fade during the last week or two. But if Eithan had something more powerful in reserve, Lindon wanted a taste of it. Eithan rubbed his hands together in apparent anticipation. "You and I, Lindon, are headed for my personal favorite room in the entire city: the Arelius family library." ***

Jai Long hopped down from the back of his bat, sliding down its bristly gray-white fur to the ground. His boots crunched on sand. All around him, the Sandvipers landed their own mounts. Gokren rode a bat just like his, which had been generously donated by the Jai clan, but the others traveled on Thousand-Mile Clouds of various colors, or flying constructs, or various treasures. Most of their equipment had followed them in a levitating cauldron big enough to stew five men, but it was lagging a day behind. He ignored the rest of the group, heading straight to a white ThousandMile Cloud with a tent erected on it. Inside, Jai Chen was struggling to sit upright. "Are we…stopping… already?" she asked, her voice soft but threaded with effort. Jai Long grabbed her by the shoulder, helping her sit up. He wanted to unravel the red bandages around his head and speak to his sister face-toface, but he needed Sandviper loyalty enough that he didn't want to scare them off. "We're here," he said, and she lit up. He scooped her out of the tent, pretending not to hear her protests that her hair wasn't straight. She had suffered the indignities of travel without protest, and now he carried her to look out over the desert. Into the sun, which rose behind a black mountain. At the city of dragon's bone. This was her first glance of Serpent's Grave in almost ten years, and she covered her mouth and teared up at the sight. Their parents lived in the city somewhere, as did their brothers and sisters. She smiled at him, wide and open and tinged with grief. Jai Long knew she was glad to be home, despite everything, even if the sight of her birthplace pierced her like a sword. Behind his mask of bandages, he smiled too. For very different reasons.

Chapter 9 Lindon had spent much of the past five years working in the Wei clan archives. He was confident he knew what a library was supposed to look like. But this room, located behind and beneath the bone tower that housed Cassias' family, was just a twenty-foot by twenty-foot square box. It had only one door, and all the walls were pale, yellowed bone. On the ceiling, a few scripted circles glowed with runelight, illuminating every corner. A small altar of bone rose from the center of the room like an arm, with a claw cupping a ball the size of Lindon's fist. The ball was made of copper plates, and he thought he saw whirring flashes of color between the plates. All in all, it was nothing like a library. Eithan waited with hands on hips, clearly anticipating Lindon's reaction. "Are the books...in the walls?" Lindon finally asked. The Underlord clicked his tongue. "What are books but a mechanism to store knowledge? If we have something much more efficient available," – Eithan picked up the copper ball— "then why would we need books?" Lindon peered at the ball. It was a construct of some kind, obviously, but beyond that he couldn't guess. Maybe it would project words onto the wall —some of his mother's White Fox constructs could do as much, crafting images from illusions. "This is the single most valuable object the entire Arelius family owns," he said, spinning it on the tip of one finger. "Most of us aren't aware of that, but it's true. We primarily use the powers of our bloodline to find areas that need cleaning or maintenance, but as an...unintentional side effect...we also tend to collect other information." He tossed the ball from hand to hand. "All of that information pertinent to the sacred arts—including secrets about the Paths of our rivals—is stored

in here. Some of it also gets copied into dream tablets, scrolls, books, and so forth, but everything goes here." That was intriguing. If they could study the sacred arts of their enemies, they could walk into any battle with the upper hand. If Jai Long's sacred arts were in there... "How do we get it out?" Lindon asked. "Well, first, you have to be a blood member of the Arelius family." Eithan continued tossing the ball in his left hand and touched the right against his chest. "Fortunately for you, I am. The original Patriarch left this treasure for his descendants, and they have learned from it and added to it one generation at a time." "That's incredible. Truly, it's a treasure that I'm honored even to lay my eyes on. But how do we get it—" Eithan didn't do anything Lindon could see, but the copper plates slowly pushed out from the center of the ball. A light flashed red. And suddenly a featureless, crimson man stood in the center of the room. It looked like a Remnant left behind by one of the wooden training dummies: a head without a face, body slender and unremarkable, limbs lifeless and smooth. It was solid red, without details or distinguishing marks. "Your Path of Twin Stars interests me," Eithan said, spinning the expanded ball in one hand. He muttered something to the orb, and it flashed again. The red man came to life, crouching on the balls of its feet and raising both hands. It pivoted, driving one hand forward and low, and a pulse of barely-visible madra extended from the blow. An Empty Palm. Lindon stared at the scarlet mannequin hard enough to burn a hole through it. Never mind looking at his enemy's abilities—if he could study his own techniques like this, watching them from the outside in...how much could he learn? He could perfect his every movement. "There are possibilities for the Path of Twin Stars in the future," Eithan said. "Pure madra is rare enough that it has many advantages, which you've already realized...but it also has quite a few disadvantages." Another flash, and this time a green man appeared, its hands wreathed in flame. The first figure, the red one, stepped forward to deliver an Empty

Palm to its opponent's core... ...and the green figure grabbed it by the face with burning hands. The scarlet head winked out, leaving the red man with bare shoulders. "As a Path, it has remarkable utility, but it leaves you practically defenseless," Eithan went on. The copper ball flashed red, and the red man stood—whole and alone—in the center of the room once again. "It also happens to be slow to advance, since you can't take in aura while cycling. You must rely on purifying your own madra and increasing it with external factors. Elixirs and such." Eithan leaned against the wall, smiling, the ball tucked under one arm. "So...I know you're aware of these problems, and you've thought of some possible solutions. What are your thoughts?" Lindon had assumed Eithan was heading somewhere, and he was still fascinated by the possibilities of the red man and the copper ball. The question left him flat-footed. "I know I need to develop more techniques, so...if you have some pure madra techniques in there..." "That's a good line of thinking, and we should come back to that in the future. But we have roughly ten to eleven months before you have to fight Jai Long." Eithan shrugged. "Let's call it ten, to leave some margin for error. Ten months, and you will fight someone so much stronger than you that he may as well be a living dragon, as far as you're concerned. What do you do about that?" "I need a second Path," Lindon said immediately. "It was one of my first ideas for my second core: you leave one pure, and fill the other with another aspect of madra. But I'm not sure if I can—" "It's not perfect," Eithan interrupted. "Everyone thinks of learning a second Path at some point, though usually they want to learn another set of techniques compatible with the madra they've already cultivated. You know why that rarely works, don't you?" "There's only so much time in the day," Lindon said. "And only so many resources you can dedicate to advancement. Instead of ending up twice as powerful, you end up half as skilled in two areas." "That's all true," Eithan said. "But?" "But...it's difficult to find someone to train you in two different Paths?"

"That's also true, but it's not what I was getting at. You've explained why learning two Paths is difficult...but it isn't impossible. It can be done." Lindon searched Eithan's face, looking for signs that this was a joke, or a trick, or a setup of some kind. "How?" "Oh, it's just as you said." He waved the copper ball lazily. "You need to work twice as hard, or spend twice as much time, or have access to twice as many resources, or preferably all three. But I think learning another Path is exactly what you need to do." The ball flashed, and the green man showed back up, its fists once again surrounded by flame. But this time, the red man took a defensive pose, hands up and protecting its body. "The Path of Twin Stars has plenty of room to grow," Eithan said, and as the green man drove its fiery fists forward, the red man caught both burning hands in its own. The fire went out. The red man followed with a kick to the lower abdomen, the air rippled with colorless madra, and the green man staggered. That had looked like an Empty Palm executed through a kick. Lindon had tried that on the dummy targets, but his control over his own madra wasn't anywhere close to good enough to execute something like that. And how could pure madra cancel techniques? "Would you show that again?" Lindon asked, but both figures vanished. The red man returned to the center of the room a moment later, blank and still. "You can't take your Path forward until you learn the basics of the sacred arts," Eithan said. "Learn how other Paths work first, and carry those lessons over to the Path of Twin Stars." Lindon moved his gaze from the motionless red man to Eithan. The Underlord seemed to be saying that he could start from step one with a brand new Path and fight Jai Long…in ten months. Which even Lindon thought was absurd. "Forgiveness. That sounds too good to be true." Eithan's smile gleamed. "It's not impossible." Lindon took a deep breath, his mind whirling with possibilities. "I'll need to spend all my time cycling. Will I have time to learn the techniques properly? Ah, before that, what Path should I learn?"

"That's up to you." He should have expected Eithan to keep stringing him along, but he didn't even know how to respond. How many Paths were out there? Which could he learn? His first thought was the Path of the White Fox, but he didn't know if even the Arelius family would have information on Sacred Valley. Or if illusions could defeat Jai Long at all. "I have many plans," Eithan said, "and many ideas. But I've long believed that it's better for someone to choose their own direction and then accept guidance than to be pushed where I want them to go. Now, I'm willing to show you any sort of Path you like...but I wait for your direction. The world of sacred arts lies open to you. What Path would you like to see?" "Jai Long's," Lindon said immediately. Eithan nodded. "Good choice." The copper plates around the ball spun, and suddenly white light was running in loops through the center of the red man's belly and chest. Lindon could see it as though the figure's flesh had become transparent, and he recognized the patterns: madra channels. It was using an Enforcer technique. A moment later, straight lines formed on red skin, sliding from the core out to the limbs. "You're fighting Jai Long," Eithan said. "He was trained in the Path of the Stellar Spear, the signature Path of his clan." The red man extended one hand, and a red spear fell into its hand. A thrust drove the spear forward, then swept it to the side, fighting an invisible opponent. Spinning the spear, the man moved faster and faster, occasionally blasting a river of white light that splashed harmlessly against the bone wall. As he fought, needles of that same white madra formed over his shoulder, shooting off as soon as they were completed. An Enforcer technique for speed, a Striker technique to attack, and a Forger technique to defend and cover its movements. "However, he deviated by bonding a Remnant with subtly different aspects. Now..." The pattern on the scarlet skin changed from straight lines to twisting, serpentine lines. The figure spun its spear just like before, but the spearhead left a trail of white light that hung in the air and came to life.

Like a pale Remnant, the serpent of Forged madra turned to Lindon and opened its jaws in a silent hiss. The red man traced curls of light through the room, like a man painting on a canvas, until it was surrounded by a spiraling nest of snakes. "Imbuing Forged madra with temporary life is an advanced technique, far beyond Jai Long. He can only produce this result because he absorbed a Remnant from a Path we'll call…unnatural." Lindon reached up for one of the snakes, to see if the lines of color were illusions or actual Forged madra. "Treat each snake as though it's made of razor-sharp wire," Eithan said, and Lindon snatched his hand back. "In the fight, I mean. Jai Long will use these to cover his approach—" Suddenly the figure lunged for Lindon, who flattened himself against a wall. The shining white serpents covered the entire room; there was nowhere else for him to go. "—to block your escape—" Eithan continued, and just as Lindon tried to slide under the light, the red man swept his spear up from the ground and walled him off with white madra. "—and to corner you for the kill." A snake coiled and snapped at the tip of Lindon's nose. Though he knew it was a training exercise, Lindon's heart was still hammering. Gingerly, he passed a corner of his sleeve through the light. When it survived unharmed, he tried with a finger. He felt nothing; no heat, no resistance. With his other hand, he passed through the red man, and once again it was like waving his hand through only air. It was just like the Path of the White Fox, then. Forgers could make solid illusions, and Strikers could produce foxfire, but in the end it was all only light and dreams. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "This isn't even his only technique," Eithan said conversationally. "Just his most common one. If we get you to Lowgold, perhaps your Empty Palm technique could affect him...but he would never allow you that close. In a thousand fights, you would fail a thousand times." Eithan stopped talking, and all the slithering lights left by Jai Long's techniques vanished. The red man reappeared in its starting position, empty-handed. Lindon waited for his heart to return to a healthy rhythm before he rose back up the wall to his feet. "So then. I need a second Path that covers for

my weaknesses and targets Jai Long's." He hesitated for a moment. "Or...I'm not sure how to ask, but are there any...famous, or especially powerful Paths out there?" The myths and legends of Sacred Valley were filled with tales of unbeatable Paths, so if those really existed, Lindon didn't want to be stuck with a mundane one. Eithan raised one eyebrow. "You think you need a special Path? Are ordinary Paths not good enough to meet your esteemed estimation?" Lindon ducked his head. "I knew it was childish to ask, excuse me. I only wanted—" "No, you were right. Powerful Paths, coming right up." The ball flashed emerald, and the green man reappeared. This time, this one held the spear, and as it twirled the weapon, the spearhead shone like a star. The Path of the Stellar Spear, though Lindon couldn't tell if it was the original version or Jai Long's twisted one. The red man cupped its hand and gathered a ball of deep purple light. The technique trembled against invisible restraints, as though pushing against the air, and an equally vivid purple sword appeared in his left hand. The weapon crackled and shook, also straining against some unseen bond. "Path of the Broken Star," Eithan announced. "This Path branched off into the Stellar Spear many generations ago, and the original is far more...potent." The green man started off defensive, weaving a net of squirming snakes behind, just as Jai Long could do. The red man disappeared, leaving a violet shadow of Broken Star madra behind. When the scarlet figure reappeared, there was a gap sliced in the barrier and a hole driven through the green man's chest. "Jai Long might last a little longer than that," Eithan said, "but not too much so. If you mastered the Path of the Broken Star, you'd make a splash throughout the Empire." The featureless figure still hadn't extinguished its sword, and it buzzed and crackled in the air. Lindon was tempted to choose this one instantly, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity to see what else was on offer. "Now, disadvantages: it demands exacting madra control, its techniques are notoriously difficult to apply in real-world situations, and there's only one place to train it: a secret city long lost to the Jai clan."

Lindon felt suddenly cheated. "If we can't find it..." "It's lost to the Jai clan. Not to me. While it would give me great pleasure to see you defeat their heir with the Path they've been desperately hunting for centuries, it would take us at least three months to gain access. That leaves you seven months to go from ignorant initiate to skilled sacred artist, and I...well, let's say that you would have the chance to surprise me." Watching the purple blade, Lindon had to wonder. If there was another way to delay Jai Long or put off this confrontation, maybe he could find the time he needed to learn. It was worth considering. The red man flickered and reset to the middle of the room, his Forged weapon gone. The green man reappeared, once again spinning Jai Long's spear. Eithan continued for the better part of an hour. He demonstrated the Path of Crawling Shades, which would turn Lindon's shadow into a symbiotic Remnant of darkness that devoured enemy techniques. He shows off the Path of Twisting Rivers, which used a technique of combined Ruler and Striker disciplines to accelerate Forged water until it sliced through steel. The Path of the Last Oath was designed for and by Soulsmiths, and relied on Forging basic constructs on the fly and using them like disposable puppets. With its power, Lindon could counteract Jai Long's shining serpents and bury him beneath the weight of his own improvised minions. The Path of Grasping Sky would allow him to grip Jai Long with a Ruler technique and then crush his windpipe as a Striker. Lindon was very intrigued by the possibilities—and by the vast emerald wingspan that came with it—until Eithan told him that the Grasping Sky was the Path of the imperial clan. Lindon preferred not to make more enemies than necessary, so he reluctantly set that Path aside. Eithan snapped his fingers as though something had occurred to him. "You know, if Paths of the nobility interest you, I do have one last possibility..." A dull flash, and the red man reappeared. This time, its hands were swallowed by a substance that looked like black fire, or a thick concentration of inky smoke. The black was streaked with scarlet, so that the figure held two handfuls of dark and bloody rolling flame.

That caught Lindon's interest immediately. The fireballs were intimidating, and this fit his image of a sacred artist: conjuring balls of strange-colored fire. His own clan had used purple foxfire for centuries. "The Blackflame family united this empire, and ruled it until the Naru took over only five decades ago." The green man raised his spear, but the red one blasted it apart, a bar of dark fire slicing through emerald flesh. The technique sliced through him like a red-hot blade through snow. "Their power came from the dragons that originally roamed these lands. It's one part fire to one part pure destruction." This time, after the green man died, it came back in seconds. It wove a net of twisting serpents in the air with its spearhead. Black flames ate through the technique, and then the enemy. "It's not versatile at all, really. It's a potent, violent Path designed for war. Its chief advantage is that it doesn't demand a great degree of control; the main technique involves spraying fire in the general direction of something you want to destroy. Doesn't require much finesse." The green man appeared again, moving to strike the red man in a blink, but it passed through a curtain of black flames and died once more. "Children of the Blackflame family were deadly threats even at Copper." Lindon waited for the hook. He didn't like the rigid nature of the Path much; those techniques were made for blowing things apart, and nothing else. He would prefer something with some subtlety to it, some creativity. But it did offer him exactly what he was lacking: the ability to break through Jai Long's techniques. And it didn't demand expertise, just a basic competence in Striker techniques. It appeared to be exactly what he needed. "There have to be some disadvantages," he said. "Oh, of course there are. There's a reason why the family lost the Empire and all but died out: this madra eats away at your body as you use it. Blackflames tended to lose their reason in their later years, or else they ended up twisted husks. Their bodies couldn't keep up with their power." Eithan waited expectantly, and Lindon soon caught on. "But mine..." "The Bloodforged Iron body is tailor-made to resist corrosive breakdown like this, though it will burn through your madra like a bonfire

through dry leaves. So you won't be able to rely on that for long." "Didn't the Blackflame family have bodies like mine?" The resources for Lindon's Bloodforged Iron body had come from a cave in the Desolate Wilds; he had to assume a rich clan from an empire would have the means to do even better. "They chose their bodies to maximize combat potential, but you? You just need to survive. A real Blackflame disciple might tear you apart headto-head, but you won't lose control of your limbs by the age of sixty. You also have the advantage of a second core, and switching to Blackflame only as needed will minimize the strain. So long as you take the time to cleanse your channels after using Blackflame madra extensively, it shouldn't eat into your lifespan at all." Then it was perfect for him. "Why did you show me those other Paths, if you were going to lead me to this one all along?" Eithan put on a shocked look. "I am a man of my word. If you decide you want to learn another of these fine Paths, then by all means, I will accept your decision." Lindon stood, considering. The Grasping Sky was eliminated because of its political implications, the Crawling Shade because it would make Lindon look too sinister to trust. The Last Oath was purely defensive, which wasn't what he needed to win a duel. Broken Star would take too long to find. "What about Jade Rivers?" Lindon asked. "Oh, absolutely! Absolutely. As long as you think you can perfectly master a combination Ruler, Striker, Forger technique in the next ten months. And if you think you can evade a Truegold's attacks while taking five seconds to prepare that technique, yes. A fine choice." Lindon rubbed his forehead and gave in. "The Path of Black Flame, is it?" "Since the only family ever to use it was the Blackflames, that's what we commonly call it. Either the Blackflame Path or the Path of Black," he exaggerated the pause, "Flame. We like our names simple here." "Is that family going to come after me for using it?" "Who cares what they think? They're dead. Mostly." "…mostly?"

"And I doubt the Imperial clan will be incredibly happy about us demonstrating the powers of their predecessor in public, so we're left with that little problem, but that's a minor detail. It isn't illegal to practice the Blackflame Path, unlike the Path of Grasping Sky." "That was illegal?" "There are only a few places to harvest Blackflame aura in the entire Empire, but to our spectacular good fortune, the Path was created right here in Serpent's Grave!" Lindon looked around the room. "We can practice here?" "Not in this exact spot, no. What you're looking for is a location that naturally flows with the aura you'd like to practice. In this case, something that resonates with both fire and destruction. Destruction is one of the most difficult aspects of aura to find and cultivate, but fortunately for us, dragons radiate just as much of that as they do heat." Seeing the bones of a dragon was one thing, but Eithan seemed to be implying something entirely different. "Pardon, but it sounds like we're going to see a real dragon." It was like learning he was about to feed a lion by hand: a unique experience, but far more terrifying than anything else. "There's a cave in this very city where the Arelius family has sealed a descendant of the ancient dragons, and that cave is filled with such madra! What luck!" Lindon finally caught on. "By chance, does that cave happen to be Underground Chamber Number Three?" Eithan beamed and clapped him on the back. "By now, my servants should have the seals undone and a medical team standing by. After you!"

Chapter 10 Sand blew in waves against a cliff of black stone. A cave mouth opened into the mountain, rough and round, as though it had been chewed into the rock by a worm twice the height of a man. A script encircling the entrance shone scarlet, and though there was no door, a red haze rippled in the air— visible even without Lindon's Copper sight. "There's a door deeper in, though the servants will have opened that for us," Eithan explained as they approached. A huge stone had been rolled away from the entry, resting now to the side. "We don't want to hold it open for long. You can never be too careful when you're trying to prevent deadly beasts from escaping." Lindon gripped the straps of his pack tighter, feeling the weight of his halfsilver dagger in his pocket. Half a dozen sacred artists in various uniforms dropped to their knees as Eithan approached, all of them wearing the colors of the Arelius family. One servant stood apart, outside the haze of the entryway, bowing at the waist. "The scriptors have undone the prime seals," he said. "Two stand ready to repair the script in the event of a breach, and three of the servants before you are trained healers with madra of blood and life. They lived through the fall of the Blackflames, and they should be able to counteract the Path's powers if you make it outside." "Exemplary work as always, One-Thirteen," Eithan said, pulling out his iron scissors to snip a stray thread from the servant's outer robe. "Keep it up, and soon I'll have to start using your name. Do you have any—" He was interrupted by a deep, bass roar that rumbled up from underground. It resonated in Lindon's chest, and he thought he could feel the sand beneath his shoes shaking.

He slipped one hand into his pocket for Suriel's marble, rolling its smooth, warm surface between his fingers. "Agitated today, is he?" Eithan asked. "His handlers say that company soothes him," One-Thirteen responded, with a nervous glance behind him. "It seems they haven't had any volunteers since Lady Nakali lost her leg." "Ah, well, I can't say I blame them. Though the Soulsmiths made her a fine prosthetic, didn't they?" "No expense was spared, I'm told, although surely she misses her flesh and blood." "Well, at least she can roast meat on her kneecap now. That should be some comfort." The roar came again, and this time the cave mouth darkened with a red, smoky light. Eithan sighed. "I'm back now, so I'll do my best to relax him. If all goes according to plan, I may have a permanent solution for you." The servant turned to regard the entry, but Lindon got the impression he was trying to look anywhere but at Eithan. "Underlord, if you don't mind, the handlers wanted me to remind you of the…merciful solution. He has rendered us great service, and it seems honorable to grant him rest. Please pardon my disrespect." Eithan rolled his shoulders and placed his palm against one of the runes on the side of the doorway. A ripple of almost-visible madra, and the light of the script died. "In this instance, One-Thirteen, I would rather extend grace than mercy." The haze in the entrance dissipated, and wind billowed out of the tunnel. The air outside had a slight chill to it—though there was no snow in Serpent's Grave, winter was almost upon them—but the breath of the cave felt like it was blowing from the door of a lit oven. Servants bowed them inside, and as soon as Lindon and Eithan had passed the entrance, the field generated by the script sprang up behind them. They walked down a long stone tunnel, its sides and floor scraped rough by the passing of ages. "Who are we going to see?" Lindon asked, because asking what they were going to see felt somehow rude.

"We are going to meet Orthos, one of the family's oldest and most stalwart allies." Eithan spoke with a wistful sadness, though his smile lingered. "Long before my time as Patriarch, Orthos served as a liaison between the Arelius and the imperial Blackflame family. Only ten years ago, he overused his power defending us from attack." Eithan waved a hand. "Defending them from attack. Had I been here...Ah, as I was saying, Orthos' own madra overwhelmed his mind. He gave too much of himself for the sake of protecting my family. The branch heads spent a fortune trying to restore him, to their credit, but it was eventually decided to end his misery." Another roar shook the stone around them, and a ruddy light welled up from deeper in the twisting corridor. This time, Lindon thought he heard pain in it. "I arrived around that time, and I countermanded the order. I can't say they were wrong for trying to spare him years of suffering, and some within the family think I'm cruel even now to keep him alive. But if there's a chance to restore him, we owe it to him to try until we can try no longer." His voice turned grim. "I've ended lives to avert suffering before, and sometimes it is inevitable. But it's never a decision to make lightly." Lindon was still curious about Orthos, but a different question took priority. "If you'll allow me a rude question, I have wondered for some time now: are you not from the Blackflame Empire?" "Not entirely," Eithan responded easily. "I spent most of my childhood in Blackflame City, as I believe I've told you before, but I was born half a world away. The Arelius family is a wide tree, my young adopted brother, with many roots. I've only returned to the Blackflame branch for…six, almost seven years now." The tunnel was starting to even out, with the red glow becoming slightly brighter. The air seemed to buzz against Lindon's skin, with a slight tingling vibration that he thought would soon grow uncomfortable. "Incredible that you rose to the head of the family in that time," Lindon said. Eithan chuckled and adjusted his shimmering red-and-gold collar. "Oh, they couldn't promote me fast enough. Having an Underlord at the head puts them on the same level as the three great clans, so I would improve our standing even if I spent all day drinking peach wine and eating honeydrops.

But although I do make a dashing figurehead, I prefer to take more...handson control of the family's operations." Lindon couldn't help a pang of sympathy for the Arelius family elders. Or "branch heads"—whatever they were called here in the Empire. Trying to prop Eithan up as a puppet leader seemed like trying to saddle a whirlwind. When the tunnel ended, it didn't open up as broadly as Lindon had expected. Instead of a huge room, he found himself at the juncture between five other tunnels, all similar to the first. The ceiling was barely over his head, and the rock looked as though it had been chewed to a sharp edge. The air here sizzled even more strongly than outside, until it felt like insects crawled over every inch of his exposed skin. The moment they arrived, footsteps like drumbeats approached, along with a sullen glow the color of live embers. Lindon clenched and unclenched his fists, cycling his madra in preparation for a fight, and kept his mind on the dagger in his pocket. But what good would any of that do against a dragon? "Bid welcome," Eithan announced, "to the last great descendant of Serpent's Grave." A massive black shape shouldered its way through the tunnel like a man pushing through a tight doorway. It turned blazing eyes on Lindon: they were inky pools of darkness, those eyes, with a circle of furious red where the iris should be. The skin of the creature's reptilian head was cracked and leathery, pure black, and clusters of blazing embers burned on its back. By the light it carried with it, Lindon saw the creature clearly. "Is this...is this what a dragon looks like?" Lindon whispered. "A dragon? No, no, I said it was a descendant of dragons." Eithan threw out a hand in presentation. "Orthos is clearly a magnificent turtle." Lindon had wondered if the shadows were playing tricks on his eyes. Orthos was a massive black turtle, the peak of his shell rising as high as Lindon's head. He was as long across as a horse but thrice as wide, and his squat body looked heavy enough to sink a ship. The facets of his shell glowed sullen red around the edges, and black smoke rose from him in hazy waves.

He locked eyes with Lindon, growling like an avalanche. Lindon cycled desperately, pulling his dagger into sweaty hands, ready to dive behind the column in the center of the chamber. Orthos' mouth dropped open, his jaw gaping so wide it looked unnatural, and smoky red light began to rise up his throat. "Some days are better than others," Eithan said, stepping between Lindon and the draconic turtle. "He recognizes me on occasion, and will even guide my servants through the tunnels. But other times..." Black fire billowed out of the turtle's mouth, filling the walls with oppressive heat and a prickling so sharp it became painful. Lindon's eyes watered, and he pushed himself against the column of stone. Eithan swiped his hand in a single gesture, blasting the Blackflame madra apart like a gust of wind tearing through a cloud. "Be polite, Orthos. You have a guest." The light in the turtle's eyes turned orange, like a living flame, and he roared his defiance. Lindon dropped the halfsilver dagger to the ground in his haste to clap hands over his ears. And Eithan moved forward, shoving the sacred beast's mouth closed with both hands. The roar cut off with a snap. "I know it is difficult," Eithan said, his nose inches away from the turtle's. "But gather yourself and hear me. A boy has come to train here. He is one of the family." Orthos struggled, but couldn't escape the implacable grip of the Underlord. "He could help us, do you understand?" Orthos' eyes finally moved up to Eithan's, and crimson irises dimmed into a look of helpless confusion. Finally, the turtle growled once, and Eithan released him. "I'm sorry for getting rough. If this works as I intend, you could both learn from one another." "Bond…" the sacred beast said, in a voice like a rumbling volcano. Despite Lindon's encounters with Elder Whisper, it still surprised him to hear a six-foot turtle speak. Evidently that one word exhausted Orthos' energy, because his eyelids fluttered and then slid closed. He sank down onto his belly, letting out a breath like a furnace. "That's the plan," Eithan said, patting the leathery head. "As I said, Lindon, this place is rich in aura of fire and destruction. I could teach you

the Blackflame Path, and you could cycle here, work hard, and eventually grow into a fine sacred artist." "I am eager to learn," Lindon said. "I know there is no shortcut for work." Ten months wasn't much time, but he was resolved to at least try to master sacred arts the orthodox way. At least until that failed him. "…instead of all that, I'd like to take a shortcut," Eithan continued. Lindon let out a sigh of relief. "Building up aura in your core takes time. You cycle aura every day, a fraction of that aura is converted to madra, and your core slowly transforms to produce madra of that aspect on its own." He waved a hand. "Since we have a deadline, I want you to share madra with my friend here." "Of course," Lindon said, thinking of the scales he had Forged for Fisher Gesha. "Allow me a few days to gather some." "I like that attitude, but I think you may have misunderstood me. As I said, Orthos is plagued by a buildup of Blackflame madra in his system, ravaging his mind and his body. We bring him purified madra to cleanse his channels, but it's like sprinkling water on a bonfire. However, if we can link your core with his…" Eithan spread his hands. "He gets relief from the burden of his immense power, and you get a piece of that power for yourself. It's a win all around." Lindon looked to the turtle hesitantly. "Do I just…pour madra into him, or…" "Even easier than that. There's a contract that humans can make with sacred beasts, and it functions in a similar manner to a soul oath: two spirits binding themselves to one another. It must be mutual, just like an oath. And it's typically done while both the contractor and the contracted beast are young, so the child's madra is pure and the beast's madra has not yet fully developed." Eithan ran his hand over the smoldering shell, evidently not the slightest bit worried about burning himself. "Orthos is almost three hundred years old. Far from a hatchling, even by the standards of his line. If he were to share his power with a child, the child's body would quite literally explode." That image did nothing to soothe Lindon's misgivings. "But that's what you want me to do?"

Orthos snorted. His eyelids fluttered, and his shell flared red. Eithan snatched his hand away and took a careful step back. "There are some risks, to be sure. If Orthos is too far gone to consent, the contract will fail. There's the chance that it will work at first, but it won't be enough to save him. In that case, you'll still have your Blackflame core, but we'll have to put him down after all. You'll bond his Remnant at Gold." The turtle slowly rose to his feet, and the temperature in the cave rose another few degrees. Eithan moved between Lindon and Orthos, shaking out his sleeves in preparation to use some technique. "However, if this works as I hope it will, you won't need his Remnant at all. Instead, when you're ready to break through to Gold, he will use his power to help you bridge that gap." Lindon wanted to walk forward, but the creature's sheer size, overwhelming heat, and the uncomfortable needle-prickling of destruction aura kept him where he was. "Is this still my choice?" "Certainly. You have a choice between sharing the power of an ancient dragon-beast or, instead, spending three hours a day in meditative cycling until you can begin to touch the faintest whiff of Blackflame power." Lindon marched up and placed his hand on the turtle's head. His madra slipped into the sacred beast with no resistance—an advantage of pure madra. Orthos' madra was black and blood-red twined together, dark and hungry, like a malevolent wildfire. Lindon almost broke contact immediately; the turtle's spirit was so overwhelming and unrestrained that he was sure it would consume his madra instantly. Black eyes filled with circles of shining red swiveled up, meeting Lindon. "It's not a complicated technique," Eithan said. "Swear to share your core with him, and to accept his power in return." After another second, he added, "I've found that saying it aloud helps the process. That goes for you, too, Orthos." "I swear to open my core to you and share my power," Lindon said, though he was ashamed to hear his voice quaver a little. The hand on Orthos' head was starting to get uncomfortably hot. Orthos' mouth slid open. Thick, inky flames gathered in the back of his throat, streaked with red like blood.

Eithan moved forward. Lindon took a step back, half-lifting his hand away from the sacred beast's head. "I swear," the turtle thundered, in a voice that slammed into Lindon's ears. A stream of pure madra flowed from his strongest core, sucked away beyond his control. Lindon stumbled back, releasing his touch, but the bond between their souls did not break. Orthos drank in his power until the core was almost empty. Then a black-and-red river plunged into Lindon, burning through his madra channels like molten iron through his veins. It didn't hurt nearly as much as he felt it should have; the worst part wasn't pain, it was the feeling that his spirit was burning up. Crisping and blackening like a leaf in a fire. That he was dying, hollowed out. Everything that was Lindon was burning away. "Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel!" Eithan shouted. Lindon was still staring at his burning core as though at the stump of his own hand. His mind couldn't process it aside from a sense of numbing horror. But Eithan's words shook him awake. He dropped to his knees, picturing the stone wheel, pushing it harder than he ever had before. Now came the pain, scorching his soul in a way that was more than merely physical, but the fire helped him as well as hurt. Every rotation of the wheel drew in more Blackflame madra like a spindle gathering thread. He could hardly breathe, but that didn't bother him now. All his mind, soul, and will was focused on the heavy stone wheel, churning away. Either this would work, or the dark fire would burn him to ash. *** Eithan watched the two of them with hands on his hips. Orthos and Lindon were both screaming, though he doubted either heard it, and tongues of Blackflame madra leaped around the cave, scorching through Lindon's clothes, leaving grooves in stone. The aura of the place had gone wild, making this cave an oven and steadily devouring anything inside. A Copper who stepped inside this place would have the air scorched from their lungs and their skin crisped and blackened. So far, the plan was unfolding beautifully.

He picked up Lindon's pack and carried it to the entrance tunnel, where the air was relatively cooler. The books inside wouldn't have lasted much longer without bursting into flames, and the pack itself would have eventually followed. Without turning his head, Eithan watched the boy and the turtle. They would still be a while. Advancing to Jade usually took some time, after all, even if you had help. In the meantime, Eithan took the opportunity to flip through Lindon's possessions. He set aside the books, bandages, medical kit, rune-light, emergency rations, extra clothes, inkwell, spare brushes, blank scrolls, needles, thread, scripted fire-starter, sculptor's chisel, carving-knife, soap, seven purple boundary flags—one broken—and a frying pan, carefully remembering the relative position of each item. Eithan had seen everything in here already, from the first moment they met, but he didn't want Lindon to know he had interfered with anything. That would spoil the surprise. Finally, he unearthed what he'd been digging for: the Sylvan Riverseed's case. It was a box of scripted, reinforced glass, big enough to contain a small cat. A river flowed around the edges, guided by a water-aura script that kept it in motion, but the center of the box was filled by a little grassy island. A finger-sized tree rose from one of the hills, life aura flowing through it in a verdant green web. Beside the tree stood the Sylvan itself, looking curiously up at Eithan through the lid of its tiny world. Sylvan Riverseeds were natural spirits—beings like Remnants, only born of accumulated vital aura rather than the death of a sacred artist. They only formed in places where the aura was both extremely strong and in perfect balance. If the aura slanted toward one aspect or another, a different natural spirit would form. Typically, you would find that balance of aura in the heart of a forest, next to a spring or a river. In such a place, air and earth, heat and cold, life and death all coexisted at the same point in roughly equal amounts. This spirit looked like a featureless puppet about three inches high, its body the vivid blue of a sunlit lake. It raised a hand to him, and its head

split into a wide mouth, like a baby chick begging for food. Other Sylvans were better suited for different purposes, but Riverseeds were gentle and flexible. They could work with power of virtually any aspect, supplementing and supporting other forces. Which made them excellent raw materials. They were so malleable that a skilled craftsman could make a Riverseed into a guardian, a weapon, a guide, an elixir, a power source, a drudge, or—in some cultures—a very expensive cocktail. It was fortunate that Fisher Gesha had never noticed Lindon feeding his pet. There wasn't much a Soulsmith couldn't do with a Sylvan Riverseed. Not the rarest treasure, a Sylvan. But valuable. He had used elixirs made from Riverseed power to help Orthos, though such measures were only temporary. Only a long-standing contract could slowly mitigate the damage that centuries of Blackflame madra had done to his spirit. Over the weeks since Eithan had adopted Lindon, he'd considered many possible options for the spirit. In the end, he settled on the simplest possible result: he'd leave the Sylvan as it was. Its own pure, gentle powers would balance the corrosive, deadly Blackflame perfectly. No alteration needed. But perhaps a bit of…enhancement was in order. If the Sylvan had grown a little faster, Eithan wouldn't need to act at all. But Lindon's scales weren't the most nourishing food. Eithan ran his thumbs along the glass, tripping a hidden catch and popping open the lid. The Sylvan ran around in circles at the sight, excited, making plopping noises like the drip of water into a pond. Extending one finger, Eithan conjured a spark of soulfire. The gray-white flame was half-transparent, like the memory of a flame rather than a flame itself. Unlike a natural blaze, it was perfectly round, spinning slowly and throwing off the occasional flare like a dull, tiny sun. This was only a fragment of the writhing, spectral gray mass of soulfire that hovered in his spirit, just a few inches above his core. Other Underlords would weave as much soulfire as they could afford, hoarding it against an emergency, but Eithan counted on his ability to make more at a moment's notice. Thanks to the sense provided by his bloodline, he could always find more fuel. Heat surged against his back, reminding him that time was still ticking on, so without any further hesitation, he flicked the spark into the

Riverseed. Soulfire sunk into the Sylvan's body, and a deeper blue color spread like dye. In an instant, it went from a bright, sunny blue-green to the deep sapphire of the open ocean. The spirit surged and stretched, inflated by the influx of power, growing until its head would scrape the bottom of the glass case's lid. Its hands split into fingers, long blue hair grew from its scalp, and its body flowed into more human curves. After only a second, the Riverseed panicked. It flailed its arms, staring at horror at its new fingers. That sight drove it to the far end of the case, jumping into the flowing river. Realizing it was now too big to submerge entirely, it scampered back and huddled under its tree instead. Eithan chuckled. The enhancement of soulfire was painless and harmless. It could be a bit disconcerting, but in the end, it was nothing but a benefit. But it did require a certain amount of power for the changes to stabilize. With that in mind, he Forged a scale himself: identical in size to Lindon's, it was a vivid blue-white, and anyone with the least skill in perception could sense its power and density. In the Blackflame Empire, they would call this a superior-grade scale, and it would be worth about ten thousand of Lindon's. Eithan created it in an instant, letting it drop into the case. Even huddled under the tree, the Sylvan snapped at food. Its mouth opened wide, and it swallowed the scale in a second, which quickly broke down into nourishing energy. The transformation surged forward again, the spirit growing even more defined. When the details finally settled, Eithan was somewhat surprised to see what stood there: it was very clearly a tiny woman in a flowing dress, all seemingly formed from azure liquid. It wasn't unusual for more advanced spirits to start taking on humanoid forms, but Eithan had expected it to look more like him. Evidently Lindon had a strong impression that the spirit was female, which had influenced its shape. She peered up at him with what had been a featureless face a moment before. With one finger, she brushed what looked like hair out of her newformed eyes and gave him a sharp grin.

Then she straightened up, all of four inches tall, and bowed at the waist. Eithan inclined his head graciously in return, and shut the lid. *** Orthos' spirit felt like a boulder stopping up a volcano: a heavy, steady presence restraining boundless fury. Lindon could feel him even with his eyes shut, could point to the turtle in complete darkness. But then, he could feel everything now. His body was like a rag that had been squeezed dry, but his spirit soared. Orthos' presence blazed next to him, and the power of the cave surrounded them both like a warm blanket. Pinpoints of energy dotted the caverns for at least a few dozen yards before his perception faded out. Some of those points felt dangerous, even hostile, but some were calm, or else so alien that he couldn't read them at all. He found that he could tell which of the points were stronger and which weaker, just as he could tell which stars were brighter than others. All of them, it seemed, were weaker than Lindon. Eithan stood at the entrance to the chamber—Lindon couldn't see him, but he could feel him, a steady presence that was strangely blurred. For the first time, he couldn't tell whether the power behind that blur was strong or weak. Lindon focused on that presence, and his perception flowed out, like a finger he'd reached into the distance. He couldn't hear or see anything this way, not like the Arelius family apparently could, but all the powers of madra and aura were clear to him. He placed that finger of awareness on Eithan, and the Underlord laughed. Lindon's eyes snapped open; Eithan was standing over him, much closer than Lindon had expected. "How are you enjoying Jade?" Eithan asked, reaching out a hand to help him stand. "This is Jade…" Lindon checked his cores. Sure enough, one of his cores was no longer the bright blue of its twin, but a ball of black flames shot through with the occasional flash of red. The Blackflame core rotated slowly without his direction, grinding in rhythm with his breath. "Barely," Orthos grumbled. The bright circles of red in his black eyes were fixed on Lindon, and a new emotion soaked into Lindon from their bond: arrogance. The turtle took a bite out of the rock as though it were

made of cheese, speaking through a mouthful of gravel. "You almost burst under my power." He had, but he was already forgetting the pain: Orthos had taken him another stage higher. The Patriarch of the Wei clan was only Jade. Lindon bowed at the waist, speaking with sincerity. "Gratitude, honored Orthos. I am grateful beyond words for the gift of your power, though I am not worthy of even this small fraction." Orthos' pride flared up, and he stood straighter, until his shell almost scraped the low cavern ceiling. "Yes. You will not lack for rewards in my service." Eithan patted the turtle's nose, though Orthos jerked back like an affronted child. "Congratulations on your new subordinate, Orthos. If I may remind you: this clarity of yours will not last for long. If you want Lindon to share this burden with you, you should see to his training yourself." The dragon-turtle snorted, and black flames shot from his nostrils. "My memory is dim, but I remember you. You never spoke with proper respect." Eithan slipped his hands into the pockets of his outer robe. His grin widened. "Do I owe you respect?" "I do not fear Underlords," Orthos said, words underscored by a growl that shook the earth. "Your advancement means nothing before a dragon's breath." Eithan drew himself up. "Sir! If this is an issue of respect, we should settle it like proper citizens of the Blackflame Empire. Let a friendly exchange of techniques decide whether you take the reins of Lindon's training, or whether I kneel to you as my master." Though the Underlord's smile had been wiped away by an expression of haughty dignity, a playful sparkle remained in his eyes. Orthos' satisfaction radiated through their bond, and his eyes glowed bright. "Trial by combat," he said. "Let it be so." The temperature spiked again as Eithan and Orthos faced each other, ready to do battle. Lindon grabbed his pack and ran. As the battle broke out behind him, his spirit shook with fear and warning…but that didn't stop him from digging around in his pack for his box of badges.

It was time to exchange his iron for jade.