Uncrowned (Cradle Book 7)

by Will Wight

  Now that they were both Underlords, Yerin's Steelborn Iron body gave her the overwhelming advantage in strength. Even if Eithan used a weapon to block, the impact from her strike would launch him into the stone wall.

  Without hesitation, or even losing his grin, Eithan smashed his fist into the flat of her sword.

  Not only did it deflect her sword off-course, but he had shoved against the weapon, pushing him to the side. Adjusting his trajectory in midair.

  Before he could land, her Shadow slashed upward with all of its blades and a host of Striker techniques. The razor-sharp crescents of blood madra caught him in a wave.

  For an instant, Yerin thought she'd gotten him.

  She wasn't worried about his safety. She couldn't be. If she held back against him, she'd never be able to push him to his breaking point. And she had to, if she wanted to ever catch up to him. Her master would have beaten him, even as an Underlord. She was sure of it.

  Eithan shoved one palm forward, and pure madra blasted out of his hand in a wave. It was almost colorless, with the bare tinge of blue-white to it, and it wiped the Striker techniques from existence before engulfing the Blood Shadow itself.

  The spirit gave a silent scream as it resisted, its form wavering and melting like wax before a campfire.

  Eithan released his technique as he fell, landing easily next to the Shadow, which lay in a quivering half-melted lump.

  Yerin had already released a Rippling Sword at him, a wave of deadly sword madra.

  He wiped it away with a casual backhand, then began to clap. “Well done! I was trying not to use any techniques, but you backed me into a corner. I have a few pointers for you, as well as perhaps a few insights into your training going forward—”

  He cut off as Yerin marched forward and seized him by the collar. Her anger burned hot.

  “Serious, Eithan! Be serious!” She shook him as her Blood Shadow re-formed behind her. The spirit's anger boiled against hers, feeding her fury. “I don't have a Dross! I don't have a Sage left to light my way! All I’ve got left to help me is you, so I need you to stop holding back!”

  Eithan's smile was calm. “As you wish.”

  Yerin released him, taking a step back and steadying her breaths. “That’s more than nothing, then.” Her Blood Shadow felt like it wanted to tear Eithan apart with its teeth. Focusing her spirit, Yerin raised her master's sword.

  Before she could make a move, every protective script in the arena lit up at once.

  To her spiritual senses, the atmosphere grew painfully heavy, as if the air had suddenly turned to water. Her spirit screamed a warning, and she threw the Endless Sword up like a barrier, surrounding herself in sword-aura.

  Her Blood Shadow exploded. Blood madra splattered all over the walls in a spray as though it had been struck by the hand of a Monarch.

  Yerin had seen nothing. She had felt only a brief spike of pure madra.

  Where was Eithan?

  She cast her perception out for him, but she sensed nothing. She spun in place, hunting for him.

  He was right behind her.

  His smile was gone, his eyes twin needles of ice. His hostility was so thick she could taste it. A fist squeezed her spirit, and it was all she could do to keep her madra circulating. She gathered a Rippling Sword at the edge of her blade, whipping a quick Striker technique at him.

  Eithan did nothing to stop it. The madra cracked against invisible armor that coated every inch of his skin.

  He pointed his finger up, and only then did Yerin realize there was something above her.

  She leaped back, but the seething cluster of blue-white stars against the ceiling followed her. She raised her sword, filling it with madra.

  A cascade of blue-white light speared down, powerful enough to drive right through her spirit.

  It lanced into the ground in front of her. When the light faded, the floor was completely unharmed.

  Her muscles shuddered in relief, and she lowered her pale sword. Her Goldsigns sagged, and she stared in disbelief at the spot where his technique had landed.

  Eithan slid over to her, grin returned, his overbearing malice withdrawn. The protective scripts around the arena faded. The bystanders had gone silent.

  Yerin stared at the untouched floor. “What are you?” she asked quietly.

  “An Underlord,” he answered. “People always think that the way to improve your power is to push for advancement, but that's not always true. A child and a veteran swordsman, given the same weapon, are vastly different opponents. With enough skill, there's no reason you couldn't do what I just did. In your own way, of course.”

  Yerin looked over at the puddle of blood madra pulling itself together. “Teach me.”

  Chapter 2

  A week had passed since the Sage’s transportation had brought Lindon to the city of Moongrave.

  From the outside, the Akura capital had looked less like a city and more like a fortress for evil giants. Remnants out of a nightmare guarded its black and spiked walls. Their physical manifestations were so detailed and solid that he almost mistook them for twisted sacred beasts. He hadn’t been able to see the end of the city’s walls, which stretched all the way into the horizon.

  Dark towers rose from behind the walls, and the cloudy sky crackled with purple lightning. The spiritual weight reminded him of the Night Wheel Valley, as though if he opened his perception too wide he would be blinded.

  From the inside, Moongrave gave off a different impression. It seemed as though everything inside had been designed by an artist, like a dark paradise. Carefully cultivated rows of glowing blue, white, and pink flowers flanked gardens of black trees that sheltered flickering, shadowy shapes. Remnants and sacred birds flew through the sky, often carrying passengers or pulling floating carriages.

  Lindon had spent most of his time here isolated, but the crowds he glimpsed always walked at a relaxed pace, gentle and civilized, as though they had all the time in the world.

  When he looked out over the city, it stretched before him like an ocean. He could scarcely imagine an end to it.

  Now, Lindon followed Mercy through a pair of iridescent doors that swung open before them, revealing a broad hall that seemed to be woven from liquid black branches and glowing stained glass in shades of blue, purple, and violet. A long walkway stretched out to the back of the room, with rows of benches on either side.

  The benches held a crowd of three dozen young, purple-eyed Underlords.

  Mercy strode between them, waving excitedly to some she recognized. These shuddered back or looked away, pretending not to see her. Only a few waved back halfheartedly, though they looked pained as they did so.

  Rather than focusing on Mercy, they all seemed to prefer watching Lindon. Like a pack of proud wolves watching a scrawny dog that had dared to wander among them.

  [They don’t look happy to see you. Maybe if you smiled a little more.]

  Charity appeared at the end of the walkway, on a raised dais beneath a stained-glass depiction of a giant female figure covered in purple armor.

  The Sage of the Silver Heart looked over her relatives with no expression. She looked no older than they, no older than Lindon, but she had the poise of a judge.

  She was a slight woman, but one in complete possession of herself, as though every movement of her body were deliberate. She wore the same fine, layered black-and-white robes as the rest of her family, but her outfit had been designed to suit her. The others seemed only imitators.

  The Akura Underlords all rose to their feet, dipping their heads to Charity. “Greetings to the Sage,” they shouted in unison, and the force of their voices shook the room.

  Lindon stopped walking when the Sage appeared in front of him, but Mercy grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him forward to stand next to her.

  A number of eyes focused on that black-gloved hand on his arm, and already-cold gazes grew frigid. Delicately, he slid his hand back.

  “Young Lords and Ladies, you have fough
t hard to serve the clan in the Uncrowned King tournament,” the Sage said. Her voice was placid and cool. “To have made it this far, you are the best of your generation. However, only one of you will earn the ultimate honor, and that one will fight as part of a team with these two. I thought it fair that I introduce them.”

  Soft violet light rose around Mercy, outlining her for the room. “You all know Mercy. The daughter of the Monarch, she bears Eclipse, Ancient Bow of the Soulseeker, and the Book of Eternal Night. To fight alongside her, you must prove yourself her equal.”

  Lindon expected the crowd of ambitious young Underlords to look eager for the opportunity, but it was the exact opposite. They seemed to lose all their spine when their eyes fell on Mercy, shifting in place, staring into the ceiling, clearing their throats, or fidgeting uncomfortably.

  Lindon glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Was she so amazing, or were these Akura Underlords not as impressive as he'd imagined?

  For her part, Mercy didn't seem to care what the crowd thought of her. She was craning her neck, looking over the heads of the first few rows, as though searching for a particular face among them.

  Light began to rise around Lindon, who straightened himself to try to project dignity, but Mercy interrupted before the Sage could speak. “Pride? Where are you?”

  The spotlight highlighting Mercy dimmed back into shadows. “Akura Pride,” Charity commanded, “step forward.”

  From the back of the room, behind a taller Underlord, a man moved into the walkway.

  He looked to be about Lindon's age, but almost two feet shorter. He had the same black hair, pale skin, and purple eyes of his family, but swirling tattoos flowed down from his ears and chin, down the sides of his neck, disappearing into his clothes. They looked like trails of ink, but they seethed as though alive, so Lindon assumed they were his Goldsign.

  He stood straight, straining for every inch of height, and he glared at Lindon as he emerged.

  Mercy brightened at the sight of him. “Pride!” She scurried forward, stopping as the short Underlord held out a firm hand.

  “Control yourself,” he said angrily. “This is not the place.”

  Mercy's shoulders slumped, and she shuffled back to Lindon.

  “Who is that?” Lindon whispered.

  “My little brother.” She let out a long, heavy breath.

  It was always awkward to step into another family's affair, and this time Lindon was all the more aware that he was the only outsider in the room. Some of the faces he saw had eye colors other than purple, but they still had the look of the Akura clan.

  A feeling in his spirit drew his attention back to Pride.

  The short Underlord stared at Lindon with murderous hatred. Lindon could sense it like a stench on the air.

  Dross gave a whistle. [He doesn't like you, does he? Do you think he knows you left his cousin to die?]

  Lindon hurriedly averted his eyes as violet light rose up from beneath his feet.

  “The stranger is Wei Shi Lindon Arelius,” Charity announced. “He rose up from nothing in the Blackflame territory, developing a pure madra Path with the guidance of an Arelius clan Underlord, and inheriting a fire and destruction Path from the former Imperial family. He now practices them both. He distinguished himself during the local selections, and he owes our clan a debt. I have called him here in order to repay that debt with service.”

  There were the hungry looks Lindon had expected earlier. Every Lord and Lady in the room eyed Lindon like they couldn't wait for Charity to leave so that they could tear him to pieces. His spirit shivered more than once as they scanned him.

  Pride had never looked away from Lindon. “You have chosen him over us, Aunt Charity? ...and Mercy?” His voice smoldered with barely-contained anger.

  Mercy seemed surprised that he had included her.

  “I have,” the Sage said smoothly. “I believe he can bring glory to the Akura clan, and if two-thirds of our team consists of family members, that will be enough.”

  “Then Mother’s nomination goes to Mercy, and yours to the outsider. Only Uncle Fury's nomination remains for us. What if there are two of us more qualified than this Blackflame?”

  Charity leaned forward as though about to take a step. The first row of Underlords shifted back.

  “Have you advanced to Archlord while I went north, Pride?” she asked.

  Pride shivered. “I apologize, Aunt Charity,” he said, the boldness in his voice fading. “My concern is for the honor of our family. I will treat him as an adopted member of the clan.”

  Lindon didn't know exactly what that meant, but several of the wolf-eyed Lords suppressed sudden smiles. He felt like he had been threatened.

  “An adopted clan member and a protected guest,” Charity added. “That will be acceptable.”

  Mercy gave him a consoling pat on the shoulder, and Pride bared his teeth as though he almost couldn't keep from throwing himself at Lindon.

  The Sage let a whisper of her spirit move over the room, which quieted all speech. “I trust none of you will waste too much of Lindon's time. Or Mercy's. Over the next nine months, we will be training them even harder than we train the rest of you. At the end of that time, my father will hold a competition to select the final competitor of the Uncrowned King tournament. I suggest that you all try your hardest to distinguish yourselves.”

  With that, Charity turned to Lindon and Mercy, speaking in a lower voice. “I will now leave you to get to know your peers. I believe it could benefit everyone. Mercy, can you handle it?”

  Mercy, still looking at her brother, nodded.

  “Good. Father will be along to train you any moment. I hope. In the meantime, please keep Lindon safe.”

  “What?” Lindon said. “I mean, ah, forgiveness, but...couldn't I come with you?”

  “Think of this as an opportunity for training,” Charity said. Then, a breath later, she faded into the shadows.

  Leaving Lindon standing on the dais next to Mercy.

  Half of the Akura Underlords surged forward at once, but Mercy stepped in front of Lindon. “I'm back, everyone!” she called. “I've missed you! Hey, I’ve got an idea: why don't we have a little competition to celebrate my return?”

  The crowd wilted back.

  “Are they afraid of you?” Lindon whispered to her.

  “In a way they're afraid,” Mercy said, but she didn't keep her voice down at all. “We compete for standing and favor a lot, and I’ve beaten…yeah, I think everyone here at least once.” Some faces flushed, or fists tightened in embarrassment, but no one said anything to dispute her.

  “I hoped they would be glad to have me back,” Mercy said sadly, her gaze drifting back to her brother.

  Pride pushed his way through the others. He looked from his sister to Lindon, standing right behind her, and his face twisted with the hate that Lindon had sensed earlier. Was he so offended that Charity had chosen Lindon?

  “We've all seen what Mercy can do. Now that she's an Underlady, I'm sure she's even more...impressive.”

  Mercy walked toward him. “Come on, Pride, let’s go home first. I missed you.”

  He held up his hand again, just as he had before, but he didn't look at her. He was fixed on Lindon.

  “None of us have seen what you can do, Arelius,” he said. “How about you show us?”

  [I can think of many ways this could go wrong,] Dross said. [So many ways. In fact, I'm having trouble imagining a way in which this goes right.]

  Lindon was in perfect agreement. “I apologize, brother Pride, but I must save my strength for training.”

  Pride's spirit exploded out of its restraint. Benches pushed back, the shadows darkened, and black tattoos crawled on his skin.

  “Brother?” the Akura Underlord choked out, his skin red with rage.

  [Is that an insult here?] Dross asked, but Lindon was just as baffled.

  Pride disappeared in a puff of shadow.

  He reappeared in front of Lindon in
the same instant. Black lines coiled over his skin, spiraling up each of his fingers and his arms, even across his face. He struck with thunderous force, punching at Lindon's chest.

  Thanks to Dross' enhancement of Lindon's mind, he reacted in time. The Soul Cloak sprung up around him, a blue-white haze of energy, and pure madra carried power through Lindon’s body. The back of Lindon's fist knocked Pride's away, but rather than following up with another attack, Lindon hesitated.

  This was his chance.

  Pride’s left hand took Lindon in the chest, and a burst of black madra exploded from it. An ice-cold detonation launched Lindon backward, into the purple stained glass.

  His back smacked into it, but the glass didn't crack even a hair. Instead, Lindon slammed against it as though into stone.

  But the pain in his body was nothing to the pain in his soul.

  Whatever technique that punch had contained, it had struck at the madra channels in his chest, searing his spirit. The shock blanked Lindon's mind for an instant.

  He came back to himself as he lay crumpled at the bottom of the wall, but Pride had not given up. Mercy had barred his path with her staff of slick, twisted black madra, and was trying to talk to her brother.

  Lindon extended his perception to try and get a sense of Pride, but it was hard to read him. It was as though Lindon’s spiritual senses slid away.

  [A property of shadow madra, I'm sure,] Dross said.

  That would make it harder to react to anything Pride did, and more difficult to read his techniques. Pay close attention, Lindon said to Dross.

  He could drop it here. Let Mercy take care of her brother.

  But this was his opportunity to leave. If he could show Charity that he wasn’t the right choice for the competition, she would send him home. Mercy would make sure nothing terrible happened to him.

  If he played this correctly, he might be able to learn something too.

  He would have to make the fight convincing, so he pulled Blackflame madra from his core. With the Path of Black Flame filling him, holding back became twice as hard. He didn’t want to take a loss. He wanted to teach Pride a lesson.