Uncrowned (Cradle Book 7)

by Will Wight

  [You know, I saw his name on the lists, and I assumed I was reading it wrong. Or there was something wrong with your eyes.]

  “During the second round, he was unchained and left to his own devices,” the Ninecloud Soul went on. “He ran around the island eliminating everyone and everything he encountered. Our records do not make it clear whether he sought out the crown or whether he accidentally ended up with it after killing everyone else.”

  The image of the man started wildly thrashing, tearing at his restraints, snapping his teeth and lashing a long black tail behind him.

  “Now that the rest of his team has been eliminated, we have decided to list him under his real name: Naian Blackflame.”

  Dross gasped. Mercy covered her mouth with a hand and looked to Lindon.

  Lindon watched the broken man strain against his chains.

  For almost two years, Lindon had heard about how the Path of Black Flame would erode the mind, body, and soul. He had seen Orthos' transformation after the damage was reversed by the wells of Ghostwater.

  But he had never seen what happened to a human.

  After a few more pleasantries, the Ninecloud Soul vanished, leaving Lindon in a quiet room with Mercy. Birds chirped from the rafters, and clear water babbled as it ran in a creek throughout the room.

  When Mercy finally spoke, her voice dragged out as though each word pained her. “I'm sorry to do this to you, but it gets worse.”

  [Doesn't seem too bad so far!] Dross said to both of them. [It's all of us against a mad, injured prisoner. I feel like we can handle it.]

  Mercy searched Lindon's eyes as though checking to see if he was ready for bad news before she continued. “We didn't do well enough last round.”

  That was no surprise, though it hurt to hear.

  “Monarch Shen's Dreadgod teams still have eight people left,” Lindon said. He'd seen the lists. “Sophara is still ranked first, and most of the other top ten ranks are taken by the Ninecloud Court. We do not have the strongest individual, nor the most participants, nor the best team.”

  As he spoke, his feelings firmed: he was still confident.

  “And what does it matter?” he went on. “The only thing anyone will remember is who is still standing at the end.”

  Mercy's look was full of compassion, but she and Lindon were drawn to the door at the same time as they sensed a powerful presence approaching.

  “Not the only thing,” Mercy said.

  Fury burst through the door a moment later, hair scraping the doorframe and chest bare from within his outer robe. Knocking must have been a courtesy he left behind in his advancement.

  Lindon bowed over a salute, but Fury waved that aside. “Monarch meeting is finally over,” he announced, throwing himself down on the couch. “We're losing.”

  “What was on the table?” Mercy asked quietly.

  Her uncle—who, now that Lindon thought about it, was technically her older brother—raised his head to peek over a cushion. “You should come to these things, you know. If you keep it up with your advancement, you'll lead the family someday.” He let his head drop back down. “And then I wouldn't have to go.”

  “I know the Dragon King must be gaining influence...” she prodded him.

  “Yeah, his little snake is making the rest of us look bad. Charity thinks the dragon girl might end up a Sage, and if she makes it to the top eight, I won't be able to deal with her myself.” He let out the longest, most drawn-out sigh that Lindon had ever heard. “The cat and the snake are speaking with one voice, and thanks to little Sophara and those cults, the rest of them are listening.”

  [I can guess what he means,] Dross said, [but I'm a little afraid he is actually talking about cats and snakes.]

  Reigan Shen and the Dragon King are working together, Lindon explained, though in truth he didn't understand much of the situation.

  Mercy looked like she did, from the way she frowned and chewed on her lip. “So it is about the Dreadgods?”

  “Of course it is. You saw the teams that Shen brought, and did the other Monarchs band together and kick him out? Didn't say a word. Any more than we did when the Nineclouds put Miara as their team captain. Maybe I should slap on a wig and a veil and push around some Underlords.”

  Lindon wanted to ask more questions about that, but Fury didn't slow down. “More Monarchs have died trying to kill the Dreadgods than any other way, but Reigan has the others convinced that he’s found a way.”

  “How?” Lindon asked. The question came out of him so quickly that he forgot to be polite.

  Fury pointed to him from the couch. “The cat has a key to crack open the western labyrinth. He claims he’ll use it as bait, drag the Dreadgods in, and the security measures on the maze will weaken them enough for us to kill them and craft their corpses into the most powerful Divine Treasures the world has ever seen. The cults, of course, think he’s just waking them up.”

  The Herald sat straight up. The wind stirred, gathering him until he sat on air and drifted to face Lindon and Mercy. “Problem is, the first thing the Dreadgods will do is run straight through Akura territory to get what they're after. We take on all the risk.”

  The western labyrinth.

  Lindon's throat tightened. He knew where that was. His right hand curled into a fist.

  It wasn't the Akura clan who would be taking on the risk, but the people in their territory. The people of Sacred Valley.

  “Mother won't let them,” Mercy said confidently.

  “No, she never has. But half the Monarchs feel like cities and towns are only holding us back, and most of the other half are listening because there's nothing at stake for them. If it weren't for Northstrider, we'd have been run over already.”

  Lindon's spirit shivered as a massive spiritual scan passed through the whole building.

  Fury tilted his face up. “Yeah, I'm talking about you. No need to show off.”

  The scan passed.

  “How can we help?” Mercy asked.

  “Don't just win. Send a message.” He held out a fist, and red eyes blazed. “Crush Naian in two seconds, Mercy, and show them why they should be afraid of us.”

  Lindon thought of the man straining against the restraints, a prisoner of the dragons and a victim of Blackflame madra. He could spend the week looking up records of Naian's techniques from the second round and training against Dross' model, but Naian Blackflame wasn't the goal. He would spend more time training against Sophara.

  “Pardon,” he said, “but I have a suggestion.”

  Both Akura turned to him. Mercy looked surprised, and Fury curious.

  “We have two people against his one,” Lindon said. “Everyone expects us to win. And they expect Mercy to be stronger than he is. I think, with your permission, that we can send a stronger message.” For effect, Lindon let the Path of Black Flame bleed into his eyes. “Let me defeat him, Blackflame to Blackflame. We can show them that even when we play by their rules, using their Paths, we are still stronger.”

  Fury's eyebrows raised, and he turned to Mercy. “Can he do it?”

  Mercy responded with instant confidence. “Yes.”

  The Herald shrugged. “All right, Lindon. What do you need?”

  “Your guidance in picking a weapon tomorrow,” he said. “And, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, I’d like access to a Soulsmith foundry. I have a plan.”

  ~~~

  Information requested: Reigan Shen, Monarch of the House Shen

  Beginning report…

  Path: King’s Key. Reigan Shen is its creator and sole practitioner. A force Path touched by the authority of space. As a Jade cub, he was lucky enough to bond with a Sage’s Remnant that had some command over space. His Path involves control over an extra-spatial vault in which he stores weapons, techniques, and even enemies.

  Reigan Shen is a creature of ambition.

  He was born to a pride of regal white lions on the western plains of the Rosegold continent, a prince of this line of sacred
beasts. His diplomatic victories were matched only by his impressive record in combat, and before he turned twenty years old, he had united the plains under his family name and reached Underlord on a Path of his own design. If he had been allowed to continue his life uninterrupted, he would have led his tribe to unprecedented prosperity and ushered in a new treaty between the local human cities and sacred beasts.

  The Dread War disrupted his fate. When the twelve Monarchs attacked the Wandering Titan in an attempt to destroy the Dreadgods once and for all, Reigan Shen distantly sensed the battle. And when the other three Dreadgods woke to defend their brother, beginning the greatest slaughter of Monarchs since the creation of Cradle, he saw the start of that fight as well.

  It was his first glimpse of true power, as such things are measured in his Iteration, and it filled him with awe. The conflict broke most of his home plains, and many of his pride lost their lives, but he led an expedition to a nearby human city. His goal: to find out the identity of these godlike beings whose battle had broken the earth and spread across the sky.

  That same year he began his search, the Dread War concluded. The two surviving Monarchs convened the handful of Heralds and great families remaining in the world. Together, they organized the Uncrowned King tournament in an effort to pool their resources and raise up a new generation of Monarchs.

  Reigan Shen reached these families just as they had begun their search for powerful Underlords. He was the victor of the first Uncrowned King tournament, and that fortune became the foundation for decades of conquest.

  Now, the Monarch of the King’s Key Path has a reputation as a conqueror and a glory-seeker, an imperialist and a daring innovator. He is known to be generous to his people, but ruthless and cruel to all others. He is always looking for the next legendary deed that will spread his own myth.

  So when he approached the four Dreadgod cults, promising them each that he intended to awaken their masters for good, they had no reason to doubt him.

  Suggested topic: The life and death of Tiberian Arelius. Continue?

  Denied, report complete.

  Chapter 15

  The competitors were kept in a waiting room before the main event. It was a small, gray room with only a pair of benches against the wall, a low table, and a cabinet.

  Mercy engaged in a series of stretches on the opposite side of the room, but Lindon sat on the bench, cupping Little Blue in his hands.

  The spirit stared up at him, her chimes full of confidence.

  “It's okay if you're scared,” Lindon told her. “This will be dangerous. I'm not sure it's worth the risk.”

  Little Blue stuck two fists in the air and whistled.

  Dross didn't manifest because of all the foreign gazes around—Northstrider could probably see them from the other side of the world if he wanted to, so there was no guarantee he wouldn't glance into the waiting room with his spiritual perception.

  But Dross still spoke into the Riverseed's mind. [We’re attached to a big human Underlord, aren’t we? Let him do all the fighting. That’s his job!]

  Blue gave out a burbling sigh.

  [What! I'll have you know that I have as much courage as any dozen memory constructs! Which is...hm, that would be none. Twelve times zero is zero. Well, I have more than that!]

  Lindon leaned closer, looking into the Sylvan's ocean-blue eyes. “If you're scared, we can call this off. There are things I can try on my own.”

  She gave him an unusually serious look and a single, resolved nod.

  Without further hesitation, Lindon drew Little Blue into his soulspace. He could feel her revolving there, between his cores, curled up as though asleep.

  [I am being serious now, though: don’t let her get hurt, okay? Or me, if that were to come up for some reason.]

  Lindon snatched up his shield and slipped it over his left hand. He’d created it himself, with Dross’ help, from scrap materials and dead matter that the Ninecloud Soulsmiths had allowed him to use. It was made primarily from force madra, with an Underlord-level defensive binding and a few protective scripts here and there. It wasn’t compatible with his Blackflame madra or his hunger madra, so he couldn’t use it on his right hand, but he still found himself attached to it.

  He had taken the bulk of the shield from a turtle-Remnant. It was a broad, stone-gray shell.

  Orthos would have been proud.

  The madra felt a little unstable, but it shouldn't cause any problems for him. If the shield was destroyed in this fight, but he managed to save Naian, it would be worthwhile.

  At the touch of his madra, a sword hovered above him and behind his shoulder. It was a real sacred instrument, a masterfully crafted weapon covered in elegant script.

  The double-edged blade was wide and tinged with just a hint of blue, its runes stylized to look like crashing waves. The hilt and guard were a pale green that reminded him of wind aura and carved with the image of powerful gusts.

  Wavedancer was the weapon’s name, and it was a masterpiece. Its Archlord spirit was as graceful as its physical form, and it had no binding, so he could use it even as an Underlord. According to the description from its creator, it was meant to “Bend the swiftness and power of an ocean storm to the protection of its owner.”

  It was a comforting presence behind him, using his madra as fuel to hover, but he didn’t feel the same connection to it that he did to the shield. Maybe it was because of its aspects of water and wind, or maybe it was that he’d made the shield himself. Regardless, he needed an Archlord weapon, and this had been the most suitable for him.

  Dross took over controlling it immediately, so he didn't have to waste his concentration.

  “Apologies,” Lindon said aloud, “but I can’t control what happens to Little Blue. I think it’s worth the risk. So does she.”

  Dross grumbled. [Is this Blackflame your long-lost brother and you just never told me? Wait, now that I’ve thought of it, I actually do want to know the answer. He’s not. I know he’s not. Is he?]

  In the ravaged twenty-five-year-old Blackflame, Lindon saw Orthos. Between what Orthos had been before meeting Little Blue and what he had become after Ghostwater, there was a world of difference.

  Orthos had gotten his life back. Maybe Naian Blackflame could too.

  Mercy pulled her hair back, tying it into a tail with a string of sticky black madra. Suu rested against her shoulder, her new lens hanging on her forehead over her left eye. The lens was her Archlord prize from the last round: a circle of scripted purple glass that enhanced her vision in half a dozen different ways. She wore a newly tailored version of the Akura team uniform, the high collar framing her face in bright violet and the cape sweeping out behind her.

  He wore the same, his outfit broader and bulkier than hers. His halfsilver badge hung over his chest, though he'd been forced to leave his void key behind again. With the turtle shield on his left hand, Wavedancer hovering over his right shoulder, and Dross and Little Blue in his spirit...he was ready.

  Lindon stepped forward into a script. Colors swirled in the runes for a while, scanning his weapons and soulspace for anything beyond his station, until it finally flashed white. He was approved.

  He stepped aside while Mercy walked into the scanning circle, her purple eyes concerned.

  “I can still fight him, if you'd prefer,” she offered.

  He took a deep breath, working the fingers on his Remnant hand. “Gratitude, but I need to try. Besides, it's better if we have you in reserve in case I mess up.”

  She laughed, but he hadn't been joking.

  Once the script lit up for her, she moved past to join him. Distantly, he could hear the noise of the crowd and the voice of the Ninecloud Soul as she introduced the two factions.

  He could do nothing else to prepare. He was as ready as he would ever be.

  After a minute of silence, the heavy stone wall began to grind upward.

  Instantly, a gust of wind and a rush of noise blew in. The dry air smelled of ash, and L
indon wondered why. The arena hadn't smelled like that the last time he'd been there.

  When the wall finished opening, he saw what had changed: the arena was covered in dead trees.

  The sandy stone that had been the arena floor before was now covered in a thick layer of white-and-gray ash. Dozens of brown, leafless trees rose from the ashes, dry and ready to burn.

  The Ninecloud Court had prepared a battlefield suitable for two Blackflames.

  “...led by the daughter of Monarch Malice herself, the Akura family!” the Soul announced, and the crowd roared in response. The colorful Monarch towers around the arena were once again packed with people, though the Akura crowd closest to him was muted. The shadowy veil around their tower deadened even sound.

  Lindon and Mercy strode out in their plum-and-violet uniforms, with Lindon one respectful step behind the Akura heiress.

  The rainbow light of the Ninecloud Soul spoke from above the arena, flashing with every word. Northstrider still stood in the middle, black-scaled muscular arms folded across his chest. His eyes were closed as he waited.

  Only a few seconds after Lindon stepped out on the ash, another section of wall on the opposite side of the arena began to rise.

  “Naian Blackflame, fighting for the black dragons!”

  The skeletal young Underlord rushed out, flecks of spittle flying from his unrestrained snarl. His eyes blazed with hunger, and he rushed through the layer of ashes on bare feet. Lindon was somehow disconcerted to see that Naian didn’t share the Blackflame eyes that he and Orthos did. The Goldsign of the main Path of Black Flame was their tail.

  Compared to the visions Lindon had seen in the dream tablets, Naian looked even worse. His tail whipped behind him in a frenzy, dirt and grime smeared his matted, unshaven face, and wild, stringy hair hung from his head.

  Worse, he was still shackled; a scripted collar around his neck shone red, and Lindon could tell that he was attempting to force madra through it. His hands were tied behind his back with a series of scripted chains.