Uncrowned (Cradle Book 7)

by Will Wight

  She had to finish it now. She drew her blade back, pouring all her madra into one last technique. A second Final Sword.

  A blink later, the Blood Shadow kicked Lindon away and began echoing Yerin. The crackling storm of energy was a blend of red and silver, but Yerin's was a silver so bright it was almost white.

  Deep in her mind, it alarmed her that the parasite had a version of the Final Sword. Yerin had never shared that with the Shadow, and she herself had only learned it recently. The Blood Shadow had never practiced.

  Those were thoughts from a nightmare, but they belonged later. She had a fight to win.

  She was prepared for Lindon to sweep dragon's breath at them, but if he did, she could use the excess energy of the rising Final Sword to protect herself while the Blood Shadow finished him.

  In that razor’s edge of time, she found her consciousness sinking into the elusive state she’d touched throughout the tournament. She could feel an extra force in her technique, one she had never felt from herself before. It felt like her master.

  She had proven herself. She was going to win.

  Then Lindon lowered his hand into a claw.

  ~~~

  If Lindon strained his shield any further, it would break, and the detonation from its destruction would end him.

  If he used Striker techniques to strike at one of them while they prepared their techniques, the other would move on him. So he released his shield and took the best option left to him.

  The only secret he had kept from Yerin.

  He lowered his left hand, and claws of Forged Blackflame madra formed on each of his fingers, until it looked like he was wearing a dragon's claw like a glove. A miniature Void Dragon's Dance swirled around it, dragon’s breath filled it like blood, and a focused Burning Cloak surrounded it all.

  With the full power of his spirit and all his remaining soulfire, he forced all those techniques together.

  Months ago, Akura Fury had shown him how to layer techniques. He had used that advice to improve the Empty Palm…and to work on one original technique of his own. He and Dross had spent too much time, far more than Dross wanted to, theorizing and simulating and practicing. It had taken him months to be able to Forge Blackflame madra at all, and even now he could only hold it together for seconds.

  When he had taken in raw draconic madra from the black dragon, he had refined the technique again. And once more after absorbing the original Path of Black Flame from Naian.

  The technique coalesced into a massive dragon’s claw that streamed black-and-red power. He lifted his hand, Forged claws battering him with heat and destruction, and looked across to Yerin.

  She was laughing.

  Yerin dashed forward, her Shadow following her a second later. Both of them dragged their devastating techniques with them.

  As Lindon ran in to meet her, a serpentine stream of dark fire flowing behind him, he realized he was smiling too.

  Two Final Swords struck his technique: The Dragon Descends.

  Lindon's full power met Yerin's, and the stage ripped apart.

  ~~~

  Akura Fury laughed and clapped as the wall-sized view fuzzed.

  All the Akura Underlords were silent.

  Charity herself was astonished. She glanced at her father, who was applauding so furiously that some of the Truegolds in the back of the room had to run from the sound.

  She leaned closer to Fury, speaking lower so that the young generation couldn't hear her. “If I’m not mistaken, that was a touch of the Sword Icon. How is this the work of twenty-year-olds?”

  Fury threw an arm around her neck, hooking her tightly, still laughing. “These kids are amazing, aren't they? I can't wait!”

  She slipped away from him to preserve her dignity, but he didn't seem to care. Fury bellowed laughter, delighted at the prospect of new opponents.

  More Truegolds ran from the room, hands covering their ears.

  ~~~

  The view of the stage was obscured, and the projection for the audience disrupted by wild madra, but a Monarch's perception could not be blinded.

  ...and Sha Miara wasn't a Monarch at the moment.

  She shook the Herald, Sha Relliar, by his outer robe. “What is happening? Show me!”

  “You will see very soon,” her caretaker responded. He glanced down at her. “It looks like you face more competition than you expected.”

  She pulled up her viewing slate so that her nose almost touched the image of Lindon and Yerin. “I’m sure I can beat them. But…do you think I can?”

  “Of course, Your Highness.”

  ~~~

  Mercy pointed from the blurred view to Pride, who sat sullenly, arms crossed.

  “You see? You see?”

  “...I didn't say they were weak.”

  “Could you do that?”

  “Enforcer techniques aren't that flashy. It's wasteful.”

  “You couldn't,” Mercy said confidently, turning back to wait for the image.

  Pride's jaw tightened, but after a moment he let out a breath. “Fine. Maybe he is good enough for you.”

  “I told you!” she said excitedly. “I said they were...wait, what did you say?”

  ~~~

  The Winter Sage chewed on a fingernail, her heart torn. Yerin was directly responsible for Adama’s death, but at the same time, she hadn’t abandoned his legacy after all. In fact, there had been just a hint of the Sword Icon in that last attack.

  She had inherited Adama’s Remnant. Maybe that was all it was, in which case it wouldn’t happen again. But if not…

  Min Shuei turned abruptly, interrupting her students, who had been hotly debating Yerin’s techniques. With no explanation, she left.

  As soon as this round ended, she would see the Monarch Northstrider. She had to demand the right to tutor Yerin herself.

  Before one of the other Sages did.

  ~~~

  Northstrider watched the final clash of techniques one frozen instant at a time.

  Of course, Yerin Arelius had achieved a reflection of the Sword Icon. Anyone with any authority of their own would take notice, but it was most likely an anomaly. Underlords could not sense the Way clearly enough to manifest an Icon. It was a demonstration of the sacred artist she might one day become, nothing more.

  He was far more intrigued by Lindon.

  This was the Truegold who had gone to Ghostwater and made it out with a mental construct. Northstrider had taken note of him already and found nothing extraordinary.

  He was beginning to reevaluate that.

  Lindon had grown too quickly. Each round he fought, he moved like a different person. Every time Northstrider thought the boy’s mind-construct would reach the end of its capabilities, he was proven wrong. In this battle alone, Lindon had managed to compete with the Sword Sage’s disciple by showing reaction and processing speeds that should have been impossible for an Underlord.

  Yerin had called out the word ‘Dross’ just before Lindon’s performance spiked. He had thought it was an insult…

  …but what if it was a name?

  Chapter 20

  Information requested: Northstrider, wandering Monarch of the Trackless Sea.

  Beginning report…

  Northstrider was born with a connection to blood.

  His parents died shortly after his birth, never knowing that they had each carried a dormant bloodline legacy. These traits mixed in their son, producing an unmatched connection to blood aura.

  As an orphan, he was taken in by a local warlord, who collected pods of one hundred abandoned children at a time to defend him from the attacks of his enemies. He raised and trained them by teaching them to hunt water-drakes, lesser dragons that skim the surface of the ocean to the north.

  All one hundred children were raised on the meat of these drakes, but Northstrider’s innate abilities allowed him to absorb more of the remaining blood essence in the flesh than anyone else.

  At every opportunity, he would return to th
e ocean to seek out stronger prey, and it became known that you could almost always find him walking north.

  Thus did he earn his name.

  He grew strong quickly, beyond his age, always hunting more powerful quarry and moving deeper and deeper into the ancient places of the ocean.

  He discovered that the sea floor was a trove of treasures both natural and otherwise, and eventually found himself at the entrance to a vast labyrinth. Therein, he found madra that intrigued him.

  At that point in his life, he had never been formally instructed in a Path. The children of his pod were taught rudimentary techniques but were left to adopt them to whatever aspects of madra suited them best.

  When Northstrider integrated the bindings he found in the labyrinth into his blood madra, the Path of the Hungry Deep was born.

  Path: Hungry Deep. A Path focused on devouring the physical and spiritual strength of dragons, as well as their latent authority, using them to empower the user. Most techniques are rudimentary, but become complex in execution when brought to life with the touch of the Dragon Icon.

  The Path of the Hungry Deep is the most powerful hunger madra Path still in modern use.

  Suggested topic: techniques on the Path of the Hungry Deep. Continue?

  Denied, report complete.

  ~~~

  Lindon woke knowing that he’d lost.

  At the last second, it was as though Yerin had changed, though he’d sensed no extra power from her. Her technique had landed just that much sooner than his.

  And that was enough.

  He had re-formed inside the gray waiting room, sitting on a bench. His body and spirit were in perfect condition. The room was silent, empty. It was as though the fight hadn’t happened.

  “I lost,” Lindon said, and his voice echoed hollow in the quiet room.

  Dross slipped out of his spirit, turning to look at him with his wide purple eye. [But what a fight! You know what they say: it doesn’t matter how you play the game, only whether you win or lose. Wait, no, the other one.]

  “…I thought I was going to win.”

  He’d been more than willing to surrender when he first saw Yerin. He didn’t want to hurt her physically, and he didn’t want to hurt her emotionally by taking away her chance to become Uncrowned. For the same reasons, he had been willing to hold back and let her beat him.

  Because deep down, he knew he’d win.

  Since getting Dross, he’d never faced an opponent that he truly couldn’t defeat. As soon as he’d chosen to give it his all, he had resigned himself to beating Yerin. But he’d been fooling himself. He wasn’t good enough.

  Behind him, the door hissed open. He turned away, unwilling to look Mercy in the eye. Worse if it was Charity or Pride.

  “I’ve never been good at consolations,” Eithan said.

  Lindon let his eyes close. It was hard to imagine anyone he wanted to see less right now. Maybe Sophara.

  He heard Eithan walking up and sitting down on the bench across the room. “Mercy was coming in to cheer you up, but she allowed me the honor instead.”

  Lindon would have much rather seen Mercy.

  “I don’t need consolation,” Lindon said, forcing his eyes to open and look at Eithan. “I’m happy for Yerin.”

  His smile was gentle. “You know, people can feel two things at once. Even when it seems like they should be opposites.”

  On Lindon’s shoulder, Dross gasped. [You can feel two things? That explains so much!]

  “Gratitude, but I’m fine. I tried and I lost. There’s nothing more to be said.”

  Eithan scratched at his chin. “Hm. As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been willing to do whatever it takes if it accomplished your goal. That’s one of the things I admire about you. But I’ve always wondered one thing: what will he do when he pours his heart and soul into something and still fails?”

  Lindon’s vision blurred and his throat tightened. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s too late to do anything. I failed.”

  “I want you to tell me,” Eithan said, “what you’re going to do next.”

  Next. What did he want to do next?

  “Yerin won.” He straightened himself, organizing his breathing, pushing his pain and disappointment down. “I’m going to go see her.”

  Eithan eyed him. “Congratulations from you will mean a great deal to her, but are you in shape for that?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. The last thing he wanted to do was to dampen her excitement after winning the round and earning the right to become one of the Uncrowned, but he had to be with her. If she had fought someone else, he would have wanted to be the first to see her after her victory.

  Without waiting for another word from Eithan, Lindon left the room.

  ~~~

  Outpost 01: Oversight

  Makiel projected a map of Abidan territory in front of him. The nest of flowing blue light representing the Way spread into a roughly spherical shape, each branch dotted with points of light like berries on branches. Iterations.

  On the outer layer, too many of them were tinged with gray, illustrating the corruption of the Void.

  And now, four of them were black.

  After removing the first world, the Mad King had struck three more times. Testing Abidan response time. Makiel’s foresight. His weapon’s capabilities.

  Soon he would have all the information he needed. The testing would end, and he would strike.

  Who knew how far he could make it before the Judges could counter him? They were spread too thin as it was, fighting the incursions of chaos at their borders. Would he make it as far in as Sector Fifty-one? Would he make it to Asylum, to break out the other Class One Fiends? To Cradle, the birthplace of the Abidan? To Sanctum itself?

  He cast his sight forward, into the future.

  The Court of Seven had already given a united ruling, despite Suriel’s misgivings: they would salvage as many lives from the outer sectors as they could, retreating deep into their territory. Far deeper than Makiel had ever planned.

  There had been ten thousand worlds under their protection, a thousand fully integrated into their system. They would now protect only the core twenty sectors. Two hundred Iterations.

  The rest…left to fend for themselves. Now he followed the ripples of that decision out to the future.

  It wouldn’t be enough.

  He saw it as though his map of the Way sped through time. Gray corruption claimed light after light, Iteration after Iteration, until it eventually came to an equilibrium and stopped. Some worlds shattered to fragments while others struck an uneasy balance with chaos and survived, though tainted. Still others were eliminated or stolen by the Vroshir.

  But the Mad King wasn’t satisfied with more territory. He wanted to destroy them.

  With his false Scythe, he led the charge. The Judges would survive, the Abidan would survive, but it would cost them. Core worlds would be lost.

  He could see no further, but from such a position, there could be no doubt that the Mad King would rule.

  So he reversed his sight, bringing it back to the present. He spun it out again, reading Fate.

  Before long, his course was clear. They needed to recruit.

  Usually, the Abidan only allowed recruitment of those who had ascended beyond their Iterations of their own power. Every deviation from that was a slight violation of Fate, which could tip the world that much closer to chaos. The Abidan interfered in mortal affairs only in dire need. And often not even then.

  Now, risking a bit of causal instability was by far the lesser evil. It was that or eradication.

  Makiel willed it, and his Presence stirred to action, appearing in Sector Control headquarters for Sectors One through Twenty-one as a purple eye the size of a head. It delivered his orders.

  An action of this scale would often require the permission of the entire Court, but in this case, it was an order to bend Fate to preserve Fate. Well within the remit of Makiel.


  In world after world, the order went out and was obeyed: encourage recruitment.

  In Sanctum, this would take the form of open screenings and recruitment drives for the Abidan. In Jubilee, the Court would offer wishes in exchange for service. In Solitude, they would contact the Wise Serpents that ringed the world and ask for a gift of talented recruits. In Obelisk, they would wait at the top of the Tower, surpassing Threshold and taking in people directly.

  Their efforts would be tailored to each of the hundreds of worlds, but it would result in thousands of new Abidan over the coming years. Their ranks would swell to more than the Court had seen in centuries.

  They would lose some Iterations, and such deviation from Fate would create an unprecedented surge in corruption. But the new Court would handle it.

  Then the Mad King could not destroy them. They would survive.

  With a heavy heart, he finished delivering the message.

  He concentrated special attention on Sector Eleven. Not only did they protect Asylum, which would surely be a top-priority target for the King, they defended Cradle. And Cradle would be among the most delicate of worlds to recruit.

  Of all the Monarchs in Cradle, every one had already refused recruitment by the Abidan already. They would no doubt encourage others to do so as well. The Abidan would have to descend personally, representing the heavens, and appeal to the Monarchs’ successors. The next generation. They would have to offer a prize of great value, and the result might be only one or two new Abidan.

  But it would be worth it.

  Now, more than ever before, the Court needed soldiers.

  ~~~

  Even as Lindon dashed through the heavily decorated tunnels beneath the arena, the whole building shook with cheers. The Ninecloud Soul would be replaying highlights from the fight, instructing the crowd and following the match with hours of feasting and entertainment for the rest of the day. The next match wouldn’t be for a week, but the Court turned the time between rounds into a festival.

  Yerin would be mobbed by strangers. Enough people had tried to talk to Lindon already, mostly from the Akura family, that he could only imagine how many wanted a moment with Yerin. He needed to get back to her side as soon as he could.