by Will Wight
“Strikers!” the new Elder commanded.
Five more streaks of light flashed out, all aimed at Yerin.
Lindon felt a spike of alarm and anger. Mercy instantly moved to cover Yerin, and the knot in his heart loosened, but they had still attacked instantly. As far as he knew, they could have killed her.
In a flash, Yerin vanished.
She reappeared next to the Jade woman, blade drawn, its white edge pressed against the elder’s throat.
The Irons behind panicked, staggering back and preparing weapons…but none of them attacked, clearly unwilling to risk the Jade’s life.
Yerin spoke while panting. “Now…would you bet we’re here to talk, or draw blood?”
After another moment, in which she met the eyes of all the Irons, Yerin slid her sword away and back into its sheath.
The elder raised two fingers to her throat, felt no blood, and then lowered her trembling hand. “Guests don’t usually sneak in to capture one of our Jades.”
Lindon took over. “We came to warn you. There is a great disaster on its way. You may have already felt it: earthquakes, spiritual pressure, earth aura behaving strangely.”
The elder gave one cautious nod.
“It is coming to destroy Sacred Valley. We can take you to safety, but you have to leave with us.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What reason do I have to think this isn’t a plot to destroy us?”
“Because we don’t need to plot to destroy you,” Lindon said simply. He kept his spirit wide open, his madra cycling slowly.
After a moment, her spiritual perception extended from her and ran through him in a soul-shivering scan. He allowed it.
Her sense was vague and weak, but she shook when she was finished. He almost didn’t hear her whisper “Gold? All of you?”
Lindon hesitated.
“Sure,” Mercy allowed.
Yerin gave a dry laugh. “You’re short by a long mile.”
“We’re far beyond Golds!” Eithan declared.
Ziel just shook his head.
The Elder looked to all of them in clear confusion, returning to Lindon. He simply said, “Yes.”
Rahm scanned them all, and each time, the shock in his expression grew.
“Forgiveness,” the Jade woman said with a bow. “I was disrespectful. We should find a place to talk where we won’t be on display to every peeping Copper in the school.”
There was indeed a significant crowd staring at them, some close and some far away, with varying degrees of anger or fear.
As he looked around, Lindon caught note of a building he recognized. He pointed. “We can speak in the Lesser Treasure Hall.”
The female elder’s face twisted in confusion. “Forgiveness, but the Treasure Hall is crowded. And I’m sure nothing in there would catch the eye of a Gold.”
“I would feel more comfortable if we were in Elder Rahm’s home,” Lindon explained.
“Elder Rahm oversees all three of our Treasure Halls. At least let me guide you to the Elder Treasure Hall, where we are better equipped to host honored guests such as yourselves.”
Lindon realized he was pinching his void key and lowered his hand. “Let’s start with the Lesser Hall,” he said. “One step at a time.”
6
Lindon remembered the Lesser Treasure Hall of Heaven’s Glory as a wide hall packed with pedestals. Sitting on each pedestal, covered in transparent panes of glass-like Forged madra, were treasures.
As he entered now, years later, the first thing he noticed was how small the place was.
Yerin glanced around at the floor and ceiling. “Got the place all swept and shiny new.” There was no trace of her battle with Rahm, which had destroyed much of the interior before.
Elder Rahm gave a harsh laugh as she dragged him along behind. “Such little damage was simple to repair.”
His colleague entered after the rest of them, following inside only after Mercy, Ziel, and Eithan had joined them. She didn’t bring any guards along with her, though she did position herself near the exit.
When they had all entered, the old woman bowed. “Apologies for the late introduction. I am Grand Elder Emara. I have not held the position for long, so please forgive me if my knowledge is lacking.”
“You’re forgiven,” Eithan intoned.
Lindon glanced at a wooden card sitting next to a case carrying a scripted sword. Flying Sword, it said. When powered by Iron-quality madra, this weapon is capable of levitating through vital aura and striking with the force of a real sword.
He remembered it, though he wasn’t sure if this was the same weapon. When he was here before, he had ached at having to leave this behind. It had no aspect requirement, so he’d wanted to keep it for later in his advancement.
Next to it was a dormant construct, a tiny humanoid puppet of wood and bronze with arms curled around its knees. Guardian Puppet. Requires a constant infusion of madra, but can be controlled directly in combat.
Aspect requirement: earth preferred.
Lindon didn’t remember seeing this one here before. Would he have taken it, if it had been? How would that have changed his first battles?
On his shoulder, Little Blue peeped curiously. He wondered if she remembered starting her life here.
Down the row, he spotted a shining Starlotus bud. The spirit-fruit that had started him to Copper. There were scripted boundary flags, various weapons, one construct he suspected was a drudge, even two Thousand-Mile Clouds.
Looking out over it all, Lindon found it hard to remember what he’d seen before.
“Some of these are the products of our craftsmen,” Grand Elder Emara explained. “Others we have commissioned or captured. They might not meet your standards, but these can become valuable to the development of our young Coppers and Irons. Elder Rahm can explain further.”
“I gave them a tour once,” Rahm said stiffly. “I won’t be repeating that mistake.”
With a smile plastered on her face, Emara sidled up to Rahm to whisper into his ear.
Eithan held up a hand. “I’m sorry to order you about in your own home, but why don’t you speak so we can all hear? We wouldn’t want any collusion against us, would we?”
They all could have heard the two elders whispering from next door, especially Eithan, so Lindon wondered why he would prevent the Jades from talking. If they thought they were speaking privately, they might reveal something valuable.
But the elders were only getting part of his attention. Most of Lindon’s focus went to the Lesser Treasure Hall.
Ziel strolled back down an aisle. When he reached Lindon, he spoke under his breath. “This is junk.”
That summarized Lindon’s thoughts rather succinctly.
The flying sword had been made from cheap iron. Its edges were brittle, its script clumsily carved. Just by etching the runes more precisely, they could have improved the efficiency by half. And the script was so long and poorly designed that it would interfere with any other scripts added to the weapon; if they had chosen their runes better, they could have added two, maybe three more modifications to the sword.
The Guardian Puppet would shatter like dry twigs in front of the first real attack. And it couldn’t function autonomously at all, so what good was it? If you were pouring your madra into something, you might as well just swing a hammer.
Even the Starlotus bud, toward which Lindon still felt some affection, now struck him as pathetic. Compared to a real spirit-fruit, it was like a drop of dew next to a glass of wine.
“At least there’s some halfsilver,” Lindon whispered back to Ziel, who dipped his head in concession.
Of everything in the hall, the only things worth Lindon’s attention were the weapons of halfsilver and goldsteel. And even then, only for their raw materials.
In an afternoon of work, Lindon could fill this hall with more powerful treasures. Using only local Remnants and scrap metal.
He shouldn’t have been disappointed, but he was.
If he got the chance, he still wanted to check out the Elder Treasure Hall, but he was much less eager to do so. He now suspected there was nothing of value in this entire school.
“…would like to hear more about this threat,” Emara was saying to Eithan. “If you have come here in the hopes of conquering territory, I can assure you, the Heaven’s Glory School is more than willing to negotiate.”
“Ah, but we are not the threat. How could we be? Look at our charming faces! No, the threat comes from the west.” Eithan tapped the ground with the point of his shoe. “Surely you’ve noticed.”
Emara and Rahm exchanged glances, and this time even Rahm looked worried. The earth trembled beneath them at that moment. It was almost gentle, but some of the objects rattled against their cases.
“We have spoken with the other schools about these signs,” the Grand Elder allowed. “Our final decision has been delayed due to a cowardly attack by our enemies.”
Rahm shifted to whisper into Emara’s ear, but he was stopped by a sharp smile from Eithan. The Jade woman continued without seeming to notice. “Please, allow us the time to consult with the other elders when they return.”
“And where are they?” Eithan asked.
“They have gone to punish our attackers. We needed every Jade we could spare to deal with their—”
“Wait!” Rahm shouted, but he was too late to stop her.
“—giant turtle,” she finished. Then she turned a frown on Rahm.
Lindon’s breath left him.
He’d felt Orthos’ presence as they approached. Those Striker techniques that had cut rainstone buildings to pieces: black dragon’s breath.
Orthos had come here. To his home. He’d attacked the Heaven’s Glory School to get something.
Someone.
He had tried to escape…and failed.
Three days ago.
Yerin seized the woman by the front of her outer robe. “Where?” Yerin demanded.
“The…the camp at the base of the Fallen Leaf—”
“Point!”
The Jade extended a shaky finger pointing deeper into the valley.
Eithan closed his eyes, and Lindon felt his perception extend. He even caught the hair-thin strands of madra from his Arelius bloodline power, so subtle that ordinarily no one could detect them.
“I see where they passed through, but I can’t…” He gave a frustrated grunt and opened his eyes again. “…I can’t see them. I’m sorry.”
“But you can confirm their direction?” Lindon asked.
Eithan nodded.
Lindon slipped Little Blue into his void key, opening it for only an instant. Then he took off running.
He shot away from the Heaven’s Glory School with the full speed of the Soul Cloak, pure madra flowing around him in waves of blue and white.
There were other routes out of the School. Heaven’s Glory covered more of the mountain than he had ever seen, but he only knew one way in and out. Fortunately, it was the route just ahead of him.
A soft pink glow came from the edge of the cliff he was sprinting towards. But it wasn’t a cliff; the road headed straight for it.
It was the top of a staircase.
Lindon plunged into the cloud of dream madra without hesitation.
When he was here last, the Heaven’s Glory School had called the process of climbing these stairs the Trial of Glorious Ascension. Those students who could make it up within a time limit were rewarded beyond those who could not.
To the mortal eye, it looked like a cloud of pink mist with hazy silhouettes flickering through. Sounds, strange and intimidating, drifted away from its heart.
To the spiritual senses, it felt like a concentration of emotions and dreams, a nexus of spiritual pressure and illusions. It was haunted by Remnants and natural spirits, either grown in this unique environment or cultivated by the Heaven’s Glory School. As soon as he crossed the barrier, they turned hungry eyes to him.
Then they bolted.
As Lindon sprinted down the vast staircase, he felt dream Remnants fleeing from him in all directions.
The illusions generated by dream aura, both naturally and as part of the Trial’s intentionally designed mechanisms, didn’t fool him for an instant. He ran through a paper-thin image of a bloody warrior with axe raised, and didn’t flinch at the sound of his mother crying for his help.
He had dissected his share of dream Remnants. They hunted with their spiritual perception as well as some purely mental senses that didn’t translate particularly well to living humans.
Whether they sensed his thoughts or his spirit or his will, they wanted only to avoid his notice.
Dross had been quiet for a while, but he was roused by the lesser spirits around him. [You know, I’ve always wondered what it was like to have someone cower before me. I like it. It’s a lot more fun than being the one cowering.]
The staircase switched directions a few times, but for the most part was a straight shot down the mountain.
Lindon cleared it in minutes, leaping some of the longer sections. He emerged from the fog of pink aura, turning and sighting on the location of the Wei clan. It was close, nestled roughly to the northeast of the valley.
Eithan emerged from the Trial an instant behind him, and Lindon slowed to allow him to catch up.
The Arelius pointed one finger in the direction of Yoma Mountain. “That’s where they headed, but they could have changed course.”
If they really were heading to the base of the Fallen Leaf School, their route would take them past the Wei clan, not through it. Then again, the Heaven’s Glory members hadn’t said they were after the Wei clan, but rather Wei exiles.
Lindon flared the Soul Cloak and pushed his speed.
To his surprise, he quickly left Eithan behind.
Eithan’s Path didn’t have a full-body Enforcer technique, though he had never known Eithan to need one. This was the effect of Sacred Valley’s suppression field.
He was starting to feel some effects himself, but as an Underlord, he would be drained far more slowly than Eithan the Archlord. To his spiritual sense, Eithan already felt more like a Truegold.
Which, he realized, was the weakest he’d ever sensed Eithan.
Lindon cut his speed. He wouldn’t be any good without a guide, though it grated on him to slow at all.
Eithan grimaced. “I’m not used to people slowing down to let me catch up.”
“I don’t prefer it either. Have you found them yet?”
Mercy reached them, flying on her staff, though she lurched and bobbed unsteadily in midair, the aura too thin to support a smooth flight. “Do you know where we’re going?”
Eithan ducked a tree branch that extended over the path. “They passed through here, but it won’t be long before you’ll be able to see farther than I can.”
Lindon had extended his own spiritual perception before Eithan had said anything. Since leaving, he’d kept his spirit wide open.
Orthos’ presence smoldered in the back of his mind.
The turtle didn’t feel any closer now than he had before. Lindon was getting no direction, no clear emotion. It still felt like Orthos was a hundred miles away.
Were they going the wrong direction?
He had to trust in whatever Eithan saw, but he hated how little they knew. What if the Heaven’s Glory Elders had misled them? What if the giant turtle who had fought them wasn’t actually Orthos?
If everything was as it seemed, and a group of Heaven’s Glory fighters had gone after Orthos, then Orthos would be in battle soon. He would give some signal, and Lindon would feel it.
Unless the curse of Sacred Valley interfered with their contract more than he suspected. Maybe Orthos was fighting now, and this was all Lindon could feel.
Dross tried to reassure him. They were doing the best they could with the information they had. But nothing helped his worries.
Until he felt what he was looking for.
Orthos’ presence went fro
m a smoldering coal to a dark, blazing torch. Hot anger covered a layer of cold fear, and it was all suffused with grim determination.
Lindon felt the moment when Orthos sensed his presence too.
Relief. Urgency. Pure joy.
Lindon couldn’t tell where Orthos’ feelings ended and his own began.
And now he had a direction.
“Follow me,” Lindon ordered.
He filled himself with the Path of Black Flame, and the Burning Cloak blasted him onward.
Wei Shi Kelsa had failed everyone.
Heaven’s Glory burned tents and sliced open boxes as they cut their way across what had once been the camp of the exiles that had sheltered her. There were hundreds of them, along with at least a dozen Jades, and they cut down stragglers and those too old or sick or injured to run. There was no mercy, only a burning, golden advance.
This was her fault.
It was her failing that had led her to be captured in Heaven’s Glory. If she had been more skilled in the Path of the White Fox, they would never have been caught. If she were stronger, as strong as Orthos, then they could have won the fight. If she were smarter, she would have stopped them from tracking her back here.
She looked down over the camp as Heaven’s Glory marched onward. Most of the exiles had escaped into the hills at the base of Yoma Mountain. Her father was among them. And her mother.
But they were caught between a tiger and a pack of wolves. The Fallen Leaf School wouldn’t protect them, and this mountain was their home. The best they would do would be to hand the exiles back to Heaven’s Glory.
Her father was with those fleeing up the mountain, but she had stayed back on this hill to watch the attack.
Her three allies—maybe the three most powerful people in Sacred Valley—stood with her. And none of them could do a thing.
Orthos grunted and hauled himself to his feet. The huge turtle’s leathery black skin was wet with his blood. His left eye was swollen shut, he favored his left foreleg, and his spirit was weak. He was running on his last drops of madra, after having practically dragged her back here.
“Go,” the turtle said, his voice like a gentle earthquake. “Hide with the others. I will thin their ranks.”