“I’m sure they would. They have great respect for you.”
Orthos snorted, blowing out a few inches of dark flames. “As they should. They serve me in return for my protection.”
Lindon hadn’t seen Orthos providing any protection; it seemed more like the Arelius family was protecting him. “Is that how you were injured?”
“Any dragon would defend what belongs to them,” he said dismissively. “Even if they died for it.” Orthos’ spirit was usually alight with arrogance, but he didn’t seem especially proud now, like he was talking about a usual chore.
“What threat required you to act personally?”
“A rogue Blackflame,” he said, as though it were obvious.
Eithan had said the Blackflames fell fifty years ago, but it hadn’t been so long since Orthos was driven mad by his own power. Were there still other Blackflames out there, struggling with their spirits as Orthos did with his?
If there were, would they see Lindon as a threat, or a potential recruit? Either possibility shook him.
Orthos dug a stone out of the dirt and popped it into his mouth. “This is a waste of time. Show me your ignorance, and I will instruct you.”
Before the turtle changed his mind, Lindon hurriedly adopted the basic cycling pattern lined out for this Striker technique, gathering madra in his hands. He held his palms only a few inches apart, focusing on the air between them, pushing madra into a ball.
The black flames flickered into being. They wanted to rush out, but Lindon held them in place, keeping them swirling in the air between his hands. He added another layer, then another, trembling with the effort of keeping the madra contained.
“I’ve seen enough,” Orthos said, knocking his front paw against Lindon’s hands. The Blackflame madra went out like a snuffed candle—fortunately not exploding—and turned away from Lindon. “I don’t know what the family called this technique, but it was made in imitation of a dragon’s breath.”
Lindon silently thanked Yerin.
“Watch me, and learn.” Orthos opened his jaws wide. Ruddy light gathered in his throat.
With both his eyes and his perception, Lindon focused on the technique. Madra flowed up from Orthos’ throat, gathering and stopping in the back of his throat. More and more madra poured into a black fireball that spun, faster and faster, until it grew to half the size of Lindon’s head.
Then Orthos compressed it so that it was no bigger than a fist, and poured more power into it.
The whole process only took a second or two, and Orthos packed down the energy three times, always keeping the ball of fire spinning. The turtle was holding the madra with his spirit, but he didn’t grip it tightly; he cupped it like an egg until he was ready to pack it down.
With a roar, Orthos released the technique.
Lindon had expected a rough cloud of flame billowing out of the turtle’s mouth. Instead, a dense, almost liquid-looking bar as thick as a man’s leg blasted into the sky. The Blackflame madra streamed into the air, smooth and compact, radiating heat.
The bar of black fire punched through a cloud, drilling a hole in the middle as it blasted into the sky.
Lindon stared up in awe. “It is an honor to be instructed…” He trailed off as he sensed a change in Orthos’ spirit.
The turtle stumbled away, each step thumping against the earth like he walked on a drum. His eyes burned orange, and Lindon felt such a confusing mix of emotion through their bond that he couldn’t separate one thread from another: anger, exhaustion, confusion, fear, and pride fueled one another, blazing into a hot mass.
There was a flutter of black robes, and Yerin came to a stop in front of Lindon, staring up into the sky. She raised her white blade to point at Orthos without looking.
“I don’t place a heap of bets, but if I had to bet a box of gold against a horse’s hair, I’d say that was your giant Blackflame turtle.”
“He’s not well at the moment,” Lindon said.
“You have a leash for him, true?”
Blackflame madra shot out of Orthos’ body like sparks from a campfire as he stumbled around, his spirit a mess of confusion.
“It’s spiritual damage built up in his channels. If I could get the Sylvan Riverseed—”
Yerin tackled him in the middle and scooped him up, throwing him over one shoulder. Before he could react, his world lurched as she leaped away.
Just in time. His spirit sent him a warning, and he flinched an instant before another wave of Blackflame blasted away a chunk of the cliff. Rocks the size of his torso rained down, and Orthos whirled on them, roaring like they were his ancestral enemies.
They passed through one red archway and into the forest of pillars before Yerin let him down. “Is he going to trail us?” she asked.
“I don’t think he remembers we were there,” Lindon said. “I’ll see if he notices me this time or not.”
Yerin’s scarred face froze. “You’re…turning back?”
“I don’t want to,” he said apologetically. “I left my pack back there.”
Usually, there wasn’t much for Cassias to do in running the Striker Trial. He could guide the spears to some degree, or empower them with his sword madra, but none of that would significantly increase the difficulty or value of the test.
His real role was going to come during the Ruler Trial, the most difficult of the three Blackflame Trials, so he spent most of his time packing that course’s reserves with power. They wouldn’t run through that like they did through the Enforcer Trial, he could guarantee it.
Cassias was reading reports when he sensed Orthos’ arrival. He’d grown up with stories of Orthos, so he was initially nervous, until he reminded himself of Lindon’s contract. The sacred beast should be much more stable than before.
That was a relief. If he went crazy, the children’s lives weren’t the only things at stake: this course was a loan from the Empire, and it was worth more than the Arelius family made in a year. If Orthos ruined it, Cassias would have to answer to the branch heads.
Now that he thought of it, maybe that was why Eithan had left him in charge…
Shaking his head, he returned to his reports. The Jai clan had slowed their aggression, giving the family some breathing room at last. It seemed that having Eithan back and working was having some effect after all.
He was still working on the reports when he sensed the power of Blackflame blaze up. Cassias actually shouted and drew his sword, primed for battle, before remembering that the enemy was outside.
He manipulated the window, focusing on the Striker Trial—on Orthos. The turtle was going wild, spraying Blackflame madra in all directions, tearing up dirt and stone alike. He would exhaust himself in a few minutes, but if the contract wasn’t enough to restrain him, Cassias needed to call Eithan.
When he saw a figure in dark blue robes creeping closer to Orthos, Cassias first thought the window was malfunctioning. Lindon snuck up right behind the turtle, snatched his pack away—it had miraculously avoided obliteration—and dashed back toward the Enforcer Trial.
Orthos must have sensed his presence, but somehow, the turtle didn’t kill him.
Cassias let out a slow, heavy breath and returned to his table. Snatching up a fresh sheet of paper, he began a report to Eithan.
Lindon and Yerin didn’t attempt the Striker Trial again for a few days, instead hiding from Orthos. The turtle wandered back into the tunnels soon after venting his anger in the Trial course, but he didn’t go far. Lindon could feel him prowling in the nearby tunnels, like a predator waiting to strike.