“Not ‘Fierce’?” Yerin asked. “Nothing fierce about this one?”
Lindon shook his head, trying to remember a story that Orthos had told him months ago.
“Then I like it. Dance of the Dragon of Emptiness…what about Dance of Emptiness? Plain and stable. Doesn’t look like you have to do any dancing, though.”
He searched the characters, trying to figure out how else they could be read, before the memory clicked. “Void Dragon’s Dance.”
Yerin slapped him on the back. “There’s the winner. That’s a name you’d be proud to put in a manual.”
White light flashed in the darkening sky overhead, and they both looked up.
Lindon extended his Jade perception, and was sure Yerin had done the same. He had the brief sense that the light felt cool and sharp, but that was all before it faded.
“A celebration?” he asked. The Wei clan had shone colored lights into the night sky at every festival and most holidays.
Yerin’s face went from distracted and curious to deadly serious in the space of a blink. “Get your pack, bring it here. We should put our backs to an exit.”
Lindon strained his perception, but he didn’t even get a vague sense of the city. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing’s sure yet,” Yerin said, “but it’s not a party.”
He turned to run back to the cave, but stopped before he’d taken a step. To his surprise, he did sense something. Something a lot closer than the city.
Orthos’ core quivered like a bomb on the edge of exploding.
His shock and outrage echoed inside Lindon—he must have felt the same things Yerin did. Whatever that was, it hit the turtle like a gong. His spirit shivered, teetering off balance for an instant.
Then it fell into rage.
“I’ll go back later,” Lindon said, worrying for the Riverseed. “Right now, we need to—”
A roar shook their little valley. Dirt trembled, and the walls shivered.
Yerin’s sword was in her hand, and her Goldsign buzzed with sword aura. “That’s your turtle?”
“Not at the moment,” Lindon said. Blackflame madra swirled within him in furious, explosive bursts, ready to be used.
A deafening series of crashes filled the canyon, and gray smoke rose between them and the Enforcer Trial. The stone pillars were collapsing as Orthos got closer.
He was crashing straight through the forest of columns on his way to them.
“Yerin,” Lindon asked, his voice surprisingly calm. “Where would you put Orthos’ strength, if you had to rate him?”
She leaned on the balls of her feet, ready to dash into battle. “Hard to weigh sacred beasts, but I’d call him Truegold.”
“That’s what I thought.” He swallowed. “Gratitude, Yerin. I would never have made it out of Sacred Valley if not for you.”
Her spirit flared, and silver aura condensed around her like a shell. “Wouldn’t make it out of this valley without me, either. Talk when the fight’s over. Eyes up.”
Lindon had never taken his gaze away from the approaching sacred beast, but he still almost missed it when the huge black bulk hurled itself through the arch of their Trial, body blazing with the Burning Cloak, red eyes shining with madness. If Lindon had been any less than fully focused, he wouldn’t have made it in time.
But a Burning Cloak of his own sprung up around him, and he dashed off to the side, kicking up a spray of dirt, everything from his ankles to knees screaming at the strain. His Bloodforged Iron body kicked in instantly, stealing more of his madra and sending it to his legs.
Yerin ducked so low she looked like she’d plastered herself against the ground, slashing up with her Goldsign and her white sword both.
Orthos kicked out, and both of her attacks met burning claws.
Then the turtle’s momentum carried him over her body, and he slammed into the earth, roaring and turning in an instant. Yerin was back on him, slamming an aura-assisted blade at his neck.
They traded six blows while Lindon took stock of his options.
He could go back to the cave and get the Sylvan Riverseed to try and cleanse Orthos. It might not work, but he’d intended to try whenever Orthos showed up sane again. But the pack was all the way back in the cave, and by the time he returned, Yerin could be dead.
He could try to lure Orthos out the exit. He could probably get the turtle to follow him, and then Yerin could knock him through the aura barrier to the outside. If he was trapped, he’d be harmless until Lindon could bring the Riverseed to heal him.
Of course, that was assuming he couldn’t just drill a hole with Blackflame straight through the stone and come right back inside.
Or…Lindon patted his belt, feeling the weight there. He’d brought his halfsilver dagger along to the unknown Trial. He gripped the hilt in a sweaty hand, flared his Burning Cloak, and dashed into battle.
One cut. If he could stab Orthos at all, the halfsilver would disperse his madra, and Yerin would have an instant to stop him. It might even be enough to relieve the pressure on his spirit and make him sane again.
When Yerin rolled in the air over his shell and came down behind him, Orthos turned to face her.
And Lindon leaped in, striking at the turtle’s tail. He could cut anywhere, with a halfsilver blade, and it would work just as well. The important part was that the metal contacted the madra.
He stabbed Orthos in the tail, and his blade snapped in half.
Halfsilver was a brittle metal, and the turtle’s skin was thick as leather armor. He should have seen it coming.
Lindon cursed himself as he tumbled backwards, having been sent flying by Orthos’ tail. He eventually rolled to a stop, but hopped straight up to his feet—he’d been hurt worse than that in the Enforcer Trial.
If Orthos was in full command of his powers, they would both have been dead by now. Lindon could feel that in the power echoing through their contract. But fueled entirely by blind rage, the turtle could hardly string two thoughts together.
That was their only chance.
Clutching that possibility, Lindon dashed back into the fight.
Chapter 18
In Yerin’s view, you never got used to the fear of death, but you could ignore it. It didn’t go away, but when you’d spent more nights in swordfights than in soft beds, you learned to shove the fear into the dark corner where it belonged.
But facing the hulking, burning, armored beast that loomed over her and struck with a fury that singed her skin, that fear was creeping out of its corner and showing its ugly face.
Orthos was overwhelming her with the sheer power of his madra. He would smash down with an Enforced paw that cracked the ground, cough up a tongue of abyssal flames, and rush forward to crush her with his body weight, all in the space of a breath. She dodged what she could, but some attacks had to be turned, and it took everything she had to shove one of his blows to the side.
Her master’s voice was finally starting to scrape her nerves. She’d learned so much from the instincts bubbling up from his Remnant that she couldn’t believe Eithan had ever told her to get rid of him, but now he was starting to feel like a burden. Her Goldsign twitched like her master wanted her to cut the turtle in half; well, that would be just fine, if it weren’t a turtle. There was a big mound of shell in the way.
The Sword Sage didn’t see the problem. That was a stable enough move if it were him in the flesh; he could cut a mountain in half without a sword in his hand. But she was still a Gold, ten leagues and two oceans behind his stage of advancement. She couldn’t cut through that shell if Orthos stood quietly and let her…but her Goldsign was still pulling her to try it.