Orthos growled and stumbled next to him, but fell to his belly. His eyes fluttered shut.
“Please, forgive this one for his rudeness,” Lindon said, sliding his pack off one shoulder. “This one believes he has something that may please you, but please spare the lives of this unworthy one and his companion.”
The ridge of scales she had in place of eyebrows raised, and she said nothing, allowing him to continue. Lindon reached into his pack, pulling out the biggest box he’d brought with him on this trip. The case of the Thousand-Mile Cloud the Skysworn had lent him.
Before he could open the box, Orthos’ eyes snapped open and his spirit seethed with the same insane anger that had possessed him when Lindon had first met him.
Lindon stared at him, shocked, as Orthos rose to his feet with the Burning Cloak flaring around his shell. Lindon’s was a pear-shaped aura around his body, but Orthos’ shell rose as high as a horse’s back and he was almost as wide as he was tall. He looked like he was surrounded by a black sun.
Even in the grip of his temper, he only growled and didn’t roar as he had before. Lindon couldn’t tell if that was because he was still partially in control of himself or if he simply didn’t have much energy.
The dragon-girl bared her fangs and gathered lines of liquid gold madra in both hands. “Black dragons,” she said quietly, snapping one hand forward. “Little better than dogs.” A whip of madra unfurled from that fist, cracking in front of Orthos’ head. Though the attack flashed like lightning, it made only as much sound as a man snapping his fingers.
Orthos didn’t flinch, ducking to the side and then extending his neck to snap at her arm.
Lindon wasn’t there to watch a fight. As soon as Orthos rushed forward, he cast the Thousand-Mile Cloud’s box aside and let the dense, grass-colored cloud unfold in front of him. He clambered onto it, merging his madra with the construct and urging it forward. Into the water.
There was a glimmer of yellow light in the distance. It could have been a reflection from this bubble, and Lindon would have preferred to find one that was clearer and closer, but he wasn’t quite spoiled for choice. As he reached the bubble, he carefully reduced his speed and ran his fingers through the water.
They pierced the bubble easily. As he’d hoped, this bubble was created by a massive script-circle that manipulated aura into holding the water at bay. He should pass through without obstruction.
“Orthos!” Lindon turned behind him to shout, hoping the sacred beast had enough mind left to hear him.
He saw a line of gold descending on him like a curved blade.
Lindon twisted at the last second, taking the madra whip on his pack. The attack caught him over the ear and on the hip, burning like a heated brand, but the pain wasn’t the worst of it.
The worst was the lurching sensation he felt when the cloud vanished from beneath him.
The Thousand-Mile Cloud, given to him by the Skysworn so he could follow them on assignments, dissipated into green wisps of mist as the whip struck the construct’s core. A shattered ball covered in script fell to the ground, singed. The rest of the construct faded into essence of cloud madra.
A split second later, Lindon hit the sand too. He rolled, ignoring the pain, trying to put some distance between himself and his attacker.
After rolling a few yards, he noticed he was leaving a trail behind; his pack had been torn apart. Burned, torn cloth that had once been part of his spare clothes. Fragmented scripts, broken stones. His heart caught in his throat as he saw water and broken trees spilling onto the ground between two cracked halves of a transparent case. Little Blue’s tank.
He dove for the twin halves of the case.
A quick glance showed him that Orthos was keeping the golden dragon-girl busy, but he couldn’t tell what the other two were up to. Apparently their silent truce remained.
The first half of the case was empty. Nothing but mud and sand left after it had fallen from his shredded pack. He dumped it out, just to be sure, but there was no sign of the Sylvan Riverseed.
And nothing but garbage in the second half.
Lindon’s eyes moved from one to the other as flashes of gold and red played over the glass. Like a rising tide of heat, Blackflame crept into his veins. His strained channels ached, but he pulled more.
Before the rage of the Path of Black Flame took over, he gathered himself and released his spiritual perception.
A sensation from behind him, like a fresh breeze, released his tension. With a breath, he let Blackflame go, and leaned to see behind a tiny mound of sand.
Little Blue huddled behind it, clutching her hands on her head as though trying to shut out sounds. She looked like a woman made of deep blue madra, only a little taller than his hand, in a flowing dress that was really part of her body.
Lindon extended his hand to her, and she turned to him with wide eyes that seemed to be filling up with tears. Lindon was fairly certain the spirit couldn’t cry, but her gaze trembled. She ran to him with arms outstretched, chiming like a bell, and clambered up his arm. Each footstep was an ice-cold pinch of static, and each was a reminder that she was still alive.
A wave of sand sprayed into the air as Orthos crashed down next to him. His spirit was dwindling as he ran out of madra, and his consciousness was starting to fade again—it almost felt like he was sleepwalking, but the turtle shook himself and flipped over from his shell, growling at the golden dragon-girl.
Holding Little Blue to his shoulder, Lindon dashed over to the box he’d discarded from the Thousand-Mile Cloud. He started shoving everything that had survived into it: the leather roll that contained his Soulsmith tools, the polished wooden case holding his badge collection, the notes on hunger madra, and his Heart of Twin Stars manual. He was especially relieved when he found that in one piece.
The Eye of the Deep went inside too, but it must have taken a hit from the woman’s whip. The jewel had a single long crack down one side, white-and-purple dream madra drifting out in wisps of mist.
If the physical vessel burst, the construct inside would dissipate. Lindon couldn’t worry about that now; he just had to hope it lasted long enough.
Lindon slammed the lid shut with his left hand and tried to fasten it shut with his right, but the Remnant arm passed through the latch like a ghost. Hurriedly, he used his left hand to seal the box. This would be big enough to hold all his surviving tools, but more importantly, it was waterproof.
He rushed past Orthos, seizing the turtle by the tail. Orthos dragged him forward for a moment, ready to run at his opponent, but eventually noticed the human clinging to him.
Lindon pointed to the light in the water and shouted, “Run!” Then he ran through the bubble.
Black, icy water swallowed him.
Chapter 3
Yerin passed through the jade doorway sword-first.
And out the other side.
She stumbled into the underbrush and whirled, looking back to see Mercy and Bai Rou on the beach behind her. Bai Rou held Mercy against the sand with one arm, the other extended toward Yerin, yellow madra swirling around his gauntlet. His eyes glowed the same color from within the shade of his hat.
“Return, recruit.”
Yerin stared at the door. She walked through it again, sweeping it with her perception.
The portal was gone.
Lindon was inside.
Cycling her spirit, she pushed all the madra she could into the script. The runes around the frame flared silver, then tinted a shimmering blue-green before dying out. The door stayed empty.
She stared at the artifact, trying to think, but her brain was stuck in the mud. Renfei’s message to Bai Rou had played loud enough for them all, and the phrase “multiple enemies” was all she needed to hear.