Light trickled in through the entrance; Yerin had cut open a hill and buried them in it. All the better for hiding. She’d scratched basic script-circles into all the nearby boulders to help veil them, but the one on the tent was still their best. When it went out, it was only a matter of time until they were found.
She opened a case that had once contained healing salves. As she’d expect from a rich girl, Mercy carried an herbalist’s shop worth of pills, elixirs, and sacred herbs around with her.
Or she had. They had delved deep into her stock to fight off the burn wounds the dragon Underlady had left them.
There was one vial left in the case, its contents glowing like blue diamonds. Yerin removed it and tossed it to Mercy.
“Last one,” she said. “Make it count.”
Mercy tried to push the vial back to her. “What would I use it for? Look at me, I’m good as new!” She stood up and twirled in place to demonstrate, but she didn’t have enough room to stand up straight.
Yerin wouldn’t have jumped straight to ‘good as new.’ The liquid fire madra had burned the hair off half of Mercy’s head. You wouldn’t know it now. Her salve was specially made to get rid of burn wounds; apparently the Akura family dealt with dragons more than mosquitos. Her hair had even started to come back in, faster than was natural, but Yerin had cut the girl’s hair all over to match. Now it was cropped close to the skull; it would be months before she could tie it back into a tail again.
The faint shadows of burn scars remained on her left cheek. Those would never heal on their own, but this salve should take care of them. Her leg was in worse shape. She hadn’t been able to put any weight on it for days, but a blood elixir had restored most of the meat. A sacred herb, sealed in a jade box like some kind of treasure, had taken care of the rest.
They had burned through most of the healing elixirs Mercy had brought with her from the Akura family. She wouldn’t be able to restock anymore, cut off as she was, but Yerin couldn’t think of a better thing to use them for.
So long as Mercy kept getting attention, she’d recover.
Yerin was in a brighter spot. She had a sturdier Iron body than Mercy, and she was more advanced. Whatever Mercy had done by summoning armor onto her arm, it took the lion’s share of the blow. Without that, they’d both be dead.
“Use it,” Yerin said. “Don’t make me break it over you.”
She’d almost had to do that already. After Mercy had first woken, incoherent from her wounds, she had refused to take anything until Yerin did first. Yerin had forced a healing pill down her throat.
At first, Mercy’s spirit had scared Yerin worse than her injuries. She had advanced to Highgold during the fight, clear as glass; after waking up, she was a Lowgold again. Yerin had thought it was some kind of spiritual damage, and had avoided bringing it up for days, but Mercy explained that it had to do with her Path.
She could push to open a page beyond her reach, and that book inside her would lend her the power to use it. For a time.
After that, she went back to advancing like normal.
Yerin had immediately asked if she could push to Underlord. Not that far, Mercy had told her. But she could hit Truegold for a minute or two.
That was more than Yerin could say for herself.
The gold Thousand-Mile Cloud was hovering over the edge of the island, and now there were Truegold dragons mixed in with the Lowgolds and Highgolds. Even if the Underlady stayed on her cloud, they were cornered. And the tent had only a day or two left.
Yerin had spent the whole time in this self-made cave cycling and practicing the Endless Sword. She had started touching on the next stage of mastery, but the hourglass was running out like it had a hole in it.
Mercy reluctantly started to apply the salve to herself, but Yerin was staring at the flickering tent. “I need to hit Truegold. Now.”
“We have plenty of time,” Mercy said. That was something Yerin had learned quickly about the Akura girl—if they were about to be buried in an avalanche, she would point out that at least it wouldn’t be hot.
“Even if I use my...guest...” Yerin still wasn’t comfortable talking, or even thinking, about her Blood Shadow. “...I can’t punch through any Underlords. If I don’t advance, we’re stuck on a raft with sharks all around. I’ve packed my madra to the brim, so I need something to draw more out of my Remnant and push me over the edge.”
Absently, Mercy rubbed some salve over a scar on her right arm. Her left was still clear, protected by the armor that had—briefly—stood up to an Underlord’s attack. “When we reached a bottleneck in our progress, we were taught to find someone to guide us through.”
“My master told me something like that.”
He had said, ‘You’d be amazed how much faster you run when there’s a hungry wolf behind you.’ His way of saying that danger could bring out new depths of strength. Also, his approach to training foot speed.
“I’m headed outside,” Yerin said, bracing herself for Mercy’s arguments.
Mercy’s hand froze. “I guess we have to go sometime.” She rubbed the remaining salve from her fingers, grabbing her bow—which was still in staff form—and pushing herself to her feet. Using the staff to brace herself, she picked herself across the crowded tent.
Yerin didn’t move. “Thought I was going to have to wrestle my way past you.”
“You want to put yourself in danger to push your advancement, right? Not a bad idea, but it would be safer with someone watching you.” Mercy started to run her fingers through her hair again, but stopped and pushed it back down to her side. “I’m not eager to take more fire madra to the face, but we can’t stay here forever.”
With a deep breath to cycle her madra, Yerin moved to push debris away from the entrance. Mercy stopped her.
“One Highgold,” she said.
“Not looking to bleed, am I?” Yerin said. If she lured in a Truegold—or worse—then she’d get no chance to advance. There was risk, and then there was stupidity.
“One Highgold. If there’s more nearby, we back out.”
In Yerin’s judgment, two Highgolds would be safe enough, but still she agreed.
She pushed her way out, into the clearing outside their handmade cave. After stretching out the last week of cramped muscles, Yerin knelt in the middle of the clearing. She breathed deeply, cycling sword aura to every limb.
“Keep their breath off me,” Yerin said. Her sword-aura couldn’t deflect madra, but it would do a decent job with everything else. So long as she handled it right.
Mercy bent Suu into a bow, nervously fiddling with the bowstring. “You can do this. One Highgold, you start to advance, and I’ll tie him up. Then we run.”
Yerin tore the veil from her spirit.
Her perception immediately extended; the veil dampened her spiritual sense like wearing a cloth over her eyes. Golden spots of heat flared into existence nearby.
The closest one started moving toward her. Perfect.
“They’re all around,” Yerin reported.
“Plenty of targets,” Mercy said, but her voice was higher-pitched than usual.
Yerin focused on aura. Her sword shone silver at her hip, though she didn’t draw it. Her Goldsigns were dimmer, but still useable. She summoned the image of the Sage’s Endless Sword, keeping it focused in her mind.
A delicate, controlled touch. Like plucking a string instead of hammering a drum. Aura like the wind.
The first Lowgold dragon veiled himself as he approached. Yerin saw him before she sensed him, a rustling in the brush followed by a flash of golden scales and silver claws that flashed in the sunlight. It happened so suddenly that it didn’t feel real.