Eithan was doubly glad that he had researched the Akura clan's "fallen daughter" before coming here. Otherwise, he would have been completely in the dark, and there was little he hated more than ignorance.
He bowed once more, extending his gatekey in both hands. "I regret the inconvenience, but if I could beg you for one further favor..."
Justice smiled in a grandfatherly way and extended one finger to touch the crystal key. "Good-bye, Underlord. Until we meet again."
Eithan vanished.
Chapter 15
The "application process" was a race.
It was more of an obstacle course, Lindon had heard, similar to the dummy courses Eithan had used to train him. The course was so wide that it took up three-quarters of the fairground, broad enough that all five hundred and fifty-two Lowgold participants could line up shoulder-to-shoulder to begin.
The course itself was shrouded in an orange cloud meant to obscure the obstacles. He supposed they wanted applicants thinking on their feet, and he'd caught a few snatches of conversation as people speculated on what could be inside.
Although very few of the Lowgolds were actually on their feet at all. They rode sacred horses, or stood on flying swords, or spread their wings, or were carried in elaborate cages by constructs. He spotted Mercy, who had straddled her staff as though she were riding a horse, leaning forward and bracing herself on the weapon with both hands. It hovered a few feet over the ground, though she wobbled so much he wondered if she would fall off. The dragon's head at the end of the staff snarled, violet lights shining where eyes should be, as though it were eager to proceed.
He glanced over at the Highgold course, which was much smaller and swallowed by a white cloud. There were only fifty participants there, and fewer of them were mounted, as though they trusted more in their own speed. He couldn't see Yerin, though he did notice sunlight glinting on steel and wondered if he'd spotted her Goldsign.
"Everyone else is riding," Lindon muttered softly. "I won't be able to catch up to them on foot."
Orthos' eyes blazed. "Of course. Climb on my shell, and we will destroy any obstacles in our way."
Lindon didn't want to question his good fortune, but he was shocked at how quickly the turtle had agreed. "Gratitude, Orthos."
"You sound surprised."
"I only thought you might consider carrying me to be, ah...demeaning? Not that I think it is, of course, only that you might see it that way."
Orthos looked at him as though looking at a particularly simpleminded child. "When a horse carries a man, which of them is the stronger party? It is only suitable that a dragon should carry lesser creatures."
Lindon couldn't argue with that.
His shell was hot, spiky, and uncomfortable. Lindon had to cycle and push back against the Blackflame madra rising from Orthos in order to stop from burning a hole in the seat of his pants. Every step the turtle took as he shuffled around at the starting line jostled Lindon so badly that his badge bounced on his chest. It was so uncomfortable as to be almost painful, but before he could get down and take his chances with the Burning Cloak, a Skysworn rose above the crowd.
Lindon had never seen her before, but she had a single horn rising from the top of her head and she floated on an emerald Thousand-Mile Cloud. Her armor gleamed, pristine, as she raised one hand.
"You are the greatest of all those who desire to serve in the Skysworn," she announced, voice thundering. "The first among you will have the honor of keeping the peace in the name of the Emperor. Fight hard, and let nothing stand in your way."
Lindon looked to his fellow competitors, who had either formed into groups or were casting suspicious glances at the others. They had picked up on the same thing he had: nothing prevented them from fighting each other inside the cloud. It was a pure competition, and the judges cared only about who emerged from the other end.
What did it say about the Skysworn, that they taught their next generation of protectors to compete with one another first and foremost?
The judge high in the sky raised her palm, and a crackling field of yellow and blue formed in her hand. "Prepare yourselves!" she declared. Lindon leaned forward, gripping the edge of Orthos' shell.
The field exploded with a crack, and they were off.
The orange cloud swallowed him in a second as Orthos dashed forward with blurring speed. It felt warm on his face instead of cool, as he would have expected.
On the other side, the first thing he saw was a ball of shining chrome headed straight for his head.
He ignited his Burning Cloak, striking the ball away with an explosive punch. The ball hurtled into the orange distance, and Lindon got a better look at this obstacle.
It was a broad field of flying, whirling metal balls. There must have been thousands of them, all circling in seemingly random patterns. It didn't look like they were targeting competitors, but the air was so thick with them that the mass of Lowgolds crashed into them like a wall.
They were fighting through, but with only a few exceptions, they were forced to slow themselves and proceed slowly and carefully. He could see Mercy among those who were hurtling through, her ponytail streaming behind her. She was still wobbling as though her staff would fall to the ground at any second, but she always adjusted her balance, narrowly avoiding a chrome ball each time. It looked like chance, but she hadn't slowed at all.
And neither had Orthos.
Perhaps because he was used to the protection his shell offered, he didn't seem to see any threat in hurtling spheres of metal. He galloped through the cloud in a straight line.
Lindon screamed for him to slow down, clinging to the shell. His knuckles ached where he had punched the first chrome ball, so he switched hands, grabbing on with his flesh hand and using his skeletal Remnant arm to defend himself.
His new hand was only a day old, and it still wouldn't do as he commanded.
...fortunately, it seemed only too eager to help. It hauled him closer, catching the metal balls in its palm without Lindon's direction. It seemed to draw something out of the spheres, because they dropped to the ground, lifeless, after it caught them. It must have been a property of the madra, because the binding in the arm didn't activate.
That was the good news.
There was a dark side, though. The arm focused on one ball at a time, preferring to feed than to protect him. One steel ball smashed into his ribs, another crushed his elbow between it and Orthos' shell, and still a third slammed into the heel of his foot.
As the pain took his breath away and his Bloodforged Iron body siphoned madra to deal with the injuries, he reflected that the pain in his ribs might be divine justice for Kotai Taien.
They were through the field of balls almost too quickly, and he gasped in relief, holding onto the shell with both hands. He was clinging desperately to Orthos, plastered belly-down on the smoldering shell. He was most focused on staying stable and conscious, but keeping his clothes from burning off was a strong secondary concern.
The second obstacle was a brick wall.
Orthos still didn't slow down. Lindon barely had enough time to form dragon's breath and burn his way through; he almost lost control of the technique, without a second hand to contribute. He finally managed it, sending out a liquid-looking bar of Blackflame madra that sliced through the bricks as though they were made of butter...
Carving a line straight down. He might have been able to edge his way through, if he didn't mind red-hot bricks pressing against him, but there was no way he would squeeze through riding on Orthos.