This alleyway was paved with smooth quartz and it had been cleaned with admirable zeal, even in the places most couldn’t see. Mentally, Eithan saluted the Ninecloud cleaning crew.
Golden eyes fixed Eithan, and he had to close down his spiritual senses in order to keep breathing. If he sensed the full attention of Northstrider upon him, he would lose control of his madra.
The Monarch’s eyes returned to the floor, and he took another bite of his vegetable wrap. A floating barge passed overhead, music and laughter and flashing lights drifting over them.
Eithan gave a beaming smile. “What a lovely evening we’re having, wouldn’t you say?”
Northstrider chewed.
“You know, I was reading up on your Path, which is of course quite famous. A fascinating study. There are scholars who have made their entire careers of unraveling your secrets.”
The Monarch reached into a tear in space, pulling out a clay jug. He washed down the vegetables.
“As I’m sure you know, I have some students in this tournament. One of them has a very interesting arm.”
Northstrider produced a second vegetable wrap.
“Not a unique arm, certainly. In many parts of the world, hunger bindings are not at all rare. But I’m sure it didn’t escape your attention. I thought you might be intrigued to know that the arm isn’t his only aspect that might interest you.”
Eithan’s view was replaced by a brief flash of blue light, and then he appeared in the center of a crowd. It was a party, from the looks of it, with colored lanterns floating overhead and hundreds of people dressed in their finest. A few of the closest staggered away at his sudden appearance, but by then he was already moving.
Northstrider had transported him to a completely different section of the city. Someone else would have been lost.
Eithan began navigating back toward where he had just been. Easy enough. Now, where can I find one of those wraps?
~~~
Lindon sat in the team’s waiting room. His Akura robes had been repaired, his spirit was full of madra, and his soulspace brimmed with soulfire. That gray flame played around his shield, which was now in spiritual form, soaking up the fire for nourishment.
In his mind, he and Dross went over the plan.
[I give you a twenty percent chance,] Dross said. [Two out of ten. That’s a lot better than nothing!]
For the past week, since the end of the third round, Lindon had done virtually nothing but run mental battles against Sophara. He and Dross had combed the Ninecloud tablet library for all records of her matches, and Dross had even made her faster and smarter to compensate as much as possible for the training she’d be doing on her own.
Over hundreds of fights, they had identified the keys: he had to focus on surviving the first few exchanges, then put enough pressure on her to make her use her drop of ghostwater. That would be the hardest part.
If he survived until it ran out, he could finish her.
If he couldn’t, then the Monarchs would get closer to allowing the Dreadgods into Sacred Valley. And a gold dragon who personally hated him would become the most celebrated Underlord in the world.
And he, himself, would miss the fastest path to Overlord. His journey would slow to a crawl.
Mercy dashed into the room in full Akura uniform. She didn’t slow down, throwing herself against him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders.
Lindon’s thoughts staggered to a halt, though he didn’t physically move. Her slight weight crashing into him might as well have been a breath of air.
“You’re going to win!” She looked up from his chest and took a step back, but even so, she didn’t release him. She grabbed the collar of his outer robe. “You can do this! Don’t worry! Do I look worried? No, I don’t, because I’m not, and you shouldn’t be either!”
She was practically screaming at him, and Lindon felt flash-blinded.
“Forgiveness, but what is happening?” he asked.
She took a deep breath. “Yerin couldn’t be here. They called her away.”
“Who did?” Lindon asked. She couldn’t be preparing for her match—her fight was against Mercy.
“The Ninecloud Soul. So I’m going to say what Yerin would say!” She slapped him hard enough that it echoed throughout the room, though he barely felt it. Yerin would have broken his jaw. “You have a sword! Stab the enemy!”
[That does sound like Yerin,] Dross observed.
The circle on the door had begun to glow dimly, and Lindon’s nerves returned. He gently extracted himself from Mercy, stepping up to the stone slab as the script-circle glowed brighter and brighter.
“Thank you, Mercy.” Lindon drew just enough Blackflame to set a torch of anger to his spirit. “I’ll see you in the next round.”
The door began to slide up, showing the dark floor and letting in a flood of screams and cries. He cycled his madra as memories spun in his mind.
Suriel showing him the death of Sacred Valley.
The Bleeding Phoenix covering the sky from horizon to horizon.
Ekeri’s gold-scaled chest burned through by dragon’s breath.
The gold dragon Herald, clutching a piece of the Temple of Rising Earth in its talons.
Sophara tearing off Lindon’s head with one swipe of her claws.
Naian Blackflame in chains, then collapsing bleeding to the floor.
On the other side of the door, she was waiting for him.
No…she was standing in his way.
The door slid slowly open, revealing the floor and letting in…silence and darkness. No screaming crowd. The shadow aura was thick, shrouding much of the arena, forming a barrier to keep him and his opponent isolated. The ground was slick, black, and irregular, like the stone had melted and then been frozen into place. His footing would be uncertain.
When the door lifted fully, the shadow aura didn’t stop him from seeing all the way across the arena, where his opponent saw him at the same time.
Not Sophara.
Yerin.
Her hand was frozen on the hilt of her sword, her dark eyes quivering in shock. Lindon stood rooted in place as Dross babbled in his head, insisting that there must be a mistake.
Northstrider stood between the two of them, black-scaled arms folded.
Rainbow light shimmered overhead, and the Ninecloud Soul cried, “Now, the first two fighters in the fourth round of the Uncrowned King tournament face their true opponents! Sacred artists, welcome Wei Shi Lindon Arelius, chosen of Akura Malice and representative of the prime Akura team…and Yerin Arelius, chosen of Akura Malice and representative of the Blackflame Empire!”
He could hear the Soul perfectly, but nothing from the crowd. Or perhaps Lindon had gone partially deaf.
Northstrider flicked his fingers, and suddenly the air carried both competitors forward. Yerin was visibly furious, and she focused her anger on the Monarch. Her six sword-arms burst out of her back, but he did not acknowledge her.
“This is not a punishment,” Northstrider said quietly. “Nor is it a plot. The measure of a sacred artist is how they respond to unexpected challenges, so I arranged this round to provide such challenges.”
Yerin glared at him. “You ready to swear that to the heavens?”
“The heavens do not constrain me,” Northstrider said, unaffected. “You should worry only about the opponent in front of you.”
Every breath rasped in Lindon’s lungs. He couldn’t take his eyes from Yerin’s face.
“I surrender.”
“No,” Yerin and the Monarch said at the same time.
Now Yerin had turned her anger to him. “This is a sour turn, but it won’t beat us. You bring everything you have…and so will I.”
The bonds of air released her, and she drew her master’s sword.
The audience cheered.
We were so close, Lindon thought. They had almost made it. One final round before the eight Uncrowned were chosen. He and Yerin could have both won.