As an Iron—actually, he wasn’t sure what level she’d reached, since she wasn’t wearing a badge—as an Iron or a Jade, her oath would be much more serious. She was taking the bigger risk, and he was dealing in good faith, so there was no reason to refuse.
Still, he hesitated. His parents hadn’t even sworn to each other on their souls when they were married.
Yerin cracked one eye open to look at him, and at last he took her hand, gripping her wrist firmly. She gripped his in the same way…only much, much harder. It was all he could do not to wince.
He was starting to sweat in spite of the cold, and he still hoped she’d call it off once he demonstrated his willingness to swear. “We might want to consider this a little longer before we—” he began, but she cut him off.
“You try your hardest to get me away from Heaven’s Glory, and I swear on my soul that I’ll take you out of Sacred Valley and keep you safe until you’re stable and settled outside.”
A bit of her madra slid through his hand and slipped into his veins. It felt sharp, like a knife lightly dragged across his skin. He followed her lead, clumsily forcing his madra to follow hers back into her hand. “I, Wei Shi Lindon, hereby swear on my soul that I will do my best to help Yerin, the disciple of the Sword Sage, escape from the pursuit of the Heaven’s Glory School. In return, I expect guidance away from Sacred Valley and into the lands beyond, as well as reasonable protection during that time.”
The heavens didn’t descend, and he didn’t feel his spirit tighten. His soul did not change. He waited to see if there was any other effect, but Yerin pulled her hand free. “You were all shiny and polished about it, but you didn’t have to be. Say what you want to say, and your soul will do the rest.”
Lindon looked at his hand uncertainly, as though he expected to see the oath etched in his palm. “Did it work?”
“It’s not a sacred technique, it’s a promise. It worked.” She leaned her head back against the stone and sighed. “Now that we’re tied tight as string on a bow, you can tell me the truth. You were bait, true?”
Lindon didn’t have much honor to offend, but her repeated doubts in his given word were beginning to wound his pride. “I’ll swear on my soul again, if that would convince you. A genuine immortal messenger descended from heaven.”
She squinted at him. “Bleed me like a pig. You’re not joking.”
“I’m not joking, and I’m not lying. She brought me back from the dead.”
“And she…she wanted you to save me?” This time Yerin didn’t sound doubtful, but confused. Maybe a touch hopeful.
Lindon didn’t want to correct her, but he’d been honest so far. “I’m sure she had many purposes in sending me here. But I do know she wanted you to save me.” He thought about hauling her to her feet, but another look at her sword convinced him otherwise. “I’d like to get started on that if we can. How far is the road out?”
She hesitated. “So you know, I thought you were with them.”
“You believe me now, though, don’t you?” If a soul-oath wasn’t enough to convince her of his honesty, he didn’t know what was.
“I do. There’s a chance you’re chipped, and there’s a chance you’re a prophet. One way or the other, I don’t contend that you’re lying. But now I regret I didn’t warn you about the seven armed fighters heading our way.”
Chapter 17
Lindon’s gaze snapped up to the top of the chasm. “Where? How do you know? When will they get here?”
She spun her finger in a circle. “I wrapped this place tight in formation banners. It’s not a powerful boundary, it doesn’t take much energy, but I’ll sense anyone who steps across. It’s about half a mile out in every direction.”
The bigger the boundary, the more complex the formation and the more madra it took to operate. An alarm boundary would be among the simplest and easiest types, but he still wouldn’t be able to activate one a mile across.
He scanned the entire chasm quickly, trying to take stock of their options. “You hid from me earlier, so you have to have a hiding place here somewhere. We can wait this out.”
She pointed to the back of the chasm, where she’d fought off the Irons in his vision. “Crack is right there, presuming you can see it, and it leads to a shallow cave. It’s tighter than the skin on a lizard, so you probably won’t fit. Found it during that last fight, and I squeeze in there every night to try and chase down some sleep.”
So hiding was no good. He could always walk out and pretend he’d gone looking for the Sword Sage’s disciple on his own. He was wearing Heaven’s Glory clothes, so they might believe him. But if anything went wrong, Yerin would have to face seven sacred artists on her own.
“All right,” he said, “consider this. You hide in the cave. I’ll go up there and talk to them, and I’ll see if I can lead them in the wrong direction. Where are they now?”
Yerin slowly stood, but she didn’t head for the cave. Her eyes were on the sky, and her hand on her sword. “First thing my master taught me about the sacred arts: when the time’s right, you shed blood. There’s no getting around it.”
Her words were so cool and matter-of-fact that they sent a chill through Lindon’s bones.
“The time isn’t right,” Lindon said desperately. He pulled the pile of purple banners out of his pack, rushing around the edges of the chasm to plant them in snow. “I have a boundary formation of my own. We can dig under the snow, hide there, and when they come down…”
Yerin took one unsteady step toward the wall, her weakness apparent. The wind snatched at the dangling shreds of her robes, and even that much force seemed likely to knock her to the ground. Lindon didn’t see how she could even remain standing, much less fight off seven attackers. He almost said so.
Then she leaped out of the chasm.
It looked effortless, as though she had simply begun a step at the bottom of a twenty-foot rock wall and finished the step at the top. He saw her from behind, her hair and her tattered robes blowing in the wind. Her red rope-belt stayed utterly motionless, which attracted his attention until she drew her sword.
Hurriedly he finished planting the seven banners and hiding them in snow. If she’d brought her weapon out, that meant…
A high, young voice rose above the wind, sending Lindon’s spirits even lower. He knew that voice.
“Your master would be proud of your courage, I can acknowledge that,” Elder Whitehall said. “And your skill is outstanding for someone of your age. Truly outstanding.”
“You sure you want to talk about age?” Yerin retorted. He could see her from below, and now he understood why she cut her hair so straight: no matter how the wind whipped or pulled it, not a strand covered her eyes. “The Heaven’s Glory School is lower than I suspected. Even dogs don’t send their pups to fight.”
Whitehall’s voice turned cold. “I’m not trading insults with a disciple. I’m not doing it. I’ve already lowered myself to come here personally, and even a blind man could see your path ends here. You can hardly stand, you clearly haven’t had a whole night’s sleep in weeks, and your robes are ruined. You must be freezing. But I’m here because I respect talent, I really do, and so does Heaven’s Glory.”
They need her, Lindon realized, and a range of new options opened before him. He had assumed they were only trying to eliminate Yerin, which left her with only two choices: run or fight. But they wanted her, which meant she had something to trade. She had leverage.
A head popped over the chasm as someone glanced down. Just an idle glance, but it was enough to doom Lindon.
Kazan Ma Deret looked down on him with a face first confused, and then drenched in self-satisfaction. “The Unsouled is with her,” he called back to Whitehall.