“Don’t you think that should be enough?” Lindon pointed out.
He had a point. Eithan’s world-erasing attacks would be better than anything she could do, even taken down about eighty notches.
The Sword Sage looked between the two of them, clueless. “Who taught you to start talking riddles around me?”
Yerin closed her eyes. The sight of Eithan drifting in the dark sky was etched into her memory, though there were parts she was blind to. Things they did that her mind just couldn’t process. And what she did see was missing miles of depth, she was sure.
As the Eithan in her memory drew back his scythe, she drew back her sword.
“You’re copying what you can’t see,” her master advised her. “Focus on the feeling of the strike more than its form.”
His strike had felt final. Decisive. Like the end of all things.
In her memory, Eithan swept his weapon forward.
She followed him.
His strike was silent, and so was hers.
Yerin opened her eyes.
Nothing in the room had changed. She’d failed.
The Sword Sage folded his arms. “One practice swing down. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.”
Now that was the master she remembered.
8
Reigan Shen returned to a spatial anchor just outside of Moongrave.
The dark clouds overhead flickered with violet lightning, reminding him of the Weeping Dragon’s clouds that approached the Ashwind continent. But these weren’t the signs of a coming Dreadgod, just those of a furious Monarch.
Even with their current state of temporary alliance, Shen knew better than to appear in the city itself. He hovered outside the gates and spoke clearly.
“Not even I can travel like this forever, Malice. You know the time has come.”
Malice must have been upset, because she didn’t taunt him or make him wait or strike him with an arrow from miles away. Instead, she appeared next to him immediately.
Her hair, like living shadow, writhed with her anger. She appeared as immaculate and unharmed as ever, but her fight against Eithan’s apprentices must have taken something out of her or she wouldn’t have shown such a sour expression.
“How did you enjoy his Dreadgod weapon?” Malice asked bitterly. “He’ll be adding another to his collection soon, thanks to you.”
“And you’re helpless to watch?” Reigan snapped back. “These are your lands! Clean up your mess.”
He wanted to transform back into his original form and bite her head off. Malice was only pestering him to express her anger, but Reigan had just as much right to be furious as she did. He had told them how seriously they needed to take this threat. He had told them.
Malice ground her teeth, and Reigan could see her resisting the urge to continue bickering with him. Argument was one of the petty pleasures humans loved to squeeze out of life.
Instead, she steadied herself to face the problem at hand, as befit a Monarch. “Of course I won’t allow him to do as he wishes. My forces were already gathered to deal with a Dreadgod. Once the Weeping Dragon wears them down, we can finish them off.”
“I’m certain they have a pocket world,” Reigan told her. “We have to assume they have enough time built up inside to emerge as Monarchs. I will not underestimate the influence of Eithan Arelius.”
“Not again, you mean.” She poked back at him, but her lack of reaction to the pocket world told him she had already known and was thinking along the same lines.
Reigan didn’t let her distract him. “The longer we give them, the better prepared they will be. We can’t wait for the Dreadgod before we strike.”
“Strike where, would you say?”
“Sacred Valley. He’s proven he will defend it.”
Malice raised an eyebrow. “You propose we strike at the Master of the Labyrinth above the labyrinth’s heart, all with the Weeping Dragon bearing down on us?”
“Unless you know where he’s placed the entrance to his world, we only know one other place where he will certainly appear. And that’s directly in the path of the Dreadgod.” Reigan folded his arms. “So yes, I would prefer Sacred Valley.”
Like a flickering shadow, Malice shifted her position in an instant. “Good. That’s what I planned. Northstrider?”
Northstrider emerged from a bright blue twist in the Way, surprising no one. Reigan had sensed his observation from the beginning.
The man wore his rags, as usual, and his draconic eyes shone with golden intensity.
“Lindon Arelius is their lynchpin,” Northstrider said immediately. “If we kill, capture, or force him to ascend, the others must follow. Our best chance of doing any of the three is to drive him away from the labyrinth. The approaching Dreadgod will set the hourglass for him, as he still cannot face the Weeping Dragon alone.”
It was only out of a disciplined desire for cooperation that Reigan Shen did not roll his eyes. “What an apt summary. Are you ready to begin?”
“I’m ready to end it,” Malice snapped. “This has been a disaster from start to finish.”
Reigan would certainly be embarrassed if he were Malice. It was not too exaggerated to say the state of the world was entirely her fault. Ozmanthus had risen to prominence under her nose, and she hadn’t noticed…although perhaps that wasn’t a technique Reigan should lean on to attack her, since the same could be said of him.
Regardless, Reigan Shen would not be able to rest again until he no longer shared a world with these miniature Destroyers.
“Let’s go,” Northstrider said.
Malice looked down over the members of her clan, who had begun arranging themselves below. “Soon. When we are all gathered.”
Northstrider glared at her. “Are three Monarchs not enough?”
“I, for one, am not concerned about attacking too decisively,” Reigan said. “As long as we hurry.”
It didn’t take long for Malice to bring together the appropriate members of her family. Golds were useless here, and even most Lords were dead weight, but she still had a squad of several dozen ready to go soon. He was reassured to see that she had brought two Sages along as well, though he did wish they were two other Sages.
They could potentially rely on Charity, whose smooth face was as expressionless as usual, but her purple eyes tracked Reigan Shen with barely concealed hostility. Her passion for humanity was legendary, and she resented all factions that were primarily led by sacred beasts. He didn’t think she would ever turn against the will of her grandmother, but he would have to account for the possibility that she gave in to temptation and attacked his people.
Then there was the Sage of the Frozen Blade, Min Shuei. The woman fiddled with her long, white hair, drummed fingers on the edge of her sheathed sword, and chewed on her lip as a storm of emotions passed through her.
Reigan knew why. She had been romantically involved with Yerin’s master, and she considered the girl something of a daughter.
He indicated her with his chin. “Is she not a liability?”
“See how many loyal Sages you have left when the Dreadgods attack your territory over and over,” Malice said. “I, for one, consider it an advantage to have the Winter Sage on our side. If she can convince Yerin to see reason and ascend, perhaps the others will follow.”
Yerin wouldn’t do that, and it could be that everyone there knew it except Min Shuei. Her expression brightened for a moment.
Reigan did roll his eyes this time, but he accepted the woman’s presence. Her power was a welcome asset, even if her disposition wasn’t. And once Yerin refused to ascend, Min Shuei would beat the necessity into her.