Underlord (Cradle #6)(25)

His bloodline powers showed him the scene: Yerin and Lindon, both in their Skysworn armor, stood in the entrance of a shoddy bar. The patrons had scrambled to leave the second the Skysworn had shown up, some of them fading through the walls or crashing through windows. The place was now deserted except for the Skysworn and the half-dozen ragged murderers they had come to collect.

This small organization had taken advantage of the influx of strangers into the capital, drugging people in the bar overhead, taking them downstairs, and then killing them for their Remnants. Some of the Remnants they sold to local Soulsmiths.

Others, they had used for parts.

They had been very careful to only abduct those without any family or connections, so their operation may have gone unnoticed by the Skysworn had Eithan not passed by this street the day before.

Now, Yerin singlehandedly suppressed the room with the Endless Sword. Whenever one of them reached for a weapon, an invisible knife sliced across his skin. If one tried to move, chips of wood would fly up from a nearby table. Though she said not a word, the message was clear: she had them all prisoner.

Meanwhile, Lindon—his eyes blackened—instructed the criminals to stay quiet and to keep their madra under control. They were to be detained and brought to trial. Orthos loomed behind him, blocking the main entrance and adding weight to his every word.

Mercy, meanwhile, was perched on the building across the street. Her bow was drawn, a black arrow nocked, as she watched and waited for a fight to break out.

It would, Eithan knew. He could see the signs too clearly.

As the murderers shouted and threw themselves into the hopeless battle, he stopped paying attention. He reached back into his void key—by habit concealing it as reaching into a pocket—and withdrew a pipe.

He packed it and tamped it down as Yerin flew into the middle of the opponents, throwing them away from her with pulses of tightly controlled sword madra.

The Sword Sage had really stumbled across a buried treasure. If only he had survived, he might really have been able to pass on his unique Sage techniques to his student. Eithan would have to make sure he honored the man’s memory by serving his disciple well.

Though nothing ever went as smoothly as it should.

He’d meant for the dream tablets to be only one part of her gift. Nine or ten months ago, he’d commissioned Lezaar—the most accomplished refiner of the Arelius family—to craft him a very specific pill. But he had been ousted as Patriarch before the pill was finished, and hadn’t returned since. As far as he knew, the rare and valuable ingredients he’d put into making this miraculous elixir might have gone to waste. Or the pill might have been taken by someone who would never appreciate it.

He caught his frustration before it bloomed into anger, instead pulling out a scripted fire-starter and lighting the pipe. He didn’t need the fire-starter, strictly speaking, but he enjoyed using it. The script lit up one rune at a time as it spiraled down the wooden script, pulling in red fire aura as it did so, culminating in a burst of sparks when it reached the end. So satisfying.

With nowhere to go, the smoke curled against the ceiling. He turned his attention to Lindon.

He was relying almost entirely on Blackflame, using his pure madra as a backup, which was a shame. But he couldn’t handle Eithan’s techniques yet. Despite having practiced the Heaven and Earth Purification Wheel for a year and a half, he did not have the madra reserves yet. Nor could his spirit handle them before his channels and core were reinforced by advancing to Underlord.

Of course, there were still other things Eithan could teach him about the use of pure madra. But he was spread out too thin as it was, trying to master two Paths, Soulsmithing, the madra in that arm of his, and the upgrades to his body and soul that he’d found in Ghostwater. By watching him move, it was obvious to Eithan that Lindon had found a way to enhance his mind, which had pleased Eithan enough to make him dance a little jig. Privately.

Eithan breathed out another mouthful of smoke. No, giving Lindon more to do would be counterproductive. What he really needed was time to adjust to the abilities he already had. But no matter how many times he told Lindon as much, Lindon took it as an excuse.

Aboveground, Lindon smashed through a shield of madra and hauled a Highgold murderer up by her collar. Orthos stomped down on a man who tried to flee, Mercy put an arrow through a hand that tried to stab Yerin in the back, and Yerin sliced a spear in half.

He smiled around the pipe. They moved with a confidence beyond their age. He couldn’t have been prouder of them.

And he couldn’t wait to see where they went from here.

Only one of the murderers escaped; the lookout. Eithan’s students had never seen him. He had waited underground, veiled and peeking through a trapdoor. After seeing the Skysworn devastate his partners, he had scurried downstairs, pulling a scripted seal from his pocket.

He was muttering to himself, a crazed smile on his face, as he approached the vault. His last resort. Eithan could see the thoughts written on his face: he was going to release their secret weapon. The puppet construct they had created for emergencies. Stitched together from Truegold Remnant parts, it had not been crafted by a true Soulsmith, and as such it was all but uncontrollable. He couldn’t direct it; he could only unleash it.

The murderer placed the seal against the vault door, and the greater script on the door shone brightly. Interlocking metal gears began to turn, and the door slowly ground open.