Underlord (Cradle #6)(43)

[Good-bye, Orthos,] Dross said.

In Lindon’s palm, Little Blue sobbed with a sound like pattering rain. She leaped from his hand, landing sprawled on Orthos’ head, crying.

“I won’t be gone forever,” Orthos said. “A few years. But by that time, I expect you’ll have left me far behind.”

When Lindon spoke again, his voice was thick. “Where will you go?”

“There are many places that could use a dragon.”

Lindon swept at his eyes, drawing pure madra, trying to keep his emotions under control. Orthos extended his head, resting his forehead against Lindon’s.

“A dragon is not ashamed of tears,” Orthos said.

And Lindon lost control. He threw his arms around Orthos’ neck and wept with Little Blue, as Dross drifted silently overhead.

After a while, a familiar feeling in his spirit drew his attention to the side. Yerin stood there, looking horrified, six Goldsign arms gleaming in the dim light. She was out of breath, her tattered robes in disarray, and dead leaves in her hair.

“Bleed me, but it looks like you’re trying to sneak off without me,” she said, and her voice quivered.

Orthos shook his head. “I would not dare.”

Lindon released the turtle’s neck only for Yerin to replace him an instant later. She didn’t cry, she just shook, and he murmured something to her that Lindon couldn’t hear.

Only a minute later, Orthos drew back, and Yerin stepped away, rubbing her own eyes.

“A dragon does not wait around,” he said, red eyes passing over them all. “Protect yourselves. I expect you to stay alive until I see you again.”

“What about Eithan?” Lindon asked. “Where is he?”

Orthos snorted. “I’d bet he knew I was leaving before I did. Of all of you, I worry about him the least.” He raised one leg, gently sliding Little Blue off his head and to the ground.

“Farewell, little ones,” he said, and then he turned, walking slowly into the shadows. Lindon watched until the red light faded into darkness. Then he held Blackflame as he felt Orthos’ spirit passing into the distance.

Eventually, Orthos passed through the portal back to the Empire, and was gone.





Chapter 8





Seishen Kiro’s father, King Dakata, had erected a castle in the Night Wheel Valley. Made of raw stone called up from the earth by Ruler techniques, the castle stood in front of their portal, projecting the majesty of the Seishen Kingdom. Or such was the intention. Next to the awe-inspiring mountain-sized fortress of the Akura clan, it looked like a child’s toy.

In the heart of that castle, Kiro faced his proud father in horror.

“My King, we cannot attack.”

His father laughed uproariously, slapping the crude map of the Night Wheel Valley he’d spread across his table. “Why not? We have the chance to drive the Empire out entirely. All the sacred grounds of the Valley would be ours.”

Kiro looked over the markers the King had placed on the map. It was a simple plan: a sudden attack, ramming through the Blackflame defenses and shoving them back through the portal. It would work, so long as the Blackflames didn’t defend the territory with their lives. If they started retreating to protect the more vulnerable civilians at the heart of their formation, they would have to continue the retreat.

“Of course it will work,” Kiro said. “They don’t expect us to attack. But they don’t expect it for a good reason. Even if we avoid wholesale slaughter, this attack will not be bloodless. What if the Sage decides we have pushed too far?”

Daji, Kiro’s little brother, lunged hungrily at the map. He had a wolf’s smile on his face. “Don’t be a coward! The Sage needs to see our overwhelming strength.”

King Dakata waved a hand at his second son. “Quiet. This is a matter for Lords.”

Daji’s face fell. “I have no—”

“Quiet!” The King shouted, and Daji wilted back. “Your brother managed to advance where the aura wasn’t a tenth as strong as it is here. Can you not handle even this much?”

Daji’s dark eyes flared. It looked like he was trying to stab Kiro through the chest with his glare. Kiro’s heart ached, but before he could say anything, Daji had already stormed out the door.

“…he’s trying his hardest,” Kiro protested, once his brother had left.

Dakata grunted, returning to the map. “You were worried about the Sage. In my grandfather’s day, Akura Charity pitted our kingdom against the Winter’s Blade sect. While blood was spilled, she only intervened when they started to kill our children. She accepts a measure of bloodshed as the cost of competition, but we can’t weaken the Blackflame Empire too much. That, she would see as an affront to the Akura clan’s authority.”

Kiro knew his father was more intelligent than his appearance would suggest. He only looked like a bear, he didn’t think like one. But he was still somewhat surprised that his father knew so much about a Sage.

If he questioned the king too much, he risked punishment, but he dared to push a little harder. “There’s still our political relationship with the Empire to think of.”

King Dakata drove a spike of Forged madra through the corner of the map, pinning it to the table. “We have roughly two months remaining before the first day of summer. If we hold the Valley ourselves during that time, we can raise enough Underlords that our ‘political relationships’ will lose all meaning. You can forget about punishment. The Akura clan might even give the Empire to us.”