Underlord (Cradle #6)(73)

Mercy visibly softened, reaching up to pat him on the shoulder.

His words pierced Yerin. That was stupid. He wouldn't be useless, even if he stayed at the same level he was forever.

But hadn't she treated him the same way?

She'd been afraid he couldn't keep up with her. Afraid she would have to leave him behind, or that he would leave her behind. Even in her own mind, she'd thought of their advancement as the most important thing about them both.

She wanted to tell him that wasn't true, and even to apologize, but she couldn't put words to the feeling. Then Mercy was in her face, gripping her arms.

“Now you try!” The Akura girl said. “Cycling position!”

With one last look at Lindon, Yerin sat on the floor. She would have plenty of time to untangle her words later, once she didn't have to worry about the threat of death hanging over her head.

“Trace the aura,” Mercy said, not that Yerin needed any instruction. She had already settled into sensing the unity of aura, her perception bleeding into the world around her.

“She's so much faster than I am,” Lindon said.

Dross' voice echoed in all their heads. [And I’ve been speeding you up. There's no substitute for good training. Or practice. Or talent, can't forget about that.]

A smile threatened to break Yerin's concentration.

“Now,” Mercy said, “what are you afraid of?”

She drilled down into herself. Her desire to protect people probably stemmed from a fear of loss, and her desire for freedom maybe sprang from the fear of losing that freedom to the Blood Shadow. Though the Shadow had been mostly docile, ever since she started training with it regularly, it was still there. Lurking in the back of her spirit. Waiting to take even her body from her.

But in the end, one fear outshone all the others.

Sensing the vital aura around her, she was too aware of the line of green life aura running down her spine. The dim, crooked, flickering line of light that could go out at any second.

Trying to think about other fears while her life hung by a frayed thread was like trying to see the stars with the sun in the sky.

Maybe that meant it was her revelation. Was survival the desire that drove her to the sacred arts?

That rang false. She wasn't fighting to live forever, or she wouldn't be so reckless with her life.

Mercy continued talking to her in a low, soothing voice, but Yerin grew increasingly frustrated. Her touch on the aura shook, the sense of unity growing thin.

This wasn't working.

When her meditation was interrupted by a flare of wind and dream madra and an alarm echoed through the room, she was relieved at the excuse to drop her trance.

Mercy looked disappointed, but Lindon was watching the echoing bell-shaped construct on the ceiling.

“Yerin,” Naru Gwei's voice said, “come see me. And if the Blackflame boy and the Akura girl are with you, bring them. They're not in their rooms.”

The construct—which had emerged from a shining script in the stone of the ceiling like a suddenly appearing weed—shrank back into the rock. The script faded away.

Yerin rose to her feet, brushing dust from her knees. “More orders. Bleed me dry if I have anything better to do.”

~~~

Naru Gwei surveyed Lindon and the others lined up before him. His burn scar pulled one eye into a wince, and his limp gray hair hung loose around him. He was unshaven, and looked as always like he hadn't slept for a week.

“The Blackflame Empire is giving up on the tournament.”

Lindon started to protest, but Naru Gwei held up one battered gauntlet for silence. “We're not formally withdrawing our candidacy. It's up to the Sage, whatever we say, and she might still pick one of us. But there’s nothing we can do in three days that will improve our chances.”

“At least Yerin and I could go back in,” Lindon said. “You’ve been sending scouts, and they’ve returned. Only a day or two inside, and maybe you'd have two new Underlords.”

Naru Gwei reached up to the map that hung on his wall, pulling it down and spreading it over his desk in one motion. It was a map of the Blackflame Empire.

To the east, his finger traced the Wasteland, a largely blank stretch of empty paper that looked like desert. “The Wasteland. Their sacred artists are the farthest thing from unified, but they're a thin fence against the dragons even further east. After the Dreadgod attack, we've lost contact with much of our territory against that border. The Wastelanders could be moving in even now, claiming whatever territory they want, and who's to stop them?

“Beyond them are the dragons,” he said, gesturing beyond the scope of the map. “They stay away because of a few real monsters in the Wasteland, and out of respect for the Akura family.” He jerked his chin at Mercy. “Our favor with your family tells the dragons how important we are. If you all like us, then you'll respond quick. If you don't, then maybe you'll look the other way while they push through the Wasteland and snap up a few villages.”

He turned his attention to the south, which was mostly covered by trees. “The jungle only stays peaceful because of constant Skysworn supervision. I've left a few teams down there, but most of us are here over the capital. The longer we stay here, the more towns and sects and schools and villages will be swallowed up by the jungle.