Wintersteel (Cradle Book 8), page 3
“Manifest yourself,” Northstrider commanded.
Don’t do it, Lindon urged Dross. I’ll talk to him.
As soon as he had enough breath to speak.
Dross didn’t respond. Instead, he spun into existence over Lindon’s left shoulder.
The spiritual pressure released Lindon, who sagged to the ground but caught himself with one hand and a knee.
Dross manifested as a purple-skinned ball with a single eye and two stubby, boneless arms. His eye was wide, and he coughed once as he addressed Northstrider. [It is an honor to meet you, Master. I am called Dross.]
“You are the mind-spirit born from Ghostwater in its last days,” Northstrider said.
Lindon pushed back to his feet; he needed to remind the Monarch he was there. “He is, and I am in your debt for the benefits I gained inside.”
Dross bobbed up and down in agreement, but Northstrider did not spare a glance for Lindon.
[Ah yes, Master, you’ve met Lindon, haven’t you? Sorry, I know you have, I’m just nervous. Anyway, Lindon has taken very good care of me after I became complete, and I’d say he has earned a reward. Maybe some kind of mind elixir, or a source of powerful dream aura, or perhaps a few delicious Dreamseeds. What do you say?]
A shiny black orb appeared over Northstrider’s shoulder, mirroring Dross on Lindon’s.
“Do you recognize this?” Northstrider asked Dross.
Dross squinted his eye. [That is the temperature construct from the Ghostwater storage room. I’m one hundred percent confident. Unless, of course, I’m wrong.]
Script flashed in various colors all over the reflective surface of Northstrider’s orb, so quickly that it was meaningless to Lindon.
“Look beyond its appearance,” the Monarch instructed.
Lindon couldn’t decide if Northstrider seemed patient or impatient. He observed Dross’ performance with no expression, but Lindon could imagine him erupting into violence at any second. Or simply disappearing.
Dross drifted closer to the black orb, peering into its surface.
[Hmmm, let me see…yes, that’s…oh. Oh. It’s the oracle tree! It’s so small now.]
Lindon remembered the oracle tree. He had pulled Dross from inside it in Ghostwater. It had been a web of knowledge and memory constructs that had ultimately led to Dross’ evolution.
Dross regularly regretted not being connected to that ocean of information longer.
Northstrider’s eyes flashed with an emotion Lindon couldn’t name. “This is the latest version of that project, which I call the oracle codex.”
[You were right to change the name; it doesn’t look anything like a tree anymore.]
“It is more than capable of teaching you the next step in your advancement.” Northstrider spread one black-scaled hand, gesturing to the orb. “Read it for yourself, if you can.”
That set off every alarm in Lindon’s mind.
Northstrider was Lindon’s benefactor, he was a great enemy of the gold dragons, and he was capable of upgrading Dross. Lindon would have traded his remaining arm for that kind of support.
But this was no act of charity. Northstrider was testing Dross in some way, and Lindon didn’t know what passing looked like.
Or what the penalty for failure was.
Dross gasped as though he’d been offered a glorious present, but Lindon held him back with a thought.
“Gratitude, Monarch, but surely we are not worthy of such generosity.”
[Yes, we are!] Dross said. In spite of Lindon’s alarm, he pushed forward. One of his stubby, flexible arms touched the surface of the orb.
Light rippled on Northstrider’s construct, but otherwise nothing happened.
[Just…just a moment, this is…hmmm. This is tougher than it looks.] Dross furrowed his purple brow and pushed harder, until Lindon could feel the strain himself.
More colors echoed out from the point of contact around Dross’ arm, and light rippled faster and faster.
Until, as though he’d broken through a barrier, Dross finally pushed through.
The spirit took in a deep breath. [Ooohhh, it’s amazing! So much space! And it’s so organized in here, like a library run by clocks. Here’s an interesting memory…not about me. And this one…also not me.]
Dross’ arm was finally ejected, and he flew back to Lindon’s shoulder as though kicked. [Sorry! So sorry! Just give me one more try.]
This time, there was the smallest hint of satisfaction on Northstrider’s face. “No. You passed. You’re coming with me.”
Dross brightened. [Ha-HA! You see, I knew I had passed. I just wanted to pass harder. Did you hear that, Lindon? He appreciates me.]
Lindon’s heart was beating faster, and he was beginning to sweat. He cycled his pure madra to calm himself down.
What was Northstrider about to do?
[Ew, you’re all messy. Calm down. Would you tell him he has nothing to worry about, Master?]
Northstrider looked up to the ceiling as several spiritual perceptions locked onto him at once.
Lindon’s spirit shook like water in an earthquake.
This was the attention of Monarchs; he was certain of it. More than one. They had found Northstrider, and now some kind of communication was passing between them.
The very air of the hallway warped, and Lindon’s madra trembled as it was affected by a will not his own.
Then the sensation passed, and Northstrider scooped Dross up in his hand. “Come.”
He turned to the side, waving a hand. There was a brief flash of blue and a hole tore open in the air.
On the other side, Lindon saw a massive, elaborate hall decorated with jewels and shining chandeliers. A room he recognized.
He had seen it in Suriel’s vision, years before. This was the room where Sha Miara had been crowned.
Northstrider stepped into the portal…and Dross’ presence in Lindon’s mind immediately thinned.
It felt as though Dross was being pulled away, like Northstrider was stretching and stretching the connection between them. Soon, it would reach its limit and break.
Lindon seized that thread, focusing his entire being on it.
Not only was he not sure what would happen to his spirit or his mind, but…this was Dross.
Dross noticed what was going on as soon as they crossed the portal, spinning in Northstrider’s palm and turning back to Lindon.
[Hurry up, Lindon!]
Lindon dashed for the portal…but Northstrider glanced at him.
Invisible force pushed Lindon back, and the portal winked shut, cutting off Dross’ horrified shout.
The connection between them thinned further, fraying more with every passing second. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on. The thread melted in his grip.
When it broke, Dross would be gone.
Would he ever come back?
In the center of a hallway in the Ninecloud Court, Lindon set his feet. He clenched his jaw and cycled his spirit.
And he concentrated every ounce of his attention on the link between him and Dross.
Snatches of the spirit’s thoughts came through in pieces.
[Master…]
[…why…]
[…gone?]
Only recently, Lindon had struggled against Naian Blackflame for control of a Ruler technique, which had strained his mind and spirit. This felt much the same: like he was trying to hold back an avalanche.
And it was all just to hang on. How long would he have to keep this up?
Dross’ voice flickered in and out of his thoughts, an incomprehensible jumble.
Then the force pulling against him redoubled.
The connection almost snapped…but just as he was about to lose it, he saw it.
In his mind’s eye, he could see the link between himself and Dross as a silver thread stretching into the distance. It was the same way he visualized his madra, and it felt equally real.
Now that he could see the connection, he focused on it even more intently.
He squeezed his eyes shut so the thread became all he could see. He leveraged all the power of his spirit, his madra surging.
Excess pure madra gushed out of him, filling the hallway. Lighting scripts brightened to unusual levels, constructs in the walls overloading or activating in a squeal of sounds.
His spirit strained. He might suffer permanent spiritual injury from this, or from having Dross torn away from him. In the worst-case scenario, this might be the end of his life as a sacred artist.
He might lose.
But it wouldn’t be because he gave up.
Lindon’s full power trembled. Just as he resolved to die before he let go, Dross’ presence filled his mind again. The hair-thin connection between them flexed to a thick, braided cord.
His eyes snapped open to see that the portal had opened again. He now stood, panting and weak and red-faced, in front of Northstrider.
Lindon sagged in place, but thanks to his Underlord body, his knees didn’t buckle. “Gratitude,” he said to the Monarch. “Please allow me to accompany you.”
Dross gave a glad cry and floated over to Lindon, merging once again with his spirit. [You see? I knew he’d change his mind and bring you along. I never…ah, never doubted for an instant.]
Dross’ voice was shaky and unsure, and Lindon could feel his fear.
It was nothing next to Lindon’s.
While trying to keep Dross, he had intentionally ignored the reality of his situation. He had just openly defied a Monarch.
He glanced up to Northstrider’s eyes, terrified to see anger there.
Instead, he saw surprise. Perhaps consideration.
“Come, boy,” Northstrider said, and Lindon gladly followed.
[I’m telling you, I didn’t think he was going to open the portal again!] Dross babbled as Lindon walked through the gateway. [It didn’t look like he would. He had his back to it and everything. But he changed his mind, you see, and I told you he wasn’t an enemy. He’s a generous and brilliant person, he’s just a little…scary.]
The audience hall of the Ninecloud Court was just as Lindon remembered it, filled with brilliantly colored tiles and pillars scattered here and there around the room. A forest of jeweled chandeliers hung down from high, arched ceilings.
Each chandelier was a unique work of art, many spinning or flashing with living spirits, and other, equally colorful decorations hung on the walls.
But Lindon had very little time to consider the room when he realized the significance of where he was.
Every person in the room besides him was a Monarch.
He huddled behind Northstrider against one wall, but the other Monarchs of the Uncrowned King tournament were also in attendance.
Reigan Shen stood on an elaborate golden pedestal that held him high above the others, so that he looked down on the rest with hands crossed behind his back. Like Northstrider, he was a powerfully built man, and his fine hair and beard blended into a white-gold mane. The sacred lion paced on his platform, wearing a look of obvious discontent.
Lindon had only seen Emriss Silentborn in the form of a giant tree, but he recognized her immediately. Her skin was dark, like most of her competitors in the tournament, but hers had the consistency of bark. Her hair was made of luminous blue-green vines braided together, and she carried a staff with a blooming diamond flower at the tip.
She wore a look of great sadness, and Lindon couldn’t tell if something had happened or if this was how she always appeared.
Three members of the Eight-Man Empire muttered to one another, and Lindon reminded himself that he technically wasn’t the only one who hadn’t reached Monarch. The gold-armored figures were considered a Monarch collectively, but independently they were only Sages or Heralds.
Only.
The three spoke to one another, but they were focused on Northstrider and didn’t look happy.
Seshethkunaaz, King of Dragons, was in the form of a boy perhaps thirteen years old. He had sandy hair and bright gold eyes, and he sat on the floor, most of his body covered in a filthy brown cape.
He glared at Akura Malice, who wasn’t watching him in return. She lounged on a Forged throne of shadows, purple eyes locked on Lindon.
Mercy’s mother was a beauty out of paintings and legends. Her hair flowed out behind her like liquid shadow, reminding him of her son Fury, and she wore a silken dress of purple and silver. A network of silver chains hung in her hair, dangling a fat amethyst over her forehead. Her eyes were a deeper, richer shade of purple than her descendants, and they rippled with subtle light.
Full, black-painted lips tilted up in a smirk, and she winked at him.
He wasn’t sure if he was meant to be honored or entranced, but he broke into a cold sweat. Further attention from Monarchs brought indescribable risk.
Then again, he had just represented her in the Uncrowned King tournament. If he made a good impression, she might be inclined to reward him.
He bowed respectfully to her, pressing his fists together.
Her smile grew a fraction.
The room’s final occupant was a presence of multicolored light. It was shaped vaguely like a woman, but the rainbow was too bright to make out any features.
The Luminous Queen of the Ninecloud Court. Supposedly Sha Leiala.
For a long moment after Lindon arrived, no one spoke, which gave him plenty of time to survey the room. He wondered what they were waiting for and hoped that his abrupt entrance wasn’t what had delayed them.
Finally, one of the Eight-Man Empire spoke up. “What have you done, Northstrider?” the man demanded.
“Did you promise the Abidan your service?” the Dragon King asked. He was still watching Malice, but he clearly addressed Northstrider. “Is that how you summoned them? Will they restore your champion to his full power?”
Emriss Silentborn gave a great sigh. “The arrowhead will bring only pain and discord, so close to the Wandering Titan’s awakening. For the good of all, we should make a pact between us to use Penance to remove a Dreadgod.”
“Why destroy such a valuable weapon?” Reigan said, watching Northstrider. “I am more interested in the fortuitous timing of heaven’s intervention. It so happens that sixteen competitors remained, allowing Northstrider to select a single-elimination round. Then an Abidan messenger descends upon us when one, and only one, competitor has been eliminated. The very young man that Northstrider has chosen to bring along to this meeting.”
Lindon shivered, but he felt no spiritual weight settle on him.
[Northstrider is shielding you from the spiritual power in the room, I’m sure,] Dross said. Lindon noticed that he didn’t call the Monarch “Master” this time.
Reigan Shen ran a hand across his white-gold beard. “Now, I humbly admit that I do not understand the plan at work here, but to blame coincidence is to strain credulity. Did you calculate all this when you stepped in as judge, Northstrider? Have you deceived us all?”
Northstrider did not step back from anyone. His shaggy head turned slowly from one Monarch to the next until he had met the eyes of all his peers.
“Did I not receive your permission for the arrangement of the fourth round?” Northstrider asked. “Each of you agreed. Each of you bickered and jockeyed for position like children, and each of you gave your word that you were satisfied with the place you had earned.”
“Our lives are at stake,” a woman from the Eight-Man Empire shouted. “We would never have settled for a certain loss if we had known that victory would come with power over life and death.”
Northstrider turned to her and spoke quietly. “Your lives? You think a weapon of the Abidan is cheap enough to waste on one replaceable piece out of eight?”
She bristled with anger, but Northstrider had looked away from her already. “Which of you is so weak-willed that you would doubt a decision you made yourself?”
“If everyone honors their given word, then I have no doubts,” Seshethkunaaz said. “If the tournament proceeds with your rules in place, I will be the victor.”
He looked over to the figure shrouded in rainbow light, who had thus far not spoken.
Sha “Leiala” raised a light-shrouded fist to her mouth and coughed. “We have no problem with continuing the tournament as planned. Quite the opposite. Because of our prior agreement, we were prepared to forfeit all prizes, but now the heavens have prepared one especially for us.”
Her voice was disguised, but anyone could tell how pleased she was.
Which reinforced Lindon’s belief. If Sha Miara was the one he remembered, then she was a veiled Monarch. Though her power was restricted to Underlord, he couldn’t imagine her losing.
“I am satisfied with the matches as agreed,” Malice said, and her voice was as rich as Lindon had imagined.
“We don’t doubt ourselves, Northstrider,” Reigan Shen said. “We doubt you.”
Northstrider took one step forward, and the tower beneath Lindon’s feet quaked. Alarm tightened his throat, though none of the other Monarchs reacted.
“I have given my word to administrate this competition,” Northstrider said quietly. “Do any of you believe I would violate my oath, even if a son of mine was competing? Do you believe that your panel of judges would have been less susceptible to influence than I am? Do you believe that I have outwitted the rest of you and manipulated matters to my own advantage beneath your very eyes?”
Reigan Shen stroked his beard and Seshethkunaaz glared, but no one accused Northstrider of anything. Still, he continued.
“Allow me to set your doubts at ease.” Once again, the tower trembled, but this time it was the resonance of the Monarch’s words that shook the ground. “I swear in the sight of heaven and on the name of Northstrider that I have arbitrated the Uncrowned King tournament without bias and to the best of my ability, and that I will continue to do so.”
Everyone else in the room except Lindon dipped their heads together, and Lindon sensed a great power pass by him and land on Northstrider.
The whole discussion settled one question for Lindon. Malice had allowed the fight between him and Yerin.
Why?
He quickly answered his own question. With two members of her faction fighting, Malice was guaranteed one spot among the Uncrowned. One of her fighters was certain to be eliminated as well, but that would still be a better arrangement for her than rolling the dice twice.
