That was something to chew on. If anyone could track them down in the mass of a big city, Eithan could.
“That’s sharp thinking, but he couldn’t blame us for striking out on our own after…this.” She swept her arm to encompass the ruined city. “Somebody wants to fight with me and mine, you know I’ll draw swords. But the Arelius family hasn’t given us so much that I’d want to die on their account. Nobody there would shed a tear if they saw my Remnant.”
For most of her life, the only one who would remember her at all would have been her master. Now…Lindon would cry for her when she was gone. He’d remember her name.
Even more reason not to go down there.
“We should go back to the Trials,” Lindon said at last, though he didn’t sound too happy about it.
“Big turtle’s somewhere back there,” she pointed out. “If it goes crazy on us again, we’re—”
Her spirit warned her, and she shoved Lindon back against the rocks.
Two sacred artists landed in front of her, their backs to the cliff, but there were more up above who hadn’t shown themselves. One was a man about her height, packed tight like a coiled spring, draped in black fur. His gray hair was slicked back with grease, a pair of spear butts poked up over his shoulders, and he glared at Lindon in a way that reminded her of a snake baring fangs.
Next to him, a head taller and wrapped in red, stood Jai Long. Last time she’d seen him, his spirit felt deadly but contained, like a sheathed sword. Now the sheath had been removed—not only was he Truegold as well, with power that pressed against her senses, he felt dangerous. Like he’d cut her just by standing near.
The strips of red cloth covered his face, each bandage filled with flowing script. Dark eyes glittered in the center of the mask.
This time, he carried no spear.
Two Truegolds. ‘Show me a fair fight,’ her master used to say, ‘and I’ll show you an opponent who has lost his mind.’ Even so, there were rigged games, and then there was suicide.
The old Sandviper snarled and swept his hand through the air. A handful of finger-length needles, Forged of acid-green madra, flew out in a spray.
Circulating the Rippling Sword technique, Yerin stepped forward to meet him.
Her core might have been filled with hopes and wishes and nothing else, but she squeezed out every drop of power she could get. The needles crashed against her arching sword like a wave against stone, but that wasn’t the end of her technique.
Her madra flashed out, a crescent-shaped slash of colorless power sheathed in silver aura. For a moment, shock flashed across the Sandviper Truegold’s face, and he pulled spears into his hands with blurring speed.
Then Jai Long was there, his hand glowing white and crashing into her technique. The Rippling Sword broke like a bubble, sword aura dispersing into the air.
“Yerin Arelius,” Jai Long said evenly. “Disciple of the Sword Sage. The Underlord told me who you were. If you’d told me last time, I would never have drawn weapons, out of respect for your master.”
“The ‘Arelius’ part is still all shiny and new,” Yerin said, still channeling the dregs of her madra into her sword. “Guess you might say I was adopted. If you wanted to use words instead of weapons this time, I could show mercy and let you.”
The Sandviper lifted a spear, eyes glued to Lindon, and Jai Long started cycling madra. In that blink where they weren’t focused on her, Yerin spun.
She kicked Lindon in the chest, sending him back into the tunnel and closer to the Trial. A Sandviper technique shattered into green light on bare rock where Lindon had been standing, and the gray-haired man was dashing past her, a frustrated growl turning into a shout as he ran.
Above her, the other nearby Sandvipers grew closer.
She turned back, and Jai Long had already charged.
Yerin had a clear obstacle. She had a fight. Now, she just had to do as her master taught her…and cut right through it.
In the dark shadows of her mind, the fear of death reared its head again.
***
Jai Daishou, Patriarch of the Jai clan, stared through the bubble of aura at the blurred figure with yellow hair and blurred robes.
Ordinarily, sound would not travel well through this boundary formation, but Eithan would be able to see him and hear him. He raised the spear of his honored ancestor, displaying it before the enemy.
Then he shook his head, showing sadness on his face to mask the triumph in his heart. “Your path of recklessness led us here, Eleven. You have done as you wished, acting on the whims of youth without respect or consideration. This is a harvest you have planted.”
The elders around him nodded along. They’d gathered close to the Underlord, like children gathering around their father.
Well, let them. This was Jai Daishou’s moment of victory, and the more people who witnessed it, the better.
Eithan’s face was unreadable through the haze of the aura. He held his broom out to one side; it was hard to make out details, but it didn’t seem to be a weapon or a construct. Just a broom.
Jai Daishou’s grip on his spear tightened as he grew irritated. “You could hear me if I were on the other side of the mountain, Eleven. Speak like a grown man, for once in your life, and perhaps we can come to an accord.”
Eithan spun the broom in a lazy circle, like a staff, and still didn’t speak.
Finally, Jai Daishou’s self-restraint broke. For the past six years, since he came from the other end of the world, Eithan Arelius had been a walking disaster. He’d disrespected the Jai clan, ignored the words of his betters, and insulted Jai Daishou to his face. In front of the Emperor once, and the honored Emperor had said not a word.
A man could tolerate only so much before patience reached its end.
Jai Daishou leveled the Ancestor’s Spear, shifting his stance and letting madra flow freely into his limbs. “Then you’ll forgive me for testing the skills of the youngest Underlord in the Empire.”
This formation had been designed with Eithan in mind. No one knew what Path he used, but there were no reports of his ever using a Striker technique. Most reports agreed that he used a Path focused on Enforcement, probably focused on the force aspect. He might have even trained with the Cloud Hammer School, though he lacked their Goldsign.
Eithan’s hair blew behind him in the wind generated by the force of the boundary formation. He faced Jai Daishou squarely, until the Jai Patriarch was sure they were locking gazes. The Arelius held the broom in one hand, pointing it toward one of the Jai elders.
No, not to the elder. To the boundary flag.
“Whose idea was the boundary?” Eithan asked, and though the words sounded distorted, Jai Daishou could hear them clearly.