“It’s all wrung dry,” Yerin said bitterly.
“Even so, it can provide me assistance. And I require the authority of another Icon.” He reached out a hand. “How about some help, my friend?”
Ziel’s fury was deep and purely instinctive. His hammer was already crashing down on Calling Storms before the first conscious thought made it through his mind.
But he stopped his own weapon an inch from the Sage’s face.
There was a discordant note from the Shield Icon. His own newborn connection to it flickered and weakened.
He was being offered a way to protect his current sect. As a guardian, he should take it.
But this was the man who had haunted Ziel’s nightmares. He was right there.
Calling Storms leaned around Ziel’s hammer and gave him a frown. “Don’t you want to go back? Ah, I see. You were useless too long.” He patted the hammer’s head. “Very well. I’ll send the other two of you back, but my Dawnwing student stays with us. I have some more teaching to do.”
Ziel’s skin prickled and writhed as pure hatred coursed through his veins. Only the song of the Shield Icon kept him from striking out.
It wouldn’t be too late to kill the Sage of Calling Storms after the others saved Lindon from the Dreadgod.
He could survive the man’s attentions for a while. After all, he had endured them already.
“I’ll stay,” Ziel said shortly. “It’s not worth—”
Yerin’s fist cracked into the Sage’s jaw.
The man’s entire head deformed, and he tumbled for half a mile. Dirt blasted up from the force of the impact.
Yushi watched Calling Storms fly away, impassive, then turned back to Yerin. “I know he’s a rat, but you shouldn’t antagonize your only way back home.”
Even Ziel was taken aback. Anyone who met Yerin knew she had a temper, but she could keep it under control.
You wouldn’t know it from looking at her, though.
Yerin’s hair whipped wildly in the aura stirred by her spirit. Her eyes were wide and blazed with crimson rage. All six of her blade-arms were extended, and Netherclaw boiled with silver-and-scarlet madra.
“He should have kept his teeth together,” Yerin said, and Ziel heard the cry of the Bleeding Phoenix in the red moonlight all around her.
Yushi’s own sword had returned to her hand. Her expression was frosty, and her wings crackled with lightning. “A diplomatic solution would benefit the both of us. Don’t think you can finish this quickly. Time is on our side.”
Yerin wasn’t looking at her. She gazed farther, to the regenerating Sage. “Oi!” she shouted. “You want to see what Eithan would do to you? I’ll give you a taste for free.”
She gripped her sword in both hands and drew back the blade. Ziel was no swordsman, but her stance looked somewhat strange. Even awkward.
Of course, he’d seen her practice this before.
Something in his spirit shivered, and the colors around Yerin flickered out for a second. She was imitating Eithan. As he had been in the sky when he pulled back his scythe.
He wanted to stop her. Her outrage on his behalf was going to cost them their chance at getting back to Lindon.
But for just a moment, he was frozen in fear.
And that cost him his chance.
Yerin unleashed the Reaper’s Sword, and the battle began once more.
14
Lindon struggled awake to the thunder of battle and searing spiritual pain.
The gray-white echoed Titan clashed over Sacred Valley against its flesh-and-blood brother, and the sky blazed blue and gold with the madra of the Weeping Dragon. Lindon felt like he was boiling from the inside with excess power, but still his arm begged to feed on the two Dreadgods.
Dross panted in his mind. [Lindon, if you use Consume again before we’re under control, I’m going to strangle your brain.]
Without Dross’ help, it was difficult to avoid passing out again. The Heart of Twin Stars was the only thing that allowed him to filter the powers he’d stolen from Northstrider, and it felt like he was sorting six decks of cards at once.
He could have released the energy, but it supported him even as it wrestled him. And Northstrider’s draconic authority would surely help his battle against the Weeping Dragon.
With every breath, the Dragon Icon sang its song inside him.
It filled him with arrogant confidence. If he admitted defeat here by abandoning Northstrider’s power, he wasn’t a true dragon. What kind of predator choked on his prey?
As Lindon was rooted to the spot, the Dreadgods clashed in the sky. The protective scripts around the Valley trembled, and Lindon suspected that if the Wandering Titan had been real instead of an echo of hunger madra, all of Sacred Valley would be dust.
From a ragged hole in the world just beyond the protective script formation, someone staggered out. Northstrider.
Alarm spiked through Lindon’s spirit. If the Monarch could still fight, there would be little Lindon could do. He had stolen a large chunk of the man’s power, which would be difficult to recover from, but Northstrider could potentially steal it right back.
The ragged Monarch was covered in dirt and blood. He coughed as he pulled himself out of the portal, and his own appearance finally matched the torn and scuffed condition of his clothes.
His eyes, however, were undefeated. He ignored Lindon and looked to the north and the battle between Dreadgods.
He extended a hand. “Admit defeat and give me the bow. I will not only spare you but save you.”
Dross spun out into the air over Lindon’s shoulder so they could both stare at Northstrider speechlessly.
The Monarch’s gaze never wavered. “Can you save yourself?”
Lindon didn’t have the concentration to spare for another negotiation with Northstrider. He flew slowly toward the Nethergate, where he could enter the labyrinth.
In fact, it wouldn’t take much willpower to transport himself down into the labyrinth directly. But his mental and spiritual condition were tenuous enough as it was, and the labyrinth’s power was being strained by projecting the Wandering Titan. He didn’t want to push anything.
Inside the labyrinth, though, his options would expand. From there, it was relatively easy to move himself to another branch. Anywhere, as long as it was away from the Weeping Dragon.
The training plan had failed. Time to leave.
Northstrider grunted and followed him into the labyrinth’s territory. “Strength is not enough, Lindon. You need the wisdom to see the world as it is. If you keep ignoring reality, it will crush you.”
Lindon turned to look over his shoulder and spared the Monarch one parting comment. “We will not stop,” he said.
He continued moving toward the Nethergate, and he felt it distantly when Northstrider opened a portal and ran.
Back to Moongrave.
Dross gave a whistling sound. [Wow, he admitted defeat. At any other time, I’d give you a round of applause. But I think we’re in trouble.]
Serpents of living lightning tore mouthfuls of hunger madra out of the Wandering Titan. It was being ripped apart, and though it struck back at the Weeping Dragon with blows that ripped apart the air, it was clear that the battle was close to its end.
Lindon had hoped the echo would last longer, but this was hardly a surprising result. Not only was this Titan only a Forged projection, but it was also a copy of the Wandering Titan from a time before the Dreadgods had inherited the Slumbering Wraith’s strength. The Dragon was on another level.
As Lindon picked up his speed and hobbled faster for the Nethergate, the sky boomed with the Weeping Dragon’s voice.
“You don’t know how to use my brother’s techniques,” the Dreadgod said. “I will take your arm and all his remains. They are my inheritance.”
Lindon didn’t respond to the Weeping Dragon, but Dross did. [The tiger tried to make deals with us too. Did you see what happened to him? I could show you.]