Lindon History's Strongest Unsouled
I don't own anything.
Chapter 6:
The encampment surrounding the Transcendent Ruins, which Jai Sen called the Five Factions Alliance, remained a marvel even though it looked as though it had been tossed together in an hour. Shacks and shops were cobbled together from fresh planks, many in a half-constructed state. The one road was nothing more than a wide track of hastily packed dirt, carrying wagons pulled by bulls, oxen, or Remnants of a dozen descriptions. Children dashed between ramshackle huts, tossing fistfuls of mud at one another.
But the mundane details could not hide the impossible, which surrounded Lindon from every angle. Yerin and Jai Sen walked casually along, unimpressed, but he felt as though he couldn't turn his head fast enough.
A girl that couldn't have been more than twelve years old hauled a boulder as tall as Lindon's shoulders over to the side of the road. When she slammed it down, the ground shook. She paused a moment, glancing over the irregular lump of stone that rose higher than her head, and then drove stiffened fingers straight into the rock. The top of the boulder slid away, crashing into the ground, and leaving the stone smooth and clean on top. A pile of enormous stone blocks waited nearby, and Lindon knew she carved those with her finger tips as well. Probably in the same morning. It must be because of her Path, because it'd be impossible to make such clean cuts in stone by just pressing her fingertips into it. He'd need his sword, and his masters a knife hand with a quick motion.
A group of older men and women dressed in gray strode by, their outer robes sewn with images of dragons and birds in flight. A small cloud hung inches over each of their heads, and when they passed Lindon and his group, their gazes turned to Jai Sen. The clouds darkened, a few even flashing with lightening, and Lindon stared at the reaction in fascination even though the spearman seemed not to notice. After they'd passed, Lindon craned his neck back to continue looking, and the clouds had faded back to pale gray.
In front of a newly erected wooden shop front, a man hovered in midair, examining the second floor with a focused frown. He stroked his black beard, then reached for a strange weapon on his back: a hilt with a blade bent into a wide crescent, so that it looked like a sharpened hook instead of a typical scythe. He leveled his weapon at the building as Lindon passed beneath them, seemingly unconcerned that people were flowing underneath his feet.
And the people. Outside of the Seven-Year Festival, Lindon had never seen so many different people packed into such a tight space. Sacred artists carried swords, spears, whips, hooks, axes, awls, halberds, and weapons of every verity he hadn't seen since his time spent with master Shigure. They were dressed in everything from intricate formal robes that burned like a phoenix's flames to shoddy brown castoffs. The crowd came in tides, so that one second they were packed tight as a river, the next scattered like puddles after a rain.
Above all, the titanic layers of the Transcendent Ruins loomed over like a mountain carved of brown stone.
It was so strange compared to Sacred Valley that Lindon wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He was surrounded by Golds, which made him feel just as fragile as was before his training under his masters. One instinct urged him to dash into a corner and hide.
But another emotion held sway: the dizzying relief of absolute freedom. In the Wei clan, everyone knew him. They thought they knew how useless he was. An Unsouled. Here, he would start over from the beginning. He was still the weakest around, and most could apparently tell, though, he'd suspect that they'd still be surprised by his full strength. But, they only saw him as slow or untalented, not a lost cause with no ability to ever learn the sacred arts.
And even reaching Gold was nothing, here. Even a child could do it. Even him. Every time he saw someone younger with a venom-green Remnant wrapped around their wrist or a cloud over their head, he couldn't suppress his smile. Those were Goldsigns, and if these people could raise their children to that level, he could make it too. He'd have too, and go far beyond even that.
Ahead, Jai Sen's compliments to Yerin had flowed even thicker than the crowd around them. "It's rare that a sacred artist your age has such keen insight. You must surely be close to Highgold, which is worth bragging about. I myself have only reached the threshold of Highgold; when you're my age, you will surely have surpassed me. As for those Sandvipers, they're not even worth mentioning."
That both relieved Lindon and put him off at the same time. Jai Sen had said the Sandvipers had a long history of friendship with his clan, but he just nonchalantly waved them aside as trash. Even when Yerin was smacking one his supposed allies around, he did even seem upset, let alone drawing his spear on her like the others did. It was a relief that he wouldn't take their side and turn on Lindon and Yerin, but loyalty should count for something. Clearly, the Jai clan just uses the Sandvipers as pawns or servants to aid them, looking down at them with utter disinterest or even disgust. Like the clan of Sacred Valley looked down on the unaffiliated sacred artists living in the wilds.
Yerin had spent the rest of the conversation putting him off with mutters and half-statements, which Lindon was certain had as much to do with her thirst as her disinterest. She'd kept one hand on the hilt of her sword and the other on the blood-red rope she had wrapped around her waist like a belt, as though trying to decide which she should draw. This time, she glanced back and saw Lindon listening.
"That was nothing special," Yerin said, as much to Lindon as to Jai Sen. "They wanted to back me into a corner, but they'd caught themselves in the same trap. They could have stepped up one at a time, and they'd have worn me down steady and true. But the first one to step up is the first one to get to slapped down, and that one would lose face. They could group up, and then they'd have beaten me sure as sunrise, but then what kind of standing would they have? Even dogs can win a fight as a pack."
Lindon was certain that Yerin was thinking about how the Heaven's Glory Elders killed her master, just like a pack dogs.
She glanced back at Lindon again, emphasizing her point. "Sacred artists care more about their reputation than about their lives. You cut one, she'll heal and laugh about it. You embarrass her, and then you'd best be willing to draw swords on her, her mother, and her entire clan."
Lindon nodded to show her that he'd taken the message, but in truth it wasn't terribly strange. The notion of honor in Sacred Valley was similar, if perhaps a little less aggressive. As the saying went, {A man holds grudges for a day, a family for a year, and a clan for a lifetime.}
Jai Sen chuckled even as he nudged a passerby aside with the butt of his spear. "Well said. It becomes a delicate dance, walking among people with such fragile pride. You and your family must make sure that you stand as tall as possible, so your enemies are too wary of you to bother you. But a tree that grows too tall, too quickly, is liable to be cut down." He turned enough to include Lindon in his grin. "The wisest course is to join a clan with such a firm foundation that it can never be shaken, with an unassailable reputation and untarnished honor."
Lindon might have been new to the area, but could take obvious hints. "Would the Jai clan welcome strangers?"
Jai Sen stabbed a finger at him. "This one is almost as wise as you are, though perhaps he has...lagged a bit on his Path. Indeed, there is no faction in the Wilds as strong or proud as the Jai clan. Our branch here is comparable to the Purelake Temple in influence, and it is but a fraction the size of our main branch in the Blackflame Empire. As an honored guest under the banner of Jai, none of the Sandvipers would dare to disrespect you again. We would give you the treatment of an outer disciple, which you surely deserve, and any honors or merits you render to the clan will be exchanged fairly for scales or treasures of your choosing. And when we recover the spear, as it was ours to begin with, every member of the clan and our respected guests will receive a hundred scales as a bonus. We would even feed and house Wei Shi Lindon, as a courtesy to you."
Lindon was bursting with questions, in contrast to Yerin, who looked as though Jai Sen had offered her a pile of mud and a filthy stick. He was actually glad that she wasn't interested in his offer. Besides the obvious distrust he has of this Jai clan and Sen particularly, obviously he was just interested in Yerin. He was seen as a pack mule or pet at best. But he still wanted more information: like the factions of the Wilds, these 'scales,' which he assumed were some sort of currency, but above all else he wanted to know more about this spear.
He stepped between Yerin and Jai Sen, catching the man's attention. "Your pardon, Jai Sen, but we have traveled from far away." He planned to keep his origins secret from the Jai spear man, so he steered toward caution. "We came upon this land by chance, so we know nothing of the spear. Is it a powerful weapon or legendary treasure?" Some of his excitement bleeding out of his voice.
Jai Sen, who at first had seemed irritated at Lindon's interruption, brightened at the question. He waited until a cart had rattled by, deafening with a sound like clattering pottery, before he spoke. "The spear is the prize of the Transcendent Ruins. the Ruins are a treasure in themselves, drawing vital aura from hundreds of miles around, and filled with ancient secrets of great power. But the one everyone seeks, the weapon that could elevate one faction to the heavens, is the spear."
He was warming up now, gesturing with his hands so that his own spear bobbed wildly and caused several bystanders to duck and curse him. He continued as though he hadn't heard them. "Almost a thousand years ago, the Desolate Wilds were totally lawless, plagued by beasts and by wild sacred artists no better than animals themselves. Each man considered himself an Emperor, each woman an Empress, and they ruled whatever they could take at the end of a blade. But one day," and here Jai Sen drew himself up proudly, "a woman emerged from nowhere with a shinning spear in her hands. She united these rogue sacred artists under one name, killing those who resisted, and spreading law and civilization across the Wilds. No one could stand against them, because no one could oppose her...or rather, no could oppose her spear."
He smiled wider, because even Yerin was listening with obvious interest. "You see, her weapon was said to devour spirits. When she destroyed a Remnant, she consumed its power, until she grew so strong that she could slay entire armies at a stroke. For the next two centuries, while she lived, all the Wilds remained peaceful under her rule."
He waved a hand as though brushing aside two hundred years.
"The story of her death is a long one, but it's enough to say that the Ruins rose on the day of her death. She entered, taking the spear, and never emerged. Some say that she received the spear form the Ruins in the beginning, and she was only returning the power she had barrowed. I believe that it was a test, that she locked her strongest weapon into a secure vault to safeguard her legacy until a descendent could claim it once again."
"Will you retrieve it yourself?" Lindon asked. Though it was clear that Jai Sen wasn't the most powerful young sacred artist in the Jai clan-not matter how different the outside world was from Sacred Valley, he wouldnt' believe that any clan would send its elites out to guard the gate from dogs-but a little flattery could only help him.
Jai Sen clapped Lindon on the back so hard Lindon would have bruised if not being so well built and reinforced with Ki. "You sure know how to speak. I should keep you around just for that. But I know my place; I'm only here to bring some small glory to my clan, as much as I am capable." He smiled over at Yerin, and Lindon wondered how much glory an esteemed visitor was worth to the Jai clan.
The tall spearman drew up short next to a cube of gray stone blocks very similar to the ones he'd seen the girl cutting barehanded. They were stacked one on top of the other, bound without mortar until they formed a square house bigger than the entire Shi family complex. Horses and stranger animals filled a fenced area nearby, and men and women with spears and robes of the Jai clan entered and exited freely.
"This is the Inn of the Drifting Light, an establishment that sprouts up whenever and wherever promising members of the Jai clan need a place to stay." Jai Sen presented the enormous stone cube with a proud flourish. "As my friend, you are welcome to a room inside. Humble as it may be, I guarantee you won't find better anywhere in the Alliance."
Yerin gave Jai Sen a shallow bow. "I regret that my exhaustion prevents me from thanking you properly," she said, in the most formal sentence Lindon had ever heard from her. "I owe you a debt for every favor you've done on my behalf."
Lindon had to keep a straight look on his face as he thought, {She's either gone mad from dehydration or, more likely, she's up to something.}
"Not at all, Yerin, not at all. There is no need for such formality between us, not when we will soon work side by side." He ushered them into the wide, doorless entrance, where a matronly woman had taken up a seat behind a wooden table.
She raised her eyebrows when she saw him. "Jai Sen, have they closed the gates already?"
He cleared his throat. "Honored aunt, this is Yerin of no clan. I greeted her arrival at the gate, and she expressed an interest in working alongside our clan during her stay here. She is a guest of mine, and her friend is under her protection."
The woman appraised Yerin for a moment before giving her a broad smile. "I hope that my nephew hasn't worn out your ears on the way. Finding you shows more insight than I would have expected from him, and it's a credit to your wisdom that you accepted. You have a bright future here, with you so young."
To Lindon, she said nothing.
Clearly pleased with himself, Jai Sen swept his spear out to the side as he bowed to the room in general. "Aunt, honored guest, I am sorry to be so rude as to leave, but they need my presence at the wall. Sister Yerin, I hope that we might share a meal at sunset tonight, once you have a chance to refresh yourself and rest."
Yerin bowed to him in response. "I'm sure I'll have a mouthful of questions once I've wet my throat a little more."
Jai Sen laughed. "More water for the thirsty travelers!" he said to his aunt. "And a bath, if I may be so indelicate as to suggest it," The woman nodded firmly and scribbled some words on a tablet.
"Then I'm off!" Jai Sen announced, spinning on his heel-almost catching Lindon in the head with the shaft of the spear-and walking out the door.
As Lindon had expected, a room in the inn was a hollowed-out stone block the size of a closet. A bed stood against one wall and a pile of blankets against the other with a tiny table crammed into the corner balancing an unlit lamp, a paper covering what he guessed was a bowl of food, and four bottles of water beaded with condensation. As soon as they opened the door, Lindon and Yerin didn't even bother dropping their belongings before they darted for the water. The Thousand-Mile Cloud hovered in the hallway like a lonely puppy.
The woman at the entrance had told them baths would be heated within the hour, though Lindon didn't waste any thought on it. He had no intention of staying, and considering Yerin's very out-of-character behavior, neither did she. So once Lindon had finally sated his thirst and devoured a bowl of rice, he started rummaging around for anything of value.
Yerin, meanwhile, was looking at the square hole in the wall that served as their window. "Think you could squeeze through this?" she asked.
Lindon looked up after stuffing the blankets into his pack. "The window?"
"If we get caught because your shoulders are stuck and you're dangling half out of the wall, I can tell you I won't be smiling."
Lindon was glad that he was right about Yerin wanting to leave, he wasn't confident in his ability to convince her of anything. "If I take my pack and sword off I should be able to fit...at worst just give me nudge from behind."
Yerin had a small grin on her face and gave a nod of approval. "Good to see that you at least see things nice and true."
"Just because I've lived my entire life in Sacred Valley doesn't mean I'm blind to what really happened. That Jai Sen guy tried to kill me, possibly aiming for you next, in hopes of robbing our corpses. Despite his kind words, I wouldn't trust him with my shoes, let alone my life." Lindon replied.
"True. And now he's taken us to a place where we're stoppered up like flies in a whine bottle. Don't know if he still wants to rob us, or kill us, or maybe just what he said: get us working for the Jai clan. But I'll dance to his tune when he makes a puppet out of my corpse, and not a second before. Let's go. I'll push." She said while turning from him to look at the window.
The Sandvipers had their own corner of the Five Factions Alliance territory. The space wasn't assigned to them according to some plan or design, as would have been rational, but instead consisted of all the ground they could seize and hold. Typical of sacred artists, in Jai Long's opinion: so consumed with gaining strength that they never considered how they should use it.
Most of the Sandviper territory was taken up by a single, garishly red tent of many peaks. While the lesser minions settled for huts made of twigs and scavenged boards, their future chief reveled in luxury. Sounds floated out of the tent on a warm wind-mingled laughter, the clink of glasses, splashing of water.
Jai Long could have joined them. He had the status, and he'd contributed more merits than the Sandviper heir. But if he was honest with himself, he preferred it out in the cold night.
He sat at a rough table arranged on the mud, a stretch of fabric above him guarding from rain and providing shade. It was hot here when the sun was high, and cold when it wasn't, but his personal comfort was secondary. This position allowed him to focus on his duties, placed him in the way of any attack on the tent, and kept him close enough to respond to any of Kral's whims.
No sooner had Jai Long thought of the name when his master stuck his head out from the tent. Kral was twenty-two years old, and fit from years of martial training. He always gave the impression of an imposing leader, standing tall and confident as though to inspire those around him, gaze fixed on some distant vision of victory...until he smiled. Then, he looked like a rogue trying to charm his way out of trouble.
He was smiling now.
Water ran down his body, and black hair plastered to his face and neck. Even the towel wrapped around his waist was soaked.
"Send for some more water, would you?" Kral asked. The Sandvipers called Kral the young chief, though he hadn't ascended to his father's title yet, because of the great influence he had among the sect. He was issuing a command, but he respected Jai Long enough to at least pretend it was a request. "Somehow we keep losing it." A chorus of laughter followed that statement from within the tent, and his grin broadened.
Jai Long nodded to a pair of nearby servants, young boys born into the Sandviper sect, and they ran off at his signal to find the jars of water he'd ordered filled earlier. There were constructs in the tent to heat what water they brought, but if there existed any constructs that could create water out of madra, only the Purelake might have Soulsmiths skilled enough to build them. Maybe the Fishers, but he couldn't have any dealings with the Sandviper's ancestral enemy. Not openly, anyway.
Request fulfilled, Jai Long turned back to his work, expecting that Kral would leave. Instead, the heir sighed.
"You're not a slave," he said.
Jai Long turned back, somewhat surprised at the statement. "If I thought I was, I wouldn't stay." He and Kral had reached the same stage if advancement in the sacred arts, but the future chief wouldn't be able to stop him by force. Jai Long wasn't arrogant enough to assume that he was the strongest Highgold in the Five Factions Alliance, but he was certainly the best among the Sandvipers.
If he'd thought the sect was treating him unfairly, he would have cut his way through them, and Kral knew it. The only one that could have overpowered him was the current chief, a Truegold, and Kral's father was out hunting.
Kral nodded to the paperwork. "Then why are you working like one? Come join us." He peeled the tent flap back a little, and another humid gust bloomed in the night air.
No laughter accompanied this statement from inside the tent, but none of them argued. Kral's friends were afraid of seeming too displeased, but they certainly weren't eager to have Jai Long join them.
He resisted lifting a hand to feel the strips of cloth wrapped around his head. The cloth was red, wrapped so tightly around him that not a hair or scrap of skin was visible from the neck up. Only his eyes peeked out of the middle, and if he could have covered those up without losing his vision, he would have.
"Let's not inflict my company upon them," Jai Long said dryly. "They're having fun."
If Kral's companions could have cheered at that statement without losing face, Jai Long was sure they would have.
Kral's smile sharpened. "They won't say a word about it, that I can promise you. They know the hand that feeds them."
They wouldn't need words to express their displeasure, Jai Long knew. No one did, really. When he'd returned to his family with his sister's bloody and broken body in his arms, his parents were more horrified by his face than by the fate of their daughter. {What have you done to yourself?} they didn't ask him. {Was it worth it?} they didn't say.
When the Jai Patriarch banished him to the Wilds, the words were hollow and empty, forms without substance. The old man's disappointment oozed across the room, so tangible that it might as well have been vital aura taken form. The star that would have guided the clan into the future had stepped off the Path, ruining his future advancement. And he was hideous...how could he represent the Jai like that?
Nothing truly important needed to be said. When he returned to the clan, unseated the Patriarch, and forced the rest of the family to bow before him, he wouldn't need any speeches either. Above all else, sacred arts respected strength.
Jai Long intended to use his.
"Can you imagine me saying yes?" he asked Kral, and the young chief gave a bitter laugh.
"In truth, no. But what sort of host would I be if I didn't ask?"
Kral had his faults. He pursued sacred arts with admirable dedication, but at every other sort of work he balked. He was lazy, irritable, quick to anger, slow to apologize, arrogant, and even occasionally cruel.
But he'd treated Jai Long well, and would not be forgotten.
Jai Long said none of this, because he didn't need to. He waved his hand. "You're letting out the heat. Call for me when you need more wine."
Kral sighed again, but headed back inside. the laughs started up again almost immediately.
Jai Long looked down at the papers beneath him, conjuring a tiny star on the tip of one finger so that he had enough light to see. Four piles of papers sat on the desk, divided roughly into quadrants. Each page was a map. The maps were rough, sketched by many different hands, and incomplete. Jai Long was making notes of his own on the many blank spaces, filling in from other maps and from his own inferences, slowly and steadily building a complete diagram.
There were still many riddles to solve, but he could feel the information gathering into a whole. In another week, maybe two, he'd have an advantage beyond any of the other Five Factions: a map of the Transcendent Ruins.
The stories passed down about the ancient Jai spear were more myth than fact, but two thing remained true to a reasonable degree of certainty. For one thing, it was almost absolutely true that the spear remained somewhere in the Ruins. There were hundreds of eyewitnesses to the Jai Matriarch's entrance, and while popular stories said she died within, her closest advisors recorded that she emerged from the Ruins weak and battered. She told those advisors that she'd left the spear within and died days later.
He had enough information to consider that story true. But there was a second fact he'd verified, and it was equally important: the spear really had devoured the strength of Remnants and added their strength to that of the Matriarch's. One of her advisors had observed the process, even noting down possible methods and some runes on the spear's shaft that might have been some form of script. The early Jai clan had tried to reproduce the spear, but had ultimately failed.
No one else had considered the nature of that ability, except that it was a powerful way to advance quickly. The others, he was sure, sought the spear for one reason alone: with it, they might be able to break through the bonds of Truegold. There was only one Underlord in the Desolate Wilds, and only a handful in the Blackflame Empire. Advancing past Truegold meant advancing beyond the realm of common sense, to rise from the earth to the heavens in one leap.
They all thought so small.
More accurately, their vision was narrow. Jai Long's competitors, including the Sandviper sect, were so focused on advancement that they neglected to consider what it meant to consume someone else's power.
No one could gather madra that was too different from their own. That was a fundamental law, and one that Jai Long had no reason to believe the spear could break. If he, whose madra carried aspect of light and the sword, tried to absorb a Sandviper Remnant, the spear would gain a toxic aspect, and he would have a harder time finding the right aura to cycle, but he should be able to do it.
But then, if he took a Fisher's Remnant, what would happen?
There was a point beyond which the absorption would fail. Even if it didn't, the different types of madra could mix in violent or chaotic ways. It might even damage his core, or the madra could rebound on him and tear his body apart.
No, though everyone envisioned taking the spear and gathering the powers of their enemies into one body, that was just a childish fantasy. It would never work.
The spear would be at its best when devouring compatible madra. In other words, madra from sacred artists on the same Path.
If Jai Long held the spear, he could advance by doing nothing more than cutting down others on the Path of the Stellar Spear-blood members of the Jai clan-and gutting their Remnants.
The spear's nature aligned so closely with his own desires that he almost considered it the will of the heavens.
Even better, the other Factions were considering this a contest of strength. Which was how they considered most things, now that he thought of it. They pushed into the Ruins, fighting the dreadbeasts sealed within as well as the other competitors, with the understanding that the most powerful would come out on top.
Jai Long didn't think of himself as an arrogant man, but sometimes it seemed that he was the only one with eyes in a crowd of the blind.
Couldn't they see that the strongest weren't always the victors?
So he worked on his map even as the young servants returned, carrying jars of water bigger than their whole bodies. As they ran back out, one of them stopped at Jai Long's table and bowed with fists pressed together.
He stayed that way until Jai Long noticed and raised his head. "What is it?"
"I ran into Grenn on the way back," the boy said. "His mother called him in to cycle, so he couldn't deliver messages to you tonight, so he passed them on to me."
Jai Long held back a sigh. He'd wondered what was taking his usual messenger so long, and once again he lamented the lack of discipline among the Sandvipers. There was so much he despised about the Jai clan, but there was a reason they were a first-class clan in the Blackflame Empire while the Sandvipers remained nothing more than a second-rate sect in the Wilds. Without organization and control, strength meant nothing.
He gestured impatiently, and the boy's spine straightened like a broomstick. "Sir. Grenn said that the forwman said that the miners can't go into the southwest corner of the fourth floor. Too many beasts."
Jai Long scribbled a note. In the four floors closest to the entrance of the Transcendent Ruins, he had accurate maps of virtually the entire area. Only a few spots remained blank, so he'd ordered the mining crews to move their operations.
"Tell the foreman he can expect three more Lowgold guards by sundown tomorrow," Jai Long said. A single guard would be a great help in protecting the mining crew from dreadbeasts; three was perhaps too many. But this was a race, and he intended to win.
Kral might balk at committing so many of his Sandvipers to what he saw as a slave duty, but Jai Long would talk him around.
The messenger boy stood there mouthing words, awkwardly committing Jai Long's message to memory. When He'd finished, he straightened again.
"There was a message from the Jai clan too, sir. A Lowgold stranger showed up at the gates today, and she had a Copper with her."
"Her son?"
The boy shook his head, and his smile had a bit of a sneer to it. "Grenn saw the Copper himself. Said he looked even older than the Lowgold."
That happened sometimes-a child was born with a tragically weak spirit, or had it crippled in some accident before he could advance further. Those unfortunates deserved pity, not ridicule.
But whatever they deserved, this one had earned not a whit of Jai Long's attention. "If you deliver me a message every time an outsider shows up at the gates, you'll walk your feet off."
"No, that's not...the Copper's just strange, sir. Not important. The important thing is that she beat Sandviper Resh in the middle of her squad, and then walked away with one of the Jai clan."
"Ah." Now Jai Long understood why the message had mentioned the Copper. If he, as a representative of the Sandviper sect, wanted to avenge Resh's humiliation, he couldn't punish a Lowgold under Jai protection. He'd have to target the Copper instead.
"Where are they now?" Jai Long asked, dipping his brush to write a letter to his former clan.
"Uh, they were taken to a Jai clan inn, but it looks like they snuck out. Grenn said he was supposed to tell you that nobody could find them."
Jai Long's suffering had begun when he first advanced to Gold. In the heat of battle, he'd been forced to adopt a strange Remnant instead of the one his family had planned for him. Instead of the Goldsign borne by most on the Path of the Stellar Spear-hair as sturdy as a helmet, and rigid as iron-he was cursed with a face that...a face that he didn't like to think about.
There had been a few other consequences of that Goldsign. His voice hadn't changed, but his laugh...
It rang out of him, wild and crazy, like a cackling of a deranged murderer. His usual voice was cool and composed, but when he laughed, he sounded like a blood-drunk killer. The messenger boy paled and took a step backwards.
Jai Long swallowed the last chuckles, but a smile still stretched the edges of his cloth mask. "They lost her. The Jai clan can't find their new recruit, so they turn to me."
Technically they had turned to the Sandvipers to help, but there was no real difference. He handled most of the day-to-day workings of the sect, and whichever of his relatives had sent this message must have known where it would end up.
Surely, that knowledge had burned them.
"I think so, sir..." the boy said hesitantly.
"I'm amending my previous message. Tell the foreman he will have to wait for his three Lowgold guards. Then go to Sandviper Tern, get three of his best, and tell him the story you just told me. They're to retrieve the Copper for the mines. Do not kill his protector, but don't retrieve her for the Jai clan either."
His clan had handed him a razor-sharp opportunity. In one move, he could regain the standing the Sandvipers had lost at the hands of this stranger, show her that she couldn't treat their sect lightly, and reinforce to the clan that Jai Long was their servant no longer. And he would gain a miner. Only a Copper, but enough single scales could eventually pile up into a fortune.
The messenger boy was standing in place with brows furrowed, repeating the words silently to himself.
"What will you say to the foreman?" Jai Long snapped, and he forced the boy to repeat each message until they were all perfect. One day, he was going to have to train better messengers. Maybe he could purchase a few speaking constructs from the Fishers. Through a proxy, of course.
When the boy finally finished, Jai Long picked his brush back up and dipped it into the inkwell. "Is there anything else?" he asked, by the way of dismissal.
"Nothing special," the boy said, fidgeting in place. Clearly there was something he wanted to say, but not an official message.
"Did you hear something?" Jai Long asked, his attention on the paper in front of him.
"It's just a rumor. Some of the Cloud Hammers were talking about it, and I only heard them because I was sitting behind a fence and they didn't know I was there, because one of them asked the other one if he was sure, and then he said..."
Jai Long let the boy ramble on excitedly as he worked. Eventually, a point would emerge.
"...after he'd stopped, he said-I mean not him, the first one-said they'd have to speed up, because Arelius would take everything when he got here. So the second one kind of laughed, but not a funny laugh-"
When the boy's words registered, Jai Long stood up so quickly that he upended his inkwell, sending it splattering on the edge of the table. Part of his mind noticed with relief that it hadn't ruined any of his maps, but the majority of his consciousness was taken up by sheer panic. He seized the boy by the shoulders, and it was only a last-minute awareness that prevented him from accidently ripping the boy's arms off.
"The Arelius family is coming here?"
The boy's eyes were so wide that they seemed to take up most of his face, and he looked too scared even to struggle. "I don't know, brother Jai Long. Please, brother, they just said Arelius. I don't know what it means, I don't know..."
That same calm part of his mind noted that the Sandvipers only called him "brother" when they wanted something from him.
Meanwhile, his panic was quickly transforming into fury. After all his work, all his meticulous effort, now a faction from the Empire was just going to step in and take the rewards.
Jai Long didn't tend to raise his voice. It showed a lack of discipline. Instead, he lowered his tone until he was very quiet indeed. Quiet like the slow rasp of a drawn blade.
"Why," he said, "didn't you tell me this earlier?"
Tears had come to the boy's eyes, and he blubbered incoherently. Jai Long released him, disgusted with himself. He wasn't the sort of weakling who took his frustrations out on children. This boy couldn't be older than twelve; he was even younger than Jai Long's own sister.
Jai Long bowed deeply to the messenger, fists pressed together as he would bow to a superior. "My deepest regrets," he said, and the fear on the boy's face almost instantly transformed to shock. "Now. Deliver your messages as instructed, but on your way, grab every messenger the Sandvipers have. Send them all to me."
The boy bowed and bolted.
Within the tent, the splashing and laughter had stopped. "Kral," Jai Long said, and the young chief's head poked out.
"I didn't hear much of that, but I will die if you don't tell me the details," Kral said.
"The Arelius family may be coming here."
It took the future Snadviper chief a moment before the gravity of that statement sunk in. "From the Empire?"
Jai Long didn't nod. His silence would be answer enough.
"When?"
"That's what we need to know."
Kral vanished for a moment, and when he reappeared, he was tying a loose emerald robe around his waist. He shouted orders, every inch the commanding chief, and Sandvipers boiled out of the camp in droves.
Jai Long snatched up his spear from beside the table, marching off into the darkness. He had his own tasks to perform. He'd already forgotten about the other orders he'd sent tonight; compared to confirming this rumor, other matters were unimportant.
The second the Arelius family showed up, his part in this game was over.
By moonlight, Lindon could barely make out the words painted on the board: "Bathhouses for rent."
They looked more like outhouses than bathhouses, rickety sheds of wood only large enough for a single person. They were packed like grave markers in a cemetery, and customers emerging after their bath had to pick their way out through a maze of boxes.
Like the rest of the Five Factions Alliance encampment, these facilities had clearly been tossed together. One young man sat at an uncovered table, chin in one hand. He yawned as Lindon and Yerin approached.
"Two scales each," he said, not so much as glancing at either of them.
The sun had fallen long ago, and one lantern dangling from a nearby tree's branch provided the only light. Lindon and Yerin had wandered for hours, trying to find another place that would take them for the night, but most were packed full. The rest demanded scales, obviously the currency of the region, and refused to listen further when Lindon said they didn't have any.
"A good evening to you," Lindon said, bowing over a sacred artist's salute. The man didn't acknowledge him. "We're from far away, so perhaps elder brother could help us."
Some of the innkeepers had addressed him a "little brother" before they realized he didn't have any money, so Lindon reasoned that it must be a polite saying around here.
The man snorted, still not looking at them. "Who's your brother? If you have no money, then shoo. Shoo." He waved them away with one hand.
Yerin's hand tightening on her sword hilt was becoming very audible.
"We don't have much money, I'll grant you, but I'm sure we can come to an agreement," Lindon said pleasantly. He withdrew a shadesilk bag with a portion of his chips in it; he kept most of his chips inside his pack, but he typically carried twenty or thirty for small transactions. He spilled a few of the rectangular halfsilver tokens onto the man's table.
"We'd be happy to trade, if you think these are worth a few scales." If they weren't, he still had the ingots of halfsilver and goldsteel to trade. Or if they were worth nothing more than rocks here, he was sure he could find some treasure they could trade for local currency. Even the Thousand-Mile Cloud that drifted behind them would be worth selling, if they could get a good enough price.
The man sighed. "Scales or nothing," he said, raising his hand to brush the chips away from him.
He froze at the sight of the speckled metal, like stars struck in silver.
His eyes bulged.
And Lindon sensed vulnerable prey.
"I think I can do you a favor, little brother," the man said, voice straining to stay casual. "I'm sure I can lend you some scales of my own, if you're in that much need. How about...two of your coins per scale?"
"True and clear," Yerin said impatiently, slapping her palm down on the table. "So, that's eight for the both of us?"
The man looked like he'd just seen gold rain from the heavens, but before he could grab the chips, Lindon had already swept them back into his bag.
"I'm sorry, elder brother, but as I said...we're only poor travelers. I'm not sure we can part with eight of these chips. I'm certain four would be asking you to take a loss, but would five do?"
The man pointed at Yerin. "She said eight was fine! She said it!"
Lindon tightened the strings on his purse and sighed. "She did. So I'm afraid I'll have to find another-"
The man cut him off by grabbing his arm. "Five is good enough! Five is fine!"
Lindon focused on him like a hawk sighting a rabbit. "How about three?"
This time, the man obviously realized that Lindon caught on, because a blush ran from his cheeks down his neck. He didn't back down, though; the value of halfsilver must be higher than Lindon had thought. "It's hard on me, but three is fine."
Yerin leaned her elbows on the table. "Is it, now? And you were going to let me drop eight?"
She obviously hadn't cared before, but now the man was getting Yerin's full attention. He shifted under that weight.
"It's a negotiation, little sister, not worth getting upset about."
Lindon kept his smile from growing. Now that Yerin was involved, her intimidation could only help him.
"Of course, you're right," Lindon said, "just a negotiation." He reached two fingers into the purse and withdrew a single halfsilver rectangle. "How about one of these, and you give us each a room?"
"Two keys," the man said, snatching the chip from Lindon's hand. Swiftly, he produced a wooden circle with a script engraved into it. Lindon recognized it as rough work, but it was probably enough to engage and disengage a basic scripted lock.
"Feel free to come back and see us later," he said cheerily.
Lindon bowed in response, wondering by how much he'd overpaid. If he found out a single chip was worth a thousand scales, he'd weep blood.
He turned to go to his bathhouse, but Yerin rapped her knuckles on the table before she did. "There's a good chance we won't cross ways again," she said. "Our School's High Elder needs us in the Ruins at dawn. Not a man you want to ignore, hear me? Not unless you want to bleed a river."
She laughed cheerfully, and he tried to join her. Only then did Yerin turn and follow Lindon.
"Could you explain that to me?" he asked.
"Halfsilver's rare," she said, "but it's not that rare. He was looking like you were carrying phoenix feathers soaked in dragon's tears."
Finally the reality dawned on Lindon, and he shivered. "Forgive me. I was shortsighted." If he hadn't been so tired, and so focused on making a profit, he would have seen it immediately.
In Sacred Valley, an Unsouled carrying a fortune was begging to be robbed. Out here, a Copper was the same. He'd be lucky if they only beat him.
"Nah, it's all settled now. His bones are rattling so hard he wouldn't dare pick up a coin if we tossed it to him. But possibly don't flash any more halfsilver around until we get away from here."
Which killed his newborn plan to trade all his halfsilver for elixirs and training resources. He'd only been rich for a few seconds, and now he couldn't even spend it.
They found a pair of shacks back-to-back. Even though Lindon could barely squeeze inside with his pack, he finally managed it, and he could hear Yerin as she stepped into her own.
He paused, looking at the center of the bathhouse, and he heard her do the same. He expected a tub full of cold water, maybe a simple construct for heating if they were really luxurious. Instead, a crystalline pool of water sat in the center of the ground, deep enough that it would be up to his shoulders. The ground surrounding the pool was just dirt, but the water was protected by walls of rugged white rock. It was like they'd grown a hot spring in the middle of an ordinary field.
"Is this natural?" Lindon asked, his voice carrying easily through the slats of the wood.
"No hope of that. Brought the water up somehow, I'd guess."
Their stalls stood back-to-back, each made of boards loosely slapped together. The did nothing to stop the sound from her side: the rattle of her sword as she set it aside, and the steady rustle of cloth as she slipped out of her clothing.
He lowered his eyes to the ground though there was nothing to see, his cheeks heating. Most girls in Sacred Valley were promised to someone from an early age, so it would have been inappropriate for any besides his sister to spend time with Lindon. Once he was known as Unsouled, none even wanted to.
Now that he was hearing a girl undress, he was irrationally afraid that she would read his thoughts. He intentionally rattled his pack as he set it down to the side, his sword and armor following, unlacing his robe in determination to act normal. He shouldn't be flustered by something this petty; he was almost sixteen years old.
He froze with his chainmail halfway up his torso as he realized she could hear him just as clearly as he could her, possibly with even more clarity. She had an Iron body; from this distance, she could probably hear him blink. His blush became fire in his cheeks, and he snuck out of the rest of his clothing like Shigure stealthily sneaking through the shadows to attack him at random.
Mercifully, Yerin remained quiet, even when he tried to lower himself into the water quietly and gasped at the heat. It wasn't hot enough to burn him, but it felt strange and hot against his skin. He wondered how long it had been since he'd had a hot bath, and that thought was enough to get him to slide into the stone-edged pool.
It was deeper than it was wide, so he was practically standing up to his shoulders in warm water, but he still let out a deep sigh of relief. As layers of dirt floated away, the heat sunk deep into tired muscles. He leaned his head against the grass behind him, letting his eyes close.
Yerin's voice came almost as soon as he had closed his eyes. "Sorry we're not getting beds."
"Hm?" He was so tired, the words almost didn't make sense.
"Beds. You miss your house, true? I get it. We could have stayed with the Jai, it just scrapes me raw to bend to their tricks."
Lindon couldn't deny some regret that he hadn't been able to sleep indoors for once, but letting the Jai clan do whatever they wanted seemed like the worse option. Even if they had nothing but good intentions, their actions weren't honorable and he felt like they'd discard them at the drop of a hat if need be.
"You have no reason to apologize to me," Lindon said. "Without you, I'd never have made it out of Sacred Valley. Even if by some miracle I did find my own way out, I'd have ended up as wolf chow. If you told me to sleep outside for the rest of my life, I'd do it without a complaint."
She was silent for a minute or two after that, so he had no idea how she'd taken those words. Maybe she didn't believe him.
When she spoke again, she sounded flustered, though that could have been his imagination. "Well, if you can recall, the Jai clan guy mentioned a Blackflame Empire. I don't know it, but the world's big. There's bound to be some regular villages around here. People who haven't flocked to the strange and deadly ruins. Tomorrow we can skip it, move on, find some friendlier places."
"Where will we find somewhere better than this?" Jai Sen's story of the spear had caught him up in its mystery, and being surrounded by Gold sacred artists was inspiring. His masters had told him that the best way to advance in the martial arts is through combat against powerful opponents, and this place has many that can help him break through to master class. So long as he can get some to agree to vigorous spars that avoid causing permanent damage and/or death. Even the Transcendent Ruins fascinated him; they were a dark and deadly labyrinth left behind by powerhouses of an ancient world. Who knows what treasures lay inside?
If they left, he'd be giving up any chance of finding something for himself.
"It's not comfortable here," Lindon continued, "I certainly agree with you on that, but why would we leave? Sacred artists from all over are gathered; maybe one of them knows some pure madra techniques. Maybe they could teach me a second Path, or even take me inside the Ruins..." His imagination was spinning at full speed, showing him images of the endless benefits he could gather inside the pyramid.
"You think it's so easy to learn a Path, do you? You even want to try for two, like you're the first person with that idea."
Lindon was trying not to feel too embarrassed about his Sacred Valley education, but Yerin didn't make it easy. "I know I could be wrong, but it was my understanding that most people don't have two cores."
"Sure, you have an advantage in that respect. Same way somebody with no legs has the advantage of saving on shoes. But I've got one core packed full of sword madra; why don't I learn a second Path? I'd learn twice as much."
Lindon hadn't considered that, but now that he thought of it, he wondered why she didn't.
"First step, I'd have to find somebody to teach me, and they wouldn't. They know I'm on another Path; they won't teach me their secrets. That's handing a sword to your enemy's son. He won't thank you for it, and he might turn it against you someday."
But if you could find someone to teach you-"
"Still wouldn't do it. Say I have a job that takes all my time. Just because I want some more money doesn't mean I'm going to go out and find a second job. Sure I'll make more, but that doesn't leave much room for sleeping." Water splashed around on her side of the dividing wall. "Besides, one Path is enough danger for my taste. I didn't get my scars because I'm so bad at needlepoint, if you hear my meaning."
He had wondered about her scars in the past. They were too regular, too smooth, so that they looked as though they'd been left by razors. He assumed she'd gotten them from training her Endless Sword technique, and it seemed he'd been right.
"I'm not afraid of more pain. I've already endure enormous amounts of agonizing pain during my martial arts training," he said.
"You've had one taste at Copper, and you're thirsty for the whole bottle? Let me tell you, I had the same thought as you when I heard about the spear. You know how many sword artists there are in the world? There's enough Path manuals to pave the streets from here to Phoenix Height. If I could take their power by beating them, drain sword Remnants and stealing their power with that spear...I might even reach my master, someday. It draws me. But I don't chase prey I know I'll never catch."
It somewhat hurt, having his dreams punctured one by one, but he gave her words the full consideration they deserved. She wasn't one to give up lightly-Yerin was the person who stood against the entire Heaven's Glory School and prepared to die rather than retreat from battle. If she wanted to skirt this one, it meant she really believed there was nothing to gain here.
But something about that stuck in him like a needle beneath the skin. He reached over, grabbing a smooth wooden medallion next to his pack: his badge. The character in the center glared at him, as it had every single day for the last eight years. Empty.
"I need something, Yerin, and this is where I can get it. I can finally feel the aura all around me, even now, like I'm lost in endless power...and I can't touch any of it. I need a Path to teach me how. It's like I'm dying of thirst while surround by water, unable to take a drink."
"You think people just accept any disciple that asks?" Yerin sounded angry now. "You think they teach Paths to anybody? No one will take you, no one will teach you, not until you're worth something. That's the steel truth of it, and you'd best swallow it now."
The bath was starting to feel uncomfortably hot.
"I can get a faction to accept me," Lindon argued back. Yerin's doubt cut him, but he knew his own abilities. There were enough different Paths represented here that he had to be able to find a way in somewhere. He has other abilities; like smithing, and he already has more than enough martial skills to make up for his current lack of advancement in the Sacred Arts. He can make someone see the benefit of having him join up with their faction. He knows it.
"Are your ears just for decoration? If I say it's hard, it's hard. If a School does take you, they'll nail your feet to the ground. They don't want their precious disciples wandering out, taking their secrets with them. That's years, years, stuck in one place by yourself, because you can bet they won't take me in."
Lindon's planned retorts and arguments died at those words. He never once thought joining up with a faction would mean having to separate from Yerin. If a faction would agree to having, as Yerin put it, an oversized Copper, than clearly they'd jump at the chance for her to join. She's amazing. Trained by a Sage of all things. The Jai Clan seemed to foam at the mouth at her joining up with them, even letting her drag him along-someone that was practically nonexistent in there eyes.
"That's absurd. Any School or faction that I could convince to take me would be more than happy to take you too. It'd probably be a requirement for taking me in at all. You saw how quick the Jai clan wanted you."
Yerin let a sigh, "Sure, if it was a School on a Sword Path they might take me. Even a weak School with a Path that lacks in offensive abilities would want me around as their new shiny guard dog. But that wouldn't be all that good for me, now would it? I'm not too keen on being used by others." Her voice ending with a hard edge to it.
Lindon was silent for a long moment, thinking over what to say, "You're right. I'm being selfish in thinking that you'd stay just for my sake. I wouldn't want to burden you. You're already finished with your promise to me, so you can leave whenever you wish. But, I hope you'll stay long enough for me to find someone to teach me a Path, and who knows, I might not find anyone here willing to take me. Then we could head off together like you suggested."
In all honesty, Lindon didn't want Yerin to leave at all. He owes her...well, everything. He'd never have made out of Sacred Valley without her help. Nor would he have survived the attack by those poison using sacred artists and advanced to Copper. One day he hope to become strong enough to repay all that she's done for him. And more than that, he wants her to see him become strong. His face reddening over reasons behind that last thought.
She was silent for so long that Lindon started to overheat. He reached for the paper-wrapped bar of gritty soap that he'd brought with him from home. While he scrubbed himself down, he kept one ear open for Yerin's response.
She remained quiet, making Lindon fear that she wanted to them to go their separate ways.
Finally, when he'd rinsed himself and begun putting his clothes on-slowly, to give her as much time as possible to respond-Yerin spoke.
"Let's not go charting any courses yet. We'll find somewhere to spend the night first." It might have been wishful thinking on Lindon's part, but her words sounded uncertain and sad. Like she didn't want to leave either, but was resolved to if she had to.
"Of course! I wasn't planning on making any decisions tonight," Lindon responded cheerfully, hoping to push off the issue of her leaving for as long as possible.
At that moment a shadow passed in front of his stall, and footsteps came to a halt in the grass.
"Little sister, little brother," came the voice of the bathhouse attendant, "it would be best if the two of you finished soon. You're welcome to return anytime you like, of course, but it seems as though there will be some trouble..."
A smack echoed around the bathhouse grounds, like the slap of wood on wood, and the attendant sighed. "...very soon. If you don't have ties to either the Fishers or the Sandvipers, I'd recommend you hurry."
Lindon tugged on the rest of his clothes and armor, strapped his blade to his back, slipped the pack onto his back, and pulled on his badge. When he pushed his way out of the bathhouse, Yerin stood in front of him. Her hair hung limp and wet, and she was still tightening the thick red rope that served her in place of a belt.
She tied it into a wide bow, then twisted the whole mass around so that the bow hung behind her. All the while, she kept her eyes off her hands and on Lindon.
The silence was embarrassingly painful. The thought of telling Yerin of how and why he wants to stay with her is enough to kill him from embarrassment alone. Seeing as there's no way he can actually tell her that, he settles on, "Shall we go see what's happening?"
"I can't recommend that," the attendant urged. "It's a hornet's nest over there." He scratched at the back of his right hand, and Lindon saw a bright red circle there. A Goldsign. So even the servants in a place like this were stronger than anyone in Sacred Valley.
Yerin met Lindon's gaze and nodded. "Won't be hard to find them, at least." She turned and walked off without acknowledging the attendant again.
For his part, Lindon bowed to the man with his fists pressed together before he followed Yerin. The Thousand-Mile Cloud trailed after him, dragged along on an invisible leash of thin madra.
The loud noises had been joined by raised voices, with two groups arranged on the road outside the bathhouse. One group was wearing furs, and each had a bright green lizard-creature attached to one arm. These Remnants, or parasites, or Goldsigns-whatever they were-acted independently from their host, hissing and spitting at enemies opposite them, though they never left. Maybe they were attached somehow.
The other group must have been the Fishers, based on the attendant's words. Most of them were dressed in clothes that would have been considered poor even in Sacred Valley: thread-bare brown robes, sandals on the edge of breaking, woven reed hats with wide brims that would protect against harsh sunlight. Some of them wore them even now, after dark, though a few more had strapped the hats to their backs. Each of them carried the same weapon, which Lindon had noticed before-a wide crescent blade on a hilt, like a sword that had been bent into the shape of a hook.
One of the Sandvipers reached up and pulled another board away from a building. Like most construction in the Five Factions Alliance, this place was slipshod and half-finished, and it looked like it was only one or two boards away from collapsing. Clearly, the man had done this before, judging by the pile of wood next to the half-disassembled building.
"...we're just passing the time as we wait here," the Sandviper said casually, peeling another board away from the structure. The whole hut groaned. "If we don't have anything to call us away, we might as well stay a while longer."
A tall woman stepped up as the representative of the Fishers. Unlike the others, she carried two of those bladed hooks, one in her hand and the other on her back. A sneer gave her a twisted, malicious cast. "While you're waiting here, maybe I'll go back home. I made some new friends today, and they have all sorts of interesting stories to tell us about you."
The lead Sandviper's face contorted until it looked like hers, and he stepped forward himself. In a flicker of motion Lindon associated with master-class speed, a pair of long knives appeared in each of his hands. Vivid green madra coiled around each blade. "Give me my miners back, and we can let this go here."
"If you want to give me my brother's eye back, then we can-"
A new voice, quiet and even, sliced through the argument like a razor. "What is this?"
The Sandvipers parted like a crowd of puppies before a wolf. The first detail Lindon could see of this new figure was a spearhead, which gleamed bright even in the light from the smoky torches. The shaft was red, worked with detail that looked like it may have been script, but the weapon hardly attracted attention compared to the man who carried it.
He was roughly as tall as Lindon, but thinner, so that his build matched that of his spear. He wore ordinary dark robes, like more than half the sacred artists Lindon had seen that day, but he wore something they did not: long strips of red cloth, wrapped tightly around his head. It looked as though he'd tried to bandage himself for grievous injuries to the skull, but his wounds had bled through.
Every one of the strips of cloth was covered, without exception, in what was unmistakably script. Even with Lindon being able to see the script from afar, he still couldn't tell what it did. His understanding of script all came from Sacred Valley, and as all things related to the sacred arts, they are lacking compared to the rest of the world.
Perhaps it had some intimidating effect on onlookers, because everyone grew quiet at the masked stranger's approach. The Sandvipers shut their mouths like children before a parent, and the Fishers had all reached for their weapons. Even the few handfuls of bystanders who stuck by to watch the confrontation, like Lindon, did not dare to utter a word.
Except Yerin. "He's strong," she stated to Lindon, though even she kept her comment to barely above a whisper.
The stranger stopped at the lead Sandviper, who drew himself and saluted over his fists. "Brother Jai Long," the Sandviper greeted, "these Fishers captured some of our miners on their return from the Ruins. We wanted to at least recover the scales, in order to save face for the Sandviper sect."
Another member of the Jai clan, Lindon noted. And once again in the company of Sandvipers. Those men and women at the gate hadn't just been Jai Sen's friends, then; their factions were close allies. He wasn't sure if that fact would be worth anything, but he tucked it away nonetheless.
"For the Sandviper sect," Jai Long repeated softly. "Who was responsible for the missing mining team?"
"Ah, that is...I was responsible for guarding them, but the Fishers sent too many for me to handle on my own."
"Then you were both careless and weak. You have lost respect for yourself and for the sect, and the young chief will punish you accordingly."
The Sandviper man's hands curled into fists. He straightened his back, glaring. "Then I will hear as much from Kral's own mouth. He does not need an outsider speaking for him."
Despite Lindon's expectations, Jai Long did not grow angry. He tilted his head back, looking up at a thick, black branch hanging over the street. "I suppose he doesn't."
A man jumped from the branch, landing with knees slightly bent as though he'd hopped off a curb. It looked so easy. So natural.
The Sandvipers backed away at the sudden appearance of this man, who wore fine black furs and held his chin so high it looked as though he were about to issue a royal decree. He stared at the lead Sandviper like an emperor looking down upon a criminal.
Here was yet another sacred artist who could casually do the impossible, whose very presence overwhelmed lesser Golds.
"Young chief Kral," the Sandviper greeted him, stuttering a little and bowing even more deeply than he had for Jai Long. "I intended no disrespect to you."
"When you disrespect my friend, Jai Long, you dirty my honor," Kral pronounced. Like Jai Long, he seemed to have no need to raise his voice to transfix the whole street. "How will you make amends?"
The Sandviper man dropped to his knees before Jai Long, bowing until his head hit the dirt. "My eye were blind, honored Jai Long. I will never-"
Jai Long kicked him in the shoulder. The sound rang out in the night, even louder than the wood-on-wood impacts earlier, but the man wasn't visibly affected. He raised his head, confused.
"My pride is not worth our time," Jai Long said. "Stand up."
The man staggered to his feet, and abruptly Kral grinned. The smile transformed him, turning him from a haughty prince into a mischievous boy. He threw one arm around the man's shoulders.
"He says all's well, so it's well," Kral informed, patting the man on the back. "Now, what exactly are our friends the Fishers doing out here?"
He looked at the other camp as he said that, friendly grin still in place, but the green serpant on his arm hissed loudly.
The woman in charge of the Fishers held a hook in each hand now. She took an aggressive step forward, brandishing a weapon, but neither Jai Long nor Kral reacted. "This is our territory. What's strange is your presence."
"Territory?" Without removing his arm from the Sandviper man's shoulders, Kral turned to Jai Long. "Is the camp divided into territories?"
"Not officially."
"See?" Kral said to the woman. "Nothing official. So what I choose to believe is that my subordinates were walking back to the mines, tired after a hard day's work, and they were ambushed by some thieves looking for easy pickings."
The Fisher woman turned red. "You dare to-"
"And these thieves," Kral continued, riding over her words, "were courageously captured by you Fishers, who are now eager to return our stolen property to us. Like the young heroes that you are."
The woman stopped, uncertain.
"How many scales did they take?" Kral asked the man under his arm.
"Sixty-two, young chief," the man answered nervously.
Kral leaned a little closer, "How many?"
"...sixty-two?"
Kral sighed. "How many stolen scales are these Fishers going to return to you?"
At last the man got the point. "At least one hundred scales, young chief."
Releasing him, Kral spread both hands. "See what an opportunity for goodwill we have here? Return the stolen one hundred scales to us now, and we'll trust your honor that the miners will be back in our camp come dawn."
The Fisher woman gave a crooked smile that had no humor in it. "It's the law of the Wilds, Sandviper. You take whatever you can keep. If you were too weak to keep it..."
Kral's smile faded as though it had never been there, and he drew an awl from beneath his furs with each hand. The heavy spike gleamed with green light. "I have a sudden urge for some exercise. Will you join me, sister Fisher?"
Jai Long clapped a hand on his shoulder. "We've spent too long on this, young chief. Sister Fisher, we have other work to be about, as do you. Let our stolen property serve as a down payment for you to deliver this message, because our other messengers have yet to reach your sect: the Arelius family is coming. In no more than a month, their Underlord will take all prizes from us, and we will be left with only scraps."
The Fisher turned, exchanging glances with someone in the crowd behind her. "We'd heard rumors," she replied.
"They are more than rumors," Jai Long warned. He produced a blue-and-white banner, which unfurled as he held it out in front of him. In the center loomed a single black crescent moon. "A Cloud Hammer sect long-runner returned bearing this, only a day ago. If Arelius hurries, they could be here in two weeks. At most, a month. Send word to your Fisher Ragahn that if we do not share the meal now, none of us will see a crumb."
The man turned, red-wrapped face expressionless, though Lindon did catch a glimpse of gleaming eyes between the strips of cloth. At least he didn't have the power to see through his mask; that would have been too inhuman.
The Fisher woman's next words were less welcome than a stone through a pane of glass. "Carry the message of a Sandviper worm?" She spat on the ground. "I'd rather cut out my own tongue."
Jai Long froze with his back to her. Slowly, he lifted his spear from his shoulder and grasped it in both hands. Beside him, Kral took a step to one side, chuckling.
"Is this your official response as a representative of the Fisher sect?" Jai Long asked, his voice colder than steel in winter.
"This is my response," she replied with a sneer, and whipped her hook forward.
Lindon heard a faint click as the blade detached from the hilt as she swung, but it didn't fly out wildly. The curved blade flew in a wide arc as though it were on the end of a whip-or a fisherman's line-but there was nothing visible connecting the handle to the blade. It descended towards Jai Long's neck like a headman's axe.
The red spear spun in a blurring circle, the spearhead tracing a bright line like the tail of a failing star. His move caught the Fisher's hook, taking it out of the air and sweeping it to the ground in one smooth motion.
When the curved blade started flying back towards the Fisher woman as though she were retracting it, Jai Long turned. He kept both hands on the haft of his spear, but now his whole air had changed. He crouched like a tiger about to pounce, and his shining spearhead was a deadly claw.
Lindon saw the expertise and practice of a true master of the spear in Jai Long's movements and stance. It seams that there are sacred artists other than Yerin that takes their martial training seriously. Jai Long doesn't just rely on his sacred arts and power of his advancement.
"If the Fishers will not listen to reason," his cold tone reverberated, "then they are not needed."
As Jai Long tensed and readied his spear to attack, shadows slid like dark water down the surface of the nearby buildings. Lindon wondered for an instant what technique Jai Long had used to summon them, but the shadows unfolded into eight-legged silhouettes.
A dozen spiders the size of small dogs sunk from the branches above. They hung from threads that were all but invisible in the darkness, and with each fraction of a second they were closer to landing on the back of the spearman's head.
Jai Long must have sensed something wrong, because he leaped back instead of forward, his gleaming spearhead held at high guard.
The spiders stopped about head-height, dangling from their delicate strings. Yerin kept her hand on the hilt of her sword, but they were far enough away that she didn't draw it.
All of the sacred artists in the street reacted differently to the sudden appearance of the creatures, but Lindon's attention was stuck on the spiders themselves. They were made of dim color, a gray-purple that was the next best thing to black, so at first he'd taken them for Remnants. But he could see through the joints on each of their legs, like they were puppets assembled from Remnant pieces.
More people had gathered along the roadside by this point, and now Lindon scanned the sea of faces, looking for a drudge. A Soulsmith might have sold this many constructs to someone else, but controlling so many at once took skill and practice. The spiders' creator was probably here, among the crowd.
Most of the witnesses looked disgusted, confused, or alarmed, save for the man with the long yellow hair that Lindon had seen before. At least, he assumed it was the same man; based on that same shadowy depth of significant power he was feeling from the man. He was wearing intricate robes of blue and white, so that the cape on his shoulders was raised and separated to resemble wings. It looked as though he'd prepared for a parade.
He met Lindon's glance with eyes of pale blue, no doubt another consequence of his Goldsign. He gave a cheery wave.
Lindon focused on him as the only individual that stood out, but he didn't see a drudge. In fact, the yellow-haired man casually scanned the crowd himself, as though waiting for the one responsible for the spiders to come out.
Only a breath or two had passed since the constructs had descended from overhead, but Lindon had already started to push his way through the crowd to look for the Soulsmith.
He stopped when an old woman drifted down the road from behind the Fishers, her body remaining perfectly still as though she rolled on wheels. He craned his neck to see why, and saw eight legs moving beneath her sacred artist's robes.
For a sickening moment Lindon thought the old woman had grafted the legs to her body in some sort of mad experiment, but closer inspection proved that wrong. The way her body moved-or lack their of-in conjunction with the spider legs; he's been trained to read even the micro muscle movements of a persons body, he can tell they aren't attached to her body.
This woman was old, perhaps older than anyone he'd ever seen in his life, with gray hair tied up into a tight bun. Her face was little more than a mass of wrinkles, her body so shrunken that he might have been able to tuck her comfortably into his pack. She held her hands behind the small of her back as she drifted forward on spider's legs, and never reached for the huge bladed goldsteel hook that gleamed on her back.
When she reached the fight, she hopped down and continued on her own two feet, leaving a spider construct behind. Just like he thought, some sort of construct, possibly her drudge.
The spider she'd left behind was different than the others. It was bigger than the others, its main body lower to the ground, its legs proportionately longer. It was duller than the others, a flat gray, and it didn't seem to have a head; it looked almost like a mechanical disk with spider's legs attached to it.
This one wasn't floating, but Lindon had seen variations of his mother's own segmented brown fish often enough. Drudges didn't look like other constructs-they were duller, usually, more mechanical looking, as though they were made of real physical parts rather than manifest madra.
This tiny woman wasn't wearing the hammer badge of a Forger, nor the crossed hammers of a Soulsmith, but even so... she was everything that Lindon had ever wanted to be. And no matter how powerful those sacred artists were, she had stopped them with nothing more than the presence of her constructs.
She scurried up to Jai Long, peering at him through eyes almost fused shut with wrinkles. "What is this? Hm? You think Fishers are your mining slaves, that you can beat us whenever you like?"
The young Fisher woman stepped forward, a hook in each hand. "Fisher Gesha, this-"
That was as far as she got before the Soulsmith, Fisher Gesha, turned and made a beckoning gesture. The young woman jerked forward as though pulled on an invisible string, pulled forward into Gesha's waiting slap.
"If I want the words of a silly girl, I will reach back a hundred years and ask myself."
The old woman spoke those words with such certainty that Lindon thought for a moment that she actually could reach back in time. But he quickly shook that ridiculous thought aside, only heavenly messengers like Suriel could alter time. No way some mortal entity could perform such a feat.
The old woman had turned back to Jai Long, hands clasped behind her back again. "The silly girl called me for help. And I come here, expecting to see dreadbeasts by the thousands, and instead here is a boy with a bag on his head threatening my sect. Do you think that I am not needed? Hm? Do you wish to test yourself against Fisher Gesha?"
Jai Long loomed over the tiny Fisher, but Lindon was impressed when the man didn't take a fearful step back. Instead, he ground his red spear. "I was trying to send a message to the leadership of your sect. It appears I have succeeded."
Fisher Gesha growled and gave the young man's shins a kick. She might as well have kicked a tree, for all the reaction that provoked. "Prattle, prattle, prattle. You have a message, tell me the message! Do I have to pull it out of your throat? Hm?"
"The Arelius family is on their way," Jai Long said.
The Fisher froze, the statue of a thoughtful grandmother. "You have confirmed this?"
"To our satisfaction. I can have the evidence delivered to you tomorrow."
Fisher Gesha thought for a moment longer, then turned to the tall young woman again. She was still rubbing her cheek when Gesha leaped two feet into the air and slapped her on the other side. Then once more.
"Stupid girl! Selfish girl! Your pride is more important than the sect, is it? You think that your honor will matter when Arelius gets here? You think the Underlord will let your eyes touch his spear?"
Underlord, Lindon thought. Was that the rank beyond Truegold? His masters vaguely told him about lord level sacred artists being physically as powerful as mid-to-upper class martial arts masters. But not much else. That Sages and Heralds were lords on par with them in many ways whiles still being superior in others. Trying to get his masters to talk about sacred artists stronger than them was like pulling teeth, their pride probably kept them from talking about it. That, or they saw it as unnecessary information to leave behind in their constructs.
The young Fisher woman looked as though she were teetering on the edge of tears, but her voice was clear. "I assumed their words were Sandviper lies."
"How can a blind girl see the difference between truth and lies? You pass words on to me, and I will tell you whether or not they are speaking wind."
Shakily, the young woman buckled her bladed hooks onto her straps on her back, then bowed over a salute to Fisher Gesha. "Your unworthy servant understands."
"Hmph." Gehsa turned back to Jai Long. "The young are stupid. This was nothing more than an argument between children."
Kral stepped forward before the spearman could respond. His expression was grave again, a prince negotiating with a respected enemy. "One moment, Fisher Gesha. The young woman and her friends have disrespected us gravely. They have a mining team that belongs to us, along with all the hundred scales they harvested from the Ruins today. If we do not recover our property, it will be a slap delivered to all Sandvipers."
The young Fisher woman started to speak up, her voice indignant, but the old Soulsmith cut her off. "Was I wrong? Was this a battle between our great sects, hm? Not a childish spat? If that is so..."
From overhead, all the spiders hissed in chorus, working their legs furiously on their strings.
"...then this old woman will keep you all company for a while." Her face molded itself into a sketch of a smile.
This time, Jai Long was the one to reply. "We were unwise and unworthy, honored Fisher. The message is delivered, along with our respects. The Alliance will not be divided before the arrival of outsiders."
He bowed himself back, melding into the crowd of Sandvipers. Kral waved them all away, and they seemed only too eager to leave.
The old woman grunted. "You get too strong too early, and it inflates your head," she muttered. Then she turned back to the Fishers, leaping into the air once again to grab the leader woman's ear. "I shouldn't have to drag a married girl back to her mother once again, but we'll see what she has to say about you."
In the trees, shadowy shapes were scuttling down the branches to meld with the darkness. The Soulsmith's drudge walked after her on its eight legs until she hopped backwards on it without looking, instantly gaining over a foot in height.
Lindon followed as though pulled, absently tugging the Thousand-Mile Cloud along behind him. Yerin seized his sleeve. "Where is it you're going?"
"I'm going to see if she needs a...well, 'disciple' is a strong word. So is 'apprentice.' Maybe she needs someone to sweep up her foundry."
"Be careful," Yerin said, heavy with irony. "You aim that arrow too high, it'll fall back and catch you in the eye."
Lindon faced her, holding her lightly by the shoulders and speaking as he would to his own sister. "I need someone to guide me. Need. I can't wait for Iron, because without a proper cycling technique, I don't know when I'll get there. I know you don't want to join up, but I have to."
Something dark passed through Yerin's eyes, like the look his father got after spending too long in drink and old stories, and Lindon hurried to get his next words out. "If it's not too much for me to ask, I'd like you to come with me."
The cloud left her, leaving confusion. "To the Fishers?"
"If I can convince Fisher Gesha, yes. If not, I'm sure there are other Soulsmiths somewhere around. You won't be a part of their sect, and I respect that. But can you at least...stay for a while?"
He felt as though everyone around could hear every word he spoke, and he imagined their gazes boring into him from every direction. Still, he bowed deeply in supplication. "Forgiveness; this one has no right to ask it of you, but he asks still."
Every second that passed was another bead of sweat down his neck, but he remained stuck in that position. The witnesses were beginning to whisper, but he closed them out.
It was truly selfish to tie Yerin down with him, but his chances were infinitely better with her than without. All it'd take is one Gold sacred artist will a descent amount of skill to kill him, and no one would ever know what happened to him. And if he was being honest with himself, he really wanted Yerin to stay with him. He wants her to see him become strong enough to stand by her side, and perhaps, save her the same way she saved him.
She pushed on his shoulder. "Straighten up. Don't beg me like that, it draws attention." When he straightened, she shifted in place and didn't meet his gaze.
"Follow the Fisher first," she said finally. "One step before the other. Can't tell you I'm going with you if I don't know where, can I?"
That was all Lindon needed to hear. He bolted down the road toward Fisher Gesha, pack bouncing on his back. Yerin didn't run after him, but he didn't think much of that. She could catch up whenever she wanted.
The Fishers led Lindon back to a tall building that looked like more of a permanent structure than anything around it. He thought of it as a barn, wide and tall with broad doors, and Gesha's spiders scuttled up its walls and inside through holes on the roof.
"I'll deal with you tomorrow, girl," she said to the young woman as they reached the barn doors. "Be here at dawn, or I'll come root you out with my hook." The razor edge of her curved goldsteel blade gleamed. The tall woman paled and babbled something, then took the slightest excuse to hurry off. Her friends joined her, casting fearful glances back at the Soulsmith.
Gesha stood there, hands behind her back, like a pocket-sized elder. The spider legs of her drudge worked impatiently against the dirt, but she didn't so much as shift.
Lindon glanced around, looking for some reason why she was just staring at the barn doors. Did she expect them to open themselves? Was she waiting for her spiders to open them for her? Or was she waiting for someone?
With his height, the pack on his back, and the rust-red cloud following him around, Lindon knew he cut a recognizable figure in the darkness. Though he was far enough away that he shouldn't have bothered the Soulsmith, he hadn't exactly been subtle when chasing after her. He watched, waiting for some clue, as five minutes turned into ten.
Finally, the old woman barked out, "Do you know what happened to the last man who kept me waiting? Hm? I married him. That's a threat."
He rushed a bow over fists pressed together, not wanting to chance that particular threat. "This one apologizes for his lack of manners, honored elder. This one was ignorant and did not realize he was being observed."
A snort ripped out of the tiny woman. "'This one,' is it? Hurry up, get closer. I may have eyes everywhere, but this pair doesn't work like they used to."
Lindon hurried over, steadying his pack as he ran. He'd planned on doing something drastic to attract the Fisher's attention, but she was inviting him over on her own. She'd noticed him, and that could only be a good thing.
He bowed again when he reached her, both to show respect and to give him an excuse to lean down so she could get a close look at his face. She squinted at him for a moment through a mask of wrinkles, then patted her bun.
"Are you the tallest five-year-old in the world?" she asked suddenly.
"No, honored elder. This one's training was somewhat delayed."
"This one, that one. If you say that again, I'll spin your Copper head around on your neck. Now, tell me your name."
"Wei Shi Lindon, honored elder."
She grunted, "Does the Wei clan teach you to skulk around as you make requests of an elder? Hm? Are you from a clan of skulkers, Shi Lindon?"
Honestly, he was. The Wei specialized in illusions, and as a result typically hid and waited until they could take advantage of the battle. They fought like snowfoxes, not like tigers, but he doubted that answer would satisfy her.
"Apologies, honored elder. This...I would like to offer my humble services to you, in any way I can."
She glared at him, her spider's legs clacking against stones hidden in the dirt. "Humble? Humble is an apprentice who can't make a levitation plate out of cloud madra. If a Copper could offer me humble services, he'd be a genius. Are you a genius, Copper?"
He wished she would stop calling him that, but he wasn't about to say so, besides, his masters had referred to him as 'bug' for the first year of his training. He has long gotten use to masters of their craft talking down to those looking to learn from them -the cost of doing business. "My mother was a Soulsmith, and I worked as her assistance since the day I learned to cycle. I know my knowledge is deficient and paltry, but I know all of the basic scripts, I can dissect a Remnant into its functional components, I can perform basic maintenance-"
Gesha made a 'tsst' sound and threw up her hands. "You don't think I have enough to worry about? Go. Go! If you bother me again, I'll set the spiders on you."
Lindon was a bit perturbed at not getting to the part about his blacksmithing and refining skills, but he bit down the response and bowed to her, projecting compliance. "Of course, honored elder. You're tired, and I'm keeping you from your rest."
In an uncanny display of mindreading, Gesha warned, "I'd best not see you here in the morning, waiting for me to wake up!"
That had been his plan, in fact. A bead of sweat rolled across his forehead. "I would not disrespect the honored elder's wishes that way. But if I may be so rude as to offer one last explanation-"
She flicked fingers at him, and a spider ran down the barn door toward him. Not her drudge, on which she still stood, but an ordinary construct that was probably intended to do nothing but observe and report as commanded.
It was made of jointed purple madra, and it ran on the door as easily as on the ground. Its head was featureless except for a couple of mandibles, which opened as it chirped at him. It sounded more like a bird than a snake, which he hadn't expected. Hadn't it hissed earlier, or was that his imagination?
He dropped his pack to free his shoulders and drew his blade. The constructs back in Sacred Valley had been deadly if directed, but predictable enough if unguarded. But this was the product of a Gold Soulsmith at the head of a sect full of Golds. It might drill its legs through his flesh, leaving little spurting holes, or tear into him with its mandibles, or leave him spun up into a cocoon to decorate the ceiling of the nearby barn...
One of its legs hitched and it almost stumbled, its gait uneven, before it righted itself and continued on. A stumble meant a defect. It must be old, in need of maintenance. That was a weakness he could exploit.
Besides, he wanted to prove his worth as a Soulsmith, not a combatant -not to say that wasn't important, but he chose the Fishers because of Gesha's Soulsmithing abilities, not her Path. He wanted to try something first. Something that could show his value to the Fisher Soulsmith.
By the time it had reached his feet, Lindon had moved.
He sheathed his sword and seized the pack from the ground beside him with one hand, holding it like a shield as he flopped belly-first on top of the spider-construct.
The spider tried to scuttle out of the way, but he caught it on the edge, imprisoning it beneath his pack. Its legs flailed, and it gave an angry chirp, but it was pinned. He had it.
His body surged down suddenly, as though he'd grown twice as heavy, or someone was standing on his back. Fortunately for him, Lindon has been trained extensively with added weights for years. This pulling sensation was nothing to him. It barely tugged his head forward a few inches, and that had more to do with the suddenness of the pulling effect than the force behind it.
He didn't know what the spider was doing it -undoubtedly it was some function of its madra, or some kind of script -but the spider was using an invisible force to pull him closer.
With some minor adjustments of his position on the pack between him and the construct, he was able to get his left hand onto the spiders back.
Then, adjusting his breathing to a measured cycling technique, he fed pure madra into the construct.
Something like the Thousand-Mile Cloud was relatively simple in its construction. It was made of densely packed cloud madra, which floated. You could activate a single script-circle buried at its core in order to get it to move. It followed the direction of the operator's spirit, not any directions in its actual script, so it was a flexible but simple tool. It would never be able to fly off without active guidance.
The spider, by contrast, was an intricate clockwork of branching scripts, interlocking plates of madra, and delicate organs that must have been extracted from Remnants. His madra flowed through it, giving him a vague picture of its functions, and of the scripts that had to remain active to keep it following orders.
A spark of madra came from a crystal flask, a tiny speck of a vessel that must power this construct's operation. Using his own madra, Lindon forced the flow from the flask aside.
It didn't take much power to do so; there was no will behind that madra, so it was easily directed. He simply blocked the flow into the script, keeping it bound inside the crystal.
The spider shivered once, then collapsed. The invisible force on him vanished, letting him loosen up his muscles and stance.
An idea about using whatever method the construct used to create the pulling force to create better training equipment popped into hid head. That way, he wouldn't have to run around with large statues clinging to him anymore. He could just make a device that can be attached to himself, or an object pulled behind him to add more weight to his body.
That thought was interrupted by irregular, spiky footsteps scrapping along the dirt as Gesha slid closer on her drudge, and she would arrive to find him hunched over her deactivated construct. He ran his fingers along the edge of the spider's leg.
He might have noticed a defect before, a place where the construct was in need of maintenance. If that was the case...
One plate of the leg made a harsh noise as his hand moved over it, crackling like thin ice. He pushed madra into it desperately, fueling it with all the force his rapidly cycling spirit could churn out.
The best way to maintain a construct's parts was to infuse it with madra of the same Path, which would keep that part fresh and new for as long as you wanted. The second-best way was to purify madra through a device like a crystal flask or a specially designed script and use that instead. It took much longer, was less efficient, and resulted in less accuracy for some cases that required delicate craftsmanship. But it worked.
In fact, Lindon had only recently understood that the purity of his madra was why his mother let him work with her on her projects at all.
The leg-plate strengthened a little. Enough that it wouldn't collapse under the constructs own weight, at least, which should demonstrate his value somewhat. He had other ideas and options to pursue if it wasn't enough, but hopefully it would be.
He looked up to see Fisher Gesha an inch away from him, her grey bun even with his head, peering into the construct. After a second, she slapped his hand away, feeling the spider with her own fingers.
"Did you steal the Path of the Fisherman? Hm?"
"No, honored elder," he answered, though it was just a formality. If the Path of the Fisherman was what the Fishers followed -and he had a good feeling that it was- she would be able to sense that power on him if he had it. She'd only asked out of irritation.
"Then come here." She grabbed him by the neck, pulling forward for a closer inspection. Luckily, he had long since strengthened his neck muscles -it was that or have his neck broken by Apachai's elbow blows- otherwise her Iron body's natural strength could have caused some real damage to someone without an Iron boy, like him.
She pushed him back a second later, eyes wide. The expression looked comical in her heavily wrinkled face. "You have no training?"
"None in the scared arts, elder." Lindon clarified.
"No Path at all?"
"No, elder."
"You're Copper, but you've never taken a taste of aura?"
"I was never given a Path, honored elder. I don't know how."
Something like pity sparked in her eyes, and she patted him roughly on the back of the head. "You come from a clan of fools."
He hesitated before protesting. "They are my family, honored elder..."
"Bah." She made a spitting noise at that. "No family of yours. But you can make scales for me, so I'll take you."
He searched her quickly for signs of mockery, disappointment, irritation. Anything that might indicate she was lying. "You'll teach me?"
She slapped him in the back of the head. "I'll work you until your bones are nubs, that's what I'll do for you. You won't get the secrets of the sect until you've brought enough value to us, which you'll do slowly and obediently. Is that clear enough?"
Lindon dropped to his knees, pushing his head into the dirt, blinking back tears of joy. "The disciple greets his master."
"Stop that. I'm not your master."
"Your disciple understands."
"I'm going to make you do what my servants can't do, because they've advanced too far. You understand? Hm? You're lower than my servants." She waved a hand aside, and the barn door rumbled open.
He understood that he was going to be working inside a Soulsmith's foundry. Even if he did nothing but sweep floors, it was an opportunity for him. He'd take it. He'd take anything that'd let him even glance the secrets of Soulsmithing. He even has a few plans for convincing Gesha that he has much more value than she thinks. Eventually getting her to let him help with the actual Soulsmithing process.
"Get in there," she demanded. "Maintenance on all constructs by dawn, and don't think you'll get any sleep. If you look like you're going to finish early, I'll make another one."
"Yes master," Lindon replied enthusiastically, hurrying inside. He's secretly missed the demanding and unreasonable orders of his masters.
More than that, he was finally going to be a Soulsmith.
