“That I do.”
Ozriel’s voice came from the construct again. “Nothing much, just volumizing shampoo and a custom conditioner.”
For a third time, Ozriel sighed.
“Charity.” Lindon pressed his fists together and bowed. “I would be grateful if you would overlook this.”
Charity gave him a disapproving look. “Inciting a member of our head family to steal one of our core secrets is a grave offense. Especially for a Sage. You might say that with great power comes great responsib—”
Charity shuddered as though she’d sensed something.
Lindon frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know…I just suddenly got the feeling that if I completed that sentence, I would immediately die.”
“You could phrase it differently,” Lindon suggested.
“I’ll try.” Charity straightened her spine and spoke again. “Power like yours carries heavy responsibility.”
She paused, waiting for something, and neither of them sensed anything ominous this time. Charity let out a breath of relief.
“That was very strange,” she said.
Lindon slapped his forearm.
“Now what was that?” Charity asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing. A spider tried to bite me, but I got it in time.” Lindon brushed his arm clean. “Now, what were you saying?”
Yerin sat at the bottom of…she wasn’t sure what to call it. A well? Some kind of deep hole in the ground lined with stones.
She sat on the ground. At least it was dry.
“It’s not a well,” the Sage of Red Faith muttered as he carved symbols into the wall. “It’s a waste purification pit. I suppose you might call it a latrine, or a toilet. A precursor to modern sewage systems.”
Yerin slowly lifted herself from the ground. “What was that?”
“They used scripts and specialized constructs to neutralize the waste. If not for those ancient constructions, the stench down here would still be unbearable. Yerin? Where are you going? Yerin?”
Yerin had already left.
Larian of the Eight-Man Empire raised a hand. “Let me see if I understand our options. We kill this kid, and Ozmanthus returns from beyond to kill us all. Or we make the kid’s life a nightmare of misery, then he advances, and then he returns from beyond to kill us all.”
Shen reached into a case at his pocket and pulled out a binding: a curled shell of white madra.
The core binding of Subject One.
Reigan Shen’s trump card.
“We can win,” the lion said. “But we move decisively, and together. We leave no possibility of failure. Are we agreed?”
Northstrider was the first to nod.
One after the other, the others all indicated their agreement. All seven of them.
There should only be six people here. Malice, Emriss, Northstrider, Larian, Sha Miara, and Reigan Shen himself. Why were there…
The hackles on the back of Shen’s neck rose as the seventh figure in the room dropped his veil. The man with black armor, white hair, and a broad grin.
“Sorry I’m back so soon,” Eithan Arelius said. He raised a black scythe. “I thought I heard someone threatening my students.”
Reigan Shen wished he had enough time left to cry.
Lindon finished modifying the force construct and stood back to examine his handiwork. The puppet had been made almost entirely from a sword-Remnant, with a hatchet face, a blade on its right hand, and a shield in its left.
It would be perfect to defend his family from Underlords.
“We’ll call this Underlord Countermeasure One,” Lindon muttered, writing it down.
[The Fleshripper,] Dross whispered into his mind.
Lindon flinched. “Actually, I’m trying to keep it non-lethal…”
[Fleeeesssshhhhhrippeeerrrr,] Dross hissed.
“You can call it that with me, if you insist, but it’s not official. To anyone else, it’s Underlord Countermeasure Number One, all right?”
[Let’s call that one Bludgeon,] Dross said, drifting up next to the earth construct. [Or maybe Mangler.]
Lindon put his head in his hands.
Lindon sat at a table, mug of hot tea in his hands. “Is it just me, or does this book feel shorter than the others?”
“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” Eithan pointed out. He was leaning back in his chair, with his black armor hanging on a stand behind him. “Don’t you want a story to feel shorter than it is? To leave you wanting more?”
“Couldn’t say I care if it is,” Yerin said. She rolled her empty mug across the table. “Tea’s not bad. Where’d you get it?”