Yerin controlled aura to pull water out of her ear. “Seems to me the two of you walked the longest stretch of the way without me.”
“The people of Sirifel will be grateful, I assure you,” the second Herald said. He seemed calmer than his partner.
“We have long sought an opportunity to fight at your side, young Herald,” the first pronounced. “Your spirit and your values are a fine fit with ours.”
The second man looked off into the distance. “We’re not being observed by the Monarchs. You can speak freely.”
“Feeling free as a fox in spring,” Yerin said. “There’s something you want me to say, true?”
“We saw your master reveal himself and ascend to the heavens. You do not have to share his wisdom with us, but as his disciples, you understand how this world works.” He saw her blank look and raised a hand. “If you wish to ascend, we would understand. But if not…I say that the two of you would fit our armor well.”
“One Sage, one Herald.” The other laced his fingers together. “A perfect match. I don’t even think our squires would object, would they?”
“If they did, a duel or two with the Uncrowned Queen and the Master of the Labyrinth would quiet them down.”
The two seemed like they were in a good mood, but her headache was distracting.
She pointed in the direction of the largest spiritual disturbance. “Call me a liar if I’m wrong, but don’t we have more work to do?”
“Ah, I almost forgot! Your Moonlight Bridge has a restoration period, doesn’t it? What luck for us! We can fight at your side for another…what was it, three days?”
Yerin had traveled most of the way through the labyrinth, so she wouldn’t need to wait quite so long for the Bridge to come back, but there was no reason to share that knowledge.
“You want to use it up just floating here?” Yerin asked.
He gave a savage grin and hefted a cleaver. “The Ghost-Blades seek nothing more than battle! Onward!”
Yerin was looking forward to fighting at the side of the Eight-Man Empire—she could learn a lot from their sacred arts, even if she wasn’t much interested in their armor.
But she’d feel better when she could return at a moment’s notice. Lindon would be in Everwood by now with his own battle to fight. He wasn’t supposed to come anywhere near the Dreadgod itself, but she had heard horror stories about the Silent King.
Then again, she’d heard horror stories about the Bleeding Phoenix too. She’d lived some of them.
If she did her job here, she could stop those nightmares before they got to someone else.
The earth artist covered in blue crystal used a Forger technique, and thousands of razor-edged sapphires appeared in the sky behind Lindon.
Each gemstone carried an Archlord’s focused will and practiced madra control. The crystals were an armory that stretched behind him in an endless flock, a barrage that could wipe out cities.
Worse, he wasn’t alone. His partner, a woman sheathed in a clawed Remnant of mirror-bright sword-madra, filled herself with an Enforcer technique. She blazed with light and power, coiling against an invisible platform she made with her aura control, and prepared to leap forward. The edges of her claws gleamed.
The storm artist shaped like an eagle of lightning gathered her own madra. This technique was stranger, twisting Lindon’s perception of reality. She may have been on the verge of advancing to Sage. The storm she gathered between her wings gave off arcs of lightning that tore up ancient paving-stones hundreds of feet below.
In the skies above Dreadnought City, Lindon faced down three Archlords. He let his Hollow Domain fade, switching back to Blackflame.
How’s the evacuation? Lindon asked Dross.
An eerie chuckle filled his mind. [The King himself is our aid. He has removed his drones from the city to bombard you from the outskirts.]
Good. If Lindon could stop protecting the city, he would be free to move as he wished.
The instant his field of pure madra died, the three enemies released their attacks.
Blue crystals blasted forward, slicing through the air in an instant, and Lindon propelled himself downward with soulfire-controlled wind aura. The Forged crystals smashed craters into the street and leveled houses, a deadly rain that blanketed the city.
Lindon dodged what he could, blasted those he couldn’t dodge with dragon’s breath, and slapped some away.
Dross showed him a warning light, and he twisted back to avoid the sword artist’s claw.
Her strike missed him, but the madra carried behind him in a silver wave that sliced a hundred-story building in two. Its top began to crumble, but Lindon called the Burning Cloak.