Lindon couldn’t help but worry. They were running low on elixirs, and while Yerin might not need her madra as much as the rest of them given the strength of her physical body, she would still be in trouble if she ran out.
He could afford to spend more than she could, so he covered Yerin with Blackflame. The webs burned relatively easily, though he had to focus on his will to pierce some of the larger ghouls.
Yerin slowed down, and after not too long, the Book of Eternal Night materialized over Mercy. The Divine Treasure shone as a thick violet tome, and as Lindon watched, it slowly flipped its thick, glassy pages until it rested on the fifth.
Then it faded back into Mercy, and she awoke with a gasp.
As an Overlady.
Her clothes and weapons were unharmed, but Lindon could feel her spiritual pressure. Unfortunately, the transformation had consumed much of her soulfire.
But it would be worth the increase in her strength.
“Whew!” Mercy examined her black-gloved hands. “You know, I didn’t think it would make much of a difference, since I’ve used the fifth page so much already. But it feels good!”
Yerin looked to her amid a rising tide of white sparks: the essence of all the hunger madra she’d destroyed. “Glad you’re feeling all fresh and shiny new.”
Mercy watched the echo of her mother, which was tracking her with an arrow. She pressed her fists together and saluted the image of Malice.
Malice eyed Mercy with disdain, but she lowered her bow. Then she saluted back.
Her image vanished, and power stopped flowing through the scripts all around the room. Lindon ran his perception through them to make sure nothing had broken, but it seemed like the echo of Malice had cut off the process on her own.
He could activate it again, but…
Around the room, the entrances blurred. Now, there was only one exit from the room.
Lindon pulled out the silver case that contained the hand of Subject One, and eyed the single tunnel. He extended his senses down the hall and sensed nothing, but he prepared to unlock the case.
Eithan stopped him. He had an odd look on his face. “Save the effort, I think. I can see where we’re going.”
Ziel rested against his hammer. “And where is that?”
“Deeper,” Eithan said grimly. “Subject One couldn’t keep us out any longer…so it’s drawing us closer.”
Lindon didn’t like the sound of that.
18
A white snake wrapped around the point of Jai Long’s spear, and he shattered the shield of his Truegold opponent with one final thrust.
Without the shield to stop him, his spear skewered her into the ground.
He stood panting and bleeding, one eye gummed shut with blood. His mask was torn and ragged. The two remaining Highgolds and remaining Lowgold of the enemy squad cut and ran.
“Remnant!” he called, but there was no need.
Fingerling sprayed destructive pink light over the slate-gray Remnant that started pulling its way out of the enemy Truegold. Kelsa was there in a moment, Foxfire in each hand, which burned Remnants better than it did the living.
He had to help out with a strike or two—the Remnant had come from a Truegold, after all—but they collapsed the Remnant to chunks before it could hit them.
The allied Soulsmiths would be disappointed. They paid a premium for Truegold dead matter, and Kelsa was already wrapping some of the intact bits in scripted cloth, to preserve it for sale. But Jai Long had concerns about their immediate survival.
He signaled his squad to fall back. No losses today—one Highgold and two Lowgolds had died and been replaced under his command already.
The fighting among the Golds wasn’t merciless. They were fighting for territory, not extermination. But that didn’t mean it was safe.
And he wasn’t even sure how it was going.
Granted, their forces were creeping closer and closer to Mount Samara, through the foothills and lesser mountains between the Desolate Wilds and Sacred Valley. But the real battle was being fought overhead.
Thunder and lightning cracked the sky as Underlords clashed in flight. One was a burly, bearded man from the Cloud Hammer sect—his weapon and raincloud Goldsign gave him away. That was the Underlord from the Blackflame Empire.
His opponent was probably twenty years his junior and also carried a cloud over his head. The Ghost-Blade wore gray robes and a veil over his face, and his Goldsign was a hovering spirit of death madra.
He swept a blade of death at the Cloud Hammer, who responded with a force technique and another explosion. They were hundreds of yards away, but the wind ruffled Jai Long’s hair.