And feeding on those who entered the labyrinth.
Intelligent he may be, a prisoner of a tragic story, but Subject One was still a Dreadgod.
The doorway out was open and waiting, and Lindon made a note of its position. He bowed his head. “Gratitude. May I know your name, so that it can be remembered?”
For the first time, Subject One looked troubled. “I’m…I don’t…I don’t remember.”
“I will tell your story nonetheless,” Lindon said.
Then he thought, And I’ll take your arm.
Once he banished the echo, he would have the greatest upgrade for his arm. Just before he did, though, he plunged his authority back into the labyrinth. “My apologies, but my friend was fighting your projection of Ozmanthus. Is he still…？”
“All such projections would be cut off when I died.”
Relieved, Lindon saluted the Dreadgod and bowed. “My gratitude, then.”
He let the echo fade, then the Burning Cloak sprang up around him. He reached for one of the dead Dreadgod’s arms.
[His information will support a divine purpose,] Dross said. [Mine.]
The script-lights overhead flickered, and the hunger aura howled. Even the wind drifted past Lindon, being drawn behind him as though by a huge indrawn breath.
Without Lindon’s approval, the wall blurred.
“Two possibilities,” Lindon said aloud. “Either there’s no power going into the control script, so the entire mechanism is resetting, or…the Monarch found his way back.”
Dross appeared just to sneer at him. [Which do you think it is?]
Lindon pulled the spear Midnight from the haphazard harness he’d made on his back. It was awkward to use one-handed, but the aura was still too thin here, and he had no more suitable weapon.
We’re fighting to run away, Lindon sent to Dross. If you can borrow my authority for the control script, then let us out.
[If you were stronger, I wouldn’t have to do such menial labor.]
Lindon didn’t argue. He was focused on the approaching presence, and wondering how long it would take him to burn through the wall and get away.
Then a new figure appeared at the doorway, striding into the room. “Have a seat, Wei Shi Lindon Arelius,” Reigan Shen called. “Let’s talk.”
22
The light in Subject One’s chamber was thin and gray, and the golden chair that Reigan Shen pulled out of thin air gleamed more brightly than anything else. The Monarch found a mound of flesh that rose higher than anywhere else and perched his chair atop it, so no one was seated above him.
“Apologies for disturbing you,” Lindon said, as soon as he entered the room. “I was only on the way out.”
Reigan Shen sat down and raised a crystal goblet, studying Lindon over the rim. The lion’s eyes were sharp, and the light inside them resonated well with this room. He was a predator of endless hunger, and he ruled over this ancient and ruined kingdom.
His clothes were still worn and stained from months of travel, and Lindon noticed that many of the cases, capsules, and devices strapped to him were now missing or empty. He didn’t carry the orange sword or the thin one anymore, but rather had an axe of weathered stone leaning up against the side of his seat.
And he still didn’t give off the spiritual pressure of a healthy Monarch. By what Lindon could read of his power, he reminded Lindon more of Yerin. A Herald, but spiritually weaker.
That lifted Lindon’s spirits, as there might be a way out of this.
Then again, he remembered the endless weapons Reigan Shen had summoned, and the skill with which he’d fought so many opponents at once.
A skilled wielder could more than compensate for a weak weapon. And Reigan Shen still had Tiberian Arelius’ Remnant, the most powerful weapon of them all.
Lindon had strained the connection to that space past breaking, and it was possible that Reigan Shen hadn’t repaired that connection yet. At least, Lindon hoped so. If he could summon a Monarch’s Remnant, then Lindon was a step away from death.
After examining Lindon head to toe, Shen gestured with his goblet to the corpse on the throne. “I see you met the old man. What did you think of his echo?”
“I had great sympathy for him. He was trapped here for so long.”
“Yes yes, but otherwise. I presume you understand the origin of the Dreadgods better now, unless Eithan already found a way to tell you.”
So Eithan had known. He had mentioned being restricted by oath, and it made sense that a Monarch might have forced him to swear to keep their secrets.
“I believe I do have a better understanding of the situation, yes,” Lindon said cautiously.