The Monarch leaned back in the chair. “Well then, I won’t take the long way around. Swear not to spread awareness, or to tell anyone about me, and I’ll let you go.”
There was quiet as he sipped from his goblet.
Lindon feigned delight. “Of course! I’ll swear as you wish.” Dross could tell everyone, and even if he couldn’t, there were surely other ways of releasing the information. But that was assuming the promise would bind Reigan Shen.
But twice, now, Lindon had seen evidence that he could slip the bonds of soul oaths. He was only playing along. “Certainly the Monarch factions already know, though?”
“Everyone knows who matters. If you’re a Monarch, it’s impossible for you not to understand the situation. And for everyone who we think might ascend to Monarch…” He shrugged. “Either they swear, or they don’t make it. You would have to swear this oath eventually, to Malice if not to me.”
Who is he afraid I’ll tell? Lindon wondered. If the Monarchs knew, as did anyone who might advance to Monarch, then he couldn’t tell anyone who could do anything about it.
Dross scoffed. [If the rumor spread, the Monarchs would have to kill those who heard it. Surely that would be a pain. Like sweeping up fleas.]
“I swear not to discuss the relationship between the Monarchs and the Dreadgods with anyone who does not already know, nor to reveal details about Reigan Shen’s actions in the labyrinth, in exchange for my safety and freedom.”
The oath settled lightly around Lindon, waiting for Reigan Shen to answer.
The Monarch studied him again, then drained his goblet. With a faintly regretful sigh, he placed the goblet on the arm of his chair and casually reached for the stone axe.
His spirit flared, and the axe shone as he slashed the weapon through the air toward Lindon. Lines of bladed light flew at Lindon in a net, a complex Striker technique of sword madra, all coming from an Archlord weapon.
Lindon poured soulfire into the Hollow Domain. If he hadn’t been expecting this, he would have been too slow.
The madra crashed into his Domain from sixteen different angles and weren’t fully wiped away, but were weakened enough for Lindon to strike them all down with his hand.
Reigan Shen stood lazily from his chair. “I knew fools never made it to Sage, but I had hoped. You are young.”
“If you weren’t willing to let me go, why make me swear at all?”
“Oaths tend to bind Remnants.” Lindon felt a powerful will surround him, and the air began to stretch and warp. “I suppose I won’t be able to keep yours.”
Lindon reached into space. “Hold!” he commanded. His working went along with the world, which naturally resisted intrusion, so he remained in place.
But it still strained him. No one who made it to Monarch had weak willpower.
Dross snapped a warning as Lindon’s attention faded from the working, and the world slowed slightly as Reigan Shen dashed in, stone axe pulled back for a strike.
Lindon lifted Midnight and used the Soul Cloak. All the strength he could muster went into the weapon, and he didn’t strike for the axe; he plunged it toward the Monarch’s chest.
Monarchs were incredibly durable, but this was still death madra. Lindon was willing to bet his blow would be the deadlier.
Reigan Shen clearly agreed, because he redirected his weapon, striking the spectral green spear aside. Which was when having only one functional arm ruined Lindon.
He could have put twice as much power into the spear, or he could have used dragon’s breath with the other hand. But with a dead arm, he was vulnerable as Reigan Shen released the axe with one hand and jabbed at Lindon’s ribs.
Lindon threw himself backwards, but even glancing force from someone with an ascended body slammed into him and drove all the breath from his lungs. He was hurled back, and while in midair, he begged Dross for help.
[What would you have me do?] Dross demanded. [I told you, I don’t remember him!]
I’ll take any help I can get!
Dross hissed. [Fine. But don’t blame me if I become useless to you.]
His attention vanished from Lindon’s mind. Dross’ body—the ball of dream madra at the base of Lindon’s skull—began to spin.
The spirit was searching his own memories, but he managed to lend some support at the same time. The entire world seemed to sharpen and slow slightly, as though Lindon had finally learned how to use his senses.
He twisted to land with his feet against the wall instead of slamming into it with his back, swinging Midnight in front of him. He triggered the Striker binding, and a dense river of death madra slashed across the room. Its passage traced a blackened line across the pale flesh that covered the chamber’s floor.