That presence felt him, felt his connection to this marble, and approved of him. Just like that.
And that simply, the labyrinth was his.
It snapped into place around him, and he could sense every room. He stretched his perception through it, finding corridors snaking throughout the earth for…
His mind boggled at the scope.
Dross giggled softly in his mind. [You see? You see how it stretches to distant corners unknown?]
Spatial transportation was a significant part of the labyrinth’s function; he had obviously known that throughout their entire journey. What he hadn’t known was that only certain pieces of the labyrinth were actually in Sacred Valley itself.
Other branches were far away. Some very far.
Now he could not only feel the powers in Sacred Valley, but the script that controlled the surrounding lands. It was his, now. His property. His domain.
But there was one piece still missing, and he looked down, to where a severed once-human arm lay in his lap.
“Mine,” Lindon said, and the word was a command.
The arm flowed into his own.
Outside the labyrinth, Lindon doubted whether he could do it. The remaining will of Subject One crashed into his like a stone falling from heaven, and even with Dross’ support, he once again came close to losing consciousness.
But the power of the labyrinth was the power of Subject One, and he owned it. Its will was his own.
After only a moment of struggle, his right arm condensed into reality once again. Now it was white-gray, and more physical than ever. Touch returned, and he rubbed his fingers together in wonder; he had almost forgotten what it was like to have ordinary sensation in his right hand.
Unfortunately, the sensation of hunger that ran through him was too much to suppress. He wanted to devour everything in sight, and it was all he could do not to reach through the still-open portal of his void key and consume everything from inside. Natural treasures, scales, food…everything.
He only had to resist for another moment. For now, he needed the additional support.
Lindon stretched his authority out to the edges of his property, and sensed the intruders. He found it was effortless to separate between those he accepted and those he didn’t; if they were connected to him or to the valley, they could stay. If they weren’t, they couldn’t.
They were no longer welcome.
With an effort of will, conducted by the ancient scripts engraved into the labyrinth millennia ago, Lindon made it so.
Northstrider glared at Reigan Shen as the cat hovered in the air, laughing at the carnage he had unleashed on the world.
Something shifted in the labyrinth below. Something Shen had arranged, surely, but Northstrider was familiar with the labyrinth’s functions. It had no weapons, if you didn’t count the Dreadgods.
“And with that, we’ll take our leave,” Shen said.
He was truly arrogant if he thought Northstrider would let him go. “Even with the Empire to escort you, you must travel across our lands. If you can return from here to Rosegold, I dare you to do it.”
Shen must have halfway bankrupted his house to hire the Eight-Man Empire and transport so many people straight here. If he did it again, he would have to spend such power that Northstrider would find it child’s play to topple his Empire.
The lion sneered through his white-gold mane and took another sip out of one of those goblets he was so fond of. “What makes you think I haven’t accounted for that already?”
Power swelled from the labyrinth below. Power that Northstrider was more familiar with than anyone in the world: hunger madra.
A titanic script lit all the way around the Valley, and then Shen and his people shone white. They could have fought the authority, pitting their wills against the one who was ejecting them. The one who owned this land.
Northstrider turned to Malice, to see if she had set this into motion somehow…and her smile was wide and crazed, as he had seen it only a few times before. She looked like she had just slain an ancient enemy.
But Reigan Shen didn’t die. He and his minions—including the four floating cult headquarters and the eight sacred artists in gold armor—faded to white light and disappeared.
He felt them reappear, but it was far away. Thousands of miles. Reappearing over a distant branch of the labyrinth.
Northstrider’s first reaction was jealousy. He had tried to take over the labyrinth, many years ago. He had failed.
His second reaction was anger.
“Who is that?” he asked Malice.
“A child,” Malice responded.
Lindon. Northstrider knew who it had to be, and the tide of his fury rose. “He dares to cooperate with Shen…”