Lindon committed it to memory, and Dross assured him that with some alterations, they should be able to develop a version of it themselves. Lindon suspected he might actually be better at it than Ozmanthus Arelius had been, at least at the point that dream tablet was recorded. He had three compatible madra types that could be used to take apart the techniques of others, and pure madra was better at taking apart spiritual energy than destruction madra was.
But despite the gains he had made through the memory, he was left with a sick feeling.
The man had an arrogance that permeated his every thought. He was the best, and he knew it. The prisoner really had tried to assassinate him, so Lindon didn’t feel much pity for him. But neither was he comfortable with the Arelius Patriarch’s callous disregard.
Eithan turned to him, having noticed that Lindon had finished. He didn’t say anything, but Lindon got the impression he was waiting.
“I didn’t realize the Path of the Hollow King was a destruction Path,” Lindon said. That was the safest topic.
“It was less difficult than you might think to adapt it to pure madra. Many of the lesser aspects and fundamental principles were complementary.”
“Apologies, but why bother?”
Pure madra had its advantages—Lindon was proof enough of that—but Eithan would have had a far easier time training a destruction Path. At least destruction aura existed.
Eithan busied himself with his clothes, not meeting Lindon’s eyes. “No offense intended to the Path of Black Flame, but I found myself…less than comfortable with destruction madra. I have seen the Patriarch’s memories myself. His experiences were enough to cause me to develop a distaste.”
Lindon could understand that, and he didn’t comment further.
Ziel peered down the sloping hallway. “Don’t bother hurrying, but the enemy is building up strength.”
The tunnel had already been sealed off by three layers of his scripts—this time, the runes were etched onto plates that he’d stuck to the walls, floor, and ceiling of the hall rather than Forging them in midair. The script should be less brittle this way. The first row was powered by Eithan’s pure madra, the second by Yerin, and the third by Ziel himself.
“Does anyone else find it alarming that we haven’t been attacked by the hunger spirits in a while?” Mercy piped up.
Lindon was examining the display next to the tablet he’d just read. He couldn’t tell what had once sat there; he suspected a table and chair. Perhaps a book of some kind.
He spoke as he investigated. “If Subject One can’t reach us here, we should use the time wisely. The value of these memories is…I don’t have words for it.”
Yerin pulled a hand back from a tablet nearby, next to a series of six triangular imprints in the stone. She looked startled.
“Lindon. You…I don’t…bleed me, take a look at this.”
He hurried over and immersed himself in another memory.
Ozmanthus’ black hammer cracked against the gleaming chunk of wintersteel. He poured his madra into it, his soulfire, and his desperate wish for destruction.
His hammer amplified his wish, focusing his will, forming the metal into a perfect tool of elimination.
He could atone for the ruin he’d brought only by causing more, because that was all he could do. This arrowhead would be his apology for what he’d already done. His atonement.
His penance.
Lindon snapped out of the memory, dragging himself out of an ocean of despair. This memory felt much later than the others, and carried sadness like Ozmanthus had just watched his entire world collapse.
From the context of the memory, he knew what had been enshrined here. Not Penance, the prize that the Abidan had gifted to Yerin.
The prototypes. The failures.
Ozmanthus had tried many times to complete his Penance, to leave behind a perfect weapon to repay those he’d failed. But while these weapons might have all graced a Monarch’s armory, he had never succeeded. He’d kept them here in the hopes that another Soulsmith might complete his work.
Eventually, he would succeed. But clearly sometime after he’d left this room for the last time.
“Long odds that we’d stumble on the place Penance was made,” Yerin said. She was frowning at the spaces in the wall where the arrowheads had once been kept.
Eithan stood by her, looking on them as well. “Not as coincidental as you might think. He spent many years on that project. Similar failures were once kept beneath House Arelius and in Blackflame City, though they were all used long ago. Anywhere you find his works, you are likely to find an attempt at Penance.”