Waybound (Cradle, #12)

by Will Wight

“I thought you’d fight harder to stop her.” “Suriel would eventually be replaced,” Daruman responded. “How will they replace you?” Ozriel didn’t have his Presence with him, but he could see the potential outcomes well enough. His odds of walking out of here were…small. Still, he gave the Mad King a brilliant smile. “I have some ideas on that myself.”

For a moment, Lindon organized his thoughts. He closed his eyes, focusing his willpower and feeling the power that ran through him. The hunger of his arm that now suffused him. The madra channels that were now melted into his flesh. The fury of Blackflame. The emptiness of pure madra. The appetite of a Dreadgod. He gathered it all together and prepared to remove his veil.

Lindon looked over his friends coughing, groaning, and shifting on the ground. “Apologies,” he said. “Are you all right?” He could feel that they were unharmed, but a round of groans answered him. “I hate you,” Ziel said. “How about a break before we try again?” Lindon suggested. Mercy threw a pebble at his head.

“A dragon does not hesitate!” the turtle roared. “She decides her goals and she seizes them! A dragon does not surrender!” Little Blue’s scream was a high, piercing whistle, and she briefly swelled to half Lindon’s height. Then she compressed herself back down to about a foot tall, and a cloud of blood essence rushed up and out of her.

Your brain is like…have you ever filled an eggshell with so much egg that it cracks from the inside?] “No,” Orthos said. “No one ever has.” [I find that unlikely.]

Jaran grumbled to himself, then shoved his cane in Lindon’s direction. “Be safe, all right? No sense in being the bravest on the battlefield if you don’t make it home.” Lindon felt lost. “Yes, I…I will.” [All right, fine,] Dross said. [Don’t drop him.]

“Do you know what it feels like when you can punch Monarchs and Dreadgods but you bow your head to me?” “What does it feel like?” Lindon asked, and Ziel got the impression he was genuinely curious. “It feels like you’re mocking me.” “Pardon, but that’s not my intention.” “I know. That makes it worse.”

[Sweet dreams,] Dross whispered, tapping his forehead. [By which I mean I have ensured that you will dream about delicious desserts. You’re welcome.] In his last, fading thoughts before he passed out, Ziel activated the Array for what he estimated would be three days. The world outside slowed as he, the table he was strapped to, and the tank of mind-constructs at his feet were all pushed forward three days. He did, indeed, dream of cake.

“Bleed me, but you’ve cleaned up,” her master said. “Herald. Never thought I’d see the day.” His crooked smile widened a little. “Guess I never did, did I?”

His strike had felt final. Decisive. Like the end of all things. In her memory, Eithan swept his weapon forward. She followed him. His strike was silent, and so was hers. Yerin opened her eyes. Nothing in the room had changed. She’d failed. The Sword Sage folded his arms. “One practice swing down. Nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine to go.” Now that was the master she remembered.

“Protect!” Northstrider commanded. “Stop!” Malice ordered. “Save me!” Reigan Shen cried.

Angrily, he tapped the chalkboard again. “‘With a crimson desire for violence,’ all right, is this a poem? Are you writing a poem? Crimson desire?” The Remnant picked up chalk and circled the word ‘desire’ three times. “I’d give my left arm to know why you’re giving me the theoretical…” She only spent a second hunting for the right word before the spirit scribbled the word ‘underpinnings.’ “…underpinnings of a cycling technique.”

He still wasn’t sure what difference he and Mercy could make, even if they did make it to Lindon’s side in time. But he knew one thing: if Lindon died, he wouldn’t do so alone.

With her revelation still fresh in her mind, Mercy had an answer. What would she do to help? Anything she could.

Every black-and-white slash from Yerin seemed to carry a decree from Fate. It would definitely land. And it would absolutely kill.

He opened his mouth to speak. Then Yerin cut him in half. “Nope,” she said. “Not waiting for that.”

“Alataraxa,” Orthos offered. [Why would you suggest that? You want to go from the easiest name in the world to one that only dragons can say?] “It was my mother’s name.” Dross paused for a moment. […I feel like I’m supposed to compliment the name now, but I still don’t like it.] Orthos glared at him.

“People make too much of that. Would you walk into a room if you knew there were only a thirty percent chance it would kill you?” “Sure,” Ziel said. “What’s the other seventy?” Yerin asked. Mercy nodded. “To save someone? Of course!”

Cladia had closed her eyes and was still breathing hard, but a grin slashed across her tired face that made her look like Eithan. “And when you see Eithan again…tell him he should have said good-bye.”

How many lives is it worth to take down a Dreadgod? Ziel knew the answer to that. It was worth at least one.

Dross wiped an imaginary tear from beneath his eye. [It’s every parent’s dream to see their little boy grow into such a fine young Dreadgod.] “You’re not my parent.” [Well, I don’t like your parents, so I choose to replace them.]

“Be safe,” Ziel commanded. “Be strong,” Orthos ordered. The strength of the Dragon Icon and the hardiness of the Shield Icon covered Mercy, flowing through her.

“You’re going to do something hard, aren’t you? It makes you sad.” The Remnant patted her chest. “I want to help you.” It hadn’t been long since Mercy stopped crying, but tears welled up in her eyes again. “Thank you.” The Remnant beamed. “Don’t give up, Mercy! We’ll do this together!”

He was not a housecat. He was a lion. A king. The time had come to act like it.

If he had to, he would burn himself down to nothing. The Void Icon approved.

“Take a rest, Mercy.” Mercy blubbered something. She wasn’t even sure what. “You can put that weight down,” Yerin replied. “Wasn’t you that did it. Hey.” Yerin snapped her fingers in front of Mercy’s nose. Blinking, Mercy looked into red eyes. Yerin gave a half-smile. “Pin this one to my account, all right? I can carry it, true and certain.”

“It’s going to work,” she assured him. The wrinkles by Makiel’s eyes deepened as he smiled. “I know. I know…everything.” It was perhaps the most like Ozriel the man had ever sounded. The second the light in his eyes faded, Ozriel reappeared in a column of sapphire flames. He looked down at his hands and patted his own chest in disbelief. “You really did it! I said I was counting on you, but I didn’t actually believe you could do it.” “Makiel—” Suriel began, but Ozriel waved away the rest of her sentence. “I know,” he said. He gazed at the body floating in space, and Suriel saw the weight of ages and the sadness of the Reaper reflected in him again. “I know everything,” Ozriel said softly.

“Which Dreadgod would you like?” he asked. Yerin snorted. “Give you two guesses, and the first doesn’t count.”

Seisha’s drudge whistled, the brown fish bobbing excitedly around her packages. It looked almost the same as it ever had, though Lindon had upgraded it in every possible way. Not only was it the best drudge anyone below Archlord had ever used, it would also serve as a formidable defense for his mother. Maybe too formidable. Though he hadn’t told his mother everything he’d installed, she could potentially take over most civilized lands using only her drudge.

“Greetings to the Twin Star Sect from the Sage of Twin Stars.”

“When I leave you for the heavens, I intend to leave you fully armed. You came to me for protection, and I wish for you to be protected. But I also want you to provide protection for others.” At that point, Lindon removed his veil. Just a crack, but the pressure from his spirit hung over the crowd as though he’d suspended a sword an inch over each of their heads. There was utter silence. He looked over them with black-and-white eyes, and he told them what he had once told an Underlord he didn’t quite trust. “Remember that whatever you do while wearing my symbol, you do in my name. And I will be watching.”

“Hear I owe you a debt. You sent Lindon my way.” Yerin straightened up and pressed her fists against one another, bowing over them. “Gratitude.”

Just because something has always happened doesn’t mean it always will.

“Li Markuth,” the Wei Elder said. “Do you remember me?”