Waybound (Cradle, #12)

by Will Wight

The Mad King’s sword appeared in his hand. “Let us die together.” Suriel held up her Razor. “Everything ends.” “Ahem.” Ozriel’s voice echoed in her head. “I may have an alternate plan.”

It was worth burning a fortune for speed. It wasn’t Lindon’s fortune anyway.

[How certain can we be of anything in this world?] Dross asked philosophically.

“Apologies, once again, Fisher. Of course you have my permission. I will give you better warning next time.” Gesha peered at him through her mask of wrinkles. “I’ll hold you to that, you hear me? There will be a next time. You’d better make sure you’re around, and not killed fighting Monarchs in the sky, or I’ll find your Remnant and beat some sense into it myself.”

“Be safe, all right? No sense in being the bravest on the battlefield if you don’t make it home.”

“Strength is not enough, Lindon. You need the wisdom to see the world as it is. If you keep ignoring reality, it will crush you.”

Lindon had always known Orthos was old, but it wasn’t as though he was used to telling young turtles apart from old ones. Gray hair and wrinkles on a human form had far more impact.

“Feels like there’s no getting close to you, no matter what I do. For every step I take, you’ve taken two.” “Take two steps,” Lindon suggested.

There was no manipulating a dragon. No negotiation. You moved as it decreed, or you died.

In its flailing, the technique passed over the moon. In less than a second, there was a visible trench gouged into the gray-white surface of the moon. Rock and dust sprayed out to the sides like the waves of an ocean. It looked like someone had taken a dagger and scraped a line across the moon.

A standoff. Over the same old debate. Let things stagnate or pay the cost for change.

“We won,” Lindon said. There was a distinct lack of celebration in the air.

“This match is unfair. I want to talk to a judge about the rules.”

“I have received more help than anyone in the universe. Even most of my power is stolen. There’s nothing noble about doing everything yourself. You just have to do your best to honor the help you’ve gotten.”

She’d prefer to nail down her granddaughter’s loyalty immediately, but that was the problem with living in apocalyptic times. The world-ending crises had to be solved first.

Power only became leverage when you knew how to use it.

Malice sighed. “I know what you think of me, and I know I may tend to be spiteful and a touch…tyrannical. But that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Let me return this to you, Mercy: revolution always costs blood. Do you know how many people will die in this change of the world? Do you know how many people have already died?”

“Am I ready?” she asked. “No,” the Monarch said. “But we must often do things we are not ready for. You’ve learned this lesson again only recently, haven’t you?”

Where the Monarch failed, her daughter would bring joy. Mercy came out of the vision, and it was only with a great exercise of will that she stopped herself from crying. “I don’t feel any of that right now,” she said. Emriss gave a small smile. “A common misunderstanding. You can bring joy to others even when you don’t feel it yourself.”

This would be such a stupid way for Ozriel to die. And too easy for him. He had abandoned the entire cosmos out of pride, had gone to live out a mortal life. You could call it a vacation.

Ziel’s muttered voice sounded like it was coming from next to Lindon’s ear. “Advance to Archlord, he’s a Sage. Advance to Sage, he’s a Dreadgod. Advance to Monarch, he’s off to kill a Dreadgod on his own.”

Dross told us it wasn’t anything to worry about, so we worried more.

“Please remember that self-replicating undead soldiers are not good weapons. Please remember that. I don’t know why you thought it was a good idea in the first place.”