Cradle: Rise of Lords (Cradle, #7-9)

by Will Wight

“Serious, Eithan! Be serious!” She shook him as her Blood Shadow re-formed behind her. The spirit's anger boiled against hers, feeding her fury. “I don't have a Dross! I don't have a Sage left to light my way! All I’ve got left to help me is you, so I need you to stop holding back!” Eithan's smile was calm. “As you wish.” Yerin released him, taking a step back and steadying her breaths. “That’s more than nothing, then.” Her Blood Shadow felt like it wanted to tear Eithan apart with its teeth. Focusing her spirit, Yerin raised her master's sword. Before she could make a move, every protective script in the arena lit up at once. To her spiritual senses, the atmosphere grew painfully heavy, as if the air had suddenly turned to water. Her spirit screamed a warning, and she threw the Endless Sword up like a barrier, surrounding herself in sword-aura. Her Blood Shadow exploded. Blood madra splattered all over the walls in a spray as though it had been struck by the hand of a Monarch. Yerin had seen nothing. She had felt only a brief spike of pure madra. Where was Eithan? She cast her perception out for him, but she sensed nothing. She spun in place, hunting for him. He was right behind her.