But it was clear that this woman, whose name he hadn’t caught, had been the owner of the necklace. It had been important to her, Lindon had felt that. She was known for always wearing this necklace, and it had become one of her signatures.
Lindon quickly relayed what he’d seen to Eithan, who nodded. He looked unsurprised, but he also didn’t seem to be examining the objects himself.
Then again, he could be scrutinizing everything in the room at once without moving an inch.
Lindon checked another one, a signet ring bearing the image of a winged ship. This one belonged to a water artist who fought across the seas, attempting to create safe paths for humans through sacred beast territory. He lent this ring to his subordinates, and anyone who carried it could speak for him.
From the ring, Lindon finally sensed something. It was subtle, but…heavy. Slightly more real than the objects around it.
It reminded him of a Sage’s command. The word carrying authority felt heavier than the others.
Now that he knew what to look for, he sharpened his senses and scanned the other objects on the table. Some of their dream tablets had faded with time, and from most of the objects themselves, he felt nothing.
But a handful gave him a positive feeling, so he separated them into a pile. A quiver of arrows, the ring, a blue silk scarf, and a bronze buckler carved with the image of a chariot in battle.
Only these four gave him any sense that they could be worth anything, but it was difficult to be certain.
“Did you find anything?” he asked Eithan.
Eithan was holding a small dagger, smiling sadly at it as the dream tablet flickered. Its memory must be tragic.
“My sense for these things is not as developed as yours,” he said.
“So you know what’s special about these?” Lindon had wondered as much, with Eithan being Eithan.
“Just as certain people can exert greater force on reality than others, so too can certain objects,” Eithan said quietly. “They are significant because of what, or more commonly whom, they represent.”
He tossed the dagger back down as though it were worthless. “It seems that this room is where someone, presumably my Patriarch, kept objects that he suspected might become significant. Most of them failed the test.”
Lindon looked eagerly at the four objects he’d separated. “So these are powerful?”
“They can be. This is the highest level of Soulsmithing, and it must be approached with care. The price of success can be higher than the price of failure.”
Little Blue tugged at Lindon’s hair, pointing toward the room’s one exit, but Lindon couldn’t let Eithan’s remark pass.
“Where did you learn this, Eithan?”
Eithan looked deeply into Lindon’s eyes, searching for something. Then he pulled out a marble, inside which a hole in the world hung suspended.
“As I’ve told you, I became the advisor to the Monarch Tiberian Arelius very early in my advancement.”
Eithan had shared several stories from that time in his life over the last few months, and Lindon had hung onto each one. They felt like glimpses into a mystery.
“I have always had a…knack for understanding the records of my predecessors. Not just dream tablets, but their writings. There were patterns that I picked up on that very few have ever put together.”
He thought for a moment, seeming to choose his words carefully. “I believed that I could advance my family, and perhaps the world, by revealing these truths. And one such truth I revealed was this.”
He held up Ozriel’s marble. “His records were hidden among my family for hundreds of generations, and if you know how to read them, they contained insight applicable to more than Soulsmithing. They locked this away and worshiped it instead of following the path it outlined.
“Of course, there have been members of my family who have ascended. In the grand scheme of things, it isn’t terribly unusual to ascend beyond this world. But none of them picked up the banner he tried to pass them.
“With Tiberian, I thought we had a chance. And then, against my advice, he approached…the other Monarch on the continent.”
Lindon’s stomach dropped. “You’re not saying his name.”
Eithan looked into the darkness. “No. No, I’m not.”
“There are only a few people who could navigate the labyrinth besides us.”
“And perhaps now we are trapped in here with a Monarch. Or…perhaps he is trapped here with us.”
12
Yerin sent a wave of razor-sharp madra at the Tomb Hydra while it was still falling from the hole in the ceiling.
Ziel conjured a barrier of force around himself, lifting his hammer. Mercy had already released a barrage of arrows, and Orthos breathed out a bar of black dragon’s breath that was now bigger than his entire head.
The concentrated wave of death madra wiped out most of their attacks in an instant.
Only Yerin’s Rippling Sword was dense enough to cut through the Hydra’s madra, and it half-severed the creature’s rightmost head.
But she had to dash to the side and intercept the rest of the death madra, diverting enough of the deadly energy with her sword to protect the others. Or at least Orthos and Mercy. She suspected Ziel would be fine.
The remaining madra from the Striker technique washed over the semi-transparent barrier generated by Ziel’s script, and then the Tomb Hydra landed with an impact that shook the entire room. Both heads, with their shining green eyes, lunged at Yerin.
Which was how she wanted it.
She extended her sword-arms and planted her feet, focusing her will. She would not be moved.
The teeth of the first head crashed around her, and her sword-arms caught them. She flexed, forcing the jaws apart.
The second head simply rammed into her from the other side, surrounded by a ring of death madra that would burn away her lifeline. She met that with her sword, which shone with her own madra.
By all rights, the impact alone should have torn her to shreds, or pulverized her insides. But instead of popping like a swatted mosquito, she stood her ground.
The Hydra heads reacted like they’d run into a rock. The first head’s teeth began to crack, and the second head slammed into her sword and then lurched back, dazed.
Yerin may not have advanced to Archlord yet, but she hadn’t spent the last months sitting on her hands.
Her will was steel.
She slashed down with her Goldsigns and up with Netherclaw. Blood sprayed both the floor and the ceiling.
The Tomb Hydra retreated, hissing furiously, but only one of its heads remained alive. It was dragging the other two along as dead weight. Even that remaining head was torn half-off, revealing bone and a few glowing veins of raw madra.
Yerin understood she wasn’t getting back the madra she’d spent here, especially if she didn’t meet up with Lindon soon. She had a few elixirs remaining, but she never carried most of them. Why would she? Lindon carried enough supplies to start a business as a refiner and a Soulsmith both.
But she was still feeling sunny about her odds. Whatever it cost the labyrinth to make or summon or breed these huge dreadbeasts, they couldn’t be free either.
Her mood cracked like an egg when she saw the walls blur again, and a huge tunnel opened up on their left. A second massive Tomb Hydra slithered out, hauling death.