Shen must have halfway bankrupted his house to hire the Eight-Man Empire and transport so many people straight here. If he did it again, he would have to spend such power that Northstrider would find it child’s play to topple his Empire.
The lion sneered through his white-gold mane and took another sip out of one of those goblets he was so fond of. “What makes you think I haven’t accounted for that already?”
Power swelled from the labyrinth below. Power that Northstrider was more familiar with than anyone in the world: hunger madra.
A titanic script lit all the way around the Valley, and then Shen and his people shone white. They could have fought the authority, pitting their wills against the one who was ejecting them. The one who owned this land.
Northstrider turned to Malice, to see if she had set this into motion somehow…and her smile was wide and crazed, as he had seen it only a few times before. She looked like she had just slain an ancient enemy.
But Reigan Shen didn’t die. He and his minions—including the four floating cult headquarters and the eight sacred artists in gold armor—faded to white light and disappeared.
He felt them reappear, but it was far away. Thousands of miles. Reappearing over a distant branch of the labyrinth.
Northstrider’s first reaction was jealousy. He had tried to take over the labyrinth, many years ago. He had failed.
His second reaction was anger.
“Who is that?” he asked Malice.
“A child,” Malice responded.
Lindon. Northstrider knew who it had to be, and the tide of his fury rose. “He dares to cooperate with Shen…”
“Cooperate?” Malice giggled to herself. “You think Shen planned for this?”
Northstrider glanced at his oracle codex, who flashed as it responded to him. [Only a minor chance that this was a plan of Reigan Shen’s. Most likely he intended to take the throne of the labyrinth himself.]
As he processed that, Northstrider felt his lips crack into a smile.
Lindon ejected himself from the labyrinth with the last of his strength, but instead of arriving on the surface, he found himself pulled into a world of endless darkness.
The feel of the madra was enough to make it clear whose authority was covering him now, so it was completely expected when Akura Malice glided out of the never-ending shadows. Her hair blended with the darkness, and dark lips were stretched in a pleased smile.
He tried to address her, but his voice wouldn’t come out. Now out of the labyrinth, the arm’s hunger was too much for his wounded body and spirit. He fell to his knees, the world spinning around him.
One word from Malice washed over him. A word he could feel, but not hear.
Then he gasped. His wounds were gone, healed in an instant. He was still weak, but no longer injured. A black cloth, woven with silver script, wrapped around his upper arm.
“It’s always best to suppress your appetites if you want to have a rational conversation,” Malice murmured. “After all, whatever would I do if you tried to devour me?” She waggled her eyebrows at him.
Lindon cleared his throat in embarrassment and pressed his fists together. “Apologies for my undignified state. I had not yet recovered from battle.”
“But you have certainly enjoyed the rewards.” Malice sighed in admiration. “Little did I know that my minor investment would pay off so handsomely. In fact…”
She waved a hand, and suddenly Eithan appeared in the world of shadows. He didn’t seem surprised, only raising a hand to Lindon and then bowing to the Monarch.
“Honored Monarch, a pleasure! I appreciate the chance to let Lindon know that his friends are alive and well.”
A weight lifted from Lindon’s shoulders, and he almost collapsed again.
“My first purpose was to congratulate you both.” Purple eyes moved over them warmly. “I see many things in the future, many possibilities, and they very rarely pay off as I wish. But you…I am so glad to have given you my support.”
Eithan bowed with a flourish, but Lindon had always wondered one thing.
“Pardon if this is too far, but if you don’t mind, would you tell us what exactly you saw?”
She stared into the distance, as though at a fond memory. “I saw a shadow of Eithan Arelius ascending to Monarch. His face was clear, but those of his followers vague. Two Monarchs followed him, or perhaps four. Enough to change the balance of this world, and not in a way that anyone could challenge.”
The truth slapped Lindon again, as he realized what it meant that Malice knew. She knew that Monarchs sustained the Dreadgods, and she wanted to raise up more.
Malice must have caught something in his spirit or in a change in his breathing, because her smile grew larger and a touch malicious. “You were down there quite a while. I’m sure you learned much. Yes, the Monarchs in Cradle have reached an equilibrium to avoid letting the Dreadgods grow too strong. We keep each other in check, and the number of Monarchs from becoming too high. If someone reached Monarch independently, then we might allow that. Assuming they cooperated.
“But if one of us managed to raise another Monarch—like my son Fury—the others would turn on them in the name of maintaining the balance. Two cannot face six.
“That was the situation when there were eight Monarchs. If you were to raise four Monarchs at once, all loyal to one another…well, you could accomplish whatever you wished.”
Eithan’s smile could mean anything, but Lindon’s gut twisted.
“The Dreadgods…you knew all along, didn’t you, Arelius? Tiberian would have told you.”
“I worked it out on my own, actually,” Eithan said cheerily. “But he did swear me to silence on…certain issues.”
Malice tapped the side of her cheek as she turned to Lindon. “So it is only you who remain informed and unbound. How do you feel, now that you know what price we Monarchs must pay?”
Lindon thought it was brazen of Malice to call it a price she was paying, when she was paying with the lives of thousands of others, but he didn’t let that show on his face.
“Overwhelmed,” Lindon responded. “I admit, I wondered how the Dreadgods could possibly be such fearsome opponents that the Monarchs couldn’t be rid of them.”
Malice gave a disgusted expression. “They’re fearsome in more than one way. Anyway, this day had to come eventually. Swear not to reveal this to the uninformed, and I won’t force you to ascend.”
For yet another time that day, Lindon was pushed into swearing an oath. It hung in the air between them, unfulfilled.
He hesitated, but Malice kept speaking. “You’re a true Sage now, so it’s only appropriate that you take on a measure of responsibility. When any Sage or Herald comes close to the truth, or makes enough progress in their advancement, we make them swear.”
“I…apologies, but I feel somewhat…uncomfortable.”
“You only contribute to the situation once you advance to Monarch. And you can do nothing to change the situation until you do advance. Accepting an unpleasant situation you are powerless to change is not treachery, it is maturity.”
She spoke reasonably, and Lindon made sure he looked appropriately relieved. He dropped to one knee to lend weight to his words as he swore the oath.