But the truth was, Jai Long needed every ally he could get.
The Sandviper crossed the room and grabbed Jai Long by both shoulders. His grip was painfully tight, his eyes fevered. Jai Long had to suppress the instinct that told him to break the hold and escape.
“You were a brother to my son,” Gokren said. “Your enemies are mine.”
Jai Long’s eyes welled up, but he pressed fists together and bowed.
Gokren squeezed his arms one more time and then released. “Unless they’ve fled already, some of those enemies are right here in camp. Let’s see if you can’t test out that new spear.”
He threw the stable doors wide open, and the Sandvipers at the entrance straightened in respect. These were the veterans of their sect, the oldest and most loyal warriors. Kral’s death would stain them all. They simmered with suppressed anger, eager for a chance to vent their pain and shame.
“We march with Jai Long against his clan,” Gokren announced, tearing one of his short spears free. “Sandvipers! We hunt.”
Jai Long was prepared for hateful looks cast his way, for words of hesitation and blame, for the Sandvipers to turn their anger on him.
Once again, he saw how deeply he had misunderstood his allies.
They roared in agreement with their leader’s words, their sandviper Goldsigns shrieking to the heavens. They clapped him on the back as they passed him, whispered words of encouragement, or pressed their foreheads against his for an instant before rushing off to battle. Not an instant of hesitation, not a word of blame.
With a new family at his side, Jai Long marched to destroy his old one.
***
Lindon had to spend one more night in the woods, scripting their camp against Remnants and dreadbeasts and curling up in a crude tent only yards away from Fisher Gesha’s. After the day’s attack, he had woken with every cracking twig and gust of wind, groping for his launcher construct.
But dawn broke without event, so he and Gesha returned to the Five Factions Alliance camp with the rising sun. He read as they walked, committing simple scripts to memory.
“Put that away and listen to me,” Gesha ordered as they approached the camp walls. “You are no longer a Copper with one friend and no enemies. You should learn to conduct yourself as a member of a great family, hm?”
Lindon opened his pack and slid Soulsmithing for Coppers inside, resting it between the Sylvan Riverseed's glass case and the advanced notes he'd stolen from the ancient Soulsmith's foundry. “I await your instruction.”
Her mouth tightened and guilt flashed across her face. “I did not teach you well before Eithan Arelius took you in.” He started to disagree—a polite fiction, because she really had been a terrible teacher before the past few days—but she cut him off. “It’s true, and I’m not afraid of the truth. You were never my disciple before the Underlord picked you up, no matter what I told you. But I could never treat a member of the Arelius family so disrespectfully as to ignore them.”
“Gratitude. Your instruction is appreciated, but I have no voice in the Arelius family. Nothing you say to me will reflect on them.”
That wasn't entirely true, and they both knew it; before he was attached to Eithan Arelius, Gesha could have cut his head off in broad daylight and the passersby would have simply stepped around his bleeding trunk. Now, she'd have to answer to an Underlord.
But Eithan didn’t have time to listen to Lindon’s petty complaints. Lindon wasn’t some spoiled noble’s son with a doting father; in fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Underlord cast him out of the family on a whim.
Gesha sighed. “This is a lesson for you, as you travel into the wider world. Reputation is a sacred artist's greatest treasure. If the Underlord hears that I have disrespected you, he will take that to mean that I do not respect him. You see? The powerful have no mercy for those who step on their reputations.”
Their conversation stopped as they passed through the entrance of the guarded wooden wall and into the Alliance camp, walking down hard-packed dirt roads past buildings that had been hurriedly tossed together from raw lumber and bare stone.
They had a few moments before they were alone again, so Lindon had some time to think. Gesha was trying not to say it out loud, but Eithan frightened her. She was terrified that something Lindon said might lead to her execution.
Lindon knew that Fisher Gesha was a Highgold who could twist him into a knot without ever touching him, but she was still a four-foot-tall old woman who could have been his grandmother. His heart softened when he saw her careful and afraid. “I won't carry news back to him, I swear it,” Lindon said. “He won't hear anything from me.”
She gave him a grateful look, clearly relieved that she hadn’t had to spell it out. Then she gave a brief chuckle. “He's an Arelius,” she said dryly. “If the rumors are true, then he'll hear about it regardless.”
Lindon laughed along, but she seemed half-serious.
That made him consider her fears again. If Eithan was really that dangerous, maybe he should reconsider accepting his invitation.
Then again, this could be the one area where he had more experience than Fisher Gesha.
Eithan may be an Underlord, with a level of power Lindon could scarcely imagine, but he’d seen Suriel with his own eyes. He wasn’t sure how far she ranked above an Underlord, but he was certain Eithan couldn’t hold a candle to her.
“He hasn't descended from the heavens,” Lindon said, smiling slightly. “He can't see everything.”
“Not everything,” Eithan said.
Lindon stumbled back, bumping into a wooden wall at the side of the street. More gracefully, Fisher Gesha hopped down from her spider-construct and sunk to her knees, pressing her forehead against the ground.
All around them, sacred artists of all ages dropped to the dirt as well. At first, only a few had caught sight of Eithan, but more and more people noticed. In only a breath, the sparse crowd of perhaps two dozen people had all fallen to their knees with heads bowed. Only Lindon and Eithan remained standing.
This was the Fisher section of the Alliance encampment, so most of the people were Fishers or their allies, but it was still disturbing to see all these people recognize Eithan on sight. Only a few days ago, Eithan had pushed through a bustling crowd a hundred times this size without interruption.
For his part, Eithan stood in the center of the road as though he’d waited there all along, though he certainly hadn’t been there a moment before. His yellow hair fell past his shoulders, and his smile was broad and cheery. He kept his eyes on Lindon and Gesha, as though the strangers didn’t exist. Today, he wore a teal outer robe embroidered with golden fish leaping and playing among the waves.
“Your unworthy servant greets the Underlord,” Gesha said, and there was a murmur of agreement through the crowd.