I took a deep breath, found my center, and looked around the clearing.
“The Hierophant needs to know about this,” I said. “That one of his monks fell from the Wandering Path and enslaved the locals into reliance on demons for survival.”
“The villagers must be taken away from this place,” Faryn urged me. “They won’t survive for long so close to a Vigorous Zone. Without a protector, they’ll be slaughtered mercilessly.”
“That’s why I’m leaving you three to handle it,” I said. “Tolin knows the way back to Wysaro City from here. If you’re attacked, I can trust you to handle yourselves.”
“And what are you going to do, eh?” Tolin asked flatly. “Walk back to the monastery and tell those silver-tongued hermits that one of their number has been corrupted? How do you think they’re going to take that, Swordslinger?”
I stepped into the air and activated Flight with a twist of thought. “I had a gut feeling something was up, but this is just proof of it. If one of them’s fallen, then the whole monastery could be compromised.”
“You can’t fight them all on your own, if that’s the case!” Tolin shouted as I raced toward the treetops. “You barely survived one, Swordslinger!”
I left the old man to his doubts and ran upward through the air until my feet brushed against the canopy of Danibo Forest. I pushed through it until I balanced on the top branches of the forest.
Moonlight bathed the uppermost leaves of the trees, causing them to sparkle like an expanse of emeralds. I took a moment to study the mountain range at the edge of Flametongue Valley. I had a full tank of Vigor and a long way to go. But if I was right in thinking that the monastery had been corrupted, then I needed to get my friends—Kegohr, Vesma, and Mahrai—out of there.
I took off in a blaze of fiery streamers, starting the long run across the tops of the trees, toward the monastery.
Chapter Eighteen
I arrived at the steps of the monastery just as dawn broke.
“You need rest, Master,” Nydarth insisted.
Fatigue tore at every inch of my body as I finally released my grip on the last Flight footstep and landed in front of the doors. Spots danced in front of my vision, and I forced myself to breathe deeply. I pushed the front doors open as quietly as possible, shut them behind me, and crept through the main hall. I propped myself against the wall to stay upright and limped down the hallway to find my cell.
I pushed open the door to my quarters and dropped my traveling pack to the floor at the foot of my bed. My Vigor ebbed dangerously low as I pulled out the satchel with Faryn’s Vigor potions.
“Rest, Master,” Choshi begged. “Please. You’ve just done the impossible.”
“All in a day’s work,” I said.
“Master, she’s right. You’ve drained too much of your Vigor,” Yono said. “I will be the last to doubt your power, but you should rest. Your friends are safe, and the monastery is whole. Confront the new day with fresh Vigor and energy, please.”
“I have Faryn’s potions to restore my Vigor,” I said.
“Potions are unreliable,” Nydarth said. “And if you use them too much, you may become an addict.”
“I’ll remember to go easy on them,” I said.
I didn’t want to become reliant on the potions, but after last night, I couldn’t afford to confront Tymo if I was running on fumes. I removed the stopper on one of the vials, drank its contents, and grimaced as the fierce flow of Vigor swam through my veins and replenished my magic. I changed into my Radiant Dragon robes and buckled on my Immense Blades.
“Faryn and Kumi won’t be back until evening. Until then, I have to speak with Tymo.”
I stepped quietly into the corridor and ghosted into the main hall. The clash of weapons, hiss of Augmentation, and the voices of Vesma, Kegohr, and Mahrai echoed through the monastery from above. I stretched my stiff muscles as I walked toward the main altar.
I jumped into the air, activated Flight, and bounced from air pocket to air pocket until I found a spot on one of the main hall’s mighty pillars. I settled into a meditative position and focused my breathing again. I scanned the main hall as I practiced expanding my elemental pathways and considered what questions I might ask of the monks. I didn’t do much meditating or thinking before a rustle of robes drew my attention to the altar.
Tymo appeared with a box under his arm and replaced several of the gutted candles in their gold saucers. I quieted my breathing and watched him closely. Tymo's brow furrowed in thought as he lit the candles. I didn’t catch any of the radiating menace that I’d come to expect from Straight Path practitioners, but people in the Seven Realms were rarely exactly as they appeared.
“What’s your read on Tymo?” I asked the Blades.
“Nothing about him strikes me as out of place,” Nydarth admitted. “It’s possible that he hasn’t the first idea about his fallen brethren. You’ll know more when you talk to him about it, Master. I would advise against a combative approach though, even if your suspicions are true.”
“That’s strange advice, coming from you,” Choshi said dryly.
“Quiet, little one,” Nydarth growled. “When you have faced as many enemies as I have, fought all kinds of monsters in human flesh or not, you will learn when caution is necessary.”
“Tides shift and change all the time,” Yono said. “The corruption of a single monk could be the stone cast into the midst of a still lake, Master. They may have all fallen. Or this monk you fought could simply be yet another wave washing over a beach. Present one moment, gone the next.”
I thought over their words, but Choshi echoed my thoughts the best.
I ceased my meditation and spoke aloud.
“Morning, Tymo.”
The Archpriest’s robes flared as he spun to look for
