by Rachel Aaron
“Was that you?” Miranda said in awe.
“Partially.” Mellinor sounded extremely pleased with himself. “Most of it is the spirits.” He laughed. “Let’s just say they didn’t particularly like being under the good duke’s thumb, and now that I’m here to back them up, they’re not feeling particularly charitable toward his forces.”
As if to prove him right, at that moment every sword of the enemy army cut through its sheath and clattered to the ground, some of them going straight through the feet of their previous owners. A great cry of fear and surprise went up, and, sensing the chaos, the torches they carried chose that moment to erupt in great geysers of flame. Suddenly, fire was everywhere, and the army broke into a mob. Men in flames screamed and dove into the river, which pulled back at the last moment to let them land in the mud. Others ran away, disappearing down the alleys and leaving the wounded gripping their bleeding feet.
“That’s what I call a complete rout,” Eli said cheerily. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen an army defeated by its own swords before.”
Miranda grinned. “Come on,” she said, turning to swim for the far shore. “Let’s get your swordsman and my dog and we’ll finish the duke before he does something drastic.”
“Sounds marvelous,” Eli said, swimming beside her. “See, we can agree on occasion.”
“Don’t push it,” Miranda said, giving him a sideways look. “Swim faster; you’re dragging me down.”
“Yes, mistress,” Eli quipped, earning himself a baleful glare, which he ignored completely, swimming in long, easy strokes toward the shore.
High overhead, Othril watched the battle of the Great Spirits with a growing sense of terror. This was bad, very bad. He needed to warn the duke before things got completely out of hand. He spun around to start toward the Duke’s citadel, but as he turned, something inside him hitched, and he froze motionless in the air. For a moment, panic completely overwhelmed his mind. Had a wizard caught him? Was the duke angry? Then he felt a familiar cold breeze, and he realized what was wrong. He was blowing west.
“Othril.”
The voice blew through him, cold and salty and enormous as the western sea. Frozen in place, he could only tremble as he answered.
“All hail the West Wind.”
A laugh gusted past, and he felt other winds slide up beside him. Strong, powerful winds, and all blowing from the west.
“Othril,” the great voice of the West Wind chuckled. “Did you honestly think that allying yourself with a wizard who coerces Great Spirits would end well?”
“How are you even here?” Othril said with as much authority as he could muster. “Fellbro told you to get out! I don’t care how strong you think you are, you can’t ignore a direct dismissal. Winds are forbidden by the Shepherdess from interfering in the affairs of other Great Spirits within their own domains!”
“But Fellbro isn’t the Great Spirit anymore,” the wind said. “You were riding high as the duke’s right hand, weren’t you? Far more power than a spirit of your level would ever gain in the usual course. I can see how you were tempted, but your days of playing spy and weather-maker for the the duke are over.”
Othril began to dispute that, but clawed hands, airy but sharp and cold as iced iron, interrupted him, digging into the core of his spirit.
Panic sent him rigid. Being caught is the greatest fear of all winds, and Othril was no exception. It was how the duke had convinced him to serve in the first place.
A laughing breeze blew over him, but the words it whispered in his ear were as cold as the claws that held him. “It’s time to remember your true loyalty, little wind.”
Othril struggled one last time, and then he was gone, tumbling off to the west. The other winds watched until his spirit winked out of sight. Then, without a word, they spun up high into the cloud layer and began to carry out their lord’s commands.
Slowly, the sky grew dark and heavy with clouds. And then, in long sullen sheets, a night rain began to fall on Gaol for the first time in twenty years.
CHAPTER 20
Duke Edward stood at the top of his citadel. The soft rain fell on him, trickling down his clenched jaw and trembling fists. He was staring at the river, its water shining silver in the night, and the last of his routed soldiers beside it. Behind him, his officers stood uncertainly, waiting for orders, but no orders came. The duke just stood there, staring at the river, growing paler and paler as his rage set in.
It was Hern who dared to speak first, stepping up to stand beside the duke.
“Edward,” he said, very softly. “That water spirit is Miranda’s. We still have her rings. That’s all the leverage we need on a girl like her. We still have control.”
“Control?” The duke’s voice was low and sharp. “What do you know about control?” His hand shot out, grabbing Hern’s collar with alarming strength, dragging the Spiritualist until they were an inch apart.
“I have devoted my entire life to shaping Gaol,” he whispered. “Every moment, from the first moment I heard a spirit’s voice, I knew that this was my purpose, to turn this ragged hash of spirits into a land of order, discipline, and prosperity. I did not work all those years to lose it now.”
“Edward!” Hern gasped against his grip. “I know what you’re thinking, but be reasonable. Sometimes controlled retreat is a victory. We still have-”
“There will be no retreat!” the duke roared, tossing Hern to the ground. “I rule Gaol! It is not a matter of that girl controlling the river, but of my spirits disobeying me!” As he spoke, his spirit surged through the words until Hern could barely hear them over its roar. “I rule here,” the duke said, turning back toward the river, “and disobedience will not be tolerated.”
“Edward!” Hern shouted, but it was too late. A massive wave of Enslavement rolled out of the duke. It hit Hern full force, and he toppled over, dragged down by his rings. The Enslavement surged up the connection he shared with his spirits until he was writhing on the ground. But even as the overwhelming pressure threatened to crack his mind, he reached up and began to pluck his rings one by one from his fingers. With each ring removed, the pressure grew less. He kept taking off rings until he could stand again, and then, using a leather pouch to grab them so the terrified spirits did not touch his skin and reopen the connection, Hern gathered his spirits and fled.
Edward had gone too far. Hern shook his head, making his way quickly down the shaking stairs. He wouldn’t help the duke Enslave his country. He was a Spiritualist still, and there were limits to what even he would do. Besides, if word ever got back to Zarin that he’d been involved in this in any way, no amount of politics could save him. So, with that, Hern vanished into the night, running for his tower as the city began to go mad around him.
Miranda pulled herself out of the river, grinning from ear to ear as she bent over to help extract Eli from the glowing water. Gin was waiting for them on the dock, looking as pleased as she was, which didn’t seem to be making the elder Monpress more comfortable. Gin’s toothy smiles were difficult to appreciate unless you knew him.
“I never thought that would work half as well as it did,” he said, lowering his head to help Miranda climb onto the dock. “The city literally leaped at the chance to look for a new master.”
“Anything would be better than the old one,” Miranda said, pulling herself up by the tough fur on his ruff. “Actually, I don’t see how things could have gone better, the duke’s control broken, Eli on a chain; all I need now is for Hern to come begging for mercy and I think I’ll have just about everything I could want in the world.”
“As pleased as I am to be included in such happiness,” Eli said, climbing up onto the dock behind her, “I would like to remind you-”
But he never got to finish. At that moment, an ear-splitting howl drowned out all other sound. Miranda, Gin, and Eli all shielded their ears, and even the elder Monpress looked up, startled. The cry went on and on, shaking and changing pitch, like it was being p
assed from one voice to another, full of terror and wailing and crushing despair.
“Is that Nico?” Miranda shouted. It was certainly desperate enough to be demon panic.
“Nico’s panics don’t sound like this,” Eli shouted back. With a wince, he glanced up at the city, and his face went bone pale. Startled, Miranda looked, too, but even she didn’t quite recognize what she was seeing until Gin named it.
“It’s an Enslavement,” he whimpered. “I’ve never seen one so large.”
Miranda straightened up, forcing herself to ignore the horrible noise and look. Across the river, the city was twisting like a trapped animal. Buildings writhed and screamed, their bricks cracking from the pressure. Fires were breaking out everywhere, shooting up chimneys as their spirits fought the wizard’s will. But it was too strong. Even as she watched, the city began to settle down, the buildings crouching low like beaten animals, trembling. Yet for all the flash, Mellinor’s captured river seemed unaffected by the crushing force. So did Gin, who was on his feet, teeth bared.
“It’s the duke,” Eli said beside her, answering her question before she spoke it. “His Enslavement is only for his spirits. He’s taking his city back.”
“Oh, no, he’s not,” Miranda said, grabbing hold of Gin’s fur and pulling herself up. But as she settled on Gin’s back, she jerked violently. Her eyes widened, and she doubled over as if she’d been punched in the stomach.
Eli, one arm pulled up beside her anyway from the chain linking them together, caught her as she wobbled. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s my rings,” Miranda whispered, her voice shaking and terrified. “They’re gone.”
Eli frowned. “I thought that was already established.”
“No,” Miranda snapped. “I mean they’re gone. Before they were there, but far away, but just now…” She shrugged helplessly. “It’s like a door closed. I can’t feel anything.”
“Miranda,” Gin growled, “calm down. It’s way too early for them to flicker out. Get a hold of yourself before you panic Mellinor.”
Miranda blanched and glanced over at the river. Sure enough, the water was washing toward her. She waved it away frantically and sat up straight, wiping her eyes with her hands.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “But why can’t I feel them?”
“Well,” Eli said, “who did you say had them?”
“Hern,” Miranda said. “He’s another Spiritualist. A nasty one.”
“Sounds like most Spiritualists,” Eli said, nodding sagely. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Miranda didn’t even bother with the nasty look for that one. Instead, she sat, brow furrowed in furious thought, until all at once she groaned.
“I know what happened,” she said, turning to Gin. “Hern sealed himself in his tower. He’s too much of a coward to try stopping the duke’s Enslavement, so he’s separated himself to wait it out. I bet my rings are in there, too, and whatever he’s using for a seal is blocking my connection as well.”
“Then we have a problem,” Gin said. “So long as there’s some connection, the spirits can hold out by staying deeply asleep. But if the connection is gone entirely, they’ll die within the hour.”
“I know, I know,” Miranda said frantically. “But I can’t just ignore the Enslavement of an entire town!”
“Might I suggest something?” Eli interrupted.
Spiritualist and ghosthound turned to glare at him, but Eli’s cool smile didn’t falter. “You need to get your rings back before they expire, right? That’s part of your oath, isn’t it? Protection?”
“Of course it is,” Miranda growled.
“But at the same time, you, as a Spiritualist, need to stop this Enslavement before the entire town is driven mad, or else you violate your oath to protect the Spirit World.”
Gin snapped his teeth together. “Get to the point, thief.”
“The point should be clear,” Eli said. “Even you can’t be two places at once, so why don’t we split our efforts? You go rescue your rings and I’ll take care of the duke.”
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Miranda scoffed. “What’s to say you won’t just turn tail and run? Isn’t ‘get while the getting is good’ one of your rules of thievery?”
“It is,” Eli said. “Though not quite in those words. But consider this, dear Miranda”-he rolled up his sleeve-“you’re not the only one out for payback tonight.”
Miranda gasped. Eli’s arms were covered in horrible bruises. Most were red and angry; others were starting to turn a deep purple. She stared at them in disbelief. How had the thief kept up with her? She wouldn’t have been able to move with bruises like that, but the whole time that she’d been dragging him along, Eli had given no sign he was injured. Now she felt almost guilty for being so rough with him.
“Anyway,” Eli said, letting his sleeve drop again, “it’s not just vengeance for me.” He glared at the town, which was now almost totally still in submission. “I have no love for bullies and Enslavers.”
Miranda believed him on that. From what she’d seen of his tactics, spirit goodwill played an enormous part. He must have been going crazy not being able to talk to the spirits in Gaol. Eli might be a scoundrel and an embarrassment to the dignity of wizardry, but when it came to protecting the well-being of spirits, they were almost always on the same page.
Of course, once she let him go she might never get him back, but at this point surrendering Eli was a small price to pay for not having to choose between the town and her spirits.
“Are you sure you can do it?” she asked, looking him straight in the eye.
“Nearly positive,” Eli said. “You already broke Gaol free once. How hard can it be to do it again?”
“Right,” Miranda sighed. She was suddenly feeling less confident. “I guess we’ll have to break this chain.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Eli said. He held up his wrist and did a quick flipping motion that made her own hands ache to see, and the iron manacle slid neatly off his hand.
“There,” Eli said, rubbing his reddened wrist.
Miranda stared at him, deflated. “You could have done that at any time, couldn’t you?”
“Of course,” Eli said. “But no other escape would have been nearly as enjoyable as seeing your face just now.”
Miranda put her head in her hands. “Just go do your part,” she said. “I’ll be there as soon as I get my rings back. If you can’t take the duke, just stall him or something until I arrive.”
“As you command,” Eli said and bowed.
Miranda gave him one last dirty look. Then, shaking her head, she tapped Gin’s sides with her heels. The ghosthound sprung forward, and then they were flying down the dark docks beside the glowing river.
“Think he’ll keep his word?” Gin growled.
“I have no idea,” Miranda said. “But we’ve already made our choice; no time for second-guesses.”
“Never is,” Gin said.
She ducked low on Gin’s back as Mellinor parted his waters to let them cross. When they reached the other side, Gin turned north between the silent, trembling buildings and headed toward the tower where, somewhere, her spirits were waiting.
Eli waved until the dog dove into the riverbed, and then sat down with a long, pained sigh to rub his poor, aching wrist.
“There was no need for disjointing,” Monpress said, sitting down beside him. “You could have just borrowed my lock pick.”
“What,” Eli said, “and ruin the show?”
Monpress sighed. “When will you learn there’s more to life than theatrics?”
“About the same time you learn there’s more to theft than money,” Eli said, slapping the old man across the shoulders.
Monpress grunted at the impact. “We should be going,” he said. “Will your companions be along soon?”
Eli looked sideways at him. “The Heart’s going strong, and I can hear the demon panic from here, so I think Josef and Nico are
a little busy. Even if they weren’t, I’m not going anywhere. Weren’t you listening? I have a crazed Enslaver duke to bring down.”
Monpress gave him a surprised and disappointed look. “You’re actually going through with it? Have you forgotten everything I taught you?”
“I know, ‘the best revenge is a clean getaway,’ ” Eli said. “But this isn’t about revenge, old man, not entirely. It’s about principle. Not letting the tyrant win.”
Monpress shook his head. “Since when are you a man of principle?”
“Since always,” Eli said, getting up. “My principles were just never anything you cared about. Anyway, I didn’t volunteer you to come. Isn’t it about time for you to make a quiet exit?”
“Past time,” Monpress said, standing as well. “But I just lost ten thousand gold standards worth of stolen art trying to save your neck. I’m not about to let you go off and ruin my investment completely.”
Eli rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the fatherly concern.”
Monpress nodded graciously. “So, I assume you have a plan.”
“The beginnings of one,” Eli said, scratching his chin. “Can you still throw a clawhook and line two stories?”
“Of course,” Monpress said, insulted. “I’m old, not infirm.”
“Good,” Eli said, starting toward the bridge. “Then this just might work. Come on, I’ll explain on the way.”
Monpress shrugged and jogged after him, moving silently over the glowing river and toward the cowering city.
CHAPTER 21
Nico crouched, panting. Sted was walking toward her, panting as well, but his sword didn’t waver. They’d been going around the room for what felt like hours, neither able to land a finishing blow. Nico was too fast, and Sted was, so far as she could tell, uninjurable. He didn’t even defend when she leaped at him, but always went on the offensive, and the maze of long, bleeding cuts running across her body was all she had to show for her efforts.
