by Rachel Aaron
“Pleasure tainted with crisis, I’m afraid,” the wind hummed around her. “Let the little one pay his respects before he bursts.”
Miranda let Eril fly at once. The smaller wind tore out of his necklace, spinning in a reverent circle before returning to Miranda’s side.
She exchanged a brief look with Master Banage, and then the Rector Spiritualis stepped out a fraction and addressed the wind. “Lord of the West, Miranda Lyonette is here, as you asked. Now, how may we help you?”
“I bring a message,” the great wind said. “From Osera.”
That threw Miranda. Who in Osera could use one of the four great winds as a messenger?
“The Immortal Empress has arrived,” the wind continued. “Her ships will reach Osera by evening, if not sooner. War is here.”
Miranda and Banage exchanged a wide-eyed look, and then Miranda looked toward the Council’s citadel. It looked the same as ever—no panic, no surge of troops.
“They don’t know,” the wind said, answering her question before she could ask it. “And they won’t, unless you tell them. Osera’s Relay points were destroyed by a traitor on the inside. That is why I’ve come.” There was a shift in air pressure as the wind turned to focus on Banage. “I know you have declared that your Court will not enter the human’s war, but I am here to ask you, on behalf of all spirits on this continent, not to let the Empress land on this shore.”
For the first time in all their years together, Miranda saw Master Banage look completely bewildered.
“How do you know…” he said, and then shook his head. “Never mind. Why do you care what human rules this land? The Court will always look after you no matter who calls themselves Merchant Prince or Empress.”
“You don’t understand,” the wind rumbled. “If the Immortal Empress were only human, I would agree with you. But she is more, far more.”
Banage scowled. “What do you mean ‘more’?”
“I cannot tell you,” the wind said. “It is forbidden, even for me.”
Miranda frowned. Forbidden? Even for a spirit as great as the West Wind? But as she tried to puzzle out what Illir meant by that, the wind shifted and grew colder. Suddenly, she could smell cold stone, snow, and thin high air. The smell of the mountain filled her lungs, and everything came together.
“The Empress is a star.”
“What?” Banage turned to her. “Impossible. The Empress is human.”
“Humans are spirits as well,” the wind said. “And the Empress is not called Immortal for show.”
The blood drained from the Rector’s face. “Then the obedience I saw?” he whispered. “The war spirit’s devotion?”
“Any devotion you saw is the result of the obedience stars command,” the wind said. “She is no Enslaver, so I doubt you would feel anything wrong, but the truth of her control is almost worse. Enslavers are human. They can be defeated. They can die. But the Empress is immortal, her life held sacred by the White Lady. Her control over the spirit world is complete, eternal, and inescapable. To disobey a star is to disobey the Shepherdess herself.”
The West Wind grew cold enough to make Miranda shiver. “The Empress comes here to bring the whole world under her control, but I am the West Wind. I am freedom itself. The winds have no star; we have no need of one. It is not our nature to serve, but if the Empress comes here, we won’t have a choice. Nothing will. So I am asking you as a spirit, as the voice of all spirits on this continent who as yet have no idea of what they are about to lose, fight the Empress.”
“How?” Miranda said. “My spirits couldn’t go against the Shaper Mountain even to set me free. What can we do against the Empress?”
“Your spirits could not,” the wind said. “But you are different. Even a star cannot change the laws of magic. Immortal though she may be, the Empress is still human, and no human spirit can force another. That’s why she needs an army to beat her human opponents the old-fashioned way, and that’s why you humans are the only ones who can stop her and save us.”
Miranda looked at Banage, but he was gripping the Tower wall, his face deathly pale. “How could I have been so mistaken?” he whispered. “All this time I thought spirits obeyed the Empress out of love and respect, as our spirits obey us.”
“That is our own fault,” the wind said. “We are forbidden from speaking of the stars to humans. It is the Shepherdess’s will that you stay ignorant. Really, I shouldn’t even be talking to you, but the secret’s already out, told by a star, no less.”
“Wait,” Miranda said. “The Shaper Mountain told you about us?”
“No,” the wind said coyly. “But I always find out. The wind is everywhere, Miranda. You should know that by now.”
“Our path is clear,” Banage said, straightening up. “We must fight. Star or not, the Empress is human. Though she’s not technically an Enslaver, I think we can all agree that controlling spirits by force is an abuse the Court cannot tolerate.”
“We must warn the Council and get down there as soon as we can,” Miranda said, looking up at Illir. “You said she was landing in Osera?”
“Yes,” the wind said. “And precious little stands in her way.”
“Then we will ride at once,” Banage said.
“Hurry,” the wind whispered.
“Wait!” Miranda cried as the wind turned. “Why did you not ask our help earlier?”
“I could not,” the wind sighed. “All spirits are forbidden from interfering in a star’s affairs by order of the Shepherdess. The Shaper Mountain might have told you about stars, but talking about them and asking for help in fending one off are entirely different matters. Were it not for this message, or, more correctly, for the wizard who sent it, I couldn’t have asked your help in this at all.”
Banage scowled. “What wizard is powerful enough to command you to break the Shepherdess’s law?”
The wind turned, and Miranda got the feeling it was smiling. “I believe you call him Eli Monpress.”
The tower fell utterly silent. Miranda and Banage stood stunned, unable to speak, and the wind used this gap to make his exit. As the pressure of the Great Spirit faded, Miranda clenched her hands into angry fists.
“Always,” she muttered. “I swear, he’s always at the center of everything that goes wrong in the world.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Banage said quietly, running his hands over his face. “We have to get to Osera.”
“At least the Council will be with us now,” Miranda said. “If we’re going to fight the Empress, then we have no more quarrel with Whitefall.”
“I fear it’s too late for that,” Banage said. “Look down.”
Confused, Miranda grabbed the wall and leaned out, peeking over the Tower’s edge. It was a terrifying view. She’d never really appreciated how tall the Tower was until she was looking straight down it with nothing but her own grip for an anchor. Still, it wasn’t the height that made her flinch back.
Directly below, the Spirit Court’s district was no longer empty. Soldiers in Council white circled the Tower on every side. There had to be a quarter legion of infantry down there with another squad of archers on the rooftops to back them up. But worse than the soldiers was the line of wagons set up across the main boulevard and watched over by a small figure standing beside a man wearing a pink coat so vivid Miranda could see it from the Tower’s peak.
“Sara,” she hissed, leaning back.
Banage nodded. “They’ve been setting up since shortly after dawn. Apparently, Whitefall has decided he cannot afford to harbor traitors.”
“But we haven’t done anything except sit here!” Miranda cried.
“We,” Banage stopped. “I refused to help. Whitefall’s played the game of nations long enough to know that those who won’t be allies will eventually be enemies. He’s taking us out early rather than risk us at his back while he’s fighting the Empress.”
“What are we going to do?” Miranda said. “We have to get to Osera. They have to get to O
sera, while there’s still an Osera to get to.”
“Then we’ll have to hope they’ll listen to reason,” Banage said.
Miranda bit her lip. “I hate to say this, master, but they’re never going to believe you’ve changed your mind.”
“They’d also never believe I’d tell a lie to save my skin,” Banage said. “Being intractable has its advantages as well as its pitfalls.”
Miranda gaped at him in disbelief. “Master Banage,” she whispered. “Was that a joke?”
Banage looked almost affronted. “I have been known to tell them on occasion,” he said, starting down the stairs. “Come, we don’t have time to stand around with our mouths open.”
Shaking her head in wonder, Miranda hurried down the stairs after her master as the Rector Spiritualis called for the Tower to spread the word. The Spirit Court was going to war.
“How much longer does Myron mean to make us wait?” Sara grumbled, trailing smoke as she stalked back and forth in front of her wagon. “He has an entire city full of soldiers. How long can it take to surround one tower?”
“I think the good general is dragging his feet on purpose,” Sparrow said, buttoning his garish pink coat against the wind. “He doesn’t care much for wizard business, after all.”
“And I don’t care for standing around,” Sara snarled. “We were supposed to crack the Tower at ten. It’s nearly noon.”
“Well, here’s your chance to tell him yourself,” Sparrow said, nodding at the knot of armored men riding toward them.
Sara turned and marched toward the riders, biting her pipe as the leader, Myron Whitefall, the Council’s general, dismounted.
“Are you done wasting my time?” she cried over the clatter of the horses.
“Only if you’re done wasting mine,” Myron answered. “I have a war to prepare for, Sara. The Empress could arrive as early as next month. I don’t have men to waste on your marital spats.”
Sara lifted her chin. “Try fighting the Empress without the wizards that I’m going to get by cracking this Tower and then say that again, Myron.”
Myron’s reply was predictably nasty, but Sara wasn’t listening anymore. Sparrow had touched her arm. She turned, and her eyes widened. “I don’t believe it.”
“What?” Myron snapped. “That you’re a waste of Council resources and—”
His voice sputtered out as Sara hurried away. She ran to the front of her wagons and stopped, watching in amazement as the blank face of the Tower peeled open like a curl of shaved wood and Banage himself stepped out into the sunlight. He was dressed in a dark suit with the great gold and jeweled mantle of the Tower on his shoulders. Bow strings creaked as the Council archers trained their arrows at his chest, but Banage paid them no mind. He just stood there, glaring defiantly at Sara with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’d never believe it if I wasn’t seeing it myself,” Sara said, grinning around her pipe. “Have you come to your senses at last, Etmon?”
“I never took leave of them, Sara,” Banage answered, glancing at the gathered troops in disdain. “Unlike some.”
“That’s enough, traitor!” Myron shouted, recovering at last. “You have exactly three seconds to surrender before—”
Sara rolled right over him. “What brings you out of your little spire? I can’t believe you’re giving up.”
Banage straightened. “You can’t ‘give up’ being right, Sara. But the situation is no longer what it was.” He reached out his arm, pointing east with one ring-covered finger. “The Empress has arrived. She is about to attack Osera, if she hasn’t already.”
“Are you mad?” Sara laughed. “We’ve heard nothing of the sort.”
“You wouldn’t,” Banage said. “Both of Osera’s Relay points were broken this morning, just before the ships appeared.”
Never taking her eyes off Banage, Sara reached down, sorting through her pouch for the two orbs that controlled Osera’s Relays. She brushed each of them with her spirit, probing the connection. But her prod faded off into nothing. There was no echo, no reply.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line against the narrow stem of her pipe. “It seems the Rector is right,” she said slowly.
“That’s impossible!” Myron shouted, stomping up to stand beside her at last. “We heard the Empress shipyards were reactivated only a week ago. Even if she’d sailed that day, there’s no way the Empress could have a fleet here so quickly. It’s a bluff!”
“He doesn’t bluff,” Sara said with a sigh. “But even if you’re right, and the Empress is about to attack, it doesn’t explain what you’re doing out, Etmon. The whole reason I’m standing here is because you swore up and down that your Court would never go to war.”
Banage stiffened. “We have our reasons, Sara. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to share them. You will remove your troops and let us pass. There is no time to waste.”
“Enough,” Myron said. “Do you think just because you’ve decided to fight that you can do as you please? The Merchant Prince’s order is still in effect. The Spirit Court is under the control of the Council. You’ll do as we tell you.”
“The Spirit Court obeys no laws but its own,” Banage said, his voice deepening as the mantle on his shoulders began to glow. “Step aside, General.”
As he spoke, the ground began to rumble. All across Zarin, buildings began to shake. Windows rattled against their panes and awnings rippled like water above the merchant stands. Down on the river, barges rocked and bumped together. Even the Whitefall Citadel was shaking, its golden-roofed towers trembling in the sunlight.
Back at the Spirit Court’s tower, the Council soldiers gripped their swords, bracing their feet against the shaking ground. Myron grabbed Sara’s wagon, his face as pale as cheese. Sara smacked his hand away, blowing out a huff of smoke.
“Enough dramatics, Etmon,” she said. “Myron, move your troops and let them through.”
Myron gaped at her. “What? You can’t be—”
“Do it,” Sara said.
The general’s face went from pale to scarlet, but Sara cut off his tirade before it could start. “Now, Myron. That mantle of his is tied to the great bedrock spirit that runs below Zarin. He can destroy this city in a heartbeat if he wants to. I’m not about to risk that to keep him from doing what we were trying to make him do in the first place.”
“But, Sara,” Myron’s voice was almost pleading. “He could be lying.”
“He’s not lying,” Sara said.
Myron snarled. “How do you know that?”
“Because the world’s not ending,” Sara said with a sigh. “Move your men, Myron. That’s an order.”
She smacked her closest wagon, and it began to trundle out of the way. The other wagons followed, each wheeling itself over to the side of the road. Myron sputtered a moment before turning on his heel, waving for his men to follow. As the Council soldiers reluctantly cleared a path, the shaking stopped. Banage stepped back into the Tower, and Sara peered through the hole to see him removing his heavy gold mantle. She arched an eyebrow as he handed the gem-studded chain of his office to old Krigel before stepping out of sight.
When the road was clear, Banage came out again. With a final glare at Sara, he held out his hand. The heavy ring on his middle finger flashed dark green, and his enormous jade horse erupted out of the ground beside him. It knelt so Banage could climb onto its back. The moment he was seated, the Spirit Court rode out. They flashed down the street, Banage first on his jade horse followed by Miranda on her ghosthound. The dog snapped at Sparrow as they passed, but Sparrow looked more amused than frightened as he leaned out of the way. They were gone in an instant, replaced by more Spiritualists, apprentices, Tower Keepers, journeymen, everyone in the stone spire who’d ever sworn an oath. Sara sucked on her pipe, more interested than ever. Whatever caused this change of heart, it was deathly serious if Banage was emptying the Tower.
The Spiritualists thundered down the street and vanished into the city at f
ull speed, riding east as fast as they could. The soldiers watched in awe as the wizards rode by, keeping well out of the way of the sand tigers, stone snakes, and, of course, the ghosthound. When the last Spiritualist was out of sight, Myron turned to Sara.
“What do we do now?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically bewildered.
“Well,” Sara said, tapping out her pipe. “You had better get on those Relay points I’ve been giving you and start ordering the Council fleet to Osera. You should probably also warn Alber that the Empress is running ahead of schedule.”
“And what are you going to do?” Myron said, his face pale.
Sara just smiled and walked away. She snapped her fingers as she went, and with each snap, a wagon rolled out. Sparrow jumped onto the driver’s seat of the largest and lowered his hand to Sara. She took it, and he pulled her up. The moment her feet left the ground, the wagons tore off down the road, following the trail of dust left by the Spiritualists until they too vanished into the city.
Myron Whitefall stood staring for several moments. Finally, he turned and began shouting for his Relays. Within the hour, the news had spread across the continent. The Empress had arrived. The Council was going to war.
CHAPTER
20
Josef Liechten, king of Osera for nearly two hours, stood at the watchtower window. Eli stood beside him, watching the sea with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. He’d finally ditched the ridiculous blond wig, and even his hair looked subdued after so many days of being pinned down.
“Not you too,” Josef grumbled, glancing at his friend. “If you’re looking gloomy I might start thinking we really are doomed.”
“Well,” Eli said softly. “That is a lot of ships.”
Josef looked back at the sea. “That it is.”
The Empress’s armada stretched from horizon to horizon. Black ships, each the size of a small city, rode deep and heavy in the water. Their sides were like cliffs, rising a hundred feet above the ocean’s surface. Their masts were great towers, and their decks swarmed with countless men in black armor. Josef swallowed. He’d seen paintings of the Empress’s ships before, but nothing could have prepared him for their true size. For the first time in his life, he understood why they were called palace ships.
