The Spirit War: The Legend of Eli Monpress Volume 4

by Rachel Aaron

  The door of the tower creaked and she turned gladly to greet Master Banage. But it wasn’t the Rector who emerged from the tower. It was Josef, and he did not look happy.

  “What’s all this?” he said, eyes moving up and down the spectacle gathered at his door.

  “All this” was a line of wagons, the same wagons from the Council’s assault on the Spirit Court Tower earlier that morning. Each was large enough to carry eight men with room to spare and filled with lumpy objects hidden beneath a cover of thick, tied canvas. There were ten wagons in total, all identical, and none with a driver or animals to pull them. They rolled on their own, much like Slorn’s wagons, though with wheels instead of legs. But these weren’t like Slorn’s wagons; Miranda was positive of that. One, Sara wasn’t that nice, or a Shaper, and two, the wagons didn’t move and fidget like Slorn’s awakened creations did. These wagons followed Sara’s instructions with a sluggishness that reminded Miranda more of bad puppetry than spirit work. Still, strange as this was, Miranda put it out of her mind. The threat, if there was one, wouldn’t come from wagons that moved themselves but from whatever Sara was hiding under their cloth covers.

  Sara met Josef with a smile, her eyes flicking to the enormous sword on his back. “You must be Josef Liechten, master of the fabled Heart of War. I hear you’re king of Osera now. Congratulations, and my sincere condolences on the loss of your mother.”

  Miranda snorted. Sara didn’t sound sincere at all. Fortunately, none of this seemed to faze Josef.

  “Right,” he said. “And why are you here?”

  “To honor the Council’s duty to Osera,” Sara answered with a shrug. “And to offer a new weapon in the war against the Empress.”

  That got Josef’s attention. “What have you got?”

  Sara smiled. “You’ll see for yourself as soon as the fog clears, which should be any moment now.”

  “What are you talking about?” Miranda said.

  Sara looked surprised. “Can’t you hear it, Spiritualist? Listen. The mist is straining. Something’s pushing on it.”

  Miranda shifted her attention immediately to her mist, but Allinu felt fine. Nothing was different. Miranda frowned and pushed softly on the thread of power connecting them. The thread pushed back, but the push was weak and thin, and Miranda’s breath caught.

  “Allinu!” she shouted, looking up.

  “Sorry, mistress,” the mist whispered around her. “We’re holding as best we can, but the Empress has a wind. I don’t know how much longer we can keep this up.”

  “A wind?” Miranda scowled. “How big a wind?”

  “Big enough to blow your mist away,” Sara said, glancing up. “Look.”

  Miranda looked. Sure enough, she could see patches of the evening sky overhead.

  “I’m sorry, mistress,” Allinu whimpered. “We tried.”

  Miranda made a soothing sound and held out her hand. The mountain mist spiraled down, sinking into her ring with a sigh. Banage’s fog was dissipating as well, and Miranda turned, staring out at the sea as the air cleared.

  “Powers,” she muttered, blinking against the strong, unnaturally steady wind from the sea.

  Behind her, Josef added a more powerful curse.

  Just beyond the line of trees and wrecked ships was a wall of palace ships. There were seven in all, pulled so close to each other that their crews could step from one boat to the next. Their decks were black with soldiers arranged in alternating lines, the first row kneeling, the next standing just behind them. All of them were holding larger versions of the curved bows the soldiers who’d invaded the bay had been carrying, and every bow was drawn. Miranda swallowed as the full force of what she was seeing hit her. Thousands of arrows, notched and drawn, and all of them pointed at the top of the storm wall where the Oseran forces were standing.

  “Durn!” Miranda shouted, but her rock spirit’s name was lost in the deafening snap of the bowstrings. A black wall of arrows shot over the bay. There wasn’t time to duck, no time for Miranda to do anything except to raise her hands in a pathetic shield as the arrows whistled toward her.

  When the arrows were close enough that Miranda could see the fletching, everything suddenly went black. She blinked in surprise and then winced at the thud of the arrows striking something solid and smooth. Miranda stepped back, and then she began to grin. Durn towered over her, a great stone wall covering a ten-foot-long span of the storm wall. She grinned wider and slapped her hand against the stone. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” Durn answered, his gravelly voice thick with pride.

  Beside her, Josef lowered his sword. “Nice trick.”

  Miranda looked over her shoulder. By luck of where she’d been standing, Durn’s wall had also sheltered the road, the door to the tower, and most of their forces. Outside the stone’s reach, arrows lay everywhere. They stuck in the ground, lay broken on the stone, and a few were even embedded in the wooden shutters of the watchtower windows. Miranda swallowed. If Durn hadn’t shielded them, that surprise attack might well have been the end. Back on the road, the sailors and Spiritualists stood in a stunned clump, their eyes glassy as everyone realized how close they’d come to death.

  “They’re notching another volley.”

  Josef’s voice fell through the stunned silence like an iron weight. Miranda turned her head to see the swordsman at the edge of Durn’s wall, peering out at the enemy.

  “Get to cover!” she cried.

  She didn’t have to say it twice. Soldiers and Spiritualists scrambled for the safety of the tower’s shadow. They used the broken arrows as markers, crowding into the lee of the tower where no arrows had landed. Sara, however, did not move. She stood calmly beside her wagons, and Sparrow stood calmly beside her, though his face was paler than usual as he kicked a stray arrow that had landed inches from his boot.

  “They’re not going to shoot again,” Sara said when she caught Miranda’s alarmed look. “The arrows are just to keep us huddled. I’d get your Spiritualists back out here. The real attack is about to start.”

  “What do you mean?” Miranda said, crouching behind Durn. “How do you know?”

  “I’ve fought the Empress before,” Sara said, lifting her chin. “Look. Here they come now.”

  Miranda pressed her hand against Durn’s surface. The stone softened under her fingers, letting her push a small hole through the wall, just enough to see that Sara was right. On the deck of the center palace ship, behind the line of archers, a circle of ten people stood around a ball of stone and metal. The circle of figures raised their arms, and the ball began to glow red hot. Miranda felt her mouth go dry. She’d never seen one before, but there was no question that the thing at the circle’s center was one of the Empress’s war spirits. But even as she recognized what she was looking at, the circle of wizards threw their arms toward Osera and the glowing ball launched off the deck. It flew through the air with a deep, wailing scream, leaving a trail of smoke behind it as it arced up and then down, straight toward Durn’s wall.

  Miranda ran back before she knew what she was doing, throwing out her hand as Mellinor surged out of her. The water flew up in a spout at the falling war spirit, and they collided midair in a burst of steam. A second later, she felt Mellinor’s triumph echo through her as the jumble of metal and stone, now black and dripping, slammed to the ground at the watchtower’s foot, followed by a shower of icy cold water.

  Miranda held out her hand as Mellinor flowed back into her. “Good catch!”

  “Don’t celebrate yet,” Mellinor said, his voice dire. “Look.”

  Miranda glanced back to see the war spirit stirring in its crater, and then the spirit began to unfold. Stone and iron shifted, forming four sturdy legs, a solid, low-slung body, and a broad, flat head with a great hanging jaw of sharp, steel teeth. The moment the transformation was complete, the war spirit rolled smoothly to its feet, steam rising as it started heating itself up again.

  “Powers,” Miranda muttered, raising
her hands. Beside her, Gin fell to a crouch, claws ready. But before she could do more than ready her spirits, Josef stepped in front of her, sword out.

  “I’ll handle this,” he said. “Get your wizards ready to stop the rest.”

  “The rest?” Miranda said, bewildered.

  Josef nodded and jerked his head toward the water. Miranda turned, and her heart sank. The sky was full of smoke trails as countless red-hot spirits launched from the decks of the palace ships. Most were already flying high overhead to fall on the city behind them. Miranda could only watch in horror as the first one crashed into the mountain, landing in the houses on the eastern slope with an impact she felt through her boots.

  But even as the first wave hit, more war spirits were launching. The second volley hit the palace itself. One struck the crumbling tower at the top, taking it clean off. Another crashed into the palace’s eastern face, cracking the wall as it tore into the inner halls.

  “Miranda,” Mellinor whispered in her ear. She barely heard him. She was staring in horror as a war spirit crashed through the palace roof, shattering the floors below with a distant boom of pulverized stone.

  “Miranda!” the sea spirit shouted.

  She snapped out of it. “Right,” she muttered, running for the lee of the tower where the Spiritualists were hiding.

  “All of you!” she shouted, pointing to no one in particular. “Get to the city and get those spirits under control!”

  The Spiritualists stared at her dumbly.

  “Go!” she shouted again.

  This time, they obeyed. The air was full of flashes as they called their mounts and took off toward the burning city, but Miranda didn’t see it. She was already marching back toward Durn’s wall.

  “We have to stop those ships,” she said. “Where’s Master Banage?”

  “Still in the tower, I think,” Gin said, hunching down behind the stone spirit.

  Miranda bit back a frustrated groan. “What’s he doing? We need him.”

  “Don’t know,” Gin growled. “Look sharp, Sara’s on the move.”

  Miranda snapped her head to see her dog was right. Sara had all ten of her wagons lined up along the edge of the storm wall. She and Sparrow were beside the first one, untying the canvas cover.

  “What are you doing?” Miranda shouted, marching over.

  “What does it look like?” Sara said, undoing the last knot with a snap of her fingers. “I didn’t come here to enjoy the show. The war spirits that have already landed are more than enough to overwhelm your small force of Spiritualists. If we’re going to save this island, we can’t have them launching any more, which means we have to sink the ships.”

  “Sink the—” Miranda said, coming to a stop beside her. “How?”

  “Same way you sink anything,” Sara said. “Put a hole in it.”

  She flashed Miranda a thin smile and tugged the canvas aside. It slid off the wagon, revealing… Miranda wasn’t actually sure. The wagon was full of straw and raw wool, like a packing crate, and nestled neatly in the padding were five black orbs. Each one was slightly larger than a man’s head, perfectly round and as shiny black as a puddle of freshly spilled ink. The sun was well down now as evening shifted into night, but Miranda could see the orbs well enough thanks to the grim glow of the burning city behind her. The spheres glistened wetly in the fire light, and though she could hear nothing, something about the orbs made Miranda very uneasy.

  “What are those?”

  “You’ll see soon enough,” Sara said, picking one up.

  The orb fit neatly between her small hands. As Sara rested it against her chest, Miranda swore she saw the orb’s black surface tremble.

  “Sparrow,” Sara said, lowering the orb. “Ready yet?”

  “Almost,” Sparrow answered.

  Miranda glanced up at his voice to see that he’d uncovered the next wagon. This one held no soft packing or strange orbs. Instead, the wagon contained a miniature catapult. The weapon was very cleverly made, with several different levels of tension to fit the most power into the smallest space. So cleverly made, in fact, that Miranda was only slightly surprised when it greeted Sara in a calm, professional voice.

  “Hello, Sara. What is our objective today?”

  Miranda gaped. “You brought an awakened catapult?”

  “Of course,” Sara said, placing the black orb in the small depression at the end of the catapult’s arm. It didn’t look big enough at first, but the catapult shifted as the sphere settled, moving the grain of its wood to hold the glassy ball neatly in place.

  “Shaper-made,” Sara said with a smile. “What’s the point in slaving for the Council if you can’t spend some money once in a while?”

  Miranda stared at her, eyes wide. “Why do you need a Shaper-made catapult?”

  “Because I put far too much effort into these to waste them on bad shots,” Sara said dryly, running her hand over the orb. “We’ll start with the center ship.”

  This last bit was directed at the catapult. It obeyed instantly, turning the wagon until it was pointed at the palace ship in the very center of the line. “Ready on your mark,” it said, gears creaking as the arm wrenched back.

  Sara held out her hand, checking the wind. The moment it fell slack, she gave the order.

  “Fire.”

  The catapult slung, and the black orb flew silently through the air, vanishing almost instantly into the dark. Miranda held her breath, listening for… she wasn’t sure. An explosion, perhaps. But all she heard was the slight, musical sound of glass breaking, so soft it was nearly hidden by the waves. But what followed couldn’t have been hidden by anything. Miranda bent double, slamming her hands over her ears as the night began to scream.

  CHAPTER

  25

  The scream was high and terrified. It cut through Miranda’s skull, drowning out even her own thoughts. But horrible as the scream was, it was nothing compared to what Miranda saw out in the water. At the center of the Empress’s line, the prow of the middle palace ship was gone. Not wrecked, not cracked, gone. The place where it had been was now solid darkness. No, Miranda squinted, not solid. It was more like a shadowy cloud, but there were glints inside it, tiny flashes of fast-spinning light.

  The cloud crept down the ship, screaming as it went. The Empress’s soldiers rushed forward, but when they reached the cloud, they vanished as well. After that, the soldiers turned and fled, running for the wizards at the stern of the ship. Miranda watched in horrified amazement as the shadow pushed forward, slowly consuming the enormous ship while a rain of sawdust and powdered metal fell like snow into the sea below.

  When her body could move again, Miranda turned to Sara.

  “What is that?”

  “I should think you’d recognize it,” Sara said, picking up the next orb. “I got the idea from your report.”

  “No,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “It can’t be.”

  “Of course it can,” Sara said as she lovingly loaded the glassy black ball into the waiting catapult. “Clever idea, actually, compressing a sandstorm. So much power and destruction at your fingertips.” She shook her head. “Only problem was the deadline. It’s not like I can just make storms. What you see here is my entire stock. Now do you understand why I didn’t want to risk them on a nonawakened launcher?”

  Miranda was barely listening anymore. “You copied Renaud’s glass storm?” she screamed. “Are you out of your mind?”

  Sara gave her a sideways look. “It was very effective.”

  “It was Enslavement!” Miranda roared.

  Sara winced. “Not so loud, if you don’t mind.” She turned to the catapult. “Next shot will take out the second-to-last ship on the left.”

  “Yes, Sara,” the catapult said, dutifully turning itself.

  “Hold that order!” Miranda shouted, grabbing the catapult with both hands. It stopped, confused, and Sara gave Miranda a cutting look.

  Miranda was too angry to care. “Did you Enslave thi
s storm?” she said, jabbing her finger at the ball loaded on the catapult’s arm.

  “No,” Sara answered. “If I had, I could have gotten it down to the marble size you wrote about. The smaller size would have been more difficult to aim, however, so it wasn’t necessary.”

  Miranda blinked in disbelief. “You didn’t Enslave it because you were worried about size?”

  “That and Enslaved spirits are far too unstable,” Sara said. “Would you let go of my catapult?”

  Miranda tightened her grip. “If you didn’t Enslave these sandstorms, how did they get like this?”

  Sara heaved an enormous sigh. “I understand this is difficult for a Spiritualist to comprehend, but there are more ways of being a wizard than servants and Enslavement. Sandstorms are nothing but sand and air spirits whipped together, a roving spirit brawl without any real kind of mind. All I had to do was lean on them a little, give them some firm direction. Stupid spirits take a strong hand.”

  “If all you did was lean on them, how did they end up as glass?” Miranda said hotly.

  Sara shrugged. “I can lean fairly heavily, and they might have been a bit upset about it, but it’s a sandstorm’s nature to be upset. I only concentrated that anger, pressed them together into something a little more effective, and now I’m giving them an outlet.” She shook her head at Miranda’s furious expression. “Honestly, you’re as bad as Etmon. There’s no real harm done.”

  “No real harm?” Miranda roared. “You took an innocent spirit and pressed it so hard you changed its substance! It was a sandstorm, not a glass storm.”

  “An improvement,” Sara snapped, but before she could say more, a crash echoed over even the sand’s screaming, and they both looked up to see Banage barreling out of the tower. Relief rushed over Miranda like a cool wave. Banage’s face was strangely drawn, his eyes red and sunken, almost like he’d been crying, though that couldn’t be. But whatever had caused him to look that way was gone now, burned away by pure, unadulterated rage.