Part 8 (1/2)
He felt someone behind him and whirled around, drawing his blade as he spun, only to find himself facing Nico. She pressed her pale lips together, c.o.c.king her head to peer quizzically at the sword point hovering beside her unguarded throat. ”Jumpy?”
Josef sighed and lowered his sword. ”How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? One day I might not stop in time, you know.”
”I trust you,” she said.
”Glad to hear it, but that doesn't change”-he chopped an arrow out of the air just before it struck her shoulder-”the situation.”
A soldier loomed out of the dust behind her, his sword already falling. Without looking, Nico dropped to the ground, letting his overbalanced swing tip him forward. When he was halfway down, she shot up again, plunging her elbow into his unguarded stomach. The blow caught him right under his ribs, and he fell wheezing to the ground at Josef's feet.
”This is getting ridiculous,” Josef said, kicking the fallen soldier's hands out from under him when he tried to get up. ”Eli's probably already got the money. Let's just find him and-”
He froze. Nico looked up, confused. ”And?”
With a whisper of steel, Josef drew his second sword. ”Nico,” he said quietly, ”go find Eli. I'll catch up.”
He caught her dark eyes and held them until she nodded and stepped away, disappearing instantly into the dust. He brought his swords up and turned to face the person he knew was standing there.
”Good guess,” a voice said, floating on the swirling dust.
”Guess nothing,” Josef said, stepping into a defensive stance. ”I could follow a killing intent like yours blindfolded. Something you pick up when you live your life on the sword.”
The swordsman with the scar across his face stepped out of the swirling dust. ”I should have expected nothing less from the the Josef Liechten.” He laid his hand on the wrapped sword at his hip. ”My name is Gerard Coriano,” he said casually, as if they were meeting in a tavern rather than a battlefield, ”and this”-he unhooked the wrapped sword, sheath and all, from his belt-”is Dunea. We are here to kill you.” Josef Liechten.” He laid his hand on the wrapped sword at his hip. ”My name is Gerard Coriano,” he said casually, as if they were meeting in a tavern rather than a battlefield, ”and this”-he unhooked the wrapped sword, sheath and all, from his belt-”is Dunea. We are here to kill you.”
”Is that so?” Josef said. ”Why bother telling me your name then?”
”A final courtesy.” Coriano smiled. ”A true swordsman would want to die knowing the name of the man who killed him. Remember it well, Josef Liechten.”
Josef's face broke into a feral grin. ”I only remember things that deserve to be remembered. So, if you want me to remember your name, you'll have to make it worth my while.”
Coriano held his wrapped sword out before him, the blade still in its wooden sheath. ”When you're ready.”
Gin led them straight through the dust to the fallen king. Miranda jumped down, gritting her teeth as the impact's force shot up her spine. The king was on his back, caked in yellow-brown dust. She kneeled beside him, pressing her fingers against his throat.
”He's alive,” she said, her voice hoa.r.s.e with relief. She slid her arms under his shoulders. ”Help me get him up.”
Gin lowered his head, and she rolled the king onto his long nose. When he was balanced, Gin lifted the unconscious man and, with Miranda's help, laid the king gently across his back.
She was getting ready to climb up herself when Gin growled low in his throat. He caught her eye, and she knew why.
”Lord Renaud,” she said, turning around. ”You're faster than expected.”
Renaud stepped out of the swirling dust, a c.o.c.ky smile on his handsome face. ”Look at it from my perspective, lady. I see my brother's murderer stealing his body, is it so surprising I should hurry to stop her?”
”No, but not for the reasons you give.” She brushed her fingers over her rings, calling her spirits awake. ”Your brother is still alive, but I imagine you knew that, seeing how you were the one who flung Skarest at him.”
”Skarest?” Renault folded his hands behind him. ”Was that the little lightning bolt's name?”
Miranda's eyes widened. ”You don't deny it?”
”Why should I?” Renault shrugged. ”I am a wizard, controlling spirits is my right.”
Miranda clenched her fists. ”What you call your right we call enslavement, and it is an abomination. No spirit, human or otherwise, has the right to dominate another! Even if you hadn't tried to kill your brother, what you did to Skarest is crime enough to bring the whole Spirit Court down on your head!”
”Enslavement?” Renaud chuckled. ”You Spiritualists were always very fond of giving things names, anything to set yourselves apart, to label your magic as right and everything else as wrong.”
”Considering enslavement destroys the soul of the spirit it commands, I'd say it's a pretty clear-cut division.”
”And what do I care for their souls?”
Miranda took a step back at the disgust in his voice, but Renaud stepped closer, ignoring Gin's warning growl as the prince closed the distance between them.
”We have our own souls to think of,” he whispered, almost in her ear, and the cold hatred in his voice made her s.h.i.+ver. ”In nature, it is the strong who dominate the weak, the strong who survive.”
”Those rules don't apply to us, Renaud,” Miranda said. ”We're not animals! Only humans have the power to dominate another spirit. We have to-”
”It was the spirits who dominated me for most of my life!” Renaud snapped, eyes flas.h.i.+ng. ”It's because I was born with their voices talking in my ears that I lost everything to that idiot,” he said and pointed to Henrith's smoking body sprawled on Gin's back.
”That's different.”
”No!” Renaud roared. ”No difference! I will take back tenfold what was taken from me. A hundredfold! It was the world that decided to make my will a weapon, Spiritualist, and I will use it bluntly, as it was intended. No rings, no pretensions, only my strength against the spirit's, my boot on its neck until it cries for mercy.” He stepped closer still, clenching his fists beneath her chin. ”I will take Mellinor from its weakling king,” he growled. ”I will take my inheritance with these hands, and then I will take dominion of the spirits from your weakling Court. I will return the world to its natural balance, with the wizard on top and the spirits below, and you”-he looked at Miranda with disgust-”you, with your hobbled power and your foolish pledge, will go down with the trash you've tied yourself to. A fitting end for a wizard who would not take her power.”
Miranda jerked back, eyes flas.h.i.+ng, but when she spoke, her voice was cold and sharp. ”Bold words, enslaver,” she said, holding up her right thumb, which was wearing a knuckle-sized ruby that was glowing like an ember. ”But it will take more than the raving of a jilted prince to make me forget the truth of the vows I serve.” She thrust out her hand, and the ruby began to smoke on her finger. ”Perhaps you'd like to try your speech on another of my spirits? You'll have to speak quickly, though, because I don't think he'll listen as patiently as I did. Will you, Kirik?”
When she spoke the name, the wind around them died out completely. A flame winked to life above Miranda's fist. It hovered there for a split second, sputtering like a candle, and then, with a deafening roar, it exploded upward, growing into an enormous column of fire that reached the sky. Any dust it touched vanished, burned to cinders in an instant. The column surrounded Miranda on all sides, the heat pouring off it in waves until even Renaud was forced to step back and put up his hands to s.h.i.+eld his face.
”What's the matter, enslaver?” Miranda crowed from behind the wall of flame. ”Weren't you going to put your boot on his neck?”
If Renaud answered, it was lost in Kirik's crackling laughter. Grinning triumphantly, Miranda raised her voice to command the attack.
Just before she spoke the words, the prince fell to his knees. Miranda squinted against Kirik's bright light. No, Renaud hadn't fallen; he'd sunk up to his thighs in the sandy ground. As she watched, more sand poured up his chest, pinning his arms and pulling him toward the ground. He struggled frantically, but for every handful of sand he tossed away, five more took its place. Within seconds he was buried up to his shoulders, completely trapped in the s.h.i.+fting, buzzing ground.
”So sorry,” said a smug voice.
Miranda whirled around, her eyes wide and astonished as a gangly, dark-haired figure stepped out of the dust. ”Can't have any of that.” He snapped his fingers and a torrent of water shot up from the ground at his feet.
Miranda had no time to react, no time to do anything except stare stupidly as the water arched through the air and struck her fire spirit full on. Kirik roared and steamed, but there was nothing he could do against the endless deluge. The column of flame shrank to an ember in the s.p.a.ce of a breath, and Miranda barely managed to pull him back into his ring before the water extinguished him altogether.
For the next few moments, Miranda was so furious she couldn't do more than sputter and clutch the dimly glowing ruby on her thumb. When she did find her voice, however, she made up for lost time.
”What do you think you are doing?!” she roared so violently that even Gin flinched back.
Eli raised his hands. ”Easy, Lady Spiritualist, I couldn't let you bake him just yet. You see”-he glared down at Renaud, still pinned by the dirt-”this man still owes me some money.”
If possible, Miranda looked even angrier. ”He tried to kill his brother, enslaved my spirit, threatened the entire spirit world, and you're worried about money money?”
”Of course.” Eli looked at her innocently. ”I'm a thief. What else is there for me to worry about?”