The Legend Of Eli Monpress (117 page)

Gin was right, she realized. Other than her spirits, the room was calm. There was no panic, no overwhelming fear like she’d felt in Mellinor. If Sted wasn’t standing there with his monstrous arm, healing right in front of her, she wouldn’t have even known he was a demonseed.

Gin growled. Sted was coming forward, a feral grin on his scarred face.

“Is that all?” His voice was thick with laughter. “Is that all you have to throw against me? A pet dog?”

“Miranda,” Gin said softly, never taking his orange eyes off Sted. “Take the thief out the back. I’ll hold this bastard here while—”

A whoosh of flame cut off his words. The fire in the stove blazed up to the ceiling, and Sted burst into flames. He screamed in pain and began to flail wildly. Gin turned to look at Miranda, who was lowering her hand, Kirik’s enormous ruby burning like a bonfire on her thumb.

“No playing hero tonight, mutt,” she said, pressing her
fingers against the pendant on her chest. A great wind rose up, and the fire on Sted grew white-hot as Eril, her wind spirit, blasted it like a forge bellow. Sted screamed again, beating the flames, but Kirik clung tight. The blast of heat was enough to blister Miranda’s skin, but she didn’t step back. Triumph surged up Kirik’s connection, and the ring on Miranda’s thumb began to almost vibrate with the fire’s victorious joy as Sted sank to his knees.

Then, in the space between breaths, the tide turned. The flames were still blazing bright, the smell of burned flesh thick in the air, but Miranda could feel something pulling on the connection that tied her to Kirik. It felt as though the fire spirit was going further and further away from her, fading into the distance. The feeling was so alien that, for a moment, she could only stand dumbly. Then, like a splash of cold water, she realized what was happening.

“Kirik!” Her voice throbbed with power. “Come back now!”

“No!” the fire roared. “I’ve almost got him!”

“Kirik!” she cried again. She could feel it clearly now, vibrating up their connection. Sted was eating the fire even as it burned him, devouring the spirit’s soul. Through the flames, she could see his charred skin mending, growing whole again as he sucked in the fire’s essence. But Kirik wasn’t stopping. He burned brighter than ever, the heat roaring until the wooden roof began to smoke, but Sted was standing up, his black, clawed hand clutching the fire, drawing it in, and Miranda decided enough was enough.

With a wrench of her spirit she’d never had to use before, she grabbed Kirik and pulled him back. It hurt. The fire burned her control, fighting her, screaming that he had almost won, but Miranda slammed her will down
like a forge hammer. Roaring with defeat, the fire fled back to its ring and the ruby’s light went out. Dumbstruck by what had just happened, Miranda stared at her ring, her vision wavering as her heart thudded in fear. The red stone was now the color of charred coal, and she could barely feel Kirik at all.

A gust of wind hit her as Eril returned to his pendant, and Miranda forced her attention back to the fight. Sted was on his feet again, standing in a circle of black char. Smoke filled the air, but most of it came from what was left of the roof and the floor. Sted’s clothes had been reduced to blackened rags, but his skin was nearly untouched, and what bits of it were still charred were healing before Miranda’s eyes.

She cursed under her breath as he turned to face her, his teeth bared in a hateful smile. “Anything else?”

Miranda clenched her fists. All her rings except Kirik’s were trembling against her fingers, not with fear, but with anger. They wanted to kill the monster, to stamp Sted out of existence, but Miranda held them back. She raised her hand and gave a silent order. It took a moment for Durn to comply, but eventually the rock spirit opened his stone cocoon, revealing Eli, now unconscious, curled up like a baby in Mellinor’s blue globe. The next order was the hardest she’d ever had to give. She reached out to the thick cord connecting her to Mellinor, and the globe of water collapsed. Steam hissed as the cold water ran over the charred wood, washing Eli up in a little heap at Sted’s feet.

Sted bent over, scooping the thief up with one arm. “That was the smart choice,” he said. “But then, who could expect a woman to give a good fight?”

Miranda shook with rage, but when she spoke, her voice was as cold as Mellinor’s water. “If I back down, it is only because I value my spirits more than any prize or pride that thief could bring me. Take him and go, but be warned, Sted.” She spat his name. “When we meet again, I’ll make you suffer for what you’ve done.”

“Is that so?” Sted said, slinging Eli over his shoulder. “In that case, I’ll make a point to eat every one of your little spirits. That is, if I can be bothered to remember.”

Gin snarled, but Sted just turned, laughing, and started toward the door. Before his foot hit the ground, he was gone, vanishing into the long shadows. For a moment Miranda just stood there, almost too angry to breathe, then she knelt down beside Gin. “How is it?”

“I’ll live,” the hound grumbled, licking the blood from his muzzle. He caught her look, and his enormous orange eyes narrowed. “If you’re thinking what I think you are, the answer is yes.”

“Are you sure?” Miranda said, suddenly hesitant.

“I wouldn’t have said anything if I wasn’t sure,” Gin growled. “If you think for one second I’m going to let that bastard get away with our prize, then you can find yourself another ghosthound. Get on.”

Miranda didn’t ask again. She pulled Mellinor back into her body and vaulted onto Gin’s back. The second she was on they were running, smashing through what was left of the shattered door into the torch-lit street. She caught a glimpse of Sparrow’s shocked face, Tesset and Nico standing behind him, but she put them out of her mind. This had gone far beyond Council games and power plays. It was between her and Sted now. Gin thundered through the streets, sending bandits flying when they got
in his way. He cleared the last row of buildings in one leap and stopped on the edge of the box canyon that hid Izo’s city from the world. He raised his head, holding his nose up to the night air, and took several large sniffs.

“This way,” he said, turning north so hard Miranda’s neck snapped. She grimaced and bent low on the hound’s back, clinging to his fur as they raced through the dark woods, chasing the shadow of Eli’s scent on the cold mountain air.

“I don’t know how we’re getting out of this.” Sparrow’s voice held none of its usual charm as they stomped through the torch-lit streets toward Izo’s fortress. “And that’s not a turn of phrase. I really, honestly, do not know how we are going to make this situation into anything other than an unmitigated disaster.”

Behind him, Tesset stayed silent, matching Sparrow’s frantic pace with his long, ground-eating steps. As the shortest, Nico had to run to keep up or be dragged by the rope Tesset had affixed to her wrists. It was an awkward setup, but Sparrow had refused to see Izo alone and Tesset couldn’t leave Nico unguarded, so they had no choice but to face the fallout together.

When they reached the hall, the guards told Sparrow that Izo was waiting for them at the infirmary, though they wouldn’t tell him why.

“Probably just wants to save time,” Sparrow muttered bitterly.

“If that were the case, he’d have asked us to meet him at the burial pit,” Tesset pointed out.

Sparrow shot him a dirty look and kept going, winding his way through the maze of barracks and training
grounds until they reached the long, low building that served as Izo’s infirmary.

“Looks like they took a pigsty and replaced the pigs with bandits who could tie a bandage,” Sparrow muttered, nodding to the boy who opened the door for them. “Remember, let me do the talking.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Tesset said calmly.

Sparrow shook his head and walked faster.

The infirmary was a long hall lined with beds. Most were empty, the stained sheets dumped in piles at their feet. Izo was waiting for them at the very end with several men in drab surgeon’s smocks. They were all standing around a bed, and Izo was shouting something, his words so slurred together by rage that Nico could barely make them out.

“I don’t care if you have to stab him again!” the Bandit King roared. “Wake him up! Now! And where is that Council peacock?”

One of the doctors pointed nervously over Izo’s shoulder, and the Bandit King turned, his face going even redder when he caught sight of Sparrow.

“You!” he shouted, grabbing Sparrow by the arm. “You’d better have something to tell me. Where’s the wizard girl?”

“I couldn’t say for sure,” Sparrow said, his voice pinched with pain. “Probably off after your bruiser. You know, the one who stole our thief?”

Izo bared his teeth and jerked Sparrow up until the smaller man was within kissing distance. “You’d better watch that fancy tongue of yours, boy. I’m in no mood to humor Council dogs who can’t even keep their downed prey.”

He spat in Sparrow’s face, then dropped him. Tesset caught him before he could fall, and Sparrow nodded his thanks, pulling an orange silk handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his face with a disgusted grimace. Point made, Izo turned back to the bed.

This time, Nico was close enough to see who was in it, and her heart clenched. There, lying beneath the surgeon’s hands, was Josef. His stern face was pale and calm, his eyes closed in sleep. His clothes had been cut away and his wounds rebound, with the exception of the center of his chest. That was where the Heart lay, and from the way Josef’s clothing had been cut, it was clear none of the surgeons had tried to move it, not even to get at his wounds. They probably couldn’t move it, Nico realized. The Heart never moved unless it wanted to. That thought, along with the steady rise and fall of Josef’s chest, made her feel better than she had since she’d first opened her mouth to tell Eli about the Dead Mountain.

After another minute of failed attempts to wake the swordsman, Izo sent the doctors away. They fled as Izo leaned over Josef’s sleeping form. He watched the swordsman for a moment and then reached out his hand and slapped Josef hard across the face. Nico lunged forward before she knew what she was doing, catching herself painfully on Tesset’s leash, but Izo didn’t seem to notice her at all. He lifted his hand and slapped Josef again, but as he pulled back for a third blow, there was a flash of movement from the bed. Whatever it was happened too fast for Nico to see, but one moment Izo was standing over Josef, his hand coming down on the swordsman’s cheek, and the next he was on the floor cursing, with Josef’s hand locked around the Bandit King’s newly broken wrist.

The swordsman opened his eyes and gave Izo a lazy, deadly glare. “Don’t ever do that again.”

Izo wrenched his hand free with a pained gasp and jumped to his feet—though, to his credit, he paid no attention to his injury. All of his rage was focused on the man lying in front of him.

“You’re Josef Liechten?”

“Powers,” Josef sighed, slumping back into bed. “If you wanted to know that, there was no reason to wake me up. You could have asked her.” His eyes flicked over to Nico. “Are you all right, Nico?” Nico started to answer, but Izo stepped between them.

“I’m asking the questions,” he snarled. “You’re the one Sted has this big grudge with, correct?”

“I beat him, if that’s what you mean,” Josef said. “He’s a bad loser.”

“That much is obvious,” Izo said. “Tell me then what you make of this.”

He produced a scrap of paper from his pocket and flung it at Josef. The swordsman caught the paper deftly and studied it with a scowl.

“It’s from Sted,” Izo said. “He left it on my doorstep sometime after midnight. He’s taken Monpress hostage and says he’ll bring him back unharmed only if you will answer his challenge. A one-on-one duel in three days’ time.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me,” Josef said, handing the letter back. “Because I could barely make anything out of his writing. I’ve seen better penmanship from five-year-olds.”

“Who cares about his writing?” Izo shouted. “Monpress is worth a kingdom to me! I want him back.”

“As he loves to remind people, Eli is worth several kingdoms,” Josef said flatly. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Izo said. “You’re going to give Sted the fight he wants or I’m going to kill you here and now. That clear enough for you?”

Josef looked the bandit up and down. “Ordinarily, I’d say you’re welcome to try, but if you just want me to fight Sted, then we have no quarrel. I was going to do that anyway.”

“Oh.” Izo deflated a bit; he’d obviously been pumping himself up for a fight. “Good then. Makes things easier.”

“However,” Josef continued, “if I’m going to get Sted to give up Eli, there are a few things you’ll need to provide me with.”

Izo crossed his arms. “Like what?”

“To start, a place to fight,” Josef said, pushing himself up into a semisitting position. “Preferably somewhere people can see him. This is a pride fight, so people need to be there to see him or his pride will not be avenged. Sted doesn’t care about Eli. He’ll give the thief up easily when he sees he’s getting what he wants.”

“You can use the arena,” Izo said. “That’s what I built it for, and Sted was an arena fighter.”

“That will work,” Josef said, nodding. “I’ll also need a few supplies. How many blacksmiths do you keep in your camp?”

Izo frowned. “What kind of a question is that?”