The Spirit Eater (36 page)

She stopped. “You don’t think he’s wagered it, do you?”

“No,” Slorn said. “Josef knows better than anyone it’s not his to wager. Still” —he raised a hand to his muzzle, scratching it thoughtfully—“putting down the Heart is a clever plan. I wonder who thought of it, Eli or Josef?”

Miranda gave him a funny look. “How is putting your best weapon out of reach for a hard fight clever?”

“Think, Miranda,” Slorn said. “What good is the world’s greatest awakened blade when you’re fighting a demonseed who cares nothing for what it eats?”

Miranda opened her mouth, and then snapped it closed. “Of course, that explains the awful swords. Metal with so many impurities is bound to have tiny, sleepy spirits, providing no meal for the seed even if he eats dozens of them. He’s set up the fight to protect his sword and keep Sted from getting stronger.” She nearly grinned at the simple cleverness of it. Why hadn’t she thought of that?

“Actually, Miranda,” Slorn said, looking up at last. “I’ve been meaning to ask you a favor. How strong is your sea spirit?”

Miranda gave him a funny look. “Mellinor’s pretty strong. Depends on how much water is around.”

“I see,” Slorn said, nodding over her shoulder. “And do you think Mellinor could fill those?”

Miranda turned, following his gaze to the line of empty barrels around the cloth-draped shape. “Easily,” she said, turning back. “Why?”

“I’m going to need some water,” Slorn said. “I’d been meaning to talk to a local stream about it, but I’ve run out of time. I was hoping your Mellinor could oblige me.”

“Sure,” Miranda said, grinning. “What do you need us to do?”

Slorn opened his mouth, but he was cut off by a low growl from the trees.

“There’s Gin,” Miranda whispered, dropping her voice even though there was no chance of being overheard.

Slorn nodded and stood up, carefully placing the white lump of whatever it was on the wagon steps before coming over to join her. They crept back through the woods together, sliding in beside Gin, who was nearly over the cliff edge in his excitement. One look and Miranda could see why. The crowd of bandits, who’d been thick as flies over the city for the last day, were pulling away from a cloaked figure walking in from the north end of town. Even at this range, she could see Sted clearly, a head taller than anyone else, and behind him, stumbling through the dust on a rope leash like a petulant puppy, was a figure she knew even better.

“Eli Monpress,” she said, frowning. “He doesn’t look good.”

“He’s fine,” Gin growled. “Just making life hard for Sted, which is the most sensible thing I’ve seen him do.”

Miranda nodded and looked over her shoulder for Slorn, but the bear-headed man was staying back, keeping to the trees, his animal eyes large and sharp as he watched Sted drag the thief into the center of town. Down in the valley, a ragged cheer went up.

Josef stood on the arena’s edge, eyes squinting against the noonday sun as Sted strutted into the center of town. Bandits scrambled out of his way, whistling and shouting. Josef ignored them, focusing instead on the figure stumbling in Sted’s wake. Eli looked tired and disoriented, but unharmed.

That was good enough for him, and Josef turned his attention to Sted. The enormous man came to a stop at the opposite side of the arena and grinned a wide, violent grin at Josef like he was the only man in the world.

“Well, Sted,” Izo’s voice boomed down from his box, “you showed up. Hand over the thief, and the swordsman will fight you on whatever terms you like.”

Izo’s words hung in the air, but Sted didn’t even seem to hear them. He stepped out onto the arena’s edge before tossing Eli’s rope in the dirt. The thief scampered away as Sted reached up and ripped the threadbare cloak from his shoulders. A great gasp went up from the crowd, and even Josef’s breath hitched. Sted’s black arm was there, same as ever, but it looked almost natural compared to his chest. The black rot no longer stopped at the shoulder, where the arm connected. It had spread down, spidering across the enormous man’s chest in long, inky tendrils. The blackness poured into his scars like tainted water, eating its way across the remnants of his tattoos.

Quick as a flash, Sparrow stepped out from behind Izo’s booth to grab Eli’s rope, jerking the thief off his feet. He twisted the rope around his hand several times before leading the thief over to the far edge of the arena where Tesset was holding Nico. Sted didn’t even seem to notice what happened to his prisoner. He stood on the arena edge, drinking in the fear and revulsion as it rolled off the crowd, grinning at Josef like a wolf that’s finally cornered the running stag.

But Josef was too distracted to be intimidated. “Powers, man,” he said in a low voice. “What have you done to yourself?”

Sted’s smile faltered a moment before it was replaced by a sneer. “Nothing like what I’m going to do to you.”

He leaped off the edge, landing on the arena’s sandy floor with a thud Josef felt through his boots. Josef cast one last look at Nico and Eli before jumping down as well. Realizing they were about to get the blood they’d come for, the bandits began to cheer, but the sound was very far away.

Here in the arena, Sted took up every scrap of Josef’s attention, leaving none to spare for roaring crowds.

“I see you’re able to stand again,” Sted said, walking across the arena. “Finally found your courage, eh?”

Josef’s answer was to draw the swords at his hips, swinging the warped blades in a whistling circle before settling into a fighting stance. Sted stared at him, his eager expression turning to one of disbelief.

“What is this?” he roared. “What are those, fire pokers? Is this some kind of a joke?” He looked around, spotting the Heart high on its post. “I didn’t call this fight so we could dance, Liechten,” he growled, thrusting his clawed arm into the air, curved fingers pointing at the Heart’s hilt. “Take your sword and fight me like a man!”

“Why should I?” Josef answered, looking pointedly at Sted’s transformed hand. “After all, you could hardly be called a man anymore.”

Sted’s eyes narrowed. “I’m going to butcher you like a pig for that.”

Josef raised his swords, a feral grin coming over his face. “Try it.”

Sted clenched his fists with a roar, and then he was gone. Josef waited for the step from the shadows and whirled to his left, catching Sted’s clawed hand in his blades.

“I’m not like your coward girl,” Sted whispered as his claws began to eat through the steel of Josef’s swords. “I don’t hold anything back. Take the Heart and fight for real or I’ll kill everyone here, starting with you.”

Josef glared at him through the quickly vanishing cross of his blades. “You might have always been a monster,” he said. “But you were an indifferent brawler and even less of a swordsman. I don’t need the Heart to beat you.”

“Have it your way,” Sted hissed, and brought his demon arm down, ripping Josef’s swords in two.

But Josef had dropped the swords before Sted had finished speaking. He jumped nimbly back, hands going out to grab two fresh swords from the arena wall. The crude hilts slid into his hands and he brought the new pair forward just in time. Sted charged with an enraged scream, slamming them both into the arena wallhard enough to knock Josef’s breath out, but not hard enough to break his guard. For all its power, it was a sloppy hold, and Josef ducked under Sted’s arms with a quick step, his swords flashing in the sun as they raked under the larger man’s right shoulder.

Josef turned as soon as he finished the follow-through and was greeted by the beautiful sight of fresh, red blood running from two large gashes across Sted’s ribs. Even with his ears ringing from being bashed against the arena wall, he could feel the crowd’s roar through the sand. Had he been younger, stupider, he might have raised his arms in triumph, but he settled for a smile as Sted whirled around, hands going to stanch the flow of blood from his wound.

“No more iron skin, I see,” Josef said, flicking the blood from his blades onto the sand. “You’ll have to be better than that if you don’t want me to carve you up, Sted.”

He paused, waiting for a comeback, but Sted just smiled, his eyes unsettlingly bright, and removed his hand. Josef blinked. The blood was still there, slick and red against his skin, but the wounds were already gone.

“Yes.” Sted chuckled as Josef’s eyes widened. “Now you see. If you mean to carve me up, you’ll have to hit much harder than that.”

Josef started to answer, but Sted was on him before he could open his mouth, claws going for Josef’s throat. Josef blocked wildly, losing half his left sword in the process. He blocked again on the broken shard, but Sted was faster than ever. He flitted through the air, feet barely touching the ground thanks to the demon-gifted speed. Josef had no time to square his defense before Sted’s right fist, his human fist, slammed into Josef’s side. Josef coughed and staggered, but his remaining blade held true, keeping Sted’s claws away from him even as they sliced through the discolored metal of the sword. Sted roared and punched again, but this time he hit only air as Josef spun away, abandoning his sword, now skewered on Sted’s claws, and lunged for the wall.

The first sword he grabbed came apart in his hands, the hilt sliding off the blade as soon as he touched it. Josef swore and grabbed the next one, spinning just in time to keep from getting pinned against the wall. The second he moved, Sted switched up. Midcharge he turned and kicked off the wall with his legs, launching himself at Josef.

It happened so quickly there was no time to dodge, no time to block, so Josef did the only thing he could. Holding the warped sword with both hands in front of him like a spear, he dug in his heels and met Sted head-on. This time it was Sted who didn’t have time to defend. He slammed into Josef, sending them both crashing to the ground. Josef felt his shirt rip, followed by the skin of his shoulders as he skidded across the sand. Sted’s weight bore down on him, and he could feel the man’s monstrous claw tearing at the ground beside them, trying to stop the momentum and get control back, but Josef’s eyes saw only his own hands gripping the now-broken hilt of his sword, the warped, discolored blade of which was now lodged deep in the bloody mess that was Sted’s human shoulder.

Ten feet from where they’d started, the slide stopped, and the moment he could raise his arms again, Josef dropped the hilt, clasped his hands in a double fist, and brought them down hard on the broken blade lodged in Sted’s shoulder. It worked even better than he’d planned. The sword had landed not in Sted’s shoulder blade, but inside the arm socket. Josef’s fists hit the sword like a hammer against a wedge, and Sted roared in pain as the blade lurched sideways, disjointing his shoulder with a sickening crack.

Using both boots, Josef kicked himself free, scrambling across the sand before Sted could grab him again. The moment his feet were under him, he was running for the wall. He grabbed two more swords from the endless line and spun to face Sted again, but the enormous man was still on the ground clutching his shoulder. Overhead, the bandits were screaming, a great roaring ocean of throats that drowned out even the pounding blood in Josef’s ears. With a deep breath, Josef took a step forward, his eyes narrowing until Sted was all he could see.

It was a sickening, pathetic sight. Sted was thrashing on the ground, struggling to get his clawed arm up to his shoulder to pull out the blade while his human arm dragged on the sand beside him, useless. He finally got it, dragging the blade out with a pained roar. He tossed the broken shard away, glaring at Josef with eyes both too large and too bright.

“Don’t look… so cocky,” he panted, clutching his mangled shoulder. “Our duel isn’t anywhere near over.”

“Our duel never started,” Josef said. “Duels are tests of strength and skill between two equal combatants. This”—he swung his sword, taking in the bloody sand, Sted’s limp arm, the roaring crowd pressing in along the arena’s edge—“this isn’t a duel. This isn’t even a fight; it’s a slaughter. You’re not even a swordsman anymore. You’re an animal, an enraged bull wallowing in the dirt.” He flipped the flimsy swords in his hands. “I’m glad I couldn’t use the Heart on you now,” he said. “It would be a disgrace to the blade to waste it on blood like yours.”

Sted’s face went scarlet, and he began to pant, squeezing his butchered arm until the flesh bulged beneath his grip. “I’ll show you a fight,” he spat.

“You’ll eat those words with your blood before the day is through.”

As he spoke, a horrible sound spread through the arena. It was an unnatural cracking noise, like hollow bones snapping, underlaid with the wet, sucking sound of something being drawn in. Josef stared at Sted, horrified, as the black stain from his demon arm began to grow. It leached across his chest, sliding under his skin, pouring into the rivulets of his scars like a black, hungry tide. As it spread, the horrible sound grew louder, and Sted’s shoulder began to pull together. Muscles sprouted out, bridging the gap between shoulder and arm. Bones pulled together, joints snapping into place as dark skin grew to cover the wound. It happened with blinding speed. One moment his right arm hung limp and useless; the next, Sted was pushing himself up with it, the gaping wound now no more than a patch of discolored flesh over his healthy, functional shoulder.

Sted grinned a horrid, feral grin and raised his fist to thump his chest, which was now completely covered with the black stain. “Slaughter, you said?” His voice had a strange double resonance to it that made Josef’s blood run cold. “How do you intend to slaughter a man you can’t even wound?”

“The same way you take apart any animal,” Josef said slowly. “One limb at a time.”

Rage flashed over Sted’s face, and he leaped forward with a roar. Josef sidestepped the mad charge in one neat movement, bringing his swords down across Sted’s open back. They struck in a clean slice, but Sted didn’t even flinch. He dug his feet into the sand and spun around, his clawed arm angled to smash into Josef’s face. But again, Josef was too quick. He jumped back, bringing his swords up for another swing. However, just before he struck, Josef stopped, staring at his swords in amazement. The blades were unbroken, but where the cutting edge should have been was a new curve in the exact shape of Sted’s back. The edges of the metal were still hissing, as though the blades had melted on contact. For a moment Josef just stared, trying to understand what had happened, and then he heard the hated, hollow sound of Sted’s laughter.