The Spirit Thief (25 page)

Miranda wanted desperately to believe the thief, but at that moment a resounding twang cut through the battle as the archers in the back released a flight of arrows into
the fray. She watched in horror as the arrows sailed over the crowd, almost scraping the smoke-stained ceiling before arcing downward straight at Josef’s unguarded head. Right before the barbed tips landed, they vanished. Suddenly, Nico was there, standing on his shoulders, her enormous coat swirling around her like water, the arrows clutched in her bony hand. She tossed them aside just in time to knock the next volley out of the air, effortlessly shifting her balance to match Josef’s swings, for the swordsman kept going as if she wasn’t there. Josef was laughing, moving in long, rolling arcs down the chaotic corridor, the beam flying in front of him and the Heart guarding his back. Whenever he left an opening, soldiers of all sizes and builds would lunge for it, only to be caught by a well-aimed kick and then swept into the wall with the others as the beam came down.

Miranda watched in amazement, not bothering to fight Eli’s grip any longer. “He’s a monster,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Eli whispered back. “That’s why the Heart of War chose him.”

When Josef’s path of destruction had almost reached the treasury door, Nico launched herself off his shoulders and began laying waste to the last few lines of archers, most of whom had dropped their bows and were frantically fighting with short swords. Nico moved between them like a shadow, jabbing each man twice between the ribs before he fell to the ground clutching his stomach, unable to do more than gurgle in pain. By the time she reached the end of the archer line, the remaining soldiers were fleeing in panic, stumbling down the hall as fast as they could and paying no attention to Eli or Miranda as the two stepped out of the shelter of the small stair.

The hallway was a mess. Soldiers lay slumped in moaning piles against the cracked stone walls, their bloody splashes obscuring the rolling mosaics. Still, while badly battered, almost all were alive and groaning pathetically as Miranda and Eli hurried past them. Josef sighed loudly, leaning the battered, bloody, but still intact wooden beam against the wall beside the treasury door. He was sweaty, dirty, and breathing hard, but he could have been plowing a field or digging a ditch for all Miranda could tell. There wasn’t a wound on him. Nico was the same way, leaning against the wall with a satisfied grin.

“That,” Josef panted, “was the best five minutes of this whole”—pant—“awful”—pant—“job.”

“Glad someone’s having fun,” Eli said, rolling one of the unconscious soldiers away from the door. “Now, let’s see if the reward was worth the mess.”

He took a step back and looked up at the enormous iron door with a low whistle. “Impressive.” He grinned wide. “Now I see why Renaud didn’t just enslave his way in as a boy. Sandstorms are chaotic and stupid, easy to control if your will is stronger. But metal, especially thick, old metal like this?” He rapped his knuckles on the door’s surface, making a strange, metallic echo down the ruined hall that only made him grin wider. “You’d use up all your energy just waking it up, never mind controlling it.”

Miranda stepped forward, running her fingers over the smooth, cold iron. “Can you open it?”

If possible, Eli’s grin grew wider still. “Who do you think I am?” he said, putting both hands palm down above the door’s handle. Miranda snorted, but said nothing,
stepping back to watch him work. A moment after Eli’s hands settled on the iron, his expression changed from cocky to quizzical. He gave the door a push with his palms, and it swung inward with a faint scrape.

Miranda blinked in amazement. “I guess you’re not all talk.”

“High praise indeed,” Eli said, stepping back. “I wish I could claim it, but that wasn’t me. The door’s unlocked.”

Josef walked over to him and stared hard at the metal door, which was slowly drifting open under its own weight. “You realize,” he said quietly, “this is probably a trap.”

“We’ve been walking into a trap since we got here, most likely.” Eli looked sideways at Josef. “You said so yourself.”

Josef shrugged and picked up his beam again. “Too late to worry about it now.”

“Let’s get this over with,” Eli said, and shoved the door as hard as he could.

The metal slab swung open easily, and an old, cold wind ruffled their hair. The light from the hall torches extended only a foot from the threshold. Beyond that, the treasury stretched out into flat blackness, without depth or end. Miranda took a tentative step forward, reaching out, but she felt no spirits, mad or otherwise. The groans of the soldiers outside faded as soon as she crossed the threshold, and the scrape of her boot was frighteningly loud in the sudden stillness.

All at once, Josef shuddered as if he’d been thrown into an icy pond. He stepped forward, staring determinedly into the featureless dark. “I know you’re there,” he said. “Come out.”

His voice echoed in the darkness, the words repeating
over each other and then fading again. For a long moment, nothing changed. Then, a few yards in front of them, a match flared to life, illuminating a pair of eyes, one blue, one clouded silver.

“Hello, Josef,” he said. “What took you?”

N
ot whom you were expecting?” Coriano smiled and touched his match to the wick of a glass lamp that dangled from his hand. The light flared up, illuminating the empty walls that ran in a smooth arch until they disappeared into the darkness overhead, beyond the lamp’s reach. Underfoot, the flame sent shadows scurrying across the stone floor decorated with the stained outlines of removed shelves and trunks. The makers of those stains were gone, however, leaving only dust, cobwebs, and occasional woodchips behind. By the time the lamp’s flame steadied, it was painfully obvious that the heavily guarded treasury was completely empty.

Miranda stepped forward. “Where is Renaud?”

“Forget him,” Eli said. “Where’s the treasure?”

“Where is the treasure, indeed,” Coriano said. “Did you know that, among bounty hunters, you’re famous for your unpredictability, Eli? They never understand when I tell them how, in one aspect, you’re steady as the sun.
Miranda would know best.” He flashed her a cold smile. “I gave her the same advice as I gave all the others: If you want to catch Eli Monpress, simply put yourself between him and what he wants. Because his only constant is that, once he decides something is his, he’s never able to let it go, not even to save his own skin.”

“Then,” Miranda said, “all those soldiers outside?”

“A necessary deception.” Coriano tilted his head. “Anything less than a full guard and you might have guessed something was wrong. I even let that librarian wander around in the hope that she would take you to the small stair, just to make it seem really authentic.”

Miranda’s face went scarlet, but before she could open her mouth, Eli grabbed her shoulder.

“Well done, then,” Eli said, pushing Miranda back and taking her spot beside Josef. “You’ve found me. However, you still haven’t caught me.”

“But it’s not you I’m after,” Coriano said. “It’s the man who follows where you lead.” A sudden flash of white cut the dark as Coriano drew his sword and aimed the point directly at Josef’s chest. “Master of the Heart of War, we have unfinished business.”

Josef brandished the dented, bloody support beam like a club in front of him, a broad smile breaking across his face. “Let’s finish it, then.”

“Are you mad?” Miranda grabbed Josef’s arm. “Weren’t you listening? Renaud could be claiming the pillar right now. We don’t have time for pride fights!”

“If you’re looking for the new king,” Coriano said, “he’s in the throne room. Back through the treasury hall and straight up the main stair four flights. The first door on the right will take you to the promenade hall, and you
just follow the flags to the throne room itself. He’s got the entire contents of the treasury up there on my advice, so I could set my trap and he could work on his pillar in peace.”

Miranda’s hands began to shake. “You’re letting him work on the Pillar? Do you have any idea what that could mean?”

“No,” Coriano said, “and neither do you. Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters!” Miranda’s voice echoed through the empty cavern. “You were there in the clearing. You should know better than most that the man has nothing but contempt for the spirits! If he gets that Pillar, there won’t be a spirit in the world that can stand against him, and every spirit he conquers will go as mad as that sandstorm. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Coriano raised his white blade and brought the red-wrapped hilt to his lips. “The only spirit I care about is Dunea,” he whispered, “my River of White Snow, and all she cares about is beating him.” He pointed the tip of his sword at the hilt of the Heart of War poking over Josef’s back. “Everything else is meaningless.”

Miranda growled, but Josef stepped in front of her, his enormous back and the great sword strapped across it blocking everything else from view. The swordsman looked over his shoulder, and Miranda’s blood went thin at the look in his eyes. Even when he had waded out into the sea of soldiers with nothing but a stick of building material, he hadn’t looked as large or as deadly as he did now.

“Nico,” he said. “Protect Eli and the girl.” He turned back to face Coriano. “This is my fight.”

A cold hand grabbed Miranda’s and she looked down to find Nico dragging her out of the treasury.

“We’ll meet you upstairs,” Eli said, jogging after the women. “Don’t lose.”

Josef didn’t answer, but Miranda saw him grin as he turned to face Coriano, the beam brandished before him. Coriano raised his white sword in greeting as the enormous treasury door drifted shut, obscuring them from view.

“We can’t just leave him!” Miranda shouted, fighting Nico’s grip. “Shouldn’t we help? We could beat Coriano and go upstairs together!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Eli grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Do you think Josef’s my servant? That I can just order him around?” He was breathing hard now, and his face was more serious than she had ever seen it. “ ‘Do not postulate where you do not understand,’ ” he sneered, his voice warped into a biting mimicry of her own. “Maybe it’s time you listened to your own advice, Spiritualist. Josef Liechten travels with me by his own choice. When he says ‘This is my fight,’ that’s what it means. His fight, not ours to interfere with because it doesn’t match what we want to do.”

“But he’s your friend!” Miranda shouted. “You can’t just leave him to die! Coriano would have had him last time if Renaud hadn’t released the storm. What makes you think he’ll survive?”

“He won’t lose.” The absolute surety in Nico’s voice struck Miranda like a hammer. The girl looked up at the Spiritualist, her enormous black coat twitching around her calm, pale face. “Josef’s the strongest swordsman in the world,” she said. “He won’t lose to someone like Coriano and his arrogant white sword.”

Miranda stared blankly, trying to think of an answer to that, but Nico was already gone, picking her way through the groaning soldiers and toward the stairs. Eli shot Miranda a look that dared her to say something more and started after the girl. Miranda took one last, long look at the treasury door. Then, with a heavy sigh, she turned and followed the other two through the ruined hall, past the splinters of the tiny servants’ door where Josef had made their entrance, and up the broad main stair that led back to the upper levels of the palace.

After getting lost twice, they found the door that opened into the throne room’s approach. The long hall had changed dramatically since Miranda and Marion had pushed their way through the crowd that had gathered to see Renaud ages ago. Black mourning banners hung from the vaulted ceiling in place of the Mellinorian flags, and the sconces on the walls burned low behind black shades. The edge of the newly risen moon was visible through the high windows, but the watery glass and high, swift clouds distorted into ghostly shadows what light the moon shed, leaving the lofty hall as gloomy as a cemetery forest. Eli, Miranda, and Nico crept along the wall, scurrying from fat stone pillar to fat stone pillar, but it soon became obvious that such precaution was unnecessary. The promenade hall was empty.

“Where is everyone?” Miranda said, stepping out into the dim light.

“Probably still fighting the fire,” Eli said, cocking an eyebrow at Nico. “I really hope you didn’t underestimate the situation. Henrith won’t thank us for getting his throne back if the castle burns down.”

“It won’t.” Nico glided silently through the gloom. “That furnace wasn’t smart enough to manage anything as spectacular as burning down an entire castle.”

“Comforting words indeed,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Come on. The throne room is this way.”

They half walked, half ran the length of the long promenade. The golden doors to the throne room loomed large, glowing silver in the dim moonlight, and, as they discovered when they reached them, locked tight.

“Not even locked,” Eli said, running his hands over as much of the ornate gold work as he could reach. “The doors themselves have been sealed somehow.” He got down on his knees and tried to peer underneath, but the doors were set flush with the marble floor, without so much as a hair crack to look through.

“Nico,” Eli said, stepping back. “If you would be so kind.”

Nico nodded and shook her hands free of her bulky sleeves. Bracing her boots against the slippery marble, she slammed her palms against the metal and started to push. The doors groaned under the pressure and began to bow inward. Cracks sprouted in the carved gold, growing in cobwebby spirals as Nico pushed harder. With a soft, peeling crack, large sections of the gold began to flake off, revealing the dark metal beneath. The door squealed, and the marble under Nico’s feet began to crack under the pressure, but the iron core of the doors beneath the soft gold did not budge. Nico gritted her teeth and pushed harder still, growling under her breath. The stone supports around the doors began to creak. Grit fell from the ceiling. Small showers of dust at first and then fist-sized bits of stone started coming down like hail.