The Legend Of Eli Monpress (111 page)

The tree rustled grumpily. “What do you want?”

“I need to know where that came from,” Eli whispered, pointing at the arrow.

“What are you talking about?” the tree said. “I don’t feel …” It stopped. “Why is there an arrow in me?”

“That’s what I’m asking,” Eli said.

“How should I know?” The tree was starting to panic.

“Ask the arrow,” Eli said, giving the bark a push. “Quickly, please, if you don’t mind.”

“Good idea,” the tree said, and lapsed into mad rustling.

Eli kept as close to the tree as he could, trying to look everywhere at once. He would have asked the arrow himself, but the tree could get it to talk faster than even he could, short of opening his spirit. But as the seconds stretched on and on, the tree just kept rustling until its leaves were raining down.

“Well?” Eli said.

“Nothing,” it answered. “That arrow’s dead asleep.”

“So wake it up.”

“What do you think I was trying to do?” The tree snapped its branches. “Someone put it to sleep.”

Eli cursed his luck. “Well, can you see anyone who might have shot it? Another human?”

“I don’t see anything that’s not always here,” the tree said, more confused than ever. “Other than you and the arrow.”

Eli was about to offer to pull the arrow out and have a go at it himself when he heard the telltale whistle of fletching, this time from his right. He ducked just in time as another arrow landed in the tree and the wood cried out in surprise and pain.

“Did you see that one?” Eli said, scrambling to get to the other side.

“No!” the tree shouted. “I don’t see anything!”

Another whistle screamed through the forest as an arrow struck the ground right beside Eli’s foot. This was when he decided to forget finding the archer and just run.

He sprang forward, dashing through the trees. Arrows whistled behind him, each bolt striking his footprint a second after his boot made it. He ran as fast as he could, lungs slamming for air while his brain spun even faster, trying to come up with a plan. The trees were sparse and open, offering little cover. He saw a rocky defile to his left and tried to turn, but the arrows struck the ground in front of him, landing deep in the soil where he would have been if he’d moved a second faster. With an undignified squeak, Eli turned on his heel and kept running, trying the turn again a few dozen feet later only to have the arrows cut him off again. The third time it happened, Eli knew he was being driven. Every time he tried to dodge left or right, the arrows pushed him straight again, forcing him east down a slope toward a wide mountain stream.

It was a trap for sure, Eli realized grimly, but he couldn’t stop. Already his feet were sliding on the slippery leaves, forcing him to run even faster or risk going down the hill on his back. He skidded down the bank and landed in the
creek with a splash. The mossy rocks slipped under his boots, sending him sprawling face-first into the icy water. He was up instantly, sputtering as he scrambled back to his feet only to slip again. He fell cursing back into the water, flailing around to make himself a harder target. But as he scrambled to get his legs back under him, he realized that the arrows had stopped. He paused, listening, but the forest was silent except for the soft trickle of the water.

Carefully this time, Eli stood up. Maybe he’d gotten out of range of the archer? If that was the case, whoever it was would be coming down after him. He looked over his shoulder, eyeing places on the opposite bank where he could hide and see who had been shooting at him. He spotted a good vantage point and began to quickly, but carefully, pick his way across the slick rocks. He’d made it halfway across the streambed when the water suddenly stopped.

Eli tripped and pitched forward, arms flying out to catch himself, but there was no need. The water, which had been running against his legs, was now hard as baked clay, and he was baked in as well, trapped from the knees down in crystal clear, freezing cold, perfectly still water.

After several moments of desperate tugging proved this wasn’t something he could just yank his legs out of, Eli calmed down and took stock of the situation. The water had stopped moving for as far as he could see up and down the creek. Except for the wind overhead, the stream valley was perfectly silent. Experimentally, he tried to wiggle his toes, but even they were trapped, entombed in the water that had flowed into his boots before the freeze. No, freeze was the wrong idea. The water wasn’t ice. It
was just stopped. Stopped and not talking about it, which meant there was a wizard around.

The moment that realization crossed his mind, he knew who it was. He turned slowly, and there was no shock on his face when he saw a woman with red hair stepping out from behind a tree with an enormous grin on her face.

“Miranda Lyonette,” Eli said. “A pleasure, as always.”

If possible, the Spiritualist’s grin grew even wider. “For once, we agree.”

There was a rustle of branches from across the valley, and Eli turned to see her dog loping down the far bank with a grin that matched his mistress’s.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Eli said as Gin joined her. “Caught me flat-footed and unprepared. The arrows were especially nice. Brava, my dear. So what now? Is there a contingent of Spiritualists coming to clap me in irons?”

Miranda shook her head. “No. You showed me how effective irons were back in Gaol. This time I’m using something you can’t wiggle out of.”

Eli smiled politely. “Which is?”

Miranda stepped into the stream, and Eli swallowed when he saw the still water slide back to make a dry path for her. She walked forward over dry stones, stopping just out of Eli’s reach, her smile wider than ever.

“Eli Monpress,” she said, her voice deep and joyful, “you are under arrest for crimes against the Spirit Court and the Council of Thrones.”

“That’s a pretty broad accusation,” Eli said. “Can’t you be more specific? This
is
my arrest. It would be a shame to gloss over my impressive record.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Miranda said. “I’m certain they’ll read the whole list at your trial.” She leaned forward and,
to Eli’s enormous surprise, gave him a long, slow wink. “See you on the other side, Eli Monpress.”

As she spoke, the stopped water started moving again, but not down the creekbed. It flowed up Eli’s body, covering his chest, his shoulders, and finally his head. He struggled and thrashed, but the water simply pushed back, rendering his blows meaningless. He took a deep breath just before the water went over his head, and the last thing he saw was Miranda’s face grinning triumphantly before everything went black.

Miranda was almost giggling as she watched Mellinor swallow Eli’s head. A trickle of icy water rushed over her feet as Mellinor released control of the creek back to the local spirit, but she wouldn’t have cared if she’d been on fire at this point. She’d done it. She’d
actually
caught Eli Monpress.

“Don’t smile too hard,” Gin said, splashing through the water to join her. “He’s not in Zarin yet. I won’t feel safe until he’s sitting in Banage’s office.”

“Even Eli Monpress will have a hard time escaping if he’s unconscious,” Miranda said. “How’s he doing?”

“Out cold,” Mellinor answered. The pillar of water was floating completely separate from the creek now, with Eli’s slumped body cocooned at its center.

Miranda sighed happily. “It’s a beautiful sight. How long can you keep him like that?”

“Long enough,” Mellinor answered. “Just keep me near a source of water and I should be able to hold him like this all the way to Zarin.”

Miranda motioned Gin over. The dog came sullenly, wincing as Mellinor slumped the water-bound thief across his back.

“He’s cold,” he grumbled, ears back. “And wet.”

“It’s just for a little bit,” Miranda said, adjusting Eli to lie across Gin’s haunches. “Buck up.”

“We should move,” Mellinor said. “The creek is returning.”

Miranda looked down. Sure enough, the water was up to her ankles now, and blisteringly cold. She shivered and made her way to the opposite bank as fast as she could. Gin padded along beside her, careful of his precious cargo. The water rose as she went, and by the time they were safely on the other side, her tall boots were soaked.

Miranda looked down with a shrug. Nothing could ruin her mood right now.

“Mission successful, I see,” said a voice behind her.

Gin jumped and began to growl deep in his throat. Miranda put a warning hand on his muzzle. Well, she thought, turning around,
almost
nothing. Sparrow stood behind her, leaning against a tree with his bow resting on one shoulder. His gaudy clothes were gone, replaced by a drab brown suit that seemed to shift in and out of the tree shadow, but his smile was smug as ever.

Sparrow glanced at Eli’s unconscious, water-bound body, though he was clever enough to stay clear of Gin himself. “I’ll hand it to Sara,” he said. “She knows how to pick the right person for the job. Well done, Spiritualist. Shall we go back to see how the others are faring?”

“You can go,” Miranda said. “I’m still not convinced Izo’s fighter can beat Josef Liechten or Nico. I want Eli as secure as possible, as quickly as possible, just in case.”

“Caution does you credit,” Sparrow said, turning on his heel. “I’ll meet you back at the camp.”

Miranda watched as the man walked into the trees
without a sound, vanishing into the hills far quicker than any human should.

“I hate how he does that,” Gin growled.

“Me too.” Miranda sighed.

Gin shook his head in frustration. “No, you don’t understand. Before at least he was flickering. Now it’s like he’s not even there.”

Miranda frowned. “What do you mean, ‘not even there’?”

“Forget it,” Gin said. “I can’t even explain it to myself, so I’m not going to bother trying to explain it to you.”

Miranda flushed and started to say that she was perfectly capable of understanding if only the dog would take the time to describe things properly, but she shut her mouth at the last moment. Sparrow wasn’t worth antagonizing Gin any further. She’d just have to get him to elaborate later. She followed the ghosthound up the bank, watching as Eli bounced on his back. That made her smile. One look at the captured thief was enough to renew the good mood Sparrow had dampened. “Come on,” she said, picking up the pace. “Let’s get our guest situated.”

Gin grumbled, but he matched her speed, and they trotted together up the valley toward where their bandit escort was waiting to bring them back to Izo’s hidden city.

U
sing the Heart as a crutch, Josef limped out of the cabin, keeping his eyes on Sted. The man was even larger than Josef remembered, towering a good foot over the tallest of the ragtag bandits that followed him. He had no black coat this time, and no red sash of trophies. There was no sword at his hip either, no weapon at all from what Josef could see, unless he was hiding something under the ratty black cape that covered his chest, shoulders, and arms.

Sted met Josef’s gaze, baring his teeth like a dog. “What is this?” he said. “Are you a cripple now? Stand and fight, if you can.”

“I am standing,” Josef said flatly. “But even if I couldn’t, I could still beat you. After all”—the swordsman smirked—“I’ve done it before, with worse injuries than these. By the way, how’s your arm?”

Sted’s eyes flashed with anger. “You’ll see soon enough,” he growled. He turned to the man beside him,
the only one of the group of bruisers who didn’t look like he smashed rocks with his face for a living. “This one’s mine. Get the girl.”

Behind him, Josef felt Nico cower.

“Nico,” he said, his voice low. “Run.”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head furiously.

“Do it.” Josef’s voice strained as he lifted his weight off the Heart.

“No,” Nico said again.

Josef glared over his shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot. I saw what happened up by the mountain. I’ve seen your arm. If you fight to win here like you are, you could lose everything we’ve worked for. Run, I’ll find you. I promise.”

Nico stared at him, clutching the arm she hid beneath her coat, her dark eyes wide. Then, without another word, she turned and ran.

She tore around the cabin, sprinting wildly through the trees. Josef watched her until she vanished over the closest rise, and then he turned back to Sted. As he did so, he noticed that the man Sted had spoken to, the one who didn’t look like a bandit, was already gone.

Coldly, slowly, Josef put it out of his mind. He’d done what he could for Nico. If he was going to survive to keep his promise, he’d need all his concentration for the fight ahead.

Sted waved his arm, and the bandits fell back, taking cover in the ring of trees around the cabin. Josef stayed put, conserving his energy. His sword felt heavy as lead in his hands, a sure sign he was at his limit, even with the Heart’s help. His only hope was to beat Sted in one blow. His eyes flicked to Sted’s covered shoulders. Unless all League men could reform their bodies like the Lord of
Storms, that cape was probably there to hide Sted’s missing arm. That is, if Sted was even a League man anymore. Without a coat or a sword, Josef wasn’t sure. But he could feel the Heart warning him through the warm metal not to be cocky. League or not, whole or not, Sted was no one to take lightly. He gripped his sword tighter. He’d done this before. One good blow, that was all he needed.