The Legend Of Eli Monpress (12 page)

Gin’s face filled her vision and she jumped in surprise, waking a whole new round of aches. The ghosthound’s eyes widened at her string of mumbled expletives, and he bent closer, his hot breath blowing more dirt into her face. She coughed again, wincing. Gin gave a low whimper and, to her great surprise, gently licked her face. Miranda couldn’t stop her grimace as his wet tongue slipped over her cheek, but it helped with the caked-on dirt and she knew better than to complain over a rare show of affection.

“Thanks,” she muttered.

The ghosthound flicked his ear and nudged his nose under her, helping her up.

“Thanks again,” she said, sitting up slowly. Then she got her first good look at her companion, and her eyes went wide. “Powers, what happened to you?”

Gin was filthy. His front paws, muzzle, and stomach were black with dirt, and the rest of him was so covered with dust and debris she could barely see his patterns moving.

“The wizard trapped me,” he said simply, “and I got out.”

Miranda looked confused. “Trapped …”

Gin shifted to one side, and Miranda stared in amazement at what had been their neat, quiet, ambush-friendly clearing. It looked like a tree had exploded. Roots stuck out of the ground in every direction, some torn wide open, others in large knots. At the center was a deep ditch where the ground was furrowed with long claw marks. A
Gin-sized pile of dirt rested against the trees to her left, and Miranda began to put the picture together.

“No wonder we both look like a dirt spirit decided to give us a hug,” she said. “You never could learn to dig cleanly.”

“Ghosthounds aren’t made for digging,” Gin growled.

Miranda shook her head and dug her fingers into the dirty fur at his neck, pulling herself slowly to her feet. “Any idea where the king is?”

“West somewhat.” Gin flicked an ear in that direction. “They’re waiting for something.”

Using Gin as a prop, Miranda bent over with a wince and picked up a piece of her stone spirit off the ground. “I’m surprised Durn hasn’t reformed himself,” she said, clutching the stone to her chest. “That girl must have given him quite a scare.”

“You know what she is, then?” Gin asked, surprised.

Miranda nodded. “What kind of Spiritualist would I be if I didn’t know a demonseed when I saw one? Especially after it tried to eat one of my servants. This might be my first time actually meeting one, but Master Banage made absolutely sure we knew what to do if we did.”

Gin crinkled his dirty nose. “And what is that?”

“Nothing,” Miranda said, stepping away.

“What!” Gin roared. “I don’t know what kind of demonseeds he’s talking about, but the kind I know, the kind that just took a chunk out of Durn, those eat spirits like I eat pigs. ‘Nothing,’ ” he snorted. “The next time I see her …” He snapped his teeth.

“Don’t even think about it, mutt,” Miranda said, hobbling slowly around the clearing, picking up Durn’s broken pieces. “Demonseeds are League business. If we want to stay in the Spirit Court, we don’t interfere with
the League of Storms. Besides,” she said smiling sadly, “it’s not like a Spiritualist could do much against her. Like you said, demonseeds gain their strength by eating spirits. If I did decide to fight her, the only weapon I have is you lot, and I’m not risking my spirits like that.”

“You think so little of us—”

“Quite the opposite,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “I’m sure that, if you put your mind to it, you could make her fight full force to defend herself, but look at it this way: If the girl can still maintain her human form, the demonseed inside her must still be small. However, if we offered it the chance to devour a larger spirit, say, a certain hotheaded dog, it might be enough to awaken her demon, and then where would we be?”

Gin bared his teeth. “Say what you want, but if I see a chance, I’m taking it. Any demonseed, no matter how small, is a danger to all spirits. Even the sleepiest, stupidest of us will try to kill one when we see it. I’m surprised Eli can talk to spirits if they know she’s around. You’d think they’d want nothing to do with him.”

“He must be hiding her somehow.” Miranda frowned, piling the last bits of Durn in a circle on the ground. “You didn’t sense her until she took a bite out of Durn, and your nose is sharper than most.” She shook her head. “A wizard thief who uses only small-time spirits to kidnap kings, but travels with a hidden demonseed strong enough to damage my spirits and a master swordsman fast enough to counter your bite. This whole mission is one big knot of curiosities.” She stood and dusted off her hands. “But it doesn’t really matter. Next time I find that thief, I’m not going to take chances. I’m just going to fry him from behind. We’ll see how he wiggles out of that.”

Point made, she spread her hands over the collected pile of rubble that had been one of her most powerful spirits and closed her eyes. Durn’s ring, a square of dark, cloudy emerald set in a yellow-gold band that took up the whole bottom joint of her left thumb, began to glow dully as she forced her own spirit energy through the stone. The energy flowed freely through the orderly pattern of the gem, calling gently to Durn’s core. She felt his answer, weak and frightened, but there. Miranda sent a wave of power in response, the pulses repeating the pledge she’d made when she first bonded him—the exchange of power for service, strength for obedience, the sacred promise between spirit and Spiritualist that neither would ever abuse the other. With each pulse, the ring vibrated gently and began to glow. The rocks at her feet shook in answer, and then, at last, rolled together, matching their cracked edges and reforming until Durn himself sat crouched in front of her, his black, shiny surface dented but whole, and looking as ashamed as stone allowed.

“Forgive me, mistress,” he rattled. “I failed you.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Miranda said gently, running her fingers over his jagged edges. “I sent you into danger neither of us could have foreseen. You did well in the job I assigned you. Now it’s time to come home.”

Durn sighed against her skin, and then, with a sound like slag falling down a cliff, began to disintegrate. He broke first into small boulders, then gravel, and then dust that glowed silver in the afternoon sun as it drifted up into Miranda’s open hands. She gathered him bit by bit into his ring, using her own spirit as a guide to fold him into the gem. When the last tendril of dust vanished, the emerald flashed faintly before dying out altogether as Miranda pushed him into a deep sleep.

“He’ll recover,” she said and sighed, twisting the ring over so the dark stone was against her palm. “But it’ll be weeks before he’s fit for anything except sleeping.”

“It could have been worse,” Gin offered, but she cut him off with a raised hand.

“I don’t want to think about it. Let’s focus on doing our job. Which way did they go?”

“This way.” Gin stood up and turned with a swish of his tail, hopping over the remains of Eli’s root trap.

Miranda hobbled after him, gritting her teeth against the pain in her bruised legs and side. “How far?”

“Less than a mile,” Gin said, looking over his shoulder.

Miranda grabbed a broken root and, leaning her weight on it, hobbled faster. “I’m surprised you’re not stalking them if they’re that close. I could have caught up.”

He gave her a long look as she limped forward pathetically. Then, with a sigh, he jumped back over the roots and flopped on the ground beside her. “Get on already, you’re making me hurt just watching you.”

Miranda grinned and tossed her improvised crutch aside, climbing up his back as fast as her aching muscles allowed.

“Anyway”—Gin lowered his head to his paws, which suddenly required his immediate attention—“I preferred to wait.”

Miranda hid her smile in his fur as she made her way to her usual seat behind his ears. When she was settled, she nudged him with her boot. Gin rose and, together, they slunk westward through the trees.

In another world, a door opened in a white room. Or, rather, that was incorrect, for to say a door opened
implies that a door existed. Nothing here existed if she did not will it, and she was not expecting the door. Still, it opened just the same, and a tall, angry man stepped into the perfect white nothing she lounged in, watching her sphere.

Her white eyes flicked over him, and a delicate sneer appeared on her flawless white face.

Why do you come when you are not summoned?

The angry man did not answer. He crossed the blankness with long strides and stood beside her, arms folded over his chest.

“He’s doing it again.” His voice was like distant thunder. “You have to put a stop to this.”

What should you care?

The man’s face grew even angrier, and his long fingers gripped the blue-wrapped sword at his hip. She smiled coyly. It was times like these, when his rages got the better of his sense, that she remembered why she treasured him still, despite his presumptions.

“With respect,” he growled, “you created me to care. I spared your favorite’s companion when he took in the demonseed. I even turned a blind eye when he gave her that triple-damned coat, but this is too far. The whole League just felt her attack a stone spirit, and yet you give no order to attack.” His voice rose with each word, and small tongues of lightning began to crackle from the hand that gripped his sword hilt. “How am I to fulfill my purpose if you block me at every turn for the sake of your pet thief!”

He had barely finished when the empty whiteness pressed in around him, grabbing him in a vise of air and lead. The woman’s coy smile never faded, but her anger
thrilled through the emptiness until he felt the light itself burning his skin. Even then, he did not move, and his scowl did not change.

Eli is mine.
The words were glass shards grinding through his mind.
You are not to go near him.

“And should the demonseed awake?” he said, choking against the unrelenting pressure. “Am I to watch her devour the world and your precious Eli with it?!”

I have spoken!

The man staggered under her anger, dropping to one knee. Her white face softened, and she reached out to lay a snowy hand on his dark hair.

There, there
, she cooed.
It will not come to that.
She slid her hand down his cheek and tilted his head up, her sharp nails digging into the tender flesh of his throat.
Have faith in me, my Lord of Storms.

The dark-haired man shivered as his silver eyes locked with her white ones, unable to look away. Slowly, she leaned across the emptiness and laid a kiss sharp as broken ice on his trembling lips.

Now go.
She pushed him away.
And do not return until summoned.

Released from her grip, the Lord of Storms struggled to his feet, but the white woman’s attention had already strayed back to the sphere that floated in front of her. It hung in the white nothingness like a rain drop frozen in the moment before it lands, and inside, a tiny, flat map of greens and blues, snowy mountains and glinting seas, revolved in absolute perfection under a cloud-strewn evening sky.

“As you ask,” the dark-haired man said, bowing low, “Benehime.” With those words he vanished from the white, empty world, leaving the lady to her delights as
the door that was not a door closed behind him without a sound.

In the inmost chamber of a great stone fortress that stood alone on a sea cliff hundreds of miles from the nearest city of men, a thin, white line appeared on the soot-blackened wall, drowning the sputtering light of the oil lamps with snowblind brilliance. The man waiting there sprang to his feet, his long black coat falling around him like wings as the Lord of Storms stepped through the cut in reality and into his office.

The unworldly light had barely faded before he grabbed the sword from his side and flung it as hard as he could against the iron armor chest on the far wall.

“Damn that woman’s moods!” he roared, and whirled to face the man who had been waiting for him. “Do you believe it, Alric? A blatant attack on a spirit and she still refuses to let me go anywhere near that thief and his damned demon!”

“But the seed has already eaten her down to skin and bone,” Alric said, crossing the room to retrieve his master’s cast-off sword. “With food like that, and unlimited time to consume it, the seed could reach full maturity before awakening. If that happens, we might not have the numbers to stop it, and it will be the Dead Mountain fiasco all over again.”

“It won’t come to that,” the Lord of Storms said and began to pace the tiny room. “Have the League put up a watch for a hundred miles around the area where we felt the girl attack. Even if that blasted coat hides her when she’s passive, it can’t hide her when she uses the demon.”

“You think she’ll use it again in so short a period?” Alric handed him his sword. “Monpress has been very careful about that.”

“It doesn’t matter what the thief does.” The Lord of Storms sat down on his desk and laid his sword across his knees. “No matter how careful he tries to be, the truth doesn’t change. If he keeps letting the girl use her demon powers, then, sooner or later, the balance will tip. Once the awakening starts, nothing can stop it. Eventually, the demonseed will turn on him, and that infatuated woman will have no choice but to give the order.”

“You say that,” Alric said, frowning, “but a fully awakened demon is no small matter. We’ll have to be extremely thorough if we want to keep the seed from regressing and switching hosts. What of the thief or his swordsman should they get in the way? They seem very attached to the demon’s human shell.”