The Spirit Eater (35 page)

“Slorn?”

He jumped at the voice, whirling around to see the wind waiting, circling him in worried little circles.

“Yes,” he said, struggling to keep his voice normal.

“I just came back to let you know the West Wind told me to tell you to be kind to the Spiritualist girl. Who knows why. Spiritualists are busybodies, but Illir’s word is law.”

“I’ll look after her, don’t worry,” Slorn said, managing a weak smile.

The wind spun again. “Slorn.” Its voice was not nearly so certain this time. “What were you looking at?”

“Nothing,” Slorn lied. “Nothing at all.”

The wind made a frightened wheezing sound. “It’s not good to stare at the sky.”

“It’s nothing,” Slorn said again. “Off with you.”

The wind held on a moment longer and then whipped away, flying hard and fast between the trees. Slorn waited until it was completely gone before wiping the cold sweat from where the fur met his neck. When his breathing was steady again, he walked down the slope back toward the bushes.

He did not look at the sky again.

When the sun rose on the third day, Josef Liechten woke up, took the Heart of War from his chest, and stomped off to his fight. Nico trailed him like a shadow, pulling Tesset behind her so that they made a strange sort of line pushing their way across Izo’s camp. The city was packed. Bandits wearing the Bandit King’s red and black had come from all across the mountains, abandoning their small camps and outposts for a day of glory.

“What are all these idiots doing here?” Josef growled, glaring as a gaggle of young men, some barely into their teens, made themselves comfortable on a rooftop with a good view of the arena. “This is a duel, not a circus.”

“For the men up here, the two are the same,” Tesset said. “Sted may have forced Izo to play host, but you’re kidding yourself if you think Izo isn’t going to get something out of it. The Council’s been cracking down and troop morale is low. How better to boost it than a spectacular fight to the death? It’s a clever use of a bad situation, but Izo’s famous for turning things to his favor. He didn’t become king of the bandits for his nobility, you know.”

Josef shook his head in disgust. “I just hope he remembered his end of our deal.”

“He did,” Nico said softly. “They’ve been hammering for days.”

Josef didn’t need to ask what she meant by that, for a moment later the arena itself came into view. Lying on the hard-packed sand was a jagged heap of newly forged swords. Some blades were almost black with imperfections, others were actually crooked, lying sideways across the blades beneath them. Still, hundreds of swords in all. Josef grinned and clapped his hands together.

“Perfect.”

Izo was standing at the arena’s edge with his retinue and the foppish man from the Council, whose finery was looking a little wilted today. They both turned as Josef approached, and Izo brightened visibly, grinning so wide Josef could count his gold crowns.

“The sleeper wakes,” he said, laughing. The Bandit King was dressed in silks like a lord and obviously in a fine mood as he stretched out his hand toward the pile of swords. “See, it is all here, as promised. You asked for a spectacle and I delivered.”

“The crowd is too much,” Josef said. “But Sted will probably like it, so let them stay. Neither of us will be holding back, though, so I can’t vouch for your men’s safety.”

“What bandit looks for safety?” Izo scoffed.

Josef shrugged and stared down at the circular pit of the arena, measuring the wood-braced walls with his eyes. “In that case, get some of your men started putting the swords on the walls. The blades are no good to me piled like that. I need every one of them on a hook, hilt up. I’m guessing that’s your seat?” Josef nodded toward the short tower at the edge of the arena topped with a crimson-covered box that held benches, a throne, and a balcony.

“Who else’s?” Izo said.

Josef ignored his boastful grin. “I’ll need a pillar about the same height directly across from it. There.” He pointed. “Just a simple post will do, so long as it’s at least a foot thick.”

“Easily done,” Izo said. “But why?”

“I need a safe place for this.” Josef reached over his shoulder and grabbed the Heart’s hilt. In one motion, he brought the enormous black blade over his shoulder and plunged it into the ground. The blade sank a foot into the hard dirt before it stopped.

Izo cocked an eyebrow. “As you like, swordsman. But better make it two feet.”

He snapped his fingers, and his men ran forward to get their orders. Moments later a small army swarmed into the pit, moving swords and getting the ground ready for the post Josef had requested. While they worked, Josef sat down on the arena’s edge, staring at the sandy circle until the men were shadows and all he could see was the field of battle. Behind him, he could feel the Heart’s power waiting, but he kept himself apart. As he’d slept, the Heart had been with him, fighting the fight against the Lord of Storms over and over again. Through it all, the sword never spoke, but the underlying message behind the endless fight was as strong and solid as bedrock. In their fight with Sted, Josef and the Heart had taken the first real step toward becoming a swordsman. They had achieved the unspoken understanding between sword and man. But that wasn’t enough, not for a fight like the Lord of Storms. To beat a man like that—no, not a man—to beat a force of nature like the Lord of Storms would take the greatest swordsman in the world wielding the greatest awakened sword. He had one part of the equation. Now it was time to work on the other. He crunched his knuckles together. Sted may have demanded this fight, but Josef was going to use it to his fullest advantage.

He heard a soft rustle and turned to see Nico sitting down beside him, the rope taut across her wrists. Tesset stood a good five feet away, talking urgently with the foppish man. It was the farthest Josef had seen him stray.

“They’re talking about Miranda,” Nico said. “She chased off after Eli and hasn’t come back yet.”

“Then we know the thief isn’t caught,” Josef said. “The Spiritualist girl is a better soldier than most wizards. If she had caught him, she’d have brought him back to the chain of command, and for now that seems to be the peacock man.”

“Sparrow?” Nico said, wrinkling her nose. “I don’t think she likes him.”

“Like has nothing to do with duty,” Josef said. “I just hope Sted doesn’t do something stupid. He’s never been someone you could count on for sense.”

Nico stayed silent at that, and Josef looked over, taking note of the haunted look in her eyes, which now seemed permanently too bright for whatever light they were in.

“I’ll beat Sted,” he said.

“I know you will,” Nico answered. “That’s not it.” She paused for a moment, sinking deeper into the dark folds of her coat. “Sted’s a demonseed now. I don’t know for sure how, but if he killed Nivel, then I can guess. He’s not a wizard, but he has powers like I used to have.”

“I know,” Josef said. “I fought him a little back at the hut. He’s got speed, shadow jumping, incredible strength, but I’ve sparred with you, remember?

I know what seeds are capable of, and Sted’s on a different plain entirely, a lower one. He may be more dangerous now than he was in Gaol, thanks to that arm of his, but it’s a brittle kind of strength. He made a bad bargain when he left the League.”

Nico pulled herself in tighter, and Josef looked over to see she was clutching her arm under her coat. “Don’t underestimate how dangerous he is, Josef,” she said quietly.

“I don’t,” Josef answered. “But I also refuse to underestimate my own abilities. Even the crooked metal pokers down there will strike true if the swordsman wills them to. I know I will beat Sted, Nico. My only worry about this whole business is what happens when I do.” He heaved a frustrated sigh. “That part of things was always Eli’s job. I’m just here to fight.”

Nico looked worried. “I don’t think he has a plan this time.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Josef said, leaning back. “Eli’s sleeves have more tricks up them than mine have knives. Well ”—he shook his empty sleeve

—“usually. But I’ve been with the thief a long time. If there’s anything he can pull off, it’s an escape. Trust him.”

Nico lowered her eyes, leaving a lump of things unsaid in the air. Josef ran a frustrated hand through his short hair. He understood the silence even better than if she’d spoken. She trusted Eli to run, just not to take her with him. Josef gritted his teeth. He didn’t blame her for thinking that. It couldn’t be easy to trust the thief after the things Eli had said back in the cabin. But as he’d said, he’d known Eli for a long time, and for all his flaws, the thief had never left a companion in the lurch. It took him awhile sometimes, but he always came around. All Josef could do was put it out of his mind, focus on winning, and trust that today wouldn’t be the first exception to the rule.

They sat the next half hour in silence, watching as the bandits hung every last one of the shoddy, pot-metal swords on the arena walls. It took a team of ten men to raise the giant log Izo had selected to hold the Heart. When it was fully upright, the log’s top was four feet above the arena’s edge, but a dozen from the sandy floor, too high for either Sted or Josef to reach. Josef kicked it a few times to make sure it was secure before plunging the Heart deep into the wood. The sword slid in easily, poking out the top of the pole like a trophy in a tournament. Satisfied, Josef returned to his seat beside Nico to wait. Tesset joined them this time, his face neutral as ever, despite his heated discussion with Sparrow.

Neither Josef nor Nico asked him any questions, and he did not volunteer any information. Sparrow, however, had stomped off and was now sitting in Izo’s box, swinging a blue jewel on a leather thong and apparently talking to himself. Josef watched him awhile, and then put the fop out of his mind. Even if they were officially prisoners of the Council of Thrones, he had larger problems than Council business. Instead, he jumped down into the arena, circling and getting a feel for the sand, picking out some of the least warped swords to wear at his hips for the opening blows. Overhead, the sun climbed higher into the sky and the bandits began to settle into whatever seats they could find with a good view of the arena. Izo himself was up in his box, talking with the strange, thin man in black who seemed to be constantly at his side, while a bandit poured wine from a barrel into tall glasses. By noon, a hush had fallen over Izo’s bandit city. Though no time had been agreed on, everyone was waiting, craning their heads to be the first to catch a glimpse of Berek Sted when he entered the arena.

“I don’t understand it,” Miranda grumbled, pressing her eye against Slorn’s leather-bound glass telescope and shifting her weight so that the root she was lying on would stop digging into her ribs. “And I don’t like it.”

“What’s to understand?” Gin yawned beside her. “It’s an arena fight. You humans can be remarkably savage, considering your diet is mostly plants.”

“Who lines an arena with swords?” Miranda said. “And my diet is mostly plants. I know people who could put your carnivorous ways to shame.” She shifted her position again, switching the scope to her other eye. “What’s Liechten playing at? There’s no way he’ll be able to reach the Heart from the arena floor if he leaves it up there.”

“The man is a good hunter,” Gin said, his voice deep and approving. “If it’s up there, he has a reason.”

“I just hope Sted doesn’t take too much longer,” Miranda said, getting up. “I’m going back to report to Slorn. Keep an eye on things.”

Gin laid his head on his paws, patterns swirling lazily over his muzzle. “If anything exciting happens, I’ll let you know.”

Miranda shook her head and started creeping through the undergrowth. They’d arrived early yesterday morning, setting up camp on the highest part of the rim of the stone canyon that shielded Izo’s camp from the outside world. It had been a breathless run. The legs on Slorn’s wagon weren’t there for show. The thing had scampered through the forest as fast as Gin could run, and Miranda still wasn’t sure who had been slowing down for whom.

They’d cleared the distance from the mountains back to Izo’s in record time, slowing only when they reached the ring of patrols and towers that guarded Izo’s home base. There, creeping past lookouts, Slorn had led her to a place on a rocky outcropping both high and out of the way with a good view of Izo’s land. From the multiple flattened weeds in the hideout, it was clear he’d camped here before, but what had really shocked Miranda was what he’d left waiting for his return.

It was so out of place up here among the scraggly bushes, she hadn’t even noticed it at first. Now it was always the first thing she saw whenever she came back to camp. Behind the bushes where Slorn’s wagon crouched was a large… something. It was squat and lumpy, about as tall as she was, and covered in a drab cloth. A line of empty barrels made a sort of makeshift fence around it, keeping her from getting a good look at its shape, but it moved sometimes, and she could just make out the sharp wooden ends of what looked like carved spider legs poking out from the edge of the cloth. Slorn hadn’t even mentioned it when they arrived, but something in the bear’s eyes kept her from asking, and she’d never found the chance to peek. She did wonder, though.

As usual, Slorn was sitting on the stairs of his wagon, working something in his hands. It was roughly a foot long, round at one end and pointed at the other, vaguely off-white and soapy looking. At first, she’d thought it was the beginning of some Shaper project, an uncarved block he’d turn into something beautiful, but she never heard its voice and its shape never seemed to change. Slorn just kept turning it over in his hands, staring at it like it was the most interesting thing in the world.

He didn’t look up from the thing as she entered the clearing, creeping low even though she was well out of sight of the city. “How’s it looking?” he asked in his usual gruff voice.

“No sign of Sted yet,” Miranda answered, straightening up. “Josef’s acting stranger than ever. He’s got them lining the arena with swords, really awful-looking ones. I’m no metalworking expert, but I can see the warping from here. Plus, he just put the Heart of War up on a stand like a trophy.”