The Spirit Thief Part 8

He felt someone behind him and whirled around, drawing his blade as he spun, only to find himself facing Nico. She pressed her pale lips together, c.o.c.king her head to peer quizzically at the sword point hovering beside her unguarded throat. "Jumpy?"

Josef sighed and lowered his sword. "How many times do I have to tell you not to do that? One day I might not stop in time, you know."

"I trust you," she said.

"Glad to hear it, but that doesn't change"-he chopped an arrow out of the air just before it struck her shoulder-"the situation."

A soldier loomed out of the dust behind her, his sword already falling. Without looking, Nico dropped to the ground, letting his overbalanced swing tip him forward. When he was halfway down, she shot up again, plunging her elbow into his unguarded stomach. The blow caught him right under his ribs, and he fell wheezing to the ground at Josef's feet.

"This is getting ridiculous," Josef said, kicking the fallen soldier's hands out from under him when he tried to get up. "Eli's probably already got the money. Let's just find him and-"

He froze. Nico looked up, confused. "And?"

With a whisper of steel, Josef drew his second sword. "Nico," he said quietly, "go find Eli. I'll catch up."

He caught her dark eyes and held them until she nodded and stepped away, disappearing instantly into the dust. He brought his swords up and turned to face the person he knew was standing there.

"Good guess," a voice said, floating on the swirling dust.

"Guess nothing," Josef said, stepping into a defensive stance. "I could follow a killing intent like yours blindfolded. Something you pick up when you live your life on the sword."

The swordsman with the scar across his face stepped out of the swirling dust. "I should have expected nothing less from the the Josef Liechten." He laid his hand on the wrapped sword at his hip. "My name is Gerard Coriano," he said casually, as if they were meeting in a tavern rather than a battlefield, "and this"-he unhooked the wrapped sword, sheath and all, from his belt-"is Dunea. We are here to kill you." Josef Liechten." He laid his hand on the wrapped sword at his hip. "My name is Gerard Coriano," he said casually, as if they were meeting in a tavern rather than a battlefield, "and this"-he unhooked the wrapped sword, sheath and all, from his belt-"is Dunea. We are here to kill you."

"Is that so?" Josef said. "Why bother telling me your name then?"

"A final courtesy." Coriano smiled. "A true swordsman would want to die knowing the name of the man who killed him. Remember it well, Josef Liechten."

Josef's face broke into a feral grin. "I only remember things that deserve to be remembered. So, if you want me to remember your name, you'll have to make it worth my while."

Coriano held his wrapped sword out before him, the blade still in its wooden sheath. "When you're ready."

Gin led them straight through the dust to the fallen king. Miranda jumped down, gritting her teeth as the impact's force shot up her spine. The king was on his back, caked in yellow-brown dust. She kneeled beside him, pressing her fingers against his throat.

"He's alive," she said, her voice hoa.r.s.e with relief. She slid her arms under his shoulders. "Help me get him up."

Gin lowered his head, and she rolled the king onto his long nose. When he was balanced, Gin lifted the unconscious man and, with Miranda's help, laid the king gently across his back.

She was getting ready to climb up herself when Gin growled low in his throat. He caught her eye, and she knew why.

"Lord Renaud," she said, turning around. "You're faster than expected."

Renaud stepped out of the swirling dust, a c.o.c.ky smile on his handsome face. "Look at it from my perspective, lady. I see my brother's murderer stealing his body, is it so surprising I should hurry to stop her?"

"No, but not for the reasons you give." She brushed her fingers over her rings, calling her spirits awake. "Your brother is still alive, but I imagine you knew that, seeing how you were the one who flung Skarest at him."

"Skarest?" Renault folded his hands behind him. "Was that the little lightning bolt's name?"

Miranda's eyes widened. "You don't deny it?"

"Why should I?" Renault shrugged. "I am a wizard, controlling spirits is my right."

Miranda clenched her fists. "What you call your right we call enslavement, and it is an abomination. No spirit, human or otherwise, has the right to dominate another! Even if you hadn't tried to kill your brother, what you did to Skarest is crime enough to bring the whole Spirit Court down on your head!"

"Enslavement?" Renaud chuckled. "You Spiritualists were always very fond of giving things names, anything to set yourselves apart, to label your magic as right and everything else as wrong."

"Considering enslavement destroys the soul of the spirit it commands, I'd say it's a pretty clear-cut division."

"And what do I care for their souls?"

Miranda took a step back at the disgust in his voice, but Renaud stepped closer, ignoring Gin's warning growl as the prince closed the distance between them.

"We have our own souls to think of," he whispered, almost in her ear, and the cold hatred in his voice made her s.h.i.+ver. "In nature, it is the strong who dominate the weak, the strong who survive."

"Those rules don't apply to us, Renaud," Miranda said. "We're not animals! Only humans have the power to dominate another spirit. We have to-"

"It was the spirits who dominated me for most of my life!" Renaud snapped, eyes flas.h.i.+ng. "It's because I was born with their voices talking in my ears that I lost everything to that idiot," he said and pointed to Henrith's smoking body sprawled on Gin's back.

"That's different."

"No!" Renaud roared. "No difference! I will take back tenfold what was taken from me. A hundredfold! It was the world that decided to make my will a weapon, Spiritualist, and I will use it bluntly, as it was intended. No rings, no pretensions, only my strength against the spirit's, my boot on its neck until it cries for mercy." He stepped closer still, clenching his fists beneath her chin. "I will take Mellinor from its weakling king," he growled. "I will take my inheritance with these hands, and then I will take dominion of the spirits from your weakling Court. I will return the world to its natural balance, with the wizard on top and the spirits below, and you"-he looked at Miranda with disgust-"you, with your hobbled power and your foolish pledge, will go down with the trash you've tied yourself to. A fitting end for a wizard who would not take her power."

Miranda jerked back, eyes flas.h.i.+ng, but when she spoke, her voice was cold and sharp. "Bold words, enslaver," she said, holding up her right thumb, which was wearing a knuckle-sized ruby that was glowing like an ember. "But it will take more than the raving of a jilted prince to make me forget the truth of the vows I serve." She thrust out her hand, and the ruby began to smoke on her finger. "Perhaps you'd like to try your speech on another of my spirits? You'll have to speak quickly, though, because I don't think he'll listen as patiently as I did. Will you, Kirik?"

When she spoke the name, the wind around them died out completely. A flame winked to life above Miranda's fist. It hovered there for a split second, sputtering like a candle, and then, with a deafening roar, it exploded upward, growing into an enormous column of fire that reached the sky. Any dust it touched vanished, burned to cinders in an instant. The column surrounded Miranda on all sides, the heat pouring off it in waves until even Renaud was forced to step back and put up his hands to s.h.i.+eld his face.

"What's the matter, enslaver?" Miranda crowed from behind the wall of flame. "Weren't you going to put your boot on his neck?"

If Renaud answered, it was lost in Kirik's crackling laughter. Grinning triumphantly, Miranda raised her voice to command the attack.

Just before she spoke the words, the prince fell to his knees. Miranda squinted against Kirik's bright light. No, Renaud hadn't fallen; he'd sunk up to his thighs in the sandy ground. As she watched, more sand poured up his chest, pinning his arms and pulling him toward the ground. He struggled frantically, but for every handful of sand he tossed away, five more took its place. Within seconds he was buried up to his shoulders, completely trapped in the s.h.i.+fting, buzzing ground.

"So sorry," said a smug voice.

Miranda whirled around, her eyes wide and astonished as a gangly, dark-haired figure stepped out of the dust. "Can't have any of that." He snapped his fingers and a torrent of water shot up from the ground at his feet.

Miranda had no time to react, no time to do anything except stare stupidly as the water arched through the air and struck her fire spirit full on. Kirik roared and steamed, but there was nothing he could do against the endless deluge. The column of flame shrank to an ember in the s.p.a.ce of a breath, and Miranda barely managed to pull him back into his ring before the water extinguished him altogether.

For the next few moments, Miranda was so furious she couldn't do more than sputter and clutch the dimly glowing ruby on her thumb. When she did find her voice, however, she made up for lost time.

"What do you think you are doing?!" she roared so violently that even Gin flinched back.

Eli raised his hands. "Easy, Lady Spiritualist, I couldn't let you bake him just yet. You see"-he glared down at Renaud, still pinned by the dirt-"this man still owes me some money."

If possible, Miranda looked even angrier. "He tried to kill his brother, enslaved my spirit, threatened the entire spirit world, and you're worried about money money?"

"Of course." Eli looked at her innocently. "I'm a thief. What else is there for me to worry about?"

"You could start worrying about your hide," she growled, "because I'm about to flay it off you."

"Charming!" Eli said, grinning. "But give me two seconds first. I need to make a point." He crouched down in the dirt beside Renaud. "h.e.l.lo, Lord Whoever-You-Are. I don't know if you've heard of me, but I'm Eli Monpress, the greatest thief in the world."

Eli put his arm around Renaud's sand-covered shoulder. "I'm going to let you in on a secret. I didn't get to be the greatest thief in the world by letting hack wizards like you cheat me out of my hard-earned money. However, I'm a generous man, so I'm going to offer you a choice: Either you give me my money or I take it from you. Now, while five thousand may seem like a hefty sum, please take my word on this"-he smiled sweetly-"you don't want me in your treasury."

Renaud's eyes widened. "Aren't you the pair?" he said, spitting the sand out of his mouth. "The thief and the officer of the Spirit Court working together."

"We're not together!" Miranda shouted. "Enough of this nonsense! Gin, bite the thief's head off."

Gin charged forward, but all he got was a mouthful of sand as the ground in front of Eli sprang up to protect him.

"An impressive spirit, Mr. Monpress," Miranda said as Gin coughed up dirt.

"Oh, it's not mine," Eli said, grinning. "This particular stretch of ground was getting frustrated that a certain Spiritualist's wind spirit was whipping bits of it up into the air. I simply offered to help it stop the wind if it helped me."

Miranda stared at him in disbelief. "You offered? What, you mean you just had a chat with the ground, without opening your spirit or having a servant spirit to mediate, and it listened, just like that?"

Eli shrugged. "More or less."

"Don't be stupid," she scoffed. "You can't just sit down and talk to the ground."

"Some of us don't need slaves or servants to get things done," he said.

Miranda sputtered, but Renaud burst out laughing. Miranda and Eli both turned to stare at him, but the prince paid no mind, laughing until he was nearly choking on the sandy dirt.

"That's it?" he said when he could speak again. "That's the famous Eli's great secret that every bounty hunter is after? You just asked?" the famous Eli's great secret that every bounty hunter is after? You just asked?"

Eli arched an eyebrow at him. "I don't see how it's so hard to believe. Most spirits are very obliging when you're not trying to crush them into submission. But you wouldn't know much about that, from what I hear." He straightened up. "Now, are you going to play nicely, or do I need to ask the dirt for another favor?"

The ground around Renaud began to snicker, but the smile on the prince's face did not change. "As grateful as I am to you for the opportunities you've given me, I'm afraid my thanks are all you're going to get, Mr. Monpress."

"Oh?" Eli crossed his arms over his chest. "Does that mean you choose the 'Eli takes the money from you' option?"

Renaud's smile widened. "Let me show you how a true wizard works."

Still chuckling, he closed his eyes and, for a moment, nothing happened. Then Renaud opened his spirit, and everything changed.

This wasn't the controlled opening Miranda had done earlier. Renaud threw his spirit wide for the world to see, and the strength of it was wholly unexpected. Miranda barely had time to register what was happening before it hit her. She fell to her knees, gasping for breath as the full pressure of Renaud's soul landed on her. Her rings cut into her fingers as her spirits writhed under the weight. Behind her, she heard Gin whimpering as he fought it, but even the ghosthound was forced to the ground in the end. Miranda gritted her teeth and focused on dampening the panic shooting up the link she shared with her spirits, but they were already beaten down. Another wave of pressure hit, and she gasped as it slammed her into the ground.

Spitting out dirt, she forced her head to turn, and she caught something out of the corner of her eye. Eli was still standing beside her, arms crossed just like before, as if nothing was happening, but the c.o.c.ky smile on his face had vanished.

The sand trapping Renaud burst outward, the grains cutting Miranda's skin. The prince stepped calmly out of the crater he had made and looked over to where Gin lay pinned with the king's body still slung over the arch of his back. His hand went to his pocket, and when he spoke, his words pulsed through his opened spirit, battering over Miranda like iron waves.

"I've been saving this since I left the desert and returned to Allaze. I was waiting to use it on my brother, if I ever got the chance." He grinned at Eli. "Now that you have made me king, I won't be needing it anymore. Such a pity." His mad grin grew deadly. "I will miss collecting your bounty."

Eli glared at him. "And why's that?"

"Because once I'm done cleaning this clearing, there won't be enough of you left to turn in."

"Sounds like a stupid waste of fifty-five thousand standards to me," Eli said. "And if that false-bottomed chest was any indication, you could use the gold."

"Yes," Renaud cackled, "but as another of your kind once told me, there are some things that are worth more than money."

His eyes flicked away from Eli's incredulous expression and came to rest on Miranda, who was still fighting to raise her head. "Watch and learn, Spiritualist," he whispered, holding out his clenched fist. "This is how you master a spirit." is how you master a spirit."

He opened his fist and a small, dark, glittering sphere dropped from his fingers. At first, Miranda thought it was a kind of black pearl, like the pearl she kept Eril in, but as it fell, the ball began to disintegrate, and as it broke apart, the sphere began to scream.

CHAPTER 13.

Josef struck hard and fast, bringing his twin blades down one after the other so that there was no pause between strikes. Coriano blocked each blow on his sheathed sword, his scarred face bored and impa.s.sive. Josef tried striking low, high, and both sides at once, testing for weaknesses, but every blow was knocked aside with the same easy indifference, no matter how fast he struck. Finally, Josef tried a wild attack, striking high and low simultaneously while leaving his middle deliberately unguarded. The other swordsman ducked the high blow, slid the low off his wooden sheath, and ignored the easy opening all together. After that, Josef lowered his swords and stepped back.

"I'm sorry," he said, wiping the sweaty dust out of his eyes with the back of his hand, "but if we're going to fight, you have to do more than block. It also helps if you draw your sword, I'm told."

Coriano planted his sheathed blade in the dirt and leaned on it. "I'll draw my sword when you draw yours."

"I don't get what you mean," Josef said, swinging his twin blades in a whistling arc.

"Well," Coriano said, straightening up. "If that's the case, I'm going to have to start breaking your toys until you do."

Josef opened his mouth to say something rude, but before he had taken a breath, Coriano was there, his sheathed sword pressed deep into Josef's stomach. Josef went sprawling in the dirt, and only years of training brought his swords up in time to block the next blow before it landed on his head. If Coriano's blocks had been fast before, his blows were in another category altogether. The next one fell before Josef realized the scarred man had lifted his blade, and the force slammed Josef into the ground. A cloud of dust shot up at the impact, and a long crack appeared in the wooden sheath of Coriano's sword. Sprawled on his back, Josef brought both swords in a cross over his chest, blocking the next blow on both blades, inches from his face. Coriano's cracked sheath shattered on impact, sending wood flying in every direction, and Josef found himself staring down the blade of the most beautiful sword he had ever seen.

It was pure white from tip to guard, unembellished, except for a slight wavering s.h.i.+mmer along the sharpened edge that glittered like new snow in the dusty light. The hilt was wrapped in blood-red silk, but the bright color paled beneath the sword's cold, dancing light.

"River of White Snow," Coriano whispered. "Dunea."

He pushed down, and the s.h.i.+mmering white edge cut through Josef's crossed blades like paper to bury itself in the swordsman's chest. Pain exploded where the blade bit down, darkening his vision, and Josef gasped, forcing his lungs to work. Coriano only smiled and pushed his blade farther, clearly intending to pin Josef to the dirt like a b.u.t.terfly on a board. With a desperate heave, Josef flung the hilt of his broken blade at the swordsman's face, aiming for his scarred eye. Coriano jumped back, and Josef scrambled to his feet, clutching his chest with one hand and the remaining broken blade with the other.

It was still hard to see, and every breath hurt like another stab, but Josef forced himself to be calm. The cut was small but deep, sticking right below the sternum. It hadn't hit his heart, and it hadn't hit his lungs, but it was bleeding in a torrent down his s.h.i.+rt.

Coriano looked him over casually, the white sword balanced perfectly in his hands. "No time for licking wounds," he said, and lunged.

Josef tossed his ruined sword on the ground and drew a short blade from his belt just in time to parry. However, his parry turned into a rolling dodge as Coriano's white sword snapped the knife neatly in two without losing speed or direction. The white edge simply cut through the metal like it was not there.

Josef rolled to his feet again and shakily drew another blade from his boot. Coriano gave him a scornful look.

"Come now," he said. "Surely you don't intend to keep insulting us with your dull blades?" He whirled his sword, and Josef could almost hear the snowy blade singing as it cut the air. "You must have realized what she is by now. Why do you not draw your sword?"

Josef's hand went to the hilt of the great iron sword on his back. Coriano's grin grew delighted, and he brought Dunea back to her ready position as Josef's hand gripped the wrapped handle. As he began to lift the iron blade, his fingers turned deftly and his hand flew out, flas.h.i.+ng silver. Coriano sliced the first knife out of the air, but he was a hair too slow for the second. The throwing knife grazed his shoulder as he dodged, leaving a long, b.l.o.o.d.y gash.

Josef straightened up with an enormous grin on his face and three more knives fanned between his fingers. "Not yet," he said, tossing a knife and catching it in his free hand. "I'm not out of things to throw at you."

Coriano gritted his teeth, but as he leaned forward for another lunge, his posture changed. Just before kicking off, he stopped and s.h.i.+vered like a cat dipped in cold water. Josef lowered his knives a fraction and watched in confusion as the other swordsman clutched his sword to his chest like it was a frightened child. The wizard wind driving the storm around them died as suddenly as it had begun, and the dust fell to the ground with unnatural speed, as if something was pressing it down.

"That idiot," Coriano whispered, clutching his sword as the white light flew in wild patterns across the blade. "That short-sighted, power-drunk fool."