The Spirit War: The Legend of Eli Monpress Volume 4

by Rachel Aaron

  The Oseran runners darted between the palace ships, the flagship shooting ahead as arrows rained down on them from the enemy decks.

  “Hold steady!” Josef cried, cutting an arrow out of the air just before it landed in the rower behind him. “Are the others in position?”

  “Right behind us!” the captain shouted.

  Josef looked over his shoulder. Sure enough, the other runners were coasting right on their tail with their clingfire already lit in the throwers. Josef grinned and pointed the Heart at the palace ship on their left. “Bring us up right next to the hull.”

  The flagship surged forward, cutting through the breakwater until they were an arm’s length from the palace ship’s cliff-like side. Josef set his feet on the bucking deck and held the Heart in front of him, closing both hands on the wrapped hilt. He closed his eyes with a deep breath and let his thoughts go. His mind cleared like the sky after a storm, leaving only the sword in his hands. He could feel the Heart’s presence resonating with his own, and the image of a mountain appeared behind his eyes. An enormous, sharp peak, cutting the clouds. A sword cutting a ship.

  The cut would have to be perfect, a niggling voice whispered. Any amount of drag and he would crash his own ship before the enemy’s. Josef snarled and pushed the doubt away. He gripped the Heart until his hands ached, letting the sword’s weight anchor him as the rest of the world fell away, leaving only the feel of the wind and a profound stillness. As the quiet settled, he could almost feel Milo Burch standing in front of him, his old face smug as ever as he spoke the first truth of swordsmanship.

  A sword cuts whatever its swordsman wants it to cut.

  Josef gripped the Heart tight, relaxing his body until the Heart was part of it. Part of him.

  A sword cuts whatever its swordsman wants it to cut? Josef smiled. Time to test the limits.

  Giving himself fully to the weight of the mountain, Josef opened his eyes, and the world rushed in.

  The palace ship’s hull was right beside him. He could smell the tar on the wood, feel the iron strength of the enormous black beams. His body moved with the buck of the sea as he braced the Heart in his hands and lifted the blade, its scarred face a black hole in the afternoon sunlight. And then, in the emptiness between one wave and the next, between the breath let out and the breath inhaled, he struck.

  The Heart flew in his hands, moving like an extension of himself. He did not feel the wood as it passed. Did not feel the nails as he cut them. All he felt was the will to cut swelling through his body and into his sword. The Heart sang as it struck, a great iron gong vibrating through the sea.

  Josef’s knees buckled as the blow left him. He fell into the boat as the runner turned midstroke and began to race away from the palace ship. The sailors were rowing with all their might, arms straining as they pushed the runner faster and faster. For a moment, Josef couldn’t understand why they were running, and then he looked back at the palace ship, and he saw.

  The palace ship was carved open, its great side split just above the water, starting at the ship’s middle and running all the way to the stern. The cut was perfectly clean, slicing through the wood without so much as a splinter, and wherever the wood was cut, the ship was bowing. A great creaking sound drowned out the waves as the palace ship’s side began to slide, pushed sideways by the ship’s own enormous weight. The ship groaned as the sundered boards ground together, and then, with an earsplitting crack, the wooden supports snapped, and ship’s side began to fall open.

  Suddenly, Josef could see the inner decks and the sailors running through them, scrambling for cover as the metal skeleton that held the ship together folded under the pressure of the unsupported hull. Already the water was flooding through the crack to fill the lower decks, soaking the sailors who scrambled for the pumps as the entire ship began to tip. But then, just before the hull cracked completely and began to crumble into the sea, the falling wood stopped. For a breathless second, the ship hung frozen, the collapsing side poised in midair. And then, with an ear-splitting crack, the wood shuddered and began to pull itself back together.

  “Now, you idiots!” Josef screamed. “Do it now!”

  His voice shot across the water, and the crews in the assist ships stopped gawking and began to scramble. The air was filled with the sound of snapping rope as crews hit their clingfire launchers and a rain of ever-burning fire shot out from the Oseran fleet into the palace ship’s closing breach. The clingfire exploded when it hit, sending sticky, burning pitch flying in all directions. Everything it touched caught fire, no matter how wet. If it could burn, it did.

  The moment they’d launched their fire, the runners peeled away, darting across the water as arrows from the other palace ships chased them. The blobs of clingfire had been small, and only half the runners had shot on this attack, but the damage was done. As the fire spread through its belly, the broken palace ship began to groan. Even Josef heard the agony in the sound as the hole that had been pulling itself together began to slip once again, the great beams falling into the water as the hungry sea rushed in to fill the void.

  The palace ship was leaning at a thirty-degree angle now. Sailors slid overboard as the enormous deck tilted, their bodies vanishing into the churning waves as the sea surged through the broken hull. Through the ship’s cracked side, Josef could see sailors flinging water at the clingfire, but it did no good. Clingfire could burn for three days underwater so long as it had fuel. The ship would keep burning even after it sank.

  When they were safely over the shallows again, the flagship slowed, and the oarsmen turned to survey the destruction.

  “It’s a miracle. That’s what it is,” the captain muttered as the palace ship began to sink in earnest. “A bleeding miracle.”

  “No,” Josef said, pointing out to sea. “That’s the miracle.”

  The sailors’ eyes followed his gesture. A few hundred feet away, the Empress’s fleet had ground to a halt. Several of the palace ships were dropping lifeboats as men jumped from the sinking ship, and the whole fleet seemed to be turning in on itself. In toward its own, and away from Osera.

  “And that’s how one runner fleet stops the Empress,” Josef said, leaning on the Heart as Nico helped him to his feet. “And the longer they stay like that, the closer we get to low tide and the real miracle. Now, bring us around. Those ships may be stopped, but they’ve still got their bows, and we’ve more palaces to sink.”

  The captain blinked, eyes wide. “Aye, my king.”

  Josef just nodded and pushed off Nico to resume his position on the prow as the runner turned to join the others already darting between the stopped fleet.

  Den the Warlord hung over the railing of the palace ship, watching with an enormous grin as the ship ahead of his begin to sink. Beside him, the captain was throwing a full-on fit.

  “We cannot lose a palace ship before we’ve even reached land!” the man was screaming. “Get the wizards on deck and take out those blasted fishing boats!”

  There was more, but Den ignored it. He was watching the man standing on the prow of the fastest boat, the man who had just sliced open a palace ship. Den breathed deep, savoring the anticipation. Now there was the kind of opponent he’d been waiting for, but how best to go about it? A duel on boats would be no fun. No real footing, not for the kind of power he’d be throwing around. Maybe he could spoil the man’s ship and send him running to shore?

  Den was still thinking over his options when he felt something brush against his spirit. He froze, taking in the feel of it. It was a wizard’s will, a familiar one. He focused on the pressure, trying to place it, and found himself facing the shore. Den leaned out over the railing. A man was standing on the beach. This far, his face wasn’t clear, but Den didn’t need to see his face. That stance was unmistakable.

  Pure joy flooded through him. He’d thought he was lucky to find the swordsman, but here was a fight Den had been waiting on for decades. He glanced back at the Oseran boats. They were coming around aga
in, the swordsman riding the prow of the flagship with his sword out. Shaking his head, Den turned away. The swordsman could wait. If he was good enough to split a palace ship, then these idiots wouldn’t be able to touch him. He’d still be around later. Meanwhile, he was going to deal with some unfinished business.

  Den turned to the panicking captain and grabbed him by the shoulder, lifting him clear off the deck and holding him there until he was sure he had the man’s undivided attention.

  “I need a boat.”

  The captain’s face went pale with terror. “The Empress said—”

  “The Empress and I have a deal.” Den tightened his grip. “I get to kill whomever I want. Now give me a boat.”

  “Fine!” the captain cried. “Just put me down!”

  Den dropped him, and the captain collapsed in a heap. His officers rushed forward, but the captain waved them away. “Give the Empress’s champion a boat,” he gasped, clutching his shoulder. “Let him do as he likes.”

  The officers looked at Den, and then one ran off toward the lifeboats. Den nodded to the captain and turned to follow. He stepped into the boat and sat down, waiting impatiently as a crew lowered him down the long drop from the deck to the sea. The moment he hit the water, Den opened his spirit.

  “Take me to the shore,” he said, stomping on the boards.

  The boat gave a terrified creak and obeyed, shooting across the water as fast as it could go.

  “Sire!” one of Josef’s rowers shouted. “There’s a boat headed for the shore!”

  Josef looked over his shoulder. They were circling to avoid the arrows, waiting for their chance to strike the next palace ship. Now was the perfect moment for the enemy to counter.

  “I’d hoped we’d have a bit longer,” he said. “How big a boat?”

  The captain grabbed the glass from his neck and peered through it. “Looks like a lifeboat, sire. I see one man.”

  Josef held out his hand and the captain handed the glass over. Sure enough, a rowboat with one occupant was rushing toward the shore faster than their runners. Josef scowled. The sailor looked normal enough. Huge, certainly, and a fighter, but he didn’t seem to have a weapon. The man’s face was in profile, but he looked familiar, somehow. Josef was trying to place him when he heard Nico suck in a breath.

  “That’s Den the Warlord.”

  “The traitor?” the captain said, squinting at the tiny boat. “Impossible. He’d be an old man by now if he’s still alive at all.”

  “It has to be Den,” Nico said with absolute certainty. “He’s the only person whose soul could look like that.”

  Josef had no idea what she meant, but he was too preoccupied to care. “Captain, turn us around. Den the Warlord killed five thousand men in one night when he defected. We can’t let him land.”

  “No,” Nico said.

  Josef looked at her in surprise, but Nico just clenched her fists.

  “You’re the only one who can sink the palace ships,” she said. “And that’s the only thing keeping the fleet at bay. If you leave now, the fleet will cross the shallows before the tide and this whole mission is for nothing.”

  “It won’t matter if Den’s already finished the job,” Josef growled. “Turn us around.”

  “No,” Nico said again.

  Josef jerked at the determination in her voice. “Nico…”

  “You’re king now,” Nico went on. “Your duty is here.” She looked back at the shore. “I’ll stop Den.”

  “Nico, no,” Josef said. “Den’s the highest bounty in Council history and maybe the best fighter in the world. I have to—”

  “You can’t make it there fast enough,” Nico said, her voice firm. “I can. Or don’t you think I can win?”

  Josef set his mouth in a stubborn line. “It’s not that I think you can’t win,” he said. “It’s what I think you’ll have to do to get there.”

  “I already won my hardest fight,” she said, lifting her chin. “Stay and be king, Josef. It’s what you promised. Besides, it’s my turn to do something for you.”

  Josef clenched the Heart’s hilt. “This isn’t some damn give-and-take, Nico. You don’t owe me this.”

  “You’re right,” Nico said. “I don’t. It’s my choice to fight for you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  Josef turned with a curse. “Fine,” he growled, running his free hand through his wet hair. “Just promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

  “I’ll do what I have to,” Nico said, sliding into the mast’s shadow. “Same as you.”

  “Nico!” Josef’s arm shot out, but his fingers caught nothing but air. He was too late. She was gone.

  The boat rocked as he lurched toward the shore, but he couldn’t see anything from this angle. He cursed again, louder this time, slamming the Heart’s pommel against the boat so hard they nearly tipped.

  “Sire?” the captain said nervously when the worst of the boat’s rocking had passed. “Are we going back?”

  Josef closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Nico was a survivor. If she decided to win, she would win. She would survive and come back to him, no matter what. Josef held that truth in his mind as tight as he held the Heart and he forced himself to let the anger, and the fear at its root, go. Slowly, the battle calm settled over his mind again. When he was sure he could trust himself, Josef straightened up and turned to face the captain.

  “Our job hasn’t changed,” he said. “But we’re fighting on two fronts now. Nico will hold the beach, so it’s up to us to hold the water. Now bring us around, and let’s hit another ship.”

  “Aye, sire,” the captain said. “Full speed!”

  The men shouted to the other boats as the Oseran fleet shot forward. Josef stepped back onto the prow, Heart in his hand, but when he tried to clear his mind in preparation for the next strike, all he could see was Nico vanishing into the dark.

  The Heart jerked angrily in his hands, and Josef pushed the vision away, pouring himself into the present as the runners raced toward their next target.

  CHAPTER

  21

  Nico stepped out of the shadows and onto the small crescent of sand beneath the storm wall. Tesset was already there, standing with his boots in the surf as he watched the lone boat that was just now entering the bay’s mouth.

  “You should not have come,” he said without looking. “This man is mine.”

  “And this island is Josef’s,” Nico said, moving to stand beside him. “I have no interest in interrupting your fight, but I cannot let Den past this beach.”

  Tesset laughed softly. “What did the swordsman do to deserve such devotion? Save your life?”

  “Countless times,” Nico said. “But that’s not why.” She raised her arms, pushing back her hood. “He believed in me, even when there was nothing to believe in.”

  “You are a strange creature, daughter of the demon,” he said, shaking his head. “I am glad I met you.”

  “And I you,” Nico said, walking back up the beach. “Fight well, Tesset.”

  Tesset nodded, but his eyes never left the man standing in the boat that cut across the bay on its own power.

  Nico sat down on the narrow stair that led up the storm wall, keeping herself well out of the way as Den’s boat hit the surf and beached itself with a terrified squeal. Twenty-six years later, his face still looked exactly like his wanted poster. Den the Warlord, traitor to the Council, the most wanted man on the continent. He was bigger than Nico had expected, taller than Josef by several inches with shoulders to match. He was dressed in the Empress’s black, but he wore no armor, just a long-sleeved sailor’s shirt, heavy woven breeches, and tall boots. His dark hair was cut ragged around his face without a trace of gray. He had no weapons, not even a knife. Instead, his hands were open, hovering ready at his sides. Even so, the sight of him was enough to make Nico cower against the rocks.

  Unarmed and alone, Den radiated a killing instinct like nothing she’d ever felt, and worse, nothing she’d
ever seen. The glimpse she’d caught on the boat with Josef was nothing compared to seeing him up close. She’d always thought of Tesset as a man who’d made himself iron, but Den was a man who had made himself a fortress. Now that she saw them side by side, she couldn’t help shaking. She had seen many monsters, and been many more, but not even the demon’s predatory hunger matched this man’s pure, undefiled will to kill.

  Den stepped onto the surf and stopped, surveying the beach. He dismissed Nico at once, focusing on Tesset with a grin that made her chest close up.

  “Tesset, wasn’t it?” Den said, looking the Council man up and down. “I thought I’d find you alive someday. Finally conquered yourself, did you?”

  “Yes.” Nico was impressed by the calm determination in Tesset’s voice. “To meet you again, master. And to defeat you.”

  “A worthy goal,” Den said. “I can think of none better for a bloody day like this one.” He threw out his arms, fists clenched as he grinned wide. “Come then. I let you live in the hope that one day you could give me a fight worthy of my full attention. Let’s hope you don’t disappoint me.”

  Tesset smiled back, a tight, controlled turn of the mouth, and then, without warning, he charged.

  Tesset flew at Den faster than wind, faster than sound, focusing all his speed, all his strength into the fist that was already inside the Warlord’s guard. Before Nico’s mind could catch up with what was happening, Tesset’s fist landed on Den’s unguarded jaw. Sand exploded as the force of Tesset’s charge and the blow at the end of it reverberated through the beach.

  Nico threw her arms up, her coat swirling over her face just before the sand hit it, but behind the barrier, she was grinning. She’d felt the force of Tesset’s blow in her stomach. Famous as he was, if Den hadn’t even been able to block such a straightforward strike, maybe they weren’t in as much trouble as she’d thought. She knew Tesset’s strength firsthand. He was far stronger than he looked. Strong enough to stop her demonseed barehanded. A clean punch with that kind of strength behind it might be enough to end this fight before it started.