The Spirit Eater tloem-3

by Rachel Aaron

“Yes,” Josef said. “To help us.”

  “She lied to us.”

  “She kept a secret,” Josef corrected. “You’re hardly in a position to blame others for keeping secrets, Monpress.”

  Eli said sullenly, “This is too big. She should have told us.”

  “And what would you have done?” Josef said.

  “Not what I did,” Eli said. “She lied to us, Josef. We let her take off her manacles. I took her to Slorn’s house, to Nivel. Do you know what she could have done?”

  “I never heard of her doing anything,” Josef said. “And I never heard her lie. I never heard her say anything about the Daughter of the Dead Mountain, that is, when she could say anything at all without you taking up all the breathable air.” He glared at Eli. “Whoever she is, whatever name you give her, it doesn’t change the last year. She’s still the same Nico who put her life on the line dozens of times for your stupid thefts, who risked exposing her past to help you find your bear-headed friend, which was more than you did, I could add. So if you have something to say about that Nico, unless it’s how you’re going to go find her and tell her I’m all right, then I don’t want to hear it.”

  Eli looked away. “It’s not like that,” he grumbled.

  “Then don’t make it like that,” Josef snapped back. “I don’t ask about your past, I don’t ask about Nico’s, and I haven’t told you about mine because the past doesn’t matter, Eli. What we did and who we were are just dregs compared to who we are now and how we act when the sword is coming down. Think about that while you go out to find Nico.”

  Eli started to say something, but then he snapped his mouth shut and stood up, sweeping the chair back with a clatter. He grabbed his blue coat from the peg on the wall and stomped out the door, letting it slam shut behind him. Josef listened until the thief’s angry footsteps faded into the forest, then lay back with a long sigh.

  “He’s gone,” he said. “You can come in now.”

  Something rustled below the window, and Nico quietly climbed into the cabin. Her hood was down, but it did little to hide her puffy eyes and wet cheeks. Josef held out his arm and she ran to him, burying her face in his hand.

  “He hates me now.” Josef felt the words more than heard them.

  “He may,” Josef said. “Eli doesn’t like surprises, but he’ll get over this. He can be a selfish idiot on occasion, but he’s rarely deliberately unfair. He’ll come around soon enough and things will move on. We’re all survivors. We’ll be all right.”

  Nico didn’t move, but her breathing was slowing. Josef cupped her cheek gently. They sat like that for a while, Nico on her knees beside the bed, her head in Josef’s hand. Then, without warning, Josef went stiff.

  Nico looked up immediately, but Josef put his finger to his lips, listening. Gently but firmly, he pushed her aside and sat up. Pain shot through him, but Josef stayed silent. The Heart was ready when he reached for it, the hilt almost jumping into his hand. With another burst of pain, he stood, and after a few wobbly moments, found his feet again. When he was sure he would not fall down, he crept toward the cabin door and pressed his eye against the crack.

  “Oh, no,” he groaned. “Not again.”

  “Liechten!” A horribly familiar voice cut through the thin cabin walls. “Master of the Heart of War! Come and fight!”

  Josef steeled his shoulders and opened the door, leaning on the frame for support as he stared at the crowd waiting in the little clearing around the cabin. They were bandits, that much was obvious. A bit better equipped than what he was used to, but Josef dismissed them as soon as he noted their sloppy stances and turned his attention to the real threat, the enormous man standing at the head of the group.

  Josef heaved an enormous sigh. “Hello, Sted.”

  Eli tromped through the woods, kicking the leaves and fallen sticks and whatever else got in his way. This caused the trees around him to rustle uncomfortably, but for once Eli didn’t care. He should have known better than to bring this up with Josef. They’d been together on and off almost since the beginning, back when his bounty didn’t even warrant its own poster, and though their arrangement had always been one of mutual benefit—he got a swordsman and Josef got to fight as much as he pleased—he’d thought they were friends.

  Eli gave the rotten stump in front of him a particularly hard kick. Even he knew that was unfair. Josef had stayed with him even when there were no good fights to be had. He might be a stubborn idiot sometimes, but he was a loyal one. But why did the swordsman always have to take Nico’s side?

  He didn’t understand, Eli decided. He wasn’t a wizard, he didn’t talk to spirits, he didn’t really know how horrible demons could be. Of course, Eli thought with a sigh, he was just as bad, letting himself get caught up in Nico’s power, forgetting what she really was. Well, the monster on the mountain had cured him of that delusion. The demon had made it very clear that the Nico they knew, the Nico Josef defended, she was just a shell. A cracking one, he realized with a shudder. It wasn’t a question of whether she would change, but when. When she’d been a normal seed, it had been easy to sweep that little unpleasantness under the table. Now that he knew what she really was, the stakes were different, and the game was getting too rich for his blood.

  Eli stared at the woods in front of him, the rolling hills of dappled shade and fragrant evergreens. Thinking about it rationally, he should keep walking. He’d been a thief long enough to know when it was time to cut your losses and get out, but…

  Eli stopped in his tracks. First rule of thievery, the actual first rule the old Monpress had drilled into him, was never risk what you couldn’t afford to lose. He couldn’t lose his team, not if he wanted to get his bounty to one million. Over the last year, he’d pushed higher and further than ever, and Nico had been a part of that as much as Josef. Even knowing what he was messing with, he couldn’t give that up. Not yet.

  He was still standing there, sucking his lip as his better judgment warred with his ambition, when a loud noise, a whistle followed by a thunk, sounded right beside his ear. Eli jumped on instinct, throwing himself sideways into the leaves. He rolled into a crouch, then stopped and looked up. An arrow was quivering in the trunk of the tree he’d been standing beside. Eli stared at it dumbly for a second and then craned his neck, frantically looking for the bowman.

  Another arrow slammed into the ground beside him before he even got his head up. Realizing he was still an open target, Eli scrambled to the other side of the tree, madly beating on the trunk as he went.

  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 tr
ees 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.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Using 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.”