The Legend Of Eli Monpress

by Rachel Aaron

  Miranda blinked. For all the buildup, he was not particularly impressive. Though he was sitting, it was clear he was not remarkably tall, his shoulders not particularly broad. His black hair was streaked with white, and his face, though perhaps handsome once, was now old before his time, worn by years of hard living and bad food. His eyes, however, were sharp as daggers as they watched the newcomers enter his hall. His gaze jumped from one to the next without even a raised eyebrow for Gin. He wore no jewels, no weapons, but plain as he looked, Miranda would have known who he was even without the throne. She’d seen his picture on Whitefall’s wall. This was Izo the Bandit King, the third-most-wanted criminal in Council history.

  “Well, well, Garret,” Izo said in a deep, rich voice as the skeletally thin man climbed up to stand beside him. “What do you bring?”

  Their bandit guide bowed. “Messengers, my king. They say they’re from the Council.”

  Izo began to chuckle. “Well, well, fifteen years of getting the cold shoulder from Zarin, and here you are. To what do I owe the honor?”

  Sparrow stepped forward with a flourish, his voice booming theatrically through the cave. “Greetings, great Izo, lord of bandits. My name is Sparrow, assistant to Sara, Head Wizard of the Council. This”—he gestured toward Miranda—“is Miranda Lyonette of the Spirit Court, and”—his hand shifted again—“Tesset, our guard and guide. We have been sent here by the Council of Thrones to make you an offer.”

  “An offer?” Izo grinned at his bandit. “If the Council wants me to stop raiding their borders, you’re a pretty sorry showing, little bird.”

  “Please,” Sparrow said. “Such matters are between you and the northern kingdoms. We are here to find a missing wizard, a man named Heinricht Slorn, who we believe has come to your lands.”

  “Ah,” Izo said. “I see. You want to know if I have him.”

  “Or the freedom to search for him in your woods without having to worry about waking up with a slit throat,” Sparrow said.

  “The woods are fraught with danger,” Izo said with a shrug. “I’m not a charity house, Mr. Sparrow, but I could perhaps see my way toward helping you, if the price was fair.”

  “I have been given the authority to be very fair in this matter,” Sparrow assured him.

  “Is that so?” Izo sat back, stroking the stubble on his chin. “Give me an example.”

  “Well,” Sparrow said. “Take your latest incursion into Council lands. Your men burned and pillaged the city of West Clef, and Markel of Sorran, the rightful lord of West Clef, is understandably upset. He’s been pushing the Council to formally declare war on your little operation for years. Now he’s got a few hundred dead tradesmen and a burned Council tax office to add to his complaint. He may be a small border lord, but his words are falling on very sympathetic ears at the moment. I wouldn’t be surprised if the Council voted to take action within the year. However”—Sparrow raised a long finger—“should your help guide us to our man, alive and well, I can promise you that no declaration of aggression will ever get past committee. A great promise indeed for such a small inconvenience on your part, don’t you agree?”

  The thin man leaned over and whispered something in Izo’s ear. The bandit nodded and began to smile.

  “Great indeed,” he said, sitting forward. “But why are you wasting my time with talk of missing wizards? Why not get straight to why you’re really here?”

  For a moment, Sparrow looked surprised, but the expression was gone so quickly Miranda thought she’d imagined it. Izo, however, missed nothing.

  “I’m no backward mountain horse thief,” he said slowly, shifting his eyes to Miranda. “I make it my business to know everything I can about what goes on in the Council Kingdoms, but even if I were ignorant as you seem to think me, I would know the name Miranda Lyonette, the poor Spiritualist who keeps bungling the capture of Eli Monpress.”

  Miranda stepped forward, red-faced, but stopped when she felt a hard grip on her wrist. She looked over to see Tesset shaking his head.

  “Did you think you could just slip her past me?” Izo scoffed. “Did you think I would not know? You said yourself, this is my land. I know everything that happens here, and I would never miss something as splendidly convenient as the three of you just happening to show up in my town the day after Monpress himself mysteriously appears inside my borders.”

  This time even Sparrow looked shocked, and Izo grinned so wide Miranda could count his gold-capped teeth.

  “Oh, I knew,” he said. “I was thinking of how to catch him myself. Ninety-eight thousand gold standards will catch any man’s attention. Though, now that you’re here, things are more interesting than simple money.” He turned his smile to Sparrow. “I may be a bandit, messenger bird, but I’m not stupid. I know what kind of power your mistress Sara can throw around in the Council when her mind is set.”

  Sparrow made a good show of looking abashed. “I would never imply—”

  Izo waved his hand. “Save the flowery talk. Truth be told, I don’t really care why you came into my lands, be it hunting missing wizards or thief catching. But if you want to do whatever it is you came here to do, then here are my terms.” He leaned forward on his throne. “First, I want all charges and bounties against me dropped. Second, I want full recognition of my sovereign right to the northlands, from the Sorran border to the mountain peaks and from the edge of the Shaper lands all the way to the eastern sea.”

  He sat back when he was finished, enjoying the stunned silence.

  It was Miranda who recovered first. “Impossible!” she cried. “Sorran to the peaks? From the Shaper lands to the sea? That would make you the largest kingdom in the Council! It’s never going to happen. You’re a bandit and a murderer, not a king. You have no sovereign right to anything.”

  Izo gave her a hard look. “Is this the Council’s answer?”

  “Not at all,” Sparrow said, cutting in front of Miranda before she could say anything else. “ If you help us find Heinricht Slorn, and get us Monpress alive, and we are able to bring both safely back to Zarin, Sara will see to it that you become a king in full.”

  “Done!” Izo said, standing up. He marched down from his throne and took Sparrow’s hand, shaking it hard. “Garret, make our guests comfortable. Tonight, we plan a trap even the famous Monpress can’t weasel out of.”

  Their bandit guide saluted and waved for them to follow. Miranda was still trying to get a word in edgewise, but Sparrow’s sharp heel was digging into her foot. She gave him a murderous glare as the bandit led them out through the iron gate and back into the hall. They walked in silence down the steps and under the gatehouse. When they reached the main road, their guide ducked almost immediately into a small alley, stopping at a wooden guesthouse right beside the keep. Garret left them with promises they’d be called when Izo wanted to see them again, and Sparrow tipped their guide well before dumping his bags on the largest of the soft beds downstairs.

  “Well,” he said. “I don’t see how that could have gone better.”

  “Really?” Miranda said. “Because I don’t see how it could have gone worse. Izo? A king? You just sold a crown to the most violent criminal in Council history.”

  “It’s not like he’s getting his crown on the cheap,” Sparrow said. “He is sacrificing a ninety-eight-thousand gold-standard bounty.”

  “Men like Izo don’t deserve crowns,” she grumbled. “Do you honestly think Sara will be all right with this?”

  “Sara will be delighted.” Sparrow’s voice grew very dry. “Remember, sweetheart, I’ve worked with her far longer than you, and I’ve seen her make men kings for less. Monpress is something special to her, more than Slorn, and far more than you or I. If letting some bandit play king is all it takes, she’ll consider him cheaply bought.”

  “But it’s not right,” Miranda said.

  “Who cares?” Sparrow answered. “If you get a chance to nab Eli and clean off the dirt he kicked all over your shiny white tower, what do
you care about how he was caught? So a bad man gets away with his crimes, so what? It happens every day. That’s how the real world works, sweetheart. Bad people doing bad things and getting rich off it. Powers, girl, for all we know, this may be the best thing that could happen to this situation. At least if Izo’s a king under the Council of Thrones, he can’t go raiding his neighbors anymore. Did you think about that?”

  Miranda bit her lip.

  “Didn’t think so,” Sparrow said. “We need you here, Miranda. You’re the one who knows Eli. Don’t get all moral on us about things you can’t change. Focus on the good. Catch Eli, go home a hero, and let us deal with Izo. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Miranda said, stomping up the stairs toward the loft bedroom.

  There was no way Gin could fit into the small house. So the moment she got upstairs, Miranda threw open the window only to find the ghosthound had anticipated her, jumping up and making himself comfortable on the roof of the neighboring building, much to the alarm of the current inhabitants. He crawled over when he saw her open the shutters and stuck his head in.

  “I hate to say it,” he growled, “but the bird boy has a point.”

  “I know,” Miranda snapped, flopping down on the bed. “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m done with Council politics. Let’s catch the thief and go home.”

  Gin rested his jaw on the windowsill. “How are you going to catch him?”

  “I’ve got a plan,” Miranda said, burying her face in the pillow. “This time, he’ll be the one who’s surprised.”

  Gin gave her a suspicious look before pulling his head out again and setting about the serious business of cleaning the road grime off his silver, shifting coat.

  • • •

  Izo sat on his throne for a long time after his guests left, taking in the feeling. After so many years of scrabbling at the edges, fighting like dogs with other bandits over every inch of backward woodland, he was almost there. He would be Izo the King.

  “Just as the Master promised.”

  Izo flinched at the cold voice and turned to find Sezri standing over him, a skeletal horror draped in a mockery of flesh, his dark eyes glowing in the sunken shadows of his sockets. Izo turned away. He had no intention of tainting his moment of triumph with the thin man’s creepiness.

  “The Master is with us always,” Sezri continued. “Watching, listening; nothing is hidden from him. Truly, you could ask for no better ally.”

  “Aye,” Izo said, standing up. “And I’ve paid for it. Your ‘Master’ had first pick of every captive we’ve taken over the last three years, not to mention all our wizard children. There’s not a soul in this camp who can hear the winds anymore, thanks to you. Your master said he’d make me king.”

  “And you’re well on your way to being one.”

  “By a lucky guess, and none of your doing,” Izosneered, walking over to his weapon wall. “This Monpress tip was just a lucky break for you. How could you know he’d be up here? Or that the Council dogs would be on his trail? I was the one who put two and two together and made the deal, so don’t act like I should be falling down on my knees to your boss. I pay my tribute and I’ll reap my reward, but don’t think you can lord a lucky strike over me and call it a plan.”

  Sezri stared at him, his too-wide eyes brighter than ever. “You should be more careful with your assumptions,” he said slowly. “The Master has hands everywhere, and he plays a game on a higher stratum than any of us can comprehend. The arrival of Sara’s monsters, the appearance of Monpress, your own position at the nexus, it was all laid out by the Master, and it will all fall apart without his continued goodwill. You would do well to remember that.”

  Izo sneered. “We’ll see.”

  Sezri just smiled, a strange baring of teeth that was more unsettling than his glare. “That reminds me,” he said. “In order to make sure the capture of Monpress goes smoothly, our Master has sent another of his children to help us.”

  He made a beckoning motion with his skeletal hand, and Izo’s guard went up. Sure enough, though his room was ordered empty and locked at all times, a figure stepped out of the shadows beside the wrought-iron door. Izo gritted his teeth. He hated how they could do that, slip through shadows like fish through water.

  Izo felt even less happy about this new arrival when the man stepped into the torchlight. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, another skeleton like Sezri, perhaps. Whatever it was, this man was not it. He stomped out of the shadows, a giant, taller than Izo’s best bruisers and built like a bull. Scars ran across his body, some pale and ancient, others red and angry, crisscrossing his muscles like deep-dug canals. His clothes were filthy and they hung from him with the same shapeless weight as Sezri’s dark rags. He stood crooked, with his left shoulder higher than his right, as though his left arm pained him. Izo understood that any man with scars like those could be expected to carry a serious injury, but whatever was wrong with the man’s arm was hidden by the long, dirty cape he wore flung over one shoulder.

  Sezri waited until the man was fully in the light before continuing. “Izo,” he said, “may I introduce Berek Sted.”

  Izo’s eyes went wide, and he began to grin in spite of himself. “Berek Sted?” he said, all anger forgotten. “ The Berek Sted? The famous pit fighter? Powers, man, you’re a legend!” He grabbed Sted’s uncovered hand and shook it hard. “The boys here love you. I tried to find you to invite you to join us a year ago, but you’d disappeared.” His voice trailed off. A foot and a half above him, Sted was glaring down, his eyes shining with the same unsettling light as Sezri’s.

  Izo dropped his hand and stepped back. “I guess I know why, now,” he muttered. “Still, it’s an honor to have a legendary fighter in my camp.”

  “I didn’t come here to put on a show for bandits,” Sted growled, his scarred face pulling up in a sneer. “I came because this is where Josef Liechten will come.”

  Izo paused. “Josef Liechten?”

  “Monpress’s pet swordsman,” Sezri said. “Sted is here to deal with him. With Josef out of the way, Monpress’s party should be no trouble at all.” He smiled wider, forcing Izo to look away from the hideous sight of a human face pulled in ways it was never meant to go. “Is not the Master thoughtful?”

  “Very,” Izo muttered.

  “You will call the Council dogs tonight,” Sezri went on as though Izo had not spoken. “Let them take the thief and the girl he keeps with him while Sted handles Liechten. Monpress is fickle, so we may not have long to act. Set it up quickly and you will be king before the month is out.”

  Izo couldn’t help grinning at that thought. “There, at least, we agree,” he said, stomping down the stairs from his throne. “I’m going to make the rounds. We meet at sundown. I want both of you there.”

  Neither of the men answered, but Izo just kept walking. He was king here, not them, and he would not stoop so low as to look back to see if they would follow. Instead, he pushed his way through the iron gate and stomped into the yard, yelling for his guard. Tonight, everything needed to be perfect, for tomorrow he was going to make himself king.

  Sted watched the iron gate swing closed with a deafening clang. “He’s older than I expected,” he said when the sound of Izo’s shouting had faded. “Shorter, too.”

  “Izo has been the Master’s servant for many years,” Sezri said. “Our numbers are greatly increased by his ambitions.”

  “Who cares about your numbers?” Sted snorted, shifting his arm beneath his cape. “When do I get to face Liechten?”

  “That depends on you.” Sezri’s voice was decidedly colder this time. “Follow the plan and you will have everything you desire. Be an idiot and I’ll rip the seed right out of you and give it to someone more worthy.”

  Sted gave the skeletal man a sneering smile. “Is that what the voice tells you to do?”

  Sezri’s eyes glowed brighter than ever. “He doesn’t have to,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of the strange double harmonic St
ed had come to associate with well-entrenched seeds. “Unlike you, or the girl who had that seed before you, I am an obedient servant of the Mountain. In the end, the Master’s desires will be fulfilled. I suggest you make sure you’re on the right side.”

  “I’ve only got one side,” Sted said, shifting his arm below the cloak again. “Mine.”

  “So I’ve heard,” Sezri said. “You should watch yourself, Sted.”

  “I do,” Sted said, turning away. “Better than anyone.” He stepped sideways, slipping into the shadows. “See you at the briefing.”

  He gave the thin demonseed one last smirk before vanishing into the shadows. Sezri glared a moment at the empty space where he had been, and then vanished as well, disappearing like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving the great hall empty and dark as the sun began to set behind the mountains.

  CHAPTER

  12

  Josef woke up to horrible, blinding pain. His back felt like someone had removed his spine and replaced it with a hot iron rod, and the rest of him didn’t feel much better. On the off chance his lungs worked, he took an experimental breath. It hurt. Powers, did it hurt, but not more than anything else. That gave him hope, and, very slowly, he opened his eyes.

  He was lying in a bed in a cabin. Dappled sunlight streamed in through the open window, bringing with it the smell of mountains and trees. Josef frowned. He dimly remembered Eli and Nico moving him. After that, things went blank. He could tell from the light that they were no longer high in the mountains, but where?