The Legend Of Eli Monpress
Page 99
Clenching his fists, Tesset started jogging toward where they’d last seen the ghosthound. Sparrow stumbled along behind him, sending a stream of curses into the late-afternoon breeze.
Sara marched up the stairs of the fourth and largest of the Council Citadel’s seven towers. Servants in flawless white pressed themselves against the walls as she passed, peeking at her curiously from under their lowered lashes. She bit her pipe and kept walking.
The meeting room was already full when she got there. Council officials milled beside the catering table, enjoying the array of little sandwiches, cheese plates, and brandy aperitifs that the Council demanded even for its emergency meetings. Sara pushed right past them, going straight for a tall man with close-cropped silver hair holding court by the picture windows, the only person in the room who actually mattered.
“Whitefall,” she said, nodding as the crowd parted to let her through. “I’m extremely busy. What’s this all about?”
Merchant Prince Alber Whitefall, Lord Protector and Grand Marshal of Zarin, gave her a politician’s bright smile. “I was hoping you could tell me, Sara dear.” He touched her shoulder, guiding her in beside him. “I received an urgent message from the League of Storms. Normally, they fall under your jurisdiction, but this time the message was addressed specifically to me. Very odd. Haven’t I asked you not to smoke in here?”
Sara took a pointedly long draw from her pipe. “What does the League want with you?”
“I don’t know, the reasons were quite vague, but the letter specifically said that I was to call a meeting with you, Phillipe, and all the upper Council. And since you’ve always stressed that the League of Storms is never to be ignored, I did.”
“Phillipe?” Sara gave him a skeptical look. “The bounty office windbag? What does the League want with him?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Whitefall said. “But that’s my cousin you’re talking about. Only I get to call him a windbag.” He waved and smiled. Across the room, the topic of their conversation jumped, and then hesitantly waved back before returning to his plate of sandwiches.
Sara rolled her eyes. “Well, since we’re all here, can we get this mystery meeting under way? I have work to do.”
“Not quite yet,” Whitefall said, adjusting the lapels of his black dinner suit. “We’re still missing the representative from the Spirit Court. And, of course, whomever the League is sending to enlighten us.”
“Spirit Court?” Sara said as the doors opened. She looked over her shoulder just in time to see Etmon Banage himself sweep into the room.
“Powers,” she muttered, smoking furiously.
Etmon saw her as well, but to his credit the only change was a slight hardening of his eyes as he approached to pay his respects to the Merchant Prince.
“Lord Whitefall,” he said with a nod. “What is the emergency?”
“I think we’re about to find out,” Whitefall said, glancing toward the far wall. Sara and Banage both turned to see a thin white line dropping down through the air. When it reached the floor, a man stepped through. Sara winced. Alric looked furious. He also looked worse for wear. His face was badly bruised, and he walked with a limp. Of course, in his line of work, that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the man he was dragging behind him.
By the time the white doorway closed, the room was silent. Everyone was watching the Deputy Commander of the League of Storms and the man dragging on the floor behind him. When he was sure he had everyone’s attention, Alric tossed the man forward. He fell sprawling, leaving thick smears of dirt on the silk carpet.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the Council of Thrones,” Alric said through gritted teeth. “I bring you Izo Barns, also known as Izo the Bandit King, wanted by the Council for one hundred and fifty thousand gold standards.”
The man on the floor curled into a ball, moaning softly to himself with his eyes wide open like a horrified child. Alric just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest.
It was Sara who recovered first. “What’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing,” Alric said. “He’s just had a bit of a fright. But it doesn’t matter. His bounty is good whether he’s dead or alive, correct?”
This question was directed at Phillipe Whitefall, though it took a few moments for the bounty office director to realize that.
“Yes,” he said, his voice trembling as he bent over for a closer look at Izo’s terror-stricken face. “Izo, scourge of the north, wanted dead or alive for one hundred and fifty thousand. But how did you catch him?”
Alric closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. “I didn’t. Izo the Bandit King was captured by Eli Monpress. I’m only here to deliver him.”
There was a collective gasp around the room, and then everyone started talking at once.
“Hold on!” Banage’s voice rose over all others. “What right does a wanted criminal and enemy of the Council have to a bounty?”
“Well,” Phillipe Whitefall said, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. “There’s no rule about who can turn in bounties. Keeping them open to lawbreakers actually encourages derision within the criminal element.”
“That’s all well and good,” Sara said. “But how does Eli intend to claim his hundred and fifty thousand? Is he coming to Zarin to collect it himself?”
“Of course not,” Alric said with a long-suffering sneer. “Monpress wishes for the reward to be added to his own bounty.”
This time the room went silent.
Merchant Prince Whitefall stepped forward. “You want us to add a hundred fifty thousand to Monpress’s bounty? But that would bring it to … ” He looked at his cousin.
“Two hundred and forty-eight thousand, your grace,” Phillipe answered.
“Two hundred and forty-eight thousand,” Whitefall said, jabbing his drink at Alric. “A number like that is on the level of nations. We can’t pin that sort of power on a thief. What kind of fools do you take us for?”
“I am only the messenger,” Alric said. “Will you combine the bounties or not?”
“It’s not like we have much of a choice,” Whitefall said. “If we deny him, we break our own laws. I’m not about to set a nonpayment precedent that will jeopardize our highly successful bounty system.”
“I take no more joy than you in this,” Alric said. “Monpress will be watching for his new posters. If they do not show up within the month, the world will know that the Council does not pay its debts.”
“No need for threats,” Whitefall said, sipping his drink. “The bounty will be adjusted, may the Powers save us all.”
Alric nodded and turned around. The white slit in the air opened immediately, and he stepped through into what looked like a destroyed town. Sara got a glimpse of shattered buildings and mountains in the distance before it closed again. She frowned and made a note to check with Sparrow to see if he’d heard anything about demons in the north.
By this point, guards had been called in to apprehend the man on the carpet, but it was hardly necessary. Izo was limp as a rag doll, his face still frozen in a mask of fear. Sara watched as the guards dragged him away, then turned to find Whitefall deep in conversation with Phillipe and half a dozen representatives from the major Council Kingdoms. It wasn’t worth the political capital to butt in, so Sara turned, walked to the window, and looked out over Zarin as the white buildings turned golden under the setting sun.
“Can you believe this?” a familiar, angry voice said behind her.
She turned as Etmon Banage stepped in beside her, his sharp face scowling as he stared at the city below.
“What?” she said. “Our being forced to see each other more than once a year?”
Banage’s glare could have melted the glass. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”
Sara took a long draw off her pipe before answering his question properly. “I thought it was a fairly clever plan.”
Banage bristled. “It’s a disgrace to the Council and the entire bounty system
.”
“Good thing you don’t care about the Council, then.”
“The Council speaks for us all,” Banage growled. “I’m in it whether I want to be or not. What I don’t understand is how the boy did it. I can’t even get the League of Storms to give my Spirit Court the time of day, and here’s Eli with Alric himself on a string.”
Sara smiled. “Impressive, isn’t it?”
Banage stared at her. “How can you think that?”
“How can you not?” Sara snapped. “He’s your son too, Etmon.”
She whirled around and stomped toward the door, sending officials scrambling to get out of her way. Banage stared after her, shocked beyond retort. When he came to enough to realize he was being stared at, he turned back to the window and glowered out over the city as the lamplighters began their rounds.
Benehime sat in her white nothing, staring, as always, at her orb when a man appeared in front of her. There was no opening portal, no door in the air. One moment there was nothing, and the next he was standing there, glaring down at her.
Shepherdess.
Benehime’s white eyes narrowed, and she pushed her orb aside. The man’s white face was that of an old but active man with a pure-white beard that fell to his knees. His hair was the same, a snowy cascade that hung around him like a robe. His white hands were folded in front of him, the white fingers long and skilled, and his eyes were the same white as her own.
Weaver, she said. You’re out of your element.
You left me no choice. The Weaver’s deep voice filled the air. Not when you take such risks. He looked at the orb. Benehime followed his gaze to the ruined valley where the demon had woken.
I had everything under control.
Did you? The Weaver’s beard did nothing to hide his frown. It didn’t look that way from where I stood.
It is not your place to be looking at all, Benehime said fiercely. Your place is to tend the shell. The sphere and everything inside is my domain.
So it is, the Weaver said. But when your risks threaten the shell, they become mine as well. What were you thinking, letting a demonseed grow that large? You put everything in danger, and not for the first time, I hear. Your spirits have been complaining to me. They say you ignore your duty, that you play favorites to the point of exclusion. Have you forgotten why you are here?
I forget nothing! Benehime shouted. It is you who has forgotten his place, Benehin! Now get out. You have no right to order me around.
And you have no power to make me leave, the Weaver said. We three, Shepherdess, Weaver, and Hunter, are the children of the Creator, equals in all things. There is no power you can wield that I cannot counter. You may force your spirits to grovel at your feet, but you cannot touch so much as a hair on my beard.
Benehime stood up, eye to white eye with the Weaver. This is still my sphere. It is by my will alone that you can exist at all in this place, and I am done listening to the hysterical ravings of a cowardly old man. Leave, now, before I force you out.
The Weaver stayed perfectly still.
Eyes still locked with hers, he stretched out his white hand and laid it against the edge of her domain. As if in answer, the dim shapes of clawed hands began to gather, their edges pressing hard against the wall, scraping at the fabric that separated her world from theirs. Far in the distance, the screaming grew louder.
The shell is a delicate thing, the Weaver said, stroking the thin barrier as the claws scraped against his hand. I can maintain it against assault from without, but not from within as well. He glared hard at her. Remember that the Hunter has his day of rest in one year’s time. When that happens, it will be two against one. I suggest you think very carefully about what happened today, Benehime. We have served together for a long, long time. I would hate to lose you over something as petty as a favorite, sister.
I forget nothing, Benehime whispered. Get out.
As silently and suddenly as he had appeared, the Weaver vanished. Benehime stared at the place where he had been for a long time. Eventually, her white eyes drifted past it, to the edge of her domain and the long, clawed hands still clustering where the Weaver’s hand had rested. With a furious snarl, she turned back to her sphere and buried herself in her world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to Peggy, Steve, Judith, and Rob. This book would not exist without everything you do.
About the author
Rachel Aaron was born in Atlanta, GA. After a lovely, geeky childhood full of books and public television, and then an adolescence spent feeling awkward about it, she went to the University of Georgia to pursue English literature with an eye toward getting her PhD. Upper-division coursework cured her of this delusion, and she graduated in 2004 with a BA and a job, which was enough to make her mother happy. She currently lives in a ’70s house of the future in Athens, GA, with her loving husband, overgrown library, and small, brown dog. Find out more about the author at www.rachelaaron.net
Find out more about Rachel Aaron and other Orbit authors by registering for the free monthly newsletter at www.orbitbooks.net
Table of Contents
By Rachel Aaron
Copyright
THE SPIRIT THIEF
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
Acknowledgments
THE SPIRIT REBELLION
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
Acknowledgments
THE SPIRIT EATER
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
Acknowledgments
About the Author