The Legend Of Eli Monpress (31 page)

Eli looked up from where he was fixing the last of Nico’s restraints, but whatever he’d been about to say was interrupted as a large chunk of stone arch landed not half a foot away from Josef’s head, covering them all in a shower of grit.

“All right,” Eli growled. “That’s it.”

The naked fury in his voice shocked Miranda out of her protective crouch, and she looked up just in time to see another, fist-sized stone hurtling toward Nico’s unprotected shoulder. Eli caught it without looking and hurled it as hard as he could at Renaud’s grinning face.

“Do you think this is fun?” he shouted. “Do you think this is a game? Is beating us so important that you’ll bring down your own roof to do it?”

Renaud shattered Eli’s stone with a flick of his hand. “Don’t flatter yourself, Monpress. This was never about you. You and your collection of oddities were just in the wrong place at the wrong time when fate decided to hand me my birthright.” He grinned maniacally. “Consider this my thanks, a throne room for your tomb, my way of repaying the unknowing kindness you did me.”

The water hissed as he spoke, changing its flow as Renaud’s triumph rippled through his wide-open spirit, subtly altering the shape of the enslavement. Suddenly, Miranda had an idea.

“You might want to watch your captive before you speak of kindness,” she said, turning to face Renaud head on. “I don’t know what that spirit used to be, but Gregorn died trying to control it.” She smiled her most infuriating smile. “No matter what you say about birthrights, Renaud, you’re no Gregorn. I give you fifteen minutes before the water breaks your soul and eats you alive.”

“What would you know about control, girl?” Renaud thrust out his hand, and a wall of water surged down from the dais, rising over Miranda in a great wave. “You Spiritualists know nothing about control! You go on and on about balance, about our duty to the spirits, but we wizards are the ones with the power! The spirits obey
my
will, even one who bested Gregorn!” He was shouting now, his face scarlet. This close, Miranda could feel the chains of his enslavement vibrating with his rage, and the suspended wave he held over her head began to tremble. “Soon,” Renaud crowed, “even you will learn that this is the proper balance! With the wizard on top, and the spirit below!”

“If that’s the case,” Miranda said and smiled at him
through the wall of water. “If you’re so in control”—just a little more—“why is your shirt wet?”

Renaud’s arm shot up to his shoulder. Sure enough, his black shirt was soaked through. He snatched his hand away, but not before a tremor of uncertainty fluttered through the enslavement that held the water captive. A tremor was all it needed. The wave roared in triumph and crashed against the enslavement’s barrier. Renaud staggered and slammed his control down again. Then, with a snarl, he crashed the suspended wave down on Miranda’s head.

The force of the water knocked Miranda off her feet. She spun in the freezing, dark water as the current batted her back and forth, crushing the air out of her lungs. Her chest burned as she tried desperately to hold on to what breath she could, but no matter how she struggled, the water would not let her go. It hadn’t been enough, she realized as cold crept in. He’d regained his control too quickly. But even as she sank, she could still feel the echo of Renaud’s uncertainty, and far below her in the icy depths, she felt a tremble of hope. As the water darkened around her, the last bubble of Miranda’s breath drifted from her lips in the shape of a request. Deep at its heart, as far as possible from the iron walls of the enslavement, the water listened.

Eli was on the move as soon as the wave crashed down. Enslaver, king, Gregorn’s heir, whatever he decided to call himself, Renaud was still human, and he could concentrate on only so many things at once. Eli didn’t know what had possessed Miranda to taunt a man bent on destruction, but she had his full attention, and
the thief was determined not to let the opportunity pass him by.

Using the water to keep himself out of Renaud’s line of sight, Eli crept to the fallen ghosthound.

“Mutt,” he whispered, poking Gin’s side. “Wake up, mutt. Your mistress needs you.”

The ghosthound was unresponsive. Only the shallow rise and fall of his chest showed that he was alive at all. Eli put a little more weight into his voice. “Gin, wake up. Miranda’s going to die.”

The ghosthound’s breathing hitched as the spirit voice trembled through him, and one of his ears swiveled in Eli’s direction.

“You are very forceful, aren’t you, wizard?” Gin’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m an inch from death myself. If you have the energy to use your tricks, why don’t you save her?” The ghosthound opened one enormous orange eye and focused its menacing gaze on Eli. “We both know you can.”

The thief grimaced. “I’d like to, but the price of playing the hero isn’t one I can afford right now. It’s you or nothing, mutt.”

“Not … quite …” Gin closed his eye, but one of his ears flicked toward the water, and Eli looked up.

Miranda’s body hung limp at the heart of the wave. On his dais, Renaud was grinning triumphantly, but as the enslaver lowered the water to get a better look at her, the Spiritualist’s head jerked up. She met Renaud’s grin full on, and her spirit opened like a flower.

Despite having no bound spirits to resonate the power, Eli took a step back as her spirit washed over him. It filled the room, warm and strong as a desert wind. There
was no fear in it, no doubt, only the practiced, controlled power of a master Spiritualist nearing the peak of her craft, and that power struck Renaud like a wave of lead.

The enslaver fell to the ground, unable to move. With so much power coursing through the room, Eli could almost see the outline of Miranda’s fully opened spirit bearing down, not on Renaud himself, but on the channels of the enslavement, cutting away the banks that held the water spirit captive. Using the current’s own ebb and flow, Miranda sawed the cutting edge of her soul against the prince’s overstrained will. With every surge of Miranda’s power, the feedback through Renaud’s connection with the spirit slammed him into the floor, grinding him into the stone. Cracks began to appear in his enslavement, and the well-contained wave began to sprout leaks. Shouting in triumph, Miranda and the water pushed together one last time. Then, with an explosive crack, Renaud’s control shattered, and water burst in every direction.

The wave holding Miranda splashed to the ground, and she landed on her back, soaked and gasping beside Gin. The ghosthound shifted his head so that his nose pressed against her heaving side.

“I told you before, thief,” he said, looking at Eli as he nudged Miranda into a sitting position. “My mistress is no weakling.”

Miranda looked at Gin in confusion, still coughing, but there was no time to ask what he was talking about. Renaud was still on the ground. Miranda’s spirit had closed when she fell, but the effects on the enslaver didn’t seem to be fading.

“What did you do to him?” Eli said, reaching down to help her up.

“Exactly what he did to me,” she said, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. “He’s learning the ultimate difference between Spiritualists and enslavers. You see,
my
spirits serve me willingly, so when I’m knocked on my back from spirit feedback,
my
servants don’t try and take advantage of the situation.” Her face broke into a triumphant grin. “Renaud’s may not be so considerate.”

With a thundering roar, the water surged toward the dais. Renaud raised his head, his spirit swinging wildly as he tried to reassert his control, but nothing he mustered could stop the wall of furious water rolling toward him, growing larger and faster with each moment. By the time it reached the dais, the wave’s crest brushed the collapsing roof. In a final act of desperation, Renaud threw the brunt of his power at it, stopping the wave for a moment at its peak. But the enslaver’s exhausted, overextended will could not hold back the water’s rage, and his soul crumpled. The wave crashed down with a scream, shattering the stone dais. Miranda got one last look at Renaud’s body as the water tossed him up, his pale face contorted in terror as he plummeted head first back into the swirling water and disappeared beneath the waves.

The moment he hit, the whirling spirit light in the water vanished, plunging the room into total darkness. Miranda gripped Gin’s fur, letting the ghosthound’s heavy breathing be an anchor for her thudding heart. Slowly, her eyes adjusted, and the world began to reinstate itself. The wind whistled softly through the shattered windows and the gaping hole in the wall, peeking in to see what the fuss was about before quickly blowing away. From the darkness where Renaud had fallen came the gentle
sound of flowing water, but Miranda could see nothing. The dim moonlight seemed to avoid that section of the throne room. The quiet stretched on and on, and, at last, Miranda took a tentative step forward. She jumped back immediately as something freezing and wet touched her foot. Shivering, she pressed herself against Gin’s warmth and squinted into the darkness.

In the indirect glow of the moonlight, she could just make out a thin layer of water spreading out from the ruined dais. It ran past the fallen stones, over the ruined floor, and under Josef and Nico’s bodies. Gin shivered when it touched him, and Miranda tore a strip out of her ruined skirt to try and stem the flow.

“We have to move,” she muttered. “This water’s like snowmelt. They’ll die if they sit in it much longer.”

“I think temperature is the least of our worries,” Eli muttered, staring into the darkness where the dais had been.

Before she could ask what he meant, a flash pulsed in the darkness and warm, blue light blossomed through the room. Blinking the spots out of her eyes, Miranda turned toward the dais as well, bringing her hands up to shield her eyes. In front of them, floating above the pile of rubble that had been the royal seat of Mellinor, was a tall column of pure, clear water. It hung in the air as if weightless, spinning slowly. The light at its heart was blinding bright, like the glint on a far-off wave. Water poured from its sides like a fountain, rushing in little streams down the rocks to join the spreading pool that was quickly carpeting the entire room in clear, cold water. The turning column slowed, then stopped, and though it had no face, no distinguishing features, Miranda felt its gaze land on her.

“Wizard,” the deep, deep voice shook the castle to its foundations, making little waves in the freezing shallows the throne room had become. “Thank you for freeing me from Gregorn’s legacy. You have saved me from a life of madness and servitude, and I owe you a great debt. To show my appreciation, I will hold back my waters until you and your companions have escaped.”

Miranda stared at the water, dumbfounded. “Hold back your waters?” She looked down at the shallow river lapping at her feet. “Spirit,” she whispered. “Who are you?”

The castle trembled again as the water chuckled, sending little waves splashing against her calves. “I forget,” he rumbled. “My imprisonment has been a long time by my reckoning, but how much longer is it for you humans, with your lives like mayflies? Very well, as another part of my thanks, I will give you my name.” The pillar of water twisted and brightened until its light banished the shadows from the room. “I am Mellinor, spirit of the inland sea.”

T
he inland sea …” Miranda’s voice wavered. “All of this land was once my basin,” the spirit rumbled. “From the foothills of the mountains to what is now desert, it was all mine. Until that man came.” The water’s light turned a deep, angry blue. “Though he trapped me deep in the cold stone and stinging salt, I remembered sunlight and moonlight, the wind on my waves, and the madness did not take me.” His voice trembled, and the water began to flow more quickly. “Now, thanks to you, I shall feel the sun and wind again. I shall retake what was stolen, and, after so long alone, my waters shall lap against my shores once more.”

“An inland sea,” Miranda said again. She looked up at the brilliant spirit, shaking to her toes with something that had nothing to do with the freezing water covering her feet. Now she understood how this spirit could have overpowered even the great Gregorn, and why the famous enslaver had used his own life to keep it trapped. The
pillar of water floating over the ruined dais was no common spirit that could be trapped in a ring or compressed into a ball. This was the glowing heart of a Great Spirit, one of the masters of the spirit world. Miranda swallowed against the lump in her throat. A Great Spirit who wanted its land back.

“Wait!” Miranda stumbled forward. “Great Spirit Mellinor, wait. Mellinor, that is, the kingdom Mellinor, which now lies in your basin, is home to thousands of people. Millions of spirits have made homes there since you were trapped four hundred years ago. If you reclaim your land, then all of those people and spirits will drown.”

“And what concern is that to me?” Mellinor rumbled. “If it was not for that enslaver, those spirits would never have taken root here. They should be grateful for the time they had.”

“I know Gregorn did you wrong,” Miranda cried. “If I could undo your imprisonment, I would, believe me! But those people, those spirits are innocent! Please, you can’t just drown them!”

“Do not tell me what I can and cannot do, wizard!” The spirit’s deep voice was choppy with rage, and the column of water swelled into a breaking wave. “I take no more orders from your kind,” the water roared, and Miranda braced for impact.

“Now, just a moment.” Eli stepped in front of Miranda, hands in his pockets. His voice was bland and casual, but something in his tone was enough to stop the wave in midcrash. “Is that any way to talk to the Spiritualist who risked her own life to free you?”