The Spirit Thief (16 page)

“Wait,” Gin said. “What about that Banage thing? The thing he sent us here to stop Eli from getting?”

Miranda blanched. “Gregorn’s Pillar…” She put her knuckles to her mouth, thinking madly. “No,” she said at last. “I don’t think he knows about it. Gregorn’s Pillar is a pretty obscure piece of wizarding history. Banage wasn’t even sure Eli knew about it, but it was the only thing he could think of that Monpress would want from Mellinor. Anyway, Renaud was a jilted wizard in the castle for sixteen years. If he knew about the Pillar, he would have enslaved his way to it years ago, wouldn’t he?”

“I’d think so,” Gin said. “But can we count on that? I mean, I’m pretty good against enslavers usually, but Renaud had me down in the dust before I knew what was happening. He’s got a strong soul, and he’s not afraid to use it full tilt. Now, that’s bad enough, but if that pillar is half of what Banage made it out to be, Renaud really will be able to put the spirit world under his boot if he gets his hands on it.”

“That may be true,” Miranda said and nodded, pulling
herself up by his fur. “But Renaud getting the pillar is not a possibility we can handle, so there’s no point in dwelling on it. Let’s just focus on getting him off the throne quickly before he figures out what’s in his treasury.”

“It should be simple enough,” Gin said. “Jump the gates, eat the prince, and get out.” He snapped his teeth. “An enslaver is only human, after all.”

“Out of the question.” Miranda shook her head. “We’d just get flattened again if we tried a direct attack.”

Gin snorted, and Miranda ignored him, pacing little nervous circles around the hound’s paws. “What we need is help,” she said. “But there’s no time to send to the Spirit Court for backup, and with all of Mellinor thinking I murdered their king, we’ll get no aid from—” She stopped suddenly, looking around. “Wait a minute, where
is
the king?”

“He’s here,” Gin said. “He’s actually been awake for some time. I didn’t want to bother you, so I asked him to wait.”

Miranda stared, confused. “You asked him to wait?”

“Yes.” The hound grinned, showing all of his teeth. “Nicely.”

Miranda put her aching head in her hands. “Gin, let him up.”

Gin feigned innocence for a few more seconds and then lifted his back rear paw, allowing the king, who at this point looked more like a pig farmer with a good tailor than royalty, to wiggle his way to freedom.

“Honestly,” Miranda said and sighed, giving her companion a final glare before running to help the dirt-caked monarch. “As if things weren’t bad enough.”

Gin lowered his head and began cleaning the mud off his paws, completely unconcerned.

The king’s clothes were nearly black with dirt, and if he’d had a jacket, he’d lost it somewhere, leaving him with nothing but the thin, dirty remains of a white linen shirt that had a large burn mark down the center where Skarest had hit him. Miranda winced at that, and at the marked resemblance between him and his brother. There hadn’t been time to get a good look at him in the clearing, but now that the king was crouched in front of her, the family connection was painfully obvious. The two men had the same long build and blond hair, though Henrith’s was nearly brown with dirt at this point. Also, the king’s face was much rounder than the prince’s, a trait that was emphasized by the dusty, overgrown beard that covered nearly all of his lower face after a week away from the royal barber. When he looked up to see who was helping him, his eyes were the same as Renaud’s. The fear that shone in them, however, was new.

As soon as he recognized her face, he bolted for the trees.

“Wait!” Miranda shouted, jumping to block his way.

The king made a break in the other direction, but Gin stuck his leg out at the last moment, sending the king sprawling into the dirt yet again. Miranda ran to help him up.

“Your Majesty,” she pleaded, helping him turn over. “I am Miranda Lyonette of the Spirit Court. I’m here to help!”

“Help?” the king sputtered, smacking her hands away. “
Help
!? You shot me!”

Miranda winced, but held her position, standing so that the king was stuck between her and Gin. “I know how this sounds, but you must believe me when I say that that was not my lightning bolt.”

“Really?” the king shouted, pointing at his singed chest. “It felt real enough to me!”

“Just listen,” Miranda said, crouching down to a less threatening height. “That was my lightning spirit, but he wasn’t acting on my command. Your brother, Renaud, is an enslaver, a kind of wizard who uses the raw strength of his soul to force weaker spirits to do his bidding. He took my lightning spirit to make it look like I tried to kill you and he is now using the situation to usurp your throne.”

The king looked at her blankly. “An ensla-what?”

“An enslaver,” Miranda repeated. When comprehension failed to dawn on the king’s face, she added, “A bad wizard.”

Gin chuckled at the simplification, and the king, assuming the noise was aimed at him, went scarlet. “And I suppose it was Renaud who told your dog to sit on me,” he said, pointing accusingly at Gin’s nose.

“Unfortunately, that was his own idea,” Miranda growled. “But it was for your own protection!” she added quickly.

The king crouched in the dirt, eyeing her suspiciously. Carefully, Miranda sat down across from him, trying to look as meek and harmless as she could.

“I know you don’t have much cause to like wizards right now,” she said gently, “but I will swear any oath you like that I am on your side.”

“My side?” the king snapped. “You wizards ruined everything! How can you expect me to believe that you could possibly be on my side?”

Miranda answered honestly. “Because in this situation the fact that I’m a wizard makes me your greatest ally.” She held up her dirty hands where her rings still glittered
dully. “I’m a member of the Spirit Court. That means I took an oath to preserve the balance between spirit and man, and to do all I could to prevent the abuse of either. Without the Spirit Court’s rules to guide him, your brother has turned to enslavement, forcing his will on the world and doing permanent damage to the spirits he abuses. By my oaths, by my life, I cannot let him continue.”

She finished, looking as earnest as possible, and the king scratched his dirty beard thoughtfully. “It’s that serious, is it?”

“Let me put it this way.” Miranda leaned a little closer. “I was sent here on express orders to stop Eli before he did anything to ruin the reputation of wizards any more than he already has. But if it came down to bringing Renaud in to stand trial or catching Eli red-handed, I’d take Renaud in a heartbeat. I would be stripped of my spirits if I didn’t.”

The king eyed her suspiciously. “I’m still not convinced, but let’s just say I don’t find your story of Renaud’s betrayal all that unbelievable.”

Miranda bit her lip. “I understand it is difficult for you to hear these things of your brother—”

“Not so difficult as you might imagine.” The king sighed, plopping down in the dirt. “You forget, I grew up with the bastard. He was mother’s favorite, no question, and he knew it. Father had nothing to do with us before we were old enough to hunt, so Renaud ran things for most of my childhood. It’s safe to say I don’t find it hard to believe that he misuses his magic.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. “You knew he was a wizard?”

“Oh no, not in the beginning,” Henrith said, waving dismissively. “But when it came out, I wasn’t surprised.
He was always going on about his birthright and his inheritance and the proper way of things, but he never seemed very interested in the business of being king. Father didn’t quite know what to do with him. Frankly, I think my brother scared him a little. It’s always been my suspicion that he was secretly relieved when Renaud turned out to be a wizard and gave him a chance to reorder the succession.” The king gave her a long wink. “I was always father’s favorite.”

Miranda suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Anyway, I’m not surprised that he was so quick to come in and take command, either,” the king continued. “Ever since father died, I’ve been hearing rumors that Renaud was hiding somewhere in Allaze. It’s been my theory for years that he would appear the moment he saw a chance.”

“And Eli handed him that chance on a string,” Miranda said hotly. “You may be more right than you realize. Renaud was in the palace the day after you were taken. That’s suspiciously fast, even for an ambitious opportunist. I’ll bet Eli was in on this from the beginning.”

“No,” the king said, vehemently shaking his head. “Renaud and Monpress are not the kind who would work together.”

“But how can you know?”

“Believe me,” the king answered. “I spent twelve years as brother to one and a week as prisoner to the other. Both stints were plenty long enough for me to know that much at least.”

Miranda sighed. “If that’s true, then Eli’s actions are almost worse. If he was working for someone, that would at least show some forethought, but to just charge recklessly into a country and overturn the balance of power
like this, with no attention to the consequences…” She shook her head. “He’s lucky Master Banage wants him alive, or I’d kill him myself.”

The king nodded approvingly at that sentiment. “Well, if you are on my side, what do we do now?”

Miranda tapped her fingers against her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s look at our situation. I saw Oban get out, so I think we can safely assume that everyone at the palace thinks you’re dead, and that I killed you. Your brother’s control of the castle depends on them continuing to think that. That screaming black cloud was his way of erasing the evidence, but I’d bet Eli’s bounty that he’s taken steps to make sure there’s a plausible story in place, just in case you did survive.”

“That’d be easy enough,” the king said. “All of Mellinor’s heard the same stories about wizards. They’d never believe I wasn’t a phantom you conjured if we tried to gather allies.”

“A phantom?” Miranda frowned. “Where did you get
that
idea?”

“It was in a book,” Henrith said. “It’s banned, but everyone’s read it.
Morticime’s Travels
or something.”

Miranda suddenly had a splitting headache. “Morticime Kant’s
A Wizarde’s Travels
?”

“Yes,” Henrith said, laughing, “that’s the one! Oban’s son and I used to sneak it around under our armor and read it when our tutors thought we were studying. I haven’t thought about it in years.”

Miranda didn’t have the energy for the rage she could feel building, so she put the whole affair out of her mind and focused instead on her spirits. Eril had come racing back the moment Renaud had opened his spirit, but he
was curled up in his pearl in a deep sleep and traumatized beyond usefulness. Skarest had locked himself away, Durn was still recovering, and Kirik was little better than an ember. Her resources were looking grim indeed.

“You have no idea how much I hate to say this,” she said slowly, “but I think we need some outside help.”

The king frowned. “You mean send a message to an ally country? Get your spirit-whatever to send more wizards? But that will—”

“Take too long, I know.” Miranda stood up. “That’s not the kind of outside help I had in mind.” She looked over at her companion. “Gin?”

The ghosthound glanced up from his grooming. “If you’re asking what I think you’re asking, the answer is yes, back the way we came.”

“Good.” She walked over and began pulling herself onto his back. “Let’s be quick about it, then. We’ve wasted too much time already.” She settled herself on his neck and patted the fur behind her. “Climb up, Your Majesty, time is wasting.”

The king looked at the hound in horror. “Climb?”

The word was barely out of his mouth before the ghosthound lurched into action. Gin moved like lightning, plucking the king off the ground with a long claw and tossing him in the air. He landed in a heap on the hound’s back, and Miranda righted him just in time as Gin set off through the woods at a full run. The king clung to the shifting fur, yelping in terror as the trees flew by, too busy trying not to fall off to ask where they were going. That suited Miranda just fine. As hard as this was for her, it was going to be ten times worse for him. Better to explain it when they arrived and he couldn’t get out of
it. She grimaced and gripped Gin’s fur tightly. No matter how she sliced it, this was going to be some bitter bread to swallow indeed.

The sun had dropped to the horizon by the time the rock spit Eli, Josef, and Nico in a tumble on the dusty ground. Nico landed gracefully. Eli landed on top of Josef.

“I don’t believe it,” Josef grunted, shoving Eli off. “
That
was your great escape plan? Hide inside a rock?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Eli snapped back. “Besides, do you have any idea how hard it was to convince that boulder to hide Nico in the first place?
Before
the other nonsense sent it into a panic?”

“Maybe if it wasn’t such a stupid idea to begin with, you wouldn’t have had so much trouble pulling it—
ow
.” Josef snatched back the fist he’d been hammering on the ground to make his point. “What the—?”

Nico took his hand before he could mangle it further and deftly pulled a long, glass splinter out of his palm.

“Where did that come from?” He glared at the glass, then at Nico. Nico just shrugged and nodded over his shoulder. Josef turned, and his eyes went wide. The forest, the piebald grass of the clearing, the injured soldiers, the broken weapons, the arrows—they were all gone. The three of them were at the center of a smooth, black dust bowl that bore no resemblance at all to the clearing they had left just a few hours earlier. The dust lay in undulating patterns, ground so fine that the slightest breeze stirred up a miniature tornado. Other than their rock, nothing else remained, not even the natural slope of the ground.