“Nico? Don’t worry about her. We’ve got things well in hand on that count. Besides,” he said, grinning, “she’s our companion, as I suspect that Spiritualist is for you. Companions don’t leave each other in the lurch.”
He turned and started to jog after the others. “Think on what I said,” he called over his shoulder.
Gin growled and snapped at the wizard’s retreating back until he disappeared into the brush. When Eli was well out of sight, the hound flopped against the dirt, panting. The roots snickered above him, and he snarled menacingly, which just made them snicker harder. Gin laid his ears back and flicked an eye over at Miranda. She was still lying where she had fallen, crumpled on her stomach, face down in the dirt. She wasn’t moving, but her shoulders rose and fell slightly, and that gave him hope. Gin watched her for a moment more and then, with a sigh, he began the long process of digging himself out.
Miranda woke up slowly, one muscle at a time. Everything hurt. There was dirt in her eyes and, she grimaced, her mouth. She coughed experimentally and immediately regretted it as the bruised muscles along her rib cage seized up in protest. She lay still for a moment, with her eyes clenched shut, concentrating on breathing without pain. The world was strangely still around her. She heard nothing except the normal sounds of the forest, crickets and frogs croaking in warm air and the evening wind in the trees high overhead. Gritting her teeth, she raised her hand and began wiping away the dirt. When she had cleaned as much as she could hope to, she cautiously opened her eyes.
Gin’s face filled her vision and she jumped in surprise, waking a whole new round of aches. The ghosthound’s eyes widened at her string of mumbled expletives, and he bent closer, his hot breath blowing more dirt into her face. She coughed again, wincing. Gin gave a low whimper and, to her great surprise, gently licked her face. Miranda couldn’t stop her grimace as his wet tongue slipped over her cheek, but it helped with the caked-on dirt and she knew better than to complain over a rare show of affection.
“Thanks,” she muttered.
The ghosthound flicked his ear and nudged his nose under her, helping her up.
“Thanks again,” she said, sitting up slowly. Then she got her first good look at her companion, and her eyes went wide. “Powers, what happened to you?”
Gin was filthy. His front paws, muzzle, and stomach were black with dirt, and the rest of him was so covered with dust and debris she could barely see his patterns moving.
“The wizard trapped me,” he said simply, “and I got out.”
Miranda looked confused. “Trapped…”
Gin shifted to one side, and Miranda stared in amazement at what had been their neat, quiet, ambush- friendly clearing. It looked like a tree had exploded. Roots stuck out of the ground in every direction, some torn wide open, others in large knots. At the center was a deep ditch where the ground was furrowed with long claw marks. A Gin-sized pile of dirt rested against the trees to her left, and Miranda began to put the picture together.
“No wonder we both look like a dirt spirit decided to give us a hug,” she said. “You never could learn to dig cleanly.”
“Ghosthounds aren’t made for digging,” Gin growled.
Miranda shook her head and dug her fingers into the dirty fur at his neck, pulling herself slowly to her feet. “Any idea where the king is?”
“West somewhat.” Gin flicked an ear in that direction. “They’re waiting for something.”
Using Gin as a prop, Miranda bent over with a wince and picked up a piece of her stone spirit off the ground. “I’m surprised Durn hasn’t reformed himself,” she said, clutching the stone to her chest. “That girl must have given him quite a scare.”
“You know what she is, then?” Gin asked, surprised.
Miranda nodded. “What kind of Spiritualist would I be if I didn’t know a demonseed when I saw one? Especially after it tried to eat one of my servants. This might be my first time actually meeting one, but Master Banage made absolutely sure we knew what to do if we did.”
Gin crinkled his dirty nose. “And what is that?”
“Nothing,” Miranda said, stepping away.
“What!” Gin roared. “I don’t know what kind of demonseeds he’s talking about, but the kind I know, the kind that just took a chunk out of Durn, those eat spirits like I eat pigs. ‘Nothing,’ ” he snorted. “The next time I see her…” He snapped his teeth.
“Don’t even think about it, mutt,” Miranda said, hobbling slowly around the clearing, picking up Durn’s broken pieces. “Demonseeds are League business. If we want to stay in the Spirit Court, we don’t interfere with the League of Storms. Besides,” she said smiling sadly, “it’s not like a Spiritualist could do much against her. Like you said, demonseeds gain their strength by eating spirits. If I did decide to fight her, the only weapon I have is you lot, and I’m not risking my spirits like that.”
“You think so little of us-”
“Quite the opposite,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “I’m sure that, if you put your mind to it, you could make her fight full force to defend herself, but look at it this way: If the girl can still maintain her human form, the demonseed inside her must still be small. However, if we offered it the chance to devour a larger spirit, say, a certain hot-headed dog, it might be enough to awaken her demon, and then where would we be?”
Gin bared his teeth. “Say what you want, but if I see a chance, I’m taking it. Any demonseed, no matter how small, is a danger to all spirits. Even the sleepiest, stupidest of us will try to kill one when we see it. I’m surprised Eli can talk to spirits if they know she’s around. You’d think they’d want nothing to do with him.”
“He must be hiding her somehow.” Miranda frowned, piling the last bits of Durn in a circle on the ground. “You didn’t sense her until she took a bite out of Durn, and your nose is sharper than most.” She shook her head. “A wizard thief who uses only small-time spirits to kidnap kings, but travels with a hidden demonseed strong enough to damage my spirits and a master swordsman fast enough to counter your bite. This whole mission is one big knot of curiosities.” She stood and dusted off her hands. “But it doesn’t really matter. Next time I find that thief, I’m not going to take chances. I’m just going to fry him from behind. We’ll see how he wiggles out of that.”
Point made, she spread her hands over the collected pile of rubble that had been one of her most powerful spirits and closed her eyes. Durn’s ring, a square of dark, cloudy emerald set in a yellow-gold band that took up the whole bottom joint of her left thumb, began to glow dully as she forced her own spirit energy through the stone. The energy flowed freely through the orderly pattern of the gem, calling gently to Durn’s core. She felt his answer, weak and frightened, but there. Miranda sent a wave of power in response, the pulses repeating the pledge she’d made when she first bonded him-the exchange of power for service, strength for obedience, the sacred promise between spirit and Spiritualist that neither would ever abuse the other. With each pulse, the ring vibrated gently and began to glow. The rocks at her feet shook in answer, and then, at last, rolled together, matching their cracked edges and reforming until Durn himself sat crouched in front of her, his black, shiny surface dented but whole, and looking as ashamed as stone allowed.
“Forgive me, mistress,” he rattled. “I failed you.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Miranda said gently, running her fingers over his jagged edges. “I sent you into danger neither of us could have foreseen. You did well in the job I assigned you. Now it’s time to come home.”
Durn sighed against her skin, and then, with a sound like slag falling down a cliff, began to disintegrate. He broke first into small boulders, then gravel, and then dust that glowed silver in the afternoon sun as it drifted up into Miranda’s open hands. She gathered him bit by bit into his ring, using her own spirit as a guide to fold him into the gem. When the last tendril of dust vanished, the emerald flashed faintly before dying out altogether as Miranda pushed him into a deep sleep.
“He’ll recover,” she said and sighed, twisting the ring over so the dark stone was against her palm. “But it’ll be weeks before he’s fit for anything except sleeping.”
“It could have been worse,” Gin offered, but she cut him off with a raised hand.
“I don’t want to think about it. Let’s focus on doing our job. Which way did they go?”
“This way.” Gin stood up and turned with a swish of his tail, hopping over the remains of Eli’s root trap.
Miranda hobbled after him, gritting her teeth against the pain in her bruised legs and side. “How far?”
“Less than a mile,” Gin said, looking over his shoulder.
Miranda grabbed a broken root and, leaning her weight on it, hobbled faster. “I’m surprised you’re not stalking them if they’re that close. I could have caught up.”
He gave her a long look as she limped forward pathetically. Then, with a sigh, he jumped back over the roots
