“For once, we agree.” Eli reached up and began to unbutton his valet jacket, and then the white shirt underneath. “I hadn’t meant to use this just yet,” he said, “but I can’t let Josef find us standing around, can I?”
He turned, and Miranda cringed before she could stop herself. His jacket and shirt hung open, revealing his bare chest. A series of angry red burns ran in a swirling pattern from his collarbone to just above his navel. Before she could ask what caused such an injury, the burns began to hiss. Smoke rose up from the marks in a white plume, curling into a cloud that smelled faintly of charred flesh. The temperature in the room began to rise. It was a pleasant, dry heat at first, but it increased exponentially with every breath Eli took. The ball of smoke above the thief’s head blackened as the heat grew. Sparks flashed at its center, faintly at first, then more violently, until the cloud was popping like a greenwood bonfire. Despite the fire show happening less than a foot above him, Eli’s face was calm and his eyes were closed, as if he were asleep. The cloud was as hot as a smelter now, and Miranda took a step back as the hissing and snapping reached a crescendo. With a final crack, a tremendous blast of hot air and smoke shot out of the cloud, and every lamp in the hall snuffed out at once.
For a moment, the world went black, and then bright red light, more intense than any fire, blossomed in the air above Eli. The light swirled and grew, blending smoke and fire to form feet, then legs. A broad-barrelled chest three times as tall as Miranda flashed in the darkness, growing muscular arms, boulder-sized fists, and shoulders like fiery mountains. Finally, with a new burst of heat, the remaining light condensed into an enormous flame- wreathed head whose pointed crown brushed dangerously near the peak of the hall’s vaulted ceiling. Fully formed, the creature stretched languidly, sending a shower of sparks down around him. Red light rippled along the new- made muscles, tracing the intricate connections between limb and trunk as the creature’s surface hardened from smoke and fire into red-hot stone. When it was done stretching, it tilted its enormous head down. Glorious, fiery swirls moved like weather fronts across its face as the great hinge of a mouth opened wide, dripping fire.
“Eli,” it said. “It is good to see you.”
Eli pulled his coat closed, covering his now unmarred chest. “You, too, old friend.”
Miranda could not believe what she was seeing. The enormous spirit glowed like the heart of a smith’s fire, but the solidity and weight reminded her of Master Banage’s great stone spirits. The heat coming off it was more powerful than Kirik’s at full burn, and the giant hadn’t even done anything yet.
“A lava spirit,” she said, not bothering to hide the amazement in her voice. “I’ve never met a wizard who could take one as a servant, not even Master Banage.”
“You still haven’t met one,” Eli said. “Karon isn’t a servant. He’s my companion.”
“But,” Miranda gaped, “how do you control him?”
“I don’t,” Eli said, grinning. “I ask.”
The enormous, burning spirit looked from Eli to Miranda, then back again. “You’re keeping strange company these days,” he rumbled.
“Only temporarily,” Eli assured him. “Now, I was hoping you could do me a favor. I need these doors open.”
Karon glared at the doors. “That’s a powerful command they’re under. I may have to kill them.”
“At this point, that might be a mercy,” Eli muttered. He looked at Miranda, whose distress was obvious, and he sighed. “Be gentle, if you can. The Spiritualists have always been a bunch of bleeding hearts.”
Karon nodded and turned to the doors. Miranda could feel them shaking through the marble, still too scared to open even when faced with death. As the lava spirit stepped forward, Nico and Eli retreated behind one of the support pillars, and, a moment later, Miranda followed. The hall shook as the lava spirit positioned himself in front of the trembling doors. Karon pounded his fists together a few times, getting them white hot. Then, with a hiss, he slammed his glowing hands into the quivering metal. The doors screamed when he made contact, filling the air with the bloody stench of iron. Melting gold flowed in glowing rivers down the door’s surface as the remaining scrollwork and flourishes dissolved under Karon’s fire like marzipan dipped in steam. Karon ignored the wealth flowing around him and wedged his glowing fist deeper into the iron’s screaming heart. At last, the terrified metal could hold no longer, and the doors began to slip away. Iron dripped like wax from Karon’s fingers, falling in large, hissing black drops to splash against the stone floor. Back in the hall, Miranda huddled behind Eli, cringing away from the splatters of liquid metal and the smelter blast of Karon’s heat. Her left hand clutched the empty finger where Allinu’s ring normally rested. Never in all her life had she wished so hard for her cool mist spirit.
At last, the heat faded, and Miranda felt the thunderous stomp of Karon stepping back. She peeked around the corner. All that was left of the golden doors of Mellinor was a gaping hole, its melted edges bleeding liquid metal onto the blackened, cracked floor.
Karon looked over at Eli, who was admiring the wreckage from a distance.
“Good work,” the thief said, nodding.
The lava spirit’s face rippled in what Miranda guessed was a smile. Eli strolled forward, stepping without hesitation over the still-smoking metal. “Very good work indeed,” he said, grinning up at Karon. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like it if you could hang around a bit longer. I have a feeling I’ll need your help again sooner than I’d like.”
Karon nodded and squatted by the ruined doors, watching with intent as Eli stepped over the smoking threshold.
Beyond the circle of Karon’s ambient glow, the throne room was as dark as the treasury had been. Miranda stepped forward, squinting against Karon’s glare, and, as her eyes adjusted, the room began to take shape. The first thing she noticed was that the royal banners that had lined the far wall were gone. So were the elegant lamps, chairs, and end tables that had once ringed the open room. In their place, the entire contents of the treasury-golden statues, jewelry, weaponry, overturned chests of embroidered silk, everything-had been stacked along the walls in sloppy piles. But most upsetting of all was what lay directly ahead of them. At the far end of the room, at the foot of the dais steps, the gilded throne of Mellinor lay on its side, broken and splintered, as if it had been kicked off its perch. In its place, standing like a trophy at the top of the tall dais, was a squat, gray pillar.
CHAPTER 22
The two swordsmen stared at each other long after the sounds of the footsteps of the fleeing wizards had faded. Coriano held his white sword delicately in front of him, the blade shimmering with its own pearly brilliance. Brighter than the lantern at the bounty hunter’s feet, the sword glowed like the moon in the dark, empty treasury. Josef kept his eyes even with it, letting them adjust to the light.
Coriano took an experimental step forward, but Josef’s only response was to tighten his grip on the heavy beam and hold his ground. Coriano stepped back again, resting his sword wearily on his shoulder. “You can drop your oversized matchstick,” he said. “I’m not going to roll over when you come swinging like those fools in the hallway. Draw your sword.”
“You set all this up just to fight me,” Josef said. “Well, here’s your chance. Come when you’re ready.”
Coriano chuckled. “You think this is about you? Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Liechten. You are just the trappings. You know what I’m after.” His good eye flicked up and focused just above Josef’s left shoulder, where the Heart of War’s hilt waited. “Draw.”
“The Heart is my sword,” Josef said. “It chose me, so I’ll decide when to draw. If you’re so keen to cross blades with it, make this worth my while.”
Coriano’s eyes narrowed, and there was no hint of humor in his expression when he raised his sword again. “Have it your way.”
Coriano lunged, and Josef raised his beam just in time to keep the white blade from burying itself in his neck up to the hilt. The sword cut through the solid hardwood like it was taffeta, and Josef was forced to duck as the swing carried over his head. But Coriano was waiting. As soon as Josef’s head went down, the swordsman’s knee hit him square in the ribs. The blow opened Josef’s chest wound and sent him sprawling. He hit the stone floor hard and brought what was left of the beam up just in time to save his stomach from the next blow. The sword sliced clean through the wood again, but this time, Josef was prepared. At the split second when the white edge was buried deep in the beam, he twisted the beam. The blade caught, and Coriano’s eyes widened as, with one enormous heave, Josef sent beam, blade, and swordsman hurtling through the air.
