The Spirit Rebellion: The Legend of Eli Monpress: Book 2

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Miranda said, bending low on Gin’s back. But the thief had a point. They couldn’t turn around, not without getting killed. She didn’t like it, but for now she’d get out, maybe try and make contact with the West Wind, get some backup. Maybe she could get word to Banage. Even if it came from an exile, the Spirit Court couldn’t ignore something like this, and then the duke would really have something to worry about. Of course, she thought as she ducked under a shop sign that was swinging wildly at her head, they’d have to get out first.

Gin hopped over a low shed, and suddenly they were at the wall, still stretched to an impossible height and bristling with spikes. They ran along it, looking for some sign of Josef and Nico, a bashed-in bit of wall, some knocked-out guards, anything, but there was nothing. Gin slowed, panting, and sniffed the air.

“No good,” he growled. “Neither the swordsman nor the girl has been anywhere near this place for hours.”

“They’ve got to be somewhere,” Eli said, looking around frantically. “It’s not like Josef to be late for anything.”

“Well, something must have happened,” Gin snapped back, “because he’s not here, and we shouldn’t be much longer. This city’s on the verge of tearing itself apart trying to do that man’s bidding. I’d hate to see what it’d do to us.”

“Wait,” Miranda said suddenly, her eyes bright. “Hold on, you just gave me an idea.” She stood up on the dog’s back, looking out over the dark city. The streets glowed, some with lampposts, some with torch light from the pursuing guards, but in the distance, the river glittered dark and slow, strangely peaceful in the light of the half moon.

“Gin,” she said, “we’re going back to our first plan.”

“What?” he said, then he paused. “Oh, I get you.”

Miranda nodded. “Take us to the river.”

“The river?” Eli cried as Gin launched himself back the way they had come. “Are you mad? The river’s at the center of the mess we’re trying to get out of!”

“You want to solve a problem,” Miranda said, “you start at the top. Now be quiet.” She jerked the chain holding them together. “Prisoners shouldn’t talk this much.”

The elder Monpress laughed at that and tipped his head to Miranda, who smiled back. Eli, seeing he was getting nowhere with these people, folded his arms over his chest and focused on not falling off as Gin wove a crazy path down to the river.

The Duke of Gaol stood on his battlements, shouting orders to his spirits as the lampposts signaled the ghosthound’s position. They had reached the wall already, but were turning back, probably realizing they were trapped.

Good, he thought. Let them scramble. He had other problems at the moment, starting with the one standing directly beside him.

“For the last time, Hern,” Edward said, “go back to your tower.”

Beside him, Hern went pale with anger, gripping the battlements with clenched fingers. “I will not,” he said. “You promised me, Edward! You promised to keep that girl locked up, and then you go and throw her together with Monpress? What were you thinking?”

“If anyone should be angry, it’s me.” He glared at the Spiritualist. “Helping you almost cost me my thief. If I hadn’t taken precautions by keeping the city secure on multiple levels, both of our quarries would have flown by now. So save your bluster for your Court and kindly get out of my way. In case you haven’t noticed, I have other problems besides Monpress slipping his leash.”

As if on cue, a wind rose up from the south, and he turned to meet it.

“Othril,” he said when he felt the wind on his face. “Report.”

“The south docks are in a full demon panic,” the wind said quickly. “Big one, too, though not as flashy as the treasury. I put up a quarantine as you ordered. Not even a cockroach is going to cross the boundary without your say-so. That should contain the panic somewhat, but you know we can’t keep a lid on these things for long.”

“We won’t need to,” Edward said. “This is a ploy by Monpress, a distraction for his escape. Now that he’s out, it should be calming down.”

Hern shook his head. “What kind of reckless idiot uses a demon panic to cover his escape?”

“When you hunt Monpress, you must be prepared for everything,” Edward said. “Othril, follow Monpress and the Spiritualist girl. Now that they’ve realized the wall is trapped, they might try the river.”

“That would be good for us,” the wind said. “Fellbro’s water will catch them like flies in honey.”

“With Monpress you can only corral, never anticipate,” Edward said. “Watch him and report to me at once if they change direction.”

“And check for the girl as well,” Hern added. “She must be contained.”

Othril stopped midgust, and Hern felt the strange, itchy sensation of a powerful wind spirit staring at him. Edward, however, waved the wind away, and it blew into the night.

“Hern,” Edward said when the wind was gone. “Never presume to give orders to my spirits again.”

“Well,” Hern said, shifting his hands so that his rings glittered menacingly, “you hadn’t mentioned it, and I wanted to be sure you did not forget what you owed me, Edward.”

The duke spun around and grabbed Hern’s hands before the Spiritualist could move, squeezing his fingers until the gemstones dug painfully into Hern’s flesh.

“You forget yourself,” the duke whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “Never forget where you are. You might have sway in Zarin, but I rule Gaol. So long as you are on my lands, you obey me.”

Hern was gasping in pain, his rings flashing under the duke’s hands, but the duke’s spirit was like a vise across them, and they could not leave. He held the Spiritualist like that until Hern nodded, falling to his knees. Only then did Edward release his grip.

“Do not make me remind you again,” he said quietly, turning back to the battlements.

Hern retreated, grumbling empty threats under his breath as he slunk back to the far wall with as much dignity as he could muster. Edward ignored him. Hern’s lot was firmly entrenched in Gaol. He could alert the Spirit Court to Gaol’s activities, but it would mean the end of his own career as well, and Hern was far too selfish for that. That settled, Edward dismissed the Spiritualist from his mind, focusing instead on the blinking lamps that marked the ghosthound’s position as it ran a winding path through the back alleys of his city and toward the black line of the river.

Gin burst out of the cover of the narrow alley and onto the dock and turned sharply, leaving the pursuing hail of roofing tiles and weather vanes and other trash to soar out past him, straight into the river. Panting, Gin slowed down a fraction, bringing them right up beside the water, which flowed dark and murky in the flashing lamplight.

“We’re here,” the dog growled. “Now what?”

“Now we do what I should have done this morning,” Miranda said, getting into a crouch on his back. “Put control of the city back where it belongs, with the Great Spirit.” She glanced skeptically at the river as they ran along with it. It didn’t look like an enraged spirit, but maybe the duke had some kind of binding on it. Well, she thought, reaching back to tie her hair tight, she’d know in a second.

“I’ll meet you on the other side,” she said, scratching Gin’s head. “Don’t get caught.”

“Never do,” Gin snorted.

“Wait,” Eli said, tugging on the chain that connected them. “Before you do anything rash, aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Not that I can recall,” Miranda said, turning toward the river. She gave Eli one last smile. “Hold your breath.”

And then she jumped, taking Eli with her. For a moment they soared through the air, Miranda tucking gracefully, Eli flailing to keep his head upright, and then they landed with an enormous splash in the dark water. The moment they hit, Mellinor was there, surrounding them in a clear, bubbling flow, forming a protective pocket of air around them as they sank down into the muddy river. It was deeper than Miranda had expected, going down a dozen feet between the docks. All light from above vanished after the first foot, leaving only Mellinor’s own watery