Banage’s face grew very pale, and Whitefall leaned forward. “Don’t be a fool, Etmon,” he hissed. “It doesn’t have to be like this. Join me willingly and I will do everything I can to keep your spirits from harm. I swear it.”
Banage looked the Merchant Prince directly in the eye, but he did not speak. Instead, he raised the conscription notice in the air between them and ripped it cleanly in two.
Whitefall watched tight lipped as the torn paper fluttered to the polished floor. “You realize you’ve just committed treason.”
“One cannot commit treason against an authority he is not part of,” Banage answered. “The Spirit Court was doing its duty centuries before you even imagined the Council of Thrones. We do not answer to you.”
Whitefall let out a tight sigh. “As you like,” he said. “Tesset, arrest the traitor.”
Tesset stepped out onto the smooth marble, watching Banage warily as the attack played out in his head. The tall Rector had reach on him, but the man was not a hand-to-hand fighter. The hardest part would be taking him down before he could call his spirits. Quick jab to the stomach should be enough. Decision made, Tesset dropped and began to run. But fast as he was, Banage was faster. Just before his fist landed, a wall of wind sent Tesset flying.
He turned in the air and landed on the Merchant Prince’s table, catching an ink pot just before it blew into Sara’s face. Across the room, Banage stood in the center of a small tornado, his robes flying like flags.
“Keril,” the Rector said, and the pale blue stone on his index finger flashed like a small sun. The wind intensified, forcing Tesset to a crouch as he shielded Whitefall and Sara.
Tesset squinted against the wind. Banage was moving his other hand now, bringing a green cabochon of glowing jade to his lips.
“Duesset,” he said, his deep voice clear over the roar of the wind.
The entire hearing chamber rang like a bell, and then, with a roar that cracked the windows, an enormous creature exploded through the stone floor. Tesset’s eyes widened. It looked like a warhorse carved from jade, but it was larger than any horse Tesset had ever seen. The creature lowered its head, and its stone mane fell into easy steps for the Rector to climb onto its back.
Banage looked down on Sara, Tesset, and Whitefall from the creature’s back, his face a stone mask.
“I am the voice of the Spirit Court,” he announced, his words booming through the room. “I speak for us all, and I say this: The Spirit Court exists for the spirits. Just as we will never allow them to be coerced, so shall we never allow ourselves to be ordered to war by an outside authority. Fight the Empress with your own blood, Alber, for you shall have none of ours.”
With that, the wind gave one final howl, shattering the large glass windows that looked out over the city. As the glass fell, the stone horse leaped, carrying Banage through the broken window. It landed with a crash in the courtyard below, but when Tesset ran forward, all he saw was a crater in the paving stones and the flick of the jade horse’s tail as it charged the citadel gate. The iron bars crumpled like paper as the creature galloped through them, its stone feet striking the cobbles like smithy hammers on new iron as it vanished down the street and into the city below.
“Well,” Whitefall said, pulling himself up. “That could have gone better.”
“Could it?” Sara said, reaching out her hands for Tesset to help her up. “How many times have I told you? You can’t speak sense to Banage. The nerve of that man, forcing his morals on the whole world. Spiritualists poking their noses into my workshop, can you imagine?” She shook her head. “You were right to turn him down, Alber. If they discovered the truth of the Relay, we’d have a full-out rebellion on our hands.”
“I’m not sure we won’t as it is,” Whitefall said, his voice tired. “But I had hoped to avoid breaking the Court.”
“It was already broken,” Sara said with a sniff. “Banage is a fanatic. There’s no place for him in an order as old and vested in its power as the Spirit Court. Forcing him to reject conscription was the best thing you could have done. Some of the old guard will stick to Banage’s banner of high morality, but the majority of Spiritualists won’t risk treason just to keep their hands clean, especially not when they can say they were only fighting for their country.”
Tesset had to agree. In one move, Whitefall had taken Banage’s ultimatum and turned it around, forcing the Rector Spiritualis into the weakest position possible. If the Merchant Prince had simply let him leave the first time he refused, or worse, threatened him with force, Banage could have stood on his principles, turning himself and his supporters into moralistic objectors. But with the conscription notice, Whitefall had backed Banage up against his own ultimatum. He could no longer stay aloof. It was give in and go with the Council as a conscript or be declared a traitor. Of course, Banage had still refused, but in refusing he’d doomed his own chances at keeping the lion’s share of the Court. After all, while there were plenty of Spiritualists who would have jumped at the chance to avoid the war by siding with their Rector, only the true fanatics would be willing to be branded traitor for him. Tesset grinned. He loved a good turn-about.
“Get the message out to your contacts among the Tower Keepers, Sara,” Whitefall said. “The Council will welcome any Spiritualists who wish to fight for their homes. Those who join Banage will be declared traitors, and their property and lands will be seized.”
“Consider it done,” Sara said. “But what are you going to do about Etmon? He’ll only muck things up if you leave him to run loose.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” Tesset said, glancing out the crashed window. “Look.”
Across the city, the Spirit Court’s tower was moving. The white stone walls, clearly visible even at this distance, rippled like water. Windows vanished beneath a wave of stone, and the great red doors of the Tower fell like trees as they watched, crashing to the ground as the entrances they guarded vanished beneath a wall of stone. One by one, every escape to the outside world vanished beneath the rippling white stone until the Tower was completely sealed, an impenetrable, unblemished spire of pure white.
“Well,” Sara said softly. “I suppose that takes care of that.”
“What was that?” Whitefall said.
Sara held out her hand and Tesset handed her her pipe. “Banage’s sealed the Tower,” she said, tapping a measure of fresh tobacco into the bowl. “Took his toys and went home. Typical.” She made a scornful face as she lit her pipe and took a long draw. “If you’re done with me, Alber, I’m going to get those messages out before Banage can convince the Spiritualists they’re being persecuted. The last thing we need is a bunch of self-righteous wizards fighting us instead of the Empress.”
Whitefall nodded, still staring. Sara turned on her heel and marched out of the room. Tesset fell into step behind her, still smiling. Whitefall watched the sealed Tower a moment longer, and then, shaking his head, he walked to the door and called the servants in to start cleaning up the mess Banage had made of his hearing chamber.
CHAPTER
6
Five hours after their failed frontal assault, Eli had everything he needed to get them into the castle. Business finished, they were now sitting at a tucked away table in one of the large inns overlooking the palace square, washed, dressed, fed, and killing the last hour before the guard change with a few hands of Daggerback. Josef was winning, which might have been the only reason he was still at the table.
“I don’t understand why you wasted your money,” Josef grumbled, picking up his cards as fast as Eli dealt them. “There’s no point. I told you, we’re just going to leave.”
Eli pursed his lips as he turned over his bid card, a knight. “It wasn’t a waste,” he said. “We have to look at you, too, you know. And the guard was right. You were starting to come off a bit terrifying.”
Josef made a harrumphing noise, and Eli grinned. Despite the swordsman’s scowl, he was looking very well. They’d found a barber to cut his hair and give him a proper shave, and while nothing could be done about his scars, Josef had looked almost civilized when he got out of the chair. Eli had also bought him a new shirt, a white one, with no bloodstains or suspicious holes, as well as some nonpatched trousers. Small changes, really, but the overall effect was a wonder. With a pressed shirt, blond hair cut short and neat, and his chin shaved clean, Eli could almost believe that the man sitting across the table really was a prince. Provided, of course, he looked past
