out into the sunlight. He was dressed in a dark suit with the great gold and jeweled mantle of the Tower on his shoulders. Bow strings creaked as the Council archers trained their arrows at his chest, but Banage paid them no mind. He just stood there, glaring defiantly at Sara with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I’d never believe it if I wasn’t seeing it myself,” Sara said, grinning around her pipe. “Have you come to your senses at last, Etmon?”
“I never took leave of them, Sara,” Banage answered, glancing at the gathered troops in disdain. “Unlike some.”
“That’s enough, traitor!” Myron shouted, recovering at last. “You have exactly three seconds to surrender before—”
Sara rolled right over him. “What brings you out of your little spire? I can’t believe you’re giving up.”
Banage straightened. “You can’t ‘give up’ being right, Sara. But the situation is no longer what it was.” He reached out his arm, pointing east with one ring-covered finger. “The Empress has arrived. She is about to attack Osera, if she hasn’t already.”
“Are you mad?” Sara laughed. “We’ve heard nothing of the sort.”
“You wouldn’t,” Banage said. “Both of Osera’s Relay points were broken this morning, just before the ships appeared.”
Never taking her eyes off Banage, Sara reached down, sorting through her pouch for the two orbs that controlled Osera’s Relays. She brushed each of them with her spirit, probing the connection. But her prod faded off into nothing. There was no echo, no reply.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line against the narrow stem of her pipe. “It seems the Rector is right,” she said slowly.
“That’s impossible!” Myron shouted, stomping up to stand beside her at last. “We heard the Empress shipyards were reactivated only a week ago. Even if she’d sailed that day, there’s no way the Empress could have a fleet here so quickly. It’s a bluff!”
“He doesn’t bluff,” Sara said with a sigh. “But even if you’re right, and the Empress is about to attack, it doesn’t explain what you’re doing out, Etmon. The whole reason I’m standing here is because you swore up and down that your Court would never go to war.”
Banage stiffened. “We have our reasons, Sara. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty to share them. You will remove your troops and let us pass. There is no time to waste.”
“Enough,” Myron said. “Do you think just because you’ve decided to fight that you can do as you please? The Merchant Prince’s order is still in effect. The Spirit Court is under the control of the Council. You’ll do as we tell you.”
“The Spirit Court obeys no laws but its own,” Banage said, his voice deepening as the mantle on his shoulders began to glow. “Step aside, General.”
As he spoke, the ground began to rumble. All across Zarin, buildings began to shake. Windows rattled against their panes and awnings rippled like water above the merchant stands. Down on the river, barges rocked and bumped together. Even the Whitefall Citadel was shaking, its golden-roofed towers trembling in the sunlight.
Back at the Spirit Court’s tower, the Council soldiers gripped their swords, bracing their feet against the shaking ground. Myron grabbed Sara’s wagon, his face as pale as cheese. Sara smacked his hand away, blowing out a huff of smoke.
“Enough dramatics, Etmon,” she said. “Myron, move your troops and let them through.”
Myron gaped at her. “What? You can’t be—”
“Do it,” Sara said.
The general’s face went from pale to scarlet, but Sara cut off his tirade before it could start. “Now, Myron. That mantle of his is tied to the great bedrock spirit that runs below Zarin. He can destroy this city in a heartbeat if he wants to. I’m not about to risk that to keep him from doing what we were trying to make him do in the first place.”
“But, Sara,” Myron’s voice was almost pleading. “He could be lying.”
“He’s not lying,” Sara said.
Myron snarled. “How do you know that?”
“Because the world’s not ending,” Sara said with a sigh. “Move your men, Myron. That’s an order.”
She smacked her closest wagon, and it began to trundle out of the way. The other wagons followed, each wheeling itself over to the side of the road. Myron sputtered a moment before turning on his heel, waving for his men to follow. As the Council soldiers reluctantly cleared a path, the shaking stopped. Banage stepped back into the Tower, and Sara peered through the hole to see him removing his heavy gold mantle. She arched an eyebrow as he handed the gem-studded chain of his office to old Krigel before stepping out of sight.
When the road was clear, Banage came out again. With a final glare at Sara, he held out his hand. The heavy ring on his middle finger flashed dark green, and his enormous jade horse erupted out of the ground beside him. It knelt so Banage could climb onto its back. The moment he was seated, the Spirit Court rode out. They flashed down the street, Banage first on his jade horse followed by Miranda on her ghosthound. The dog snapped at Sparrow as they passed, but Sparrow looked more amused than frightened as he leaned out of the way. They were gone in an instant, replaced by more Spiritualists, apprentices, Tower Keepers, journeymen, everyone in the stone spire who’d ever sworn an oath. Sara sucked on her pipe, more interested than ever. Whatever caused this change of heart, it was deathly serious if Banage was emptying the Tower.
The Spiritualists thundered down the street and vanished into the city at full speed, riding east as fast as they could. The soldiers watched in awe as the wizards rode by, keeping well out of the way of the sand tigers, stone snakes, and, of course, the ghosthound. When the last Spiritualist was out of sight, Myron turned to Sara.
“What do we do now?” he asked, his voice uncharacteristically bewildered.
“Well,” Sara said, tapping out her pipe. “You had better get on those Relay points I’ve been giving you and start ordering the Council fleet to Osera. You should probably also warn Alber that the Empress is running ahead of schedule.”
“And what are you going to do?” Myron said, his face pale.
Sara just smiled and walked away. She snapped her fingers as she went, and with each snap, a wagon rolled out. Sparrow jumped onto the driver’s seat of the largest and lowered his hand to Sara. She took it, and he pulled her up. The moment her feet left the ground, the wagons tore off down the road, following the trail of dust left by the Spiritualists until they too vanished into the city.
Myron Whitefall stood staring for several moments. Finally, he turned and began shouting for his Relays. Within the hour, the news had spread across the continent. The Empress had arrived. The Council was going to war.
CHAPTER
20
Josef Liechten, king of Osera for nearly two hours, stood at the watchtower window. Eli stood beside him, watching the sea with an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face. He’d finally ditched the ridiculous blond wig, and even his hair looked subdued after so many days of being pinned down.
“Not you too,” Josef grumbled, glancing at his friend. “If you’re looking gloomy I might start thinking we really are doomed.”
“Well,” Eli said softly. “That is a lot of ships.”
Josef looked back at the sea. “That it is.”
The Empress’s armada stretched from horizon to horizon. Black ships, each the size of a small city, rode deep and heavy in the water. Their sides were like cliffs, rising a hundred feet above the ocean’s surface. Their masts were great towers, and their decks swarmed with countless men in black armor. Josef swallowed. He’d seen paintings of the Empress’s ships before, but nothing could have prepared him for their true size. For the first time in his life, he understood why they were called palace ships.
