The Spirit War

CHAPTER 5

In the stinking swamp that would one day become the richest soil in the Empire, a girl ran through the muck. She ran wildly, arms flailing as she scrambled over clumps of grass and sticky clay. Behind her, men with lanterns were giving chase, the lights bobbing in the dark. The girl was quick and desperate, but the men knew this swamp better than she did. By the time she realized she’d gone the wrong way, they had surrounded her.

She cowered in the mud as their circle tightened. When the men were an arm’s length away, the largest held up his lantern to get a good look at her face.

“This is the one,” he said. “Gutted the captain proper, she did.”

“ ’Swhat the old coot gets,” said another. “Messing around with trash.” He grabbed the girl’s hair, yanking her up. “Mountain monkeys are for working, not sleeping with.”

He spat in her face, and they all began to laugh. The girl hung by her hair, kicking wildly. And then, from nowhere, silver flashed in the lamplight. The man dropped her with a scream to clutch his arm. The girl landed hard and rolled to her feet, brandishing her small knife, its tip bright red.

“Filthy animal!” the man shouted, clutching his bloody arm. “We’ll string your carcass up for the birds! Get her!”

The men charged her. The girl lashed out, swinging her knife, but the men were too many, too large. They grabbed her hand and pinched the nerve until her fingers went slack. The knife fell to the ground and was quickly trampled into the mud. She gasped for breath as their hands gripped her throat. The long, cold blades of their machetes pressed against her chest, and the girl realized that she was going to die. She was going to die in this swamp miles from her home. Die under the boots of the slavers with nothing to show for her suffering but an old, dead captain who would probably be replaced with someone even worse. But as despair swallowed her mind, something even deeper suddenly snapped, and her spirit ripped itself open.

Years ago, before the invaders had come, she’d learned spirit talking from the village elder. The old woman always said that spirit talkers may only ask, never demand. To demand was to lose the world’s respect, and thus lose everything. But now, with the machetes pressing into her ribs and the fingers crushing her throat, what did she have left to lose?

She reached out with the roar of her open spirit and stabbed her will into the mud. The dirt screamed as she touched it, but her will was absolute, and it had no choice. The blades vanished from her chest as the men were yanked off her. Their laughter turned to terrified screams as the ground beneath their feet turned against them. They flailed as they started to sink, screaming in panic, but the girl dug her now-freed hands into the mud and tightened her grip, snarling as she slammed her will down. The moment it landed, the men vanished into the swamp, the sticky mud closing over their heads without a trace.

The swamp fell suddenly silent, empty except for the droning of distant insects. The girl crouched in the mud, her dark eyes bright in the flickering light of the toppled lanterns until the mud took those, too, and everything fell dark. Sensing its chance, the mud began to buck against her Enslavement. She let it go, staring dumbstruck at the bloody knife in her hand. What had she done? Killing the captain had been bad enough, but now she’d killed the foremen as well. They would slaughter the camp for this. They would find her and kill her, kill her brothers, kill her people, all to make an example for the other camps. They would all die and it would be her fault.

Bleak despair filled her mind, drowning out even her panic, and she began to weep. The sobs shook her until her bones ached, but the more she cried, the worse she felt. There was no escape, no hope. Nothing.

Finally, her crying subsided, and she realized something was different. The swamp was silent. Not just night silence, true silence. There was no rustle of water, no insects chirping. Even the gentle wind had stopped. Her body went tense, and the girl edged her head up, peeking cautiously through her tangled hair. The dark swamp was bright as noon, but that was impossible. Dawn was still hours away, and in any case, this was no golden daylight. The light was white, stark, and cold as fresh snow. She would have called it moonlight, but no moon had ever shone this bright. She raised her head to stare, and that was when she caught sight of a woman’s white foot resting delicately on the surface of the swamp.

The girl jumped and scrambled back. The woman stood less than a foot away. She was naked, her skin flawless and alabaster white. White hair fell in a cascade across her white shoulders, and her white eyes were sparkling as she looked down at the muddy girl at her feet.

Hello—the woman’s voice was like cold silk—Nara.

“How do you know my name?”

The question was out before the girl could stop it. Nara was her tribe name. Ever since the invaders took them to the camps, she’d shared it with no one. She should be furious that this woman, this obvious outsider, knew it, but she could not be angry with her. The woman was simply too beautiful.

The White Lady knelt, and Nara couldn’t help noticing that the mud did not smudge her perfect skin. The woman extended her hand, cupping Nara’s dirty cheek in a burning grip.

I know everything about you, the woman said. I am your Shepherdess. I have been watching you since you were born. You are a brave girl, Nara. Brave and beautiful. The white fingers stroked her cheek, leaving burning trails that made Nara tremble. So beautiful. More beautiful than anything else I’ve created.

“Created?” Nara whispered, the word little more than a feathered breath.

Well, the Lady spoke and smirked, as though this were some long-standing joke, not fully. I am not the Creator. But I shaped you, you and all humans, in my image. Her beautiful face fell. For all that, you always were ugly, ridiculous creatures, fitting for the ugly job I made you to do. Even so, every now and then I catch a glimmer of something more. The fingers slid down to brush Nara’s lips. Like you. You are beautiful, Nara. From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you. Knew that you and you alone of all the ugly, blind humans were worthy of being my star.

Nara’s eyes widened as the White Lady leaned down and pressed a burning kiss to her lips. It was the briefest touch, but the proximity alone was enough to send her reeling. Still, Nara had never been quick to trust, and, though it went against every instinct she had, she pulled away, putting space between her and the woman who called herself Shepherdess.

“Your star?” she said with as much strength as she could muster. “And what is that?”

The White Lady looked at her with a smirk. My servant.

Nara scowled. “I’m done being a servant.”

I am not like your human masters. The Lady laughed. Those deaf sacks of meat. I am Benehime, a Power of creation. I am the Shepherdess, all spirits serve me. But my stars are different. They are raised above all others, and answer only to me. As my star, there will be no want you can think of that I cannot provide. No wish I cannot grant.

“Any wish?” Nara said, her throat dry.

Anything at all, the Shepherdess answered, spreading her arms. All you have to do is worship me. Fear me. Obey me. Love me more than any other. Become my star, beautiful girl, and whatever you desire will be yours.

She must have seen the hunger in Nara’s eyes, for the White Lady smiled. You have a wish, don’t you? Speak it.

Nara had never told her wish to anyone, but it came tumbling from her lips before she could think of denying the White Lady.

“I’ve been a slave for ten years,” she whispered. “I and my people and all the peoples I met when I was a child, we all were made slaves when the invaders came because we could not fight back. They crushed the spirits of the forest and forced the stone to vomit its riches into the mines. The Enslavers turned our lakes into swamps and our mountains into open pits that we were forced to work. But that’s how the world is. The strong step on the weak, and the weak can do nothing but weep. I want to change that. You said you could give me anything I wish—that’s it. I want to stop the cycle of war and Enslavement. Can you give me that?”

The White Lady’s face broke into a brilliant smile. So noble, she said, running her white fingers through Nara’s dark, tangled hair. So determined. I like you even better now, little darling. You might even become my favorite if you keep it up.

“So you can grant my wish?” Nara said.

The Shepherdess leaned back a bit, her lovely white mouth pursed as she made a show of thinking about it.

I won’t just give it to you, she said at last. That would be no fun. But I will give you the power to take it for yourself. She leaned in until her lips were a breath away from Nara’s own. I will give you power unlike anything you have ever seen. You will bear my mark, speak in my name. I will give you dominion over all spirits great and small and the life span to see your wish come true.

Nara’s stomach clenched. She still wasn’t sure if this was a dream or not, but the Shepherdess was there in front of her, white and cold and more beautiful than anything her mind could make up. And in that realization, she knew her answer.

“If you give me the power to make the world what it should be,” she said, trembling at the beautiful woman’s closeness, “I will love you above all others until the day I die.”

Though the shameful truth was, Nara already did. The woman was so beautiful, so powerful, Nara was already lost. But the Lady expected a wish, and Nara would give it to her. She would give her anything, Nara realized with a sinking feeling, and from the look on the Lady’s face, the Shepherdess knew it.

The White Lady smiled and leaned in to kiss Nara gently on the lips. It was a bare brush, but the connection that opened between them nearly made Nara faint. Power burned through her, pouring into the well of her soul until she feared she would burst. Light seared her body from the inside out, burning her away until Nara was sure that she had died and her spirit simply hadn’t realized it yet. And then it was over. The Shepherdess pulled away, catching Nara’s falling body in her arms.

It is done, she whispered, cuddling the girl to her chest like a kitten. You bear my mark forever, now. You are mine, mine alone.

“Yours alone,” Nara said, looking up into the Lady’s white eyes. Eyes she now knew as well as her own. The white fire was still burning through her as tears rolled down her cheeks. “I will love you forever,” she swore, leaning into the Lady’s embrace. “Forever and ever, beautiful, beloved Benehime.”

The Shepherdess laughed in delight as Nara said her name. She stood, taking the girl up with her. As they rose, the dirt fell reverently away, leaving Nara clean and perfect in the Shepherdess’s glory. A white slit opened in the air in front of them, and Benehime carried her through, away from the swamp, away from the mud and the pain of slavery, into a perfect, white world.

When the sun rose the next morning on the slave camp, an unknown woman in golden armor carrying a gleaming sword strode into the master’s tent and began killing the officers. She killed them quickly and efficiently, leaving only one alive to bring the word of what had happened to the other camps. After she’d sent him running, the woman turned to the buildings that held the cowering slaves. The stones barring the doors rolled away at the barest touch of her will, desperate to do what she ordered, for the mark of the Shepherdess was plain on her soul. The people cried in fear as the doors opened, but the woman held up her hand for silence. When the silence came, she told them they were free. Some of the people fainted, some ran in terror, but others raised their arms in praise, swearing their lives to the woman who’d won their freedom.

This was the Immortal Empress’s first conquest.

Eight hundred years later, the Immortal Empress treasured this memory. By the time she’d conquered her first kingdom, Benehime had named her favorite, the soul beloved by the Shepherdess above all others. Many joys had followed in the centuries after, but that first night was still dearest in Nara’s heart. Even now, the smell of mud brought a dreamy smile to her face.

“Empress?”

Nara opened her eyes and turned to face her commander. The old man winced, but he did not shrink back. He had been her general for many years before she’d vanished, and he knew her well. Now, however, he looked as though he had something to say, and so, regretfully, she let the memory go and returned to the bitter present.

“Report.”

“Empress,” the man said again, bowing. “Your return could not have come at a better time. The storm has been blowing for weeks now without weakening. Tidal waves have devastated your southern coast. Those who survived the initial flood escaped to higher ground, but they are now stranded and running low on food. I ordered your army to aid in the evacuation, but the storm is too dangerous. Now that you are with us again, however, I am sure—”

He fell silent as the Empress stepped up to the edge of the balcony. They were standing on the observation tower of her southern-most fortress, the one she’d left to remind the desert tribes who had conquered them. That was two hundred years ago now, but the fort was still one of her largest. From its tower, she could see clear across the sandy desert to the coast, miles away, but even if she’d been on the ground, she couldn’t have missed the storm. It loomed off the edge of her continent’s southern coast, a wall of black clouds and forked lightning stretching as far as she could see in any direction. Great winds blew in the smell of rain and sodden mud, and though the smell triggered her memories again, Nara did not smile. The storm chewed at the edge of her lands, destroying everything in its path beneath a rain of lightning and the endless booming thunder she knew too well.

The Empress shook her head. “I cannot banish this storm.”

The general’s eyes widened. “But surely,” he began. “You are queen of everything. The spirits would not dare—”

“You question me?” the Empress said coldly.

The general froze. “No, Empress,” he said, bowing so low that his helmet slipped off. “Forgive me, Empress. Your voice is the only law.”

She nodded and held out her hand, letting the storm-tossed winds sweep over her fingers. When she felt a particularly strong one, she closed her fist. The wind squealed at first but grew still when it realized what will had caught it.

“Hail, Empress,” it whispered.

Nara glanced pointedly at the enormous storm. “What is he doing here?”

“The Lord of Storm is in disgrace,” the wind said, wiggling in her hand.

“I can see that,” the Empress snapped. “He’s been in disgrace for weeks, apparently, and wrecking my shore in the process. What did he do that Benehime would impose such a harsh punishment?”

The wind jerked. Lesser spirits were so obedient that even the mention of the Lady’s name was enough to send them into a fit of reverential terror.

“He raised his blade against the favorite,” it whispered at last. “The Shepherdess’s wrath was swift.”

White-hot fury roared through Nara’s mind and, for a moment, she forgot everything. Forgot the storm, the general standing beside her, even the wind in her hand. Time seemed to flow backward, carrying her back to that hated day when everything in her life had fallen apart. The day the Shepherdess brought that boy into her white world.

She could see him clearly in her mind even now, a skinny, dark-haired thing sitting smugly on Benehime’s beautiful lap as the Lady doted on him. The memory made Nara tremble with rage. That spoiled brat had stolen the Shepherdess’s love from her, and with it everything Nara cared for. All the things that had given her pride—her victories, her legions, her unified country, the fairness and efficiency of the government she had built, the peace she had brought to her people, her loyal spirits, even her great wish of a fair and peaceful world—none of it meant anything when Benehime, her beautiful, beloved Shepherdess, was ignoring her in favor of that hateful, conniving, selfish child.

Nara bared her teeth at the enormous waves washing over the ruins of her sea towns. How could the Shepherdess love that brat enough to punish the Lord of Storms this severely just for raising his blade? He’d raised his sword to Nara several times, and the Lady had never done anything like this. Was she finally sick of his disobedience? Or was it because she loved the boy more than—

The Empress stopped that line of thought dead. She could not believe it. The Lady’s love was for Nara alone. The boy was nothing more than an infatuation. He’d beguiled the Shepherdess. What else would explain Benehime’s abandoning her Empress after eight centuries of Nara’s ceaseless devotion? Her undying love? Nara clenched her fists. Den had been right. For eleven years she’d lived in her misery, waiting for the Shepherdess to remember who truly loved her, and all she had to show for it was the suffering of her own lands. She was through hiding, through crying. If the Lady loved her as an Empress, then Empress she would be. She would rebuild her army as never before. An army fit to conquer the rest of the world. And when all the lands of creation were united under her good rule, her wish would be fulfilled. She alone would rule a world without war, without unfairness, a world that was guided by her wisdom alone. And then Nara would take this perfect world and throw it at the Lady’s feet. There, she would say, who is your favorite now?

Just the thought of it brought the smile back to Nara’s lips. With such a grand offering, the Shepherdess would have no choice. She would cast the thief aside and return to her true favorite. Benehime would take Nara in her beautiful embrace once again, and together they would laugh at the memory of the boy called Eli, when they thought of him at all.

She was still savoring that thought when a high-pitched squeal brought her back to the present. The wind was writhing in her clenched hand. The Empress eased her grip, letting the wind slide gratefully through her fingers.

“Go to my war palace at Istalirin,” she said. “See if Den has arrived yet.”

“Yes, Empress,” the wind panted, flitting gladly away.

Nara nodded and turned to deal with the mess the Lord of Storms had made. Without a word of warning to her general, she walked to the edge of the balcony and jumped off. The desert winds caught her fall, setting her down gently on the fortress’s stone yard. The soldiers dropped to their knees when they saw her, pressing their heads to the ground in reverence. She ignored them, focusing instead on the stone beneath her golden boots.

“You,” she said, stomping on the ground. “Wake up.”

The stone rumbled as it woke, and then lowered itself in obedience.

“Yes, Empress?”

“Form a wall along the coast. This storm is no concern of ours. We will protect our borders and wait it out.”

“Yes, Empress,” the stone said again.

The Empress nodded and slammed her foot on the ground a second time. The stone obeyed instantly, and a pillar of rock shot up beneath her feet, lifting her back to the edge of the watchtower balcony. Her general ran forward to help her over the railing. When her footing was solid again, she turned to watch as the bedrock spirit followed her orders.

All along her coast, a great wall of stone exploded out of the sandy beach, forming a barrier between the water and the land. The stone wall ran as far as she could see, following the snaking coastline until her continent’s entire southern tip was cut off, safe from the storm surge behind a fifty-foot barrier.

Nodding in approval, the Empress turned back to the waiting wind, who had just returned from the north.

“Den has arrived,” the wind said. “He’s demanding to see you.”

“He would,” the Empress sneered. “Well done. You are released.”

The wind bowed and fled, vanishing into the clear, desert sky.

“General,” Nara said, turning to face the old man who was still bowing in reverence. “You will leave five hundred men here to resettle those misplaced by the storm. The rest of your army will march to my war palace at Istalirin. I want everything: support, supplies, siege troops, the full panalopy. March them hard, I want my armies gathered by dark tomorrow.”

The old man paled. Istalirin was miles away. Such a deadline, even on the Empire’s awakened roads, would be nigh impossible. But the Immortal Empress expected the impossible from all her subjects as a matter of course, and her general knew better than to complain.

“Yes, Empress,” he said, bowing lower than ever. “Is it war then?”

“War indeed,” the Empress said. “It is time at last to bring the entire world into the light of my Empire.” And to show Benehime who was truly worthy of her love.

The general eyed her nervously. “Permission to speak, Empress.”

“Granted,” the Empress said.

“Your army marches wherever you command,” he said. “But the man Den is not to be trusted. While you were gone, he did nothing but wander your Empire, terrorizing your towns and challenging every strong fighter he could find. We lost several of your best to him. He has no discipline or loyalty, and he does not follow orders. You are the chosen of the land, Empress, and I would never question your judgment, but can such a man truly be a servant of the Empire?”

“No,” the Empress said. “Den is a traitor. He betrayed his homeland to join our invasion as soon as the tide turned. He is a monster who thrives on conflict with no loyalty to anything but his own lust for battle. I know full well that he will never be my soldier, but I do not need another soldier, general.” She looked west. “Soldiers I have in plenty, but the other half of this world is a barbarous, uncivilized, lawless place. If I am to bring such lands into my enlightened peace, soldiers won’t be enough. If my control is to be complete, I must conquer swiftly, completely. We must devour their land before they realize they have lost it, and for that, I need a monster.” She turned and smiled at her general. “Have no fear, this is the last war. When we are done, the whole world will be under my law, and there will be no more need for monsters. If Den is still alive when we reach that glorious end, I will see that he meets a monster’s death.”

The general bowed, his eyes shining. “As you command, Empress. Your soldiers march for Istalirin and the endless glory of your Empire.”

“As they should,” she said. “I will expect you there.”

With that, she waved her hand, and a white line appeared in the air, twisting open to reveal the ornate map room of her war palace. Her officers stopped what they were doing and stood at attention as she stepped through the hole in the world. They murmured praises in her name, but the Empress paid them no mind. She marched straight past the table to the great window and looked out over the bay.

All she saw was ships. Her fleet spread to the horizon, her palace ships filled the great bay of Istalirin until no glimpse of water was visible between the hulls. Pride welled up in her chest. Twenty-six years ago, when she was the favorite and the world was as it should be, she’d sent a handful of ships to test the strength of the other half of the world. They’d returned defeated, but that was to be expected. She’d conquered close to a hundred countries since becoming Empress, and she’d learned early to use a small force to sound out the enemy’s strengths before attacking in earnest. What had surprised her were her generals’ reports of the enemy’s ability to talk across distance. That had caught her for a moment, but the counter proved easy. If they could gossip about her movements and pile all their troops to meet her at full strength wherever she hit, then she would simply build so many ships that such a small advantage wouldn’t matter.

The Empress enjoyed such simple, effective plans, but even for her, it took time to raise that large a force. But again, she was the Immortal Empress; time wasn’t an issue. As soon as she’d heard her defeated generals’ report, she’d put her shipyards to work and sat back to wait. For eleven years, everything went as planned. But then, just as her army was nearing completion, the boy had appeared and ruined everything.

Nara took a deep, shamed breath. When the boy first took Benehime away from her, she’d gone a little mad. She’d abandoned her lands, abandoned her nearly finished fleet, abandoned her people, abandoned her wish to hide in a cave like an animal. Fifteen years she’d lost to worthless misery, and then to be rescued by Den, of all people. It was her greatest shame. One she meant to undo with the fleet that lay before her.

Satisfied, the Empress turned away from the window and took her place at the head of the table as her generals began to arrange the battle maps for her inspection. As the papers were laid in place, she spotted Den himself entering the war room. Her officers stiffened visibly as he stepped up to the table, but Nara motioned for him to stand beside her. Mindless of the great honor, Den walked up and sat on the table by her elbow, his hard face sullen and bored.

“I’m here,” he said. “Can we go?”

“Soon,” Nara promised, nodding for her generals to begin their presentations.

Den sneered and walked over to the window overlooking the bay. As the generals began to speak, Den paid them no attention. His eyes never left the ships, and he stared at them with the ardor of someone witnessing the birth of his heart’s desire. That look alone set Nara’s mind at ease. Confident that her monster would be loyal for now, she turned to hear the greatest military minds of her Empire outline their plans to crush all who stood in her way.

Just beyond the bay at Istalirin, at the outskirts of the Empress’s control, an enormous wind flew over the growing fleet. It blew through every ship, taking note not only of the mountainous hulls and cavernous crew quarters but of the great war spirits that slept deep in the ships’ bellies. The wind looked as long as it dared, skirting the edge of the Empress’s awareness. When it had seen enough, the wind turned west, flying as fast as it could back to its lord who waited on the far western edge of the world.

Far across the Unseen Sea, Tesset sat on the plush window seat in the Merchant Prince of Zarin’s office, watching his employer pace a rut into the fine silk rug.

“Whitefall’s an idiot if he thinks this is going to work,” Sara muttered around the pipe she clenched between her teeth. “Compromises don’t work with men like Banage.”

“It’s my impression that he doesn’t have much choice,” Tesset said. “Council and Court must stand together or face mutual destruction.”

“Which is exactly why it won’t work,” Sara said, walking faster. “Mutual destruction loses its teeth when one party is willing to die for his beliefs.”

Tesset leaned against the window. “If the Merchant Prince is showing any lack of judgment, Sara, it’s not trying to compromise with Banage, but inviting you to attend.”

Sara shot him a look that would have frozen the Whitefall River. Tesset settled his shoulders against the cool glass and stared back.

“There’s no point in leaving me out of things,” she said, resuming her pacing. “Whitefall may fancy himself the shadow king of the world, but this is as much my Council as it is his. He can’t make a decision involving wizard matters without my say-so, and Banage knows it. Etmon won’t agree to anything without me there for him to gloat over.” She puffed on her pipe, adding more smoke to the haze that already filled the room. “This is ridiculous. I got back from the desert not an hour ago. I don’t have time for this farce. Not if Alber wants his miracle, anyway.”

Tesset started to comment, but a soft sound outside the door caught his attention. “Well,” he said, “here’s your chance to tell him so yourself.”

The words were scarcely out of his mouth when the door opened and Alber Whitefall swept into the room. He was dressed in full regalia, with the white suit and golden medals of the Merchant Prince of Zarin as well as the maroon sash of the Council of Thrones, which the prince’s valet was still attempting to tie as he followed his harried master through the doorway.

Tesset smiled approvingly. A clever move, playing to Banage’s pride by greeting him with full honors as an equal. But Whitefall was a subtle, clever man, and Tesset never got tired of watching him maneuver. Pity he was spirit deaf. With the right training, he could have made a dangerous fighter.

“Banage is on his way,” Whitefall said, holding out his arm so the valet could fasten his cufflinks. “Remember, let me do the talking. If you antagonize him, he’ll just leave.”

“It’s what he’s going to do anyway,” Sara said, blowing an enormous puff of smoke at the ceiling.

Whitefall smiled. “We’ll see. Our dear Rector is about to run out of options.”

Sara eyed him curiously, but the Merchant Prince’s face was all politeness as he glanced at the enormous clock on the wall. “Time to take our places.”

He turned and walked out of the room, valet trailing in his wake. Sara followed, handing her pipe to Tesset, who tamped it out and placed it carefully in his pocket.

They walked through the citadel and into the large room at its heart, the Council Hearing Chamber. The chamber was empty this late in the evening, and Tesset got the feeling Whitefall had planned it that way. Another clever move. He was robbing Banage of his audience, hoping that the lack of witnesses would help the Rector compromise his principles. Tesset wasn’t sure if that hope would pan out, but Whitefall was wise to seize whatever advantage he could.

They took their places, Whitefall at the head table, Sara beside him with Tesset standing at her back. Moments after the valet had finished pinning the final length of gold braid to Whitefall’s shoulder, the doors at the opposite end of the chamber opened and Banage swept in. The Rector was in full regalia as well, the red robes of his order smothered beneath the heavy chain of his office. The enormous rings on his fingers glowed brighter than the lamps on the walls as he strode proudly across the polished marble to the table that had been prepared for him, but he did not sit. Instead, he stood, hands crossed at his waist, and waited.

Tesset bit back a smile. Banage had come ready to fight. This might prove more interesting than he’d hoped. For a moment, the two parties simply stared at each other, and then Whitefall made an almost imperceptible gesture with his fingers. The servants took their cue, closing the chamber door with a soft crack, leaving the three most powerful people in Zarin alone.

“So,” Whitefall began politely. “Would it be a waste of my breath to ask you to sit?”

“It would,” Banage answered, his blue eyes flicking from Sara to the Merchant Prince. “Let’s not dance about, Whitefall. What do you want?”

“It’s less what I want and more what we need, Banage,” Whitefall said, lacing his fingers together. “I’m sure you’ve heard by now, but I’ll tell you formally: War is coming. Twenty-six years after we drove her fleet back to the ocean, the Immortal Empress is on the move again, and we have precious little time. If our continent is to survive this assault, we must stand together. All of us. Even you.”

Banage’s eyes narrowed. “The Spirit Court is a peaceful organization dedicated to the protection of the spirit world. We do not go to war.”

“And I am head of a trade coalition dedicated to beneficial coexistence and mutual profit,” Whitefall said with a shrug. “These are times of extraordinary threat. We must all reach outside our normal parameters.”

“And you’re demanding my help?” Banage sneered.

“I’m asking for it, yes,” Whitefall said. “I’m asking for everyone’s help.” He leaned forward, cool affection gone. He was staring earnestly at the Rector Spiritualis, and when he spoke again, his voice was full of real emotion. “I shouldn’t have to explain this to you, Etmon. You fought with us in the last war against the Empress, you know how bad things could get. We may never have seen eye to eye on everything, but I know you care about what we’ve built. This war could destroy all of that—the Council, the Spirit Court, everything. The Empress isn’t coming to expand her borders or seek a treaty. She’s coming to conquer. If we’re going to stop her, we must find a way to work together.”

He ended with his hands on the table, eyes locked on Banage. On his side of the room, the Rector Spiritualis sighed.

“I understand what you’re saying, Alber,” he said quietly. “But the Spirit Court is not a political organization. We have worked together with the Council many times to our mutual benefit, but war is different. We serve the spirits, the land itself, and the land does not care who rules it. I cannot ask my Spiritualists to violate their oaths and put their spirits in danger to defend your borders.”

“This isn’t about borders,” Whitefall said, his voice growing heated. “Do you think the Immortal Empress is going to let the Spirit Court continue to operate? You were with Sara and me on the beach at Osera when her wizards dropped their flaming war spirits on our heads. Do you think a woman who uses that kind of force is going to sit back and let you keep running your towers as you see fit?”

Banage lifted his chin. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Whitefall repeated sharply. “That wasn’t how you felt last time.”

“It is because I fought then that I cannot ask my wizards to fight now,” Banage said. “How many times must I say it? Our duty is to our spirits, not your Council. Our oaths are built on a trust deeper than anything your spirit-deaf mind can imagine. I lost two spirits in the war with the Empress. I will not make my Spiritualists go through that pain as well.”

“We all lost friends in the war,” Whitefall said. “I lost an entire legion in one night alone when Den the Traitor turned against us. Every single one of those men had a soul, had a mother, had a family. Are you saying your spirits’ lives were worth more than theirs?”

“Men fight for countries,” Banage said. “They choose to risk death in the name of their cause. But spirits have no countries or causes. This is their world, we are the interlopers. We have no right to drag them from their sleep into our petty conflicts. You are a leader of men, Alber. It is right for you to be concerned with their struggles. But I am a custodian of the Spirit World. If I compromised that position for human interests, I would be unworthy of the name Spiritualist.”

Whitefall heaved an enormous sigh and collapsed back into his chair. “What will it take, Etmon? What can I do to bring you over?”

Banage tilted his head, and his eyes took on a gleam that Tesset knew well. He’d seen it on every fighter: the look that came just before the finishing blow.

“The Spirit Court exists to ensure the greatest good for all spirits,” Banage said. “I was very young when we first fought the Empress, and I thought, as young people do, that the enemy was evil because she was our enemy. That we were right and she was wrong. But I am no longer young or naive, and I’m no longer sure that I am on the right side.”

“That is very close to treason,” Sara said, but she fell silent when Whitefall put out his hand.

“We are the right side, Banage,” Whitefall said earnestly.

“Are you?” Banage said, his eyes flicking to Sara. “Then why does the Council hide its business with spirits down in its bowels? Why is its head wizard allowed to do as she pleases without Spirit Court oversight?”

Sara shot up from her seat. “I knew it!” she shouted. “I knew this was all just a ploy to—”

“Sara!” Whitefall’s voice echoed through the chamber.

Sara flinched and shut her mouth. Across the room, Banage looked positively triumphant. Whitefall, on the other hand, looked dogged.

“Sara’s achievements support the Council,” the Merchant Prince said, picking his words carefully. “The Relay is what keeps the countries tied together. It’s what makes them need us. Therefore, we need her, and she needs the freedom to innovate.”

“Then it’s time to weigh which need is greater,” Banage said, crossing his arms. “Sara’s secrecy or my Court. I know you are a man who plays with words, Alber, so I will say this as plain as possible. If you want our help, you must change your ways. I will lead the Court toward whatever end supports its purpose. Black as you paint the Empress, her crimes against the spirits are as yet only possibilities. Sara’s crimes are far closer to home. You need my Court? Prove you are worthy of it. Tear down the wall of secrecy Sara has built. Allow my people to inspect the Relay and all other works of Council wizardry, and swear to fix whatever abuses we find. Show the Spirit Court that you deserve our loyalty, and we will follow the Council wherever you need us.”

Sara’s face was scarlet with rage as Banage finished, yet she said nothing. Tesset could see why. Whitefall’s hand was at her wrist, his long fingers pressed into the pressure point. The Merchant Prince was calm, his eyes half lidded as they regarded Banage. Tesset leaned back, watching the old man with interest. When Whitefall had nearly lost his temper earlier, Tesset had been worried he’d misjudged the man. Now he saw with satisfaction that the earlier bluster had been a feint, a ruse to draw out Banage’s real objective just as a swordsman feigns injury to trick his enemy into revealing his finishing strike. But now that he knew what Banage really wanted, Whitefall didn’t seem quite sure what to do with it. Tesset watched him carefully, waiting to see how he would counter. However, when the Merchant Prince finally did answer, even Tesset didn’t see the blow coming.

“I’m afraid you leave me no choice,” Whitefall said, drawing a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. “Give this to him.”

Tesset stepped forward and took the paper. He walked across the chamber to Banage, who accepted the note with a suspicious glare before dropping his eyes to read.

“What is this?” he asked as Tesset returned to his position behind Sara.

“It’s a conscription notice,” Whitefall answered.

“Conscription?” Banage roared. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You’ve put me in a bind,” Whitefall said, his voice growing cold and sharp. “I would like nothing more than to throw open the Council and let the Spirit Court scour every inch of it, but I don’t even need to ask to know Sara’s response. You know as well as I do that her word is final when it comes to Council wizardry, and yet you bring me this impossible request. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted this to fail.”

Banage stiffened. “I want only what I have always wanted,” he said. “Humane treatment for all spirits. If you will not let my Spiritualists inspect the Council’s practices, then I no longer have suspicions. I now know that the Council of Thrones is abusing spirits, and you can’t possibly think I would ally my Court with such a shameful organization.”

“Be that as it may,” Whitefall said. “Take a closer look at that paper in your hand. Like it or not, every member of your order is also a citizen of this ‘shameful organization,’ and it is my right, as written under section three of the Council edict, to order citizens of the Council to war for our mutual defense. If you and your wizards do not comply in full, then, by Council law, I have no choice but to declare you traitors.”

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.