Spirit’s End

CHAPTER 13

Alric, Deputy Commander of the League of Storms, sat at his desk behind a mountain of reports, rubbing his temples in a futile attempt to forestall the massive headache that was building at the front of his skull. There had been many, many times in his long career with the League when the Lord of Storms had demanded the impossible, and every time, Alric had delivered. That used to make him proud, but as the years rolled by, he’d come to realize that the problem with always doing the impossible was that people came to expect it. You had to keep performing miracles over and over again until you finally hit a task that was truly impossible and were forced, at last, to fail. He glanced up again at the stack of waiting reports. Had his time come at last?

As though in answer, a cluster of thin, white lines opened in the air above his desk and another half-dozen reports fell onto the pile below, sending the rest of the papers sliding. Alric closed his eyes and wondered if he should just retire now, while he still could.

On the surface, the task was a simple one: find and kill the Daughter of the Dead Mountain. Alric still shuddered at the name, remembering what he’d seen a few years ago at the Shaper Mountain, and then again recently in the forest on the outskirts of Den’s bandit city. Alric had seen her clearly both times, but even for him, a longstanding League member, fear made his memories hazy. He could recall only glimpses: the endless black shadows, the wings, the millions of mouths…

Even these few details were enough to make him shake. The Daughter was the largest demonseed he’d ever personally encountered, perhaps the largest in the League’s history, but strangely, it wasn’t the killing part that had him worried. Even the Daughter of the Dead Mountain couldn’t stand against the unified efforts of the League of Storms now that the Shepherdess had withdrawn her favor from the man who had harbored her, Eli Monpress. No, it was the finding part of the mission that was giving Alric fits, and the Lord of Storms was swiftly growing impatient, even more so than usual.

And it was all Alric’s fault, too. That was the worst bit to swallow.

Alric had, of course, been keeping an eye on the girl on behalf of the League from the moment Monpress and his companions had left the bandit’s camp. Her thrice-cursed coat made it impossible to actually watch her through the network of spirits who reported to the League, but keeping track of her companions had been almost laughably easy.

Josef Liechten in particular had been making quite the name for himself, and if the events at Izo’s had taught Alric anything, it was that wherever Liechten was, the Daughter of the Dead Mountain wasn’t far behind. So when the Lord of Storms had called them all together to announce the hunt, the first thing Alric had done was check Liechten’s location. And, he recalled with a deep sigh, the second thing he’d done was convince the Lord of Storms to wait.

He’d done it with the best of intentions. Liechten had been in Zarin at the time. Alric was not squeamish about the spilling of innocent blood if it got the job done, but this was simply too much. Any fight between the Lord of Storms and the Daughter of the Dead Mountain was sure to destroy anything it was near, and Zarin was the largest city on this half of the world. If the League had gone after her there, it would have been a massacre of unimaginable proportions.

So, using every trick he’d learned in the several lifetimes he’d spent as the Lord of Storms’ second, Alric had convinced his commander to wait. They knew where the demonseed was, he’d argued, and she still reckoned herself safe. They just had to draw her out to somewhere less populated, an easy task requiring little more than a duel challenge from the Lord of Storms to Josef Liechten. The swordsman would never turn down a duel against a superior opponent. Liechten would go, the demonseed would follow, and then it would simply be a matter of closing the trap.

Such a good, simple plan. But then, between one hour and the next, everything had changed. Without so much as a warning, the rivers had gone mad, and in the confusion that followed, Alric’s agents had lost both Josef Liechten and the Daughter of the Dead Mountain. That was almost eighteen hours ago, and since then, nothing. It was like the girl and her swordsman had just vanished into thin air, which, considering she was a demonseed, wasn’t actually impossible. As the night wore on, Alric had expanded his search to the entire continent, but the answer was always the same: no sign of the girl or her swordsman.

Alric leaned back in his chair with a long sigh. He was working up the will to go through the newest batch of reports that had just landed on his desk when his body froze. As always, he smelled the Lord of Storms the second before he appeared. The sharp tang of burning ozone brought the Deputy Commander to his feet, and Alric fell into a low bow just in time as the white portal winked into existence.

The Commander was shouting before his boots hit the floor, his voice thundering with a fury that still made Alric cringe even after so many years.

“Have you found her?”

“Not yet, my Lord,” Alric said. “I have every agent looking as we speak.”

The Lord of Storms gave him an accusing look. “You told me she’d fully awakened in the mountains while I was away. I don’t care what she did to cram herself back down after, her damn coat can’t have kept up completely. How have you not found her yet?”

“I don’t know,” Alric said truthfully. “Even stretched beyond its limits, Heinricht Slorn’s craftsmanship remains superb.”

The Lord of Storms bared his teeth. “I’m going to skin that bear man.”

“That wouldn’t help matters,” Alric said. “The coat is no longer her only cover. She’s learned to dampen herself somehow, to clamp down on her own demonic nature. I have reason to believe she used her powers quite heavily in Osera, and yet there was little more than a blip so far as the spirits were concerned, though any panic might have been lost in the chaos caused by a war between stars.”

The Lord of Storms settled his long fingers on the hilt of his sword. “I’m hearing a lot of excuses, Alric. That’s not like you.”

Alric closed his eyes. “I apologize, my lord. But, if I may speak plainly, even if the girl’s coat was off completely, I don’t think we could find her given the present situation.”

“What do you mean?” the Lord of Storms growled.

Alric cleared his throat, searching for the most politic way to phrase their current predicament. “Our network relies on responding to spirit fear, but over the last day we’ve had a great deal of… interference.”

“What?” the Lord of Storms said. “Are we not hearing the panics?”

“We’re hearing them too well,” Alric said, pointing at the pile of papers on his desk. “Every time the Lady calls in a star, we have a massive influx. I can’t even keep up with the reports, much less decide which ones should be investigated. The Daughter has always been a quiet demon. Looking for her under these circumstances is like trying to separate the whispering voice out of a choir of screaming maniacs.”

“Oh,” the Lord of Storms looked considerably relieved. “Is that all?”

“That’s more than enough,” Alric said, not quite managing to keep the exasperation out of his voice. “With all due respect, sir, the Shepherdess asks the impossible. Telling us to hunt the Daughter of the Dead Mountain at the same time she decides to call in her stars without warning is practically inviting us to fail. How are we supposed to—”

“If we’d acted when she called the hunt, this would not have been a problem,” the Lord of Storms said, his voice cold.

Alric snapped his mouth shut. A fair point. But still. “If the Lady had warned us about the incoming panics, I would never have suggested the delay,” he said quietly. “That is no excuse, I know, but I cannot change the past. The truth of our current situation is that the Daughter of the Dead Mountain is missing, and there is simply too much fear for the League to find her. For pity’s sake, sir, I’ve got our agents combing Zarin like common guardsmen. If the Lady would consent to hold off calling her stars for a few hours, it would be enough to—”

“The Shepherdess tends her flock,” the Lord of Storms’ voice said, rolling over him. “That’s her job. Killing demonseeds is ours.”

Alric clenched his teeth. “And how are we to do that when—”

“I have spoken!” the Lord of Storms roared.

Alric stepped back, his face pale. “Yes, sir.”

The Lord of Storms nodded. “Forget Zarin,” he said. “The Daughter of the Dead Mountain cannot be trusted to stay in one place. Check every panic. I don’t care how many there are, have the men investigate every single one. If the demon is not there, they move on, no matter how upset the spirits are. Our only priority is the hunt.”

“Yes, sir,” Alric said, lowering his head. “What will you do?”

“I’ll hunt as well,” the Lord of Storms said. “She can’t hide forever. Now get to work. We’re running out of time.”

“Yes, sir,” Alric said again, but the Lord of Storms was already gone, his enormous black form vanishing in a crack of lightning.

Alric fell back into his chair with a sigh. He hadn’t expected the Lord of Storms to shut down his suggestion quite that quickly, but looking back, he wasn’t surprised. It was times like this that he had to remind himself that the Lord of Storms was not human. His body was an illusion created by the Shepherdess for her own amusement and to make it easier for him to interact with his human followers, but his mind was that of a spirit, one shaped from its very beginning to have a single purpose: to be the Shepherdess’s sword against the demons.

No matter how much the Commander railed against the Lady in private, unless her actions directly impeded his work, he would not question her. So what if the Shepherdess was sending the whole world into a panic, picking out stars like she was picking flowers? To the Commander’s mind, that just meant they had to look harder. He had balked against her order to leave Eli Monpress alone because it had put a wall between him and his purpose, but now that she had given him the freedom to hunt the Daughter of the Dead Mountain despite the thief, the Lord of Storms didn’t care how difficult the Shepherdess’s actions made things. So long as he got to hunt, to serve his purpose, the Lord of Storms wouldn’t care if the Lady ordered him to do it without hands. He’d just take it as a challenge to rip the creature’s throat out with his teeth.

Alric shook his head. It had taken him many years to understand the Lord of Storms’ nature, but no amount of understanding could make him like it. Still, there was little he could do. The Commander had given his orders, and Alric would obey. That was how the world worked.

He allowed himself a full thirty seconds of sulking before turning back to his desk and the impossible task the Lord of Storms had set before him. He grabbed the latest report and ripped it open, reading it quickly before laying it down on the bottom of what would become a stack of dead ends. Alric read the reports one by one, scratching off replies, sending his men after every panic, just as he had been ordered. They would go without question, do their duty to their utmost just like always, just like him.

“The Shepherdess’s will be done,” he muttered, laying another dead end on the pile.

An hour of furious work later, Alric had almost caught up to the current reports when a bright white light flashed in the paved yard below his window. A minute later, a brisk knock sounded at his door.

“Enter.”

A man in the League’s long black coat opened the door and stepped into the room without a sound. He was dark skinned and tall, and the sword at his hip shone as red as the setting sun. Alric smiled. Chejo was one of the League’s oldest and most trusted members. An efficient man who didn’t waste his time. If he was here, it was important, and Alric put everything else aside to hear his report.

“Deputy Commander,” Chejo said. “Eli Monpress has escaped from the Council.”

Alric frowned. “I wasn’t aware he’d been captured.”

“They got him yesterday morning,” Chejo said. “Whitefall’s good at keeping secrets.”

“Though not as good at keeping prisoners, it seems,” Alric said, tapping the paper in front of him. “But to be fair, this is Monpress we’re talking about. When did he escape?”

“Yesterday evening,” Chejo said. “Right after the incident with the rivers.”

Alric’s mouth pressed to a thin line. The timing lined up far too well for his liking. “Well, that explains the sudden disappearance of Liechten and the demonseed quite nicely, doesn’t it?”

“That’s why I thought you’d like to hear it in person,” Chejo said, his frown deepening. “Sir, does the thief’s presence change the mission?”

“No,” Alric said without hesitation. “The orders stand, but this does make things more complicated. Monpress always was the cunning one of their little group. If the demonseed is wrapped up in whatever scam he’s running, finding her could prove more difficult than we thought.”

“Don’t see how, considering it’s already nigh impossible,” Chejo said with a sneer. “The whole world’s in a panic these days.”

Alric sighed. “I know, just do your best.”

He motioned that the League man was dismissed, but Chejo didn’t leave. He stayed put, his eyes as sharp as the sword at his side. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Alric could guess what the man wanted to say, but he nodded anyway.

“We’re pledged to protect the world from the demons,” Chejo said, gripping his sword hard. “But what the Shepherdess does now with her stars is worse than any demon fear I’ve seen in all my years with the League. I serve the Lord of Storms and his Lady without hesitation, but I have to wonder if we aren’t landing on the wrong side of the problem this time around.”

Alric looked down at his desk. Chejo’s words were dangerously close to insubordination. It was also a fair point, one that occurred to him every time he opened a report of a new panic.

“The Shepherdess has guided our world since its beginning,” he said calmly, locking his eyes on Chejo’s dark glare. “We must trust that she knows what she’s doing. Spirits are panicky by nature. Most of them are little smarter than animals, but even the big ones are prone to attacks of irrational fear. It’s only natural; spirits are prey. They are helpless, weak sheep, while demons are predators. The sheep must go where the Shepherdess leads, and we as her dogs must protect the flock and ensure it follows. That is why we are here, Chejo, to protect and corral. Not to question.”

“It is human to question,” Chejo said, crossing his arms.

“An urge we must suppress on occasion if we are to serve the spirits,” Alric answered tiredly. “Is that understood?”

Chejo’s glare grew icy, but he lowered his head. “Aye, sir.”

Alric nodded. “Have you anything else to report?”

“Yes,” Chejo said. “There’s a woman here to see you.”

Alric’s eyebrows shot up. “A woman?”

Chejo smiled. “Pretty little Spiritualist with a ghosthound. She arrived a few seconds after I did. Asked for you by name. I left her arguing with the quartermaster, but I thought you would like to know.”

Alric leaned back and resumed rubbing his temples. It did little good. “I would, thank you, Chejo. I’d like you to return to Zarin and see if you can’t learn more about where the thief might have gone. Could you send the Spiritualist up before you leave?”

“Of course, sir,” Chejo said, turning on his heel. “Good luck, sir.”

Alric waved him off and stood up, carefully moving the remaining unopened reports to a side table. There was only one Spiritualist with a ghosthound he knew of, and if he was going to deal with her without losing his temper, he needed to remove all other sources of frustration. When his desk was bare, he sat down, folded his arms, and waited for the knock.

Miranda stood in the courtyard where the League man had left her, leaning on Gin and trying not to look as wobbly as she felt. Though she’d never admit it, she was vaguely disappointed. She’d always thought flying would be more freeing, or at least more fun. But after a night and a morning spent hurtling through the air, she’d never been happier to be on solid ground. From the way Gin had pressed himself into the stone the second they touched down, she knew he felt the same. Her stomach certainly did, though this particular stretch of ground wasn’t helping much on that account.

Against her better judgment, her eyes drifted up again. The League’s fortress was perched on a lonely jut of land in the far, far northwest corner of the continent, a desolate country well beyond the Council maps. The sea, iron gray and choppy beneath the cloud-heavy sky, surrounded them on three sides, and the land wasn’t any more hospitable with its wet stone and wild nettles.

The fortress itself looked as though it had been pushed up from the rock during some great argument among the lava flows and then forgotten completely. Its surface was black and pitted save for the sea-facing walls that had been worn smooth by the endless wind. The stern black battlements, the sharp, jutting towers, the harsh military efficiency of it all was dreadful to look on and even worse to stand under. Already, after less than five minutes of waiting for Alric, her stomach was a quivering mess of nerves far worse than the man deserved.

Miranda closed her eyes, missing Mellinor terribly. Diminished or not, he had still been a Great Spirit, and his presence, not to mention his advice, would have been very welcome now. As it was, all she could do was clutch Gin’s fur and try to keep her mind calm, for her other spirits if nothing else.

She could feel them shaking in their rings, even Eril, and the wind spirit was usually the cockiest of them all. Miranda couldn’t blame them. The longer she waited, the more she realized that it wasn’t the fortress or the anticipation of meeting Alric that made her uneasy. The League’s Fortress was just a building, and she’d dealt with the Deputy Commander before, but the growing dread that gnawed at her resolve was something greater. She could feel it rising in her throat even now, an icy bile of fear, completely irrational and so omnipresent it seemed to radiate from the black stone itself.

“It’s the vault,” Gin whispered.

Miranda jumped and looked down to see her ghosthound was crouched low on the ground, his pointed ears pressed flat against his skull. “It must be right below us,” he whispered again, softer this time.

“What?” Miranda whispered back.

“The vault of the demonseeds,” a strong voice answered.

Miranda whirled around to see the tall, dark League man who’d been there when the wind had dropped her into the courtyard. The one who’d told her to wait. He’d been gone awhile, but now he was back, standing only a few feet from her. His hand rested on the red sword at his hip as he looked her over, its hilt glowing as red as an ember between his fingers.

Miranda winced. She hadn’t heard him return, but from what she’d seen of the League, that was normal. The man’s lips curved into a smile that didn’t touch his eyes and he nodded to the ground at her feet. “The dog is right. The fear you’re feeling comes from the vault. This citadel is built on the great cavern where the League stores the seeds of the demons after we cut them from their hosts.”

Gin whimpered and pressed himself flatter against the paving stones, but Miranda stepped forward in alarm. “Why would you keep such things?”

“Demonseeds are indestructible,” the man said with a shrug. “All we can do is pile them up and lock them away. If that’s how it must be, then what safer place is there for them than beneath the Lord of Storms’ own fortress?”

Miranda frowned. She didn’t have an answer to that. Fortunately, the League man seemed to have lost interest. “The Deputy Commander will see you in his office,” he said, pointing at the gate behind him. “Second floor, first door on the right.”

“Thank you,” Miranda said, but before she’d gotten to the “you,” the man was gone. She stood a moment, staring at the shimmering white line as it faded from the air, and then, setting her shoulders, she marched across the black-paved courtyard. “Stay here,” she ordered.

For once, Gin didn’t argue. He just put his head down, his orange eyes following her as she vanished into the fortress.

It was just as cold inside the fortress as it was outside, but at least the black stone walls blocked the endless wind. Still, Miranda shivered as she climbed the stairs, blowing on Kirik’s spark to keep her hands warm. When she reached the top, she went to the door the League man had indicated and knocked purposefully.

Alric’s voice rang clear and immediate through the heavy, metal-bound wood. “Enter.”

She opened the door to see a spare but surprisingly normal office. A large, worn desk took up most of the room. Alric sat in a high-backed chair behind it, looking the same as he ever did. On the wall above his head, a sheathed sword rested on a mounted stand, its swooping, golden hilt shining like the day’s last sunbeam in the dim, cloud-shrouded light that filtered through the tall window. Outside, she could see the courtyard where Gin was still crouching and the sea beyond, an endless swath of ash-gray water and white peaks running to sky’s edge.

“Spiritualist Lyonette,” Alric said. “Or, forgive me, Rector Spiritualis. Please”—he held out his hand toward the carved wooden chair in front of his desk—“sit.”

Miranda sat, folding her hands in front of her so that her rings would catch the gray light. “Why am I not surprised you’ve already heard about that?”

“I try to stay informed,” Alric said with a tight smile. “And on that note, would you mind telling me how you arrived at our headquarters today? Chejo was vague on that point.”

When Miranda frowned, Alric held up his hands.

“I don’t ask just to be nosy. We guard many things here, so you can understand how an unexpected guest, no matter how welcome, would be a matter of some concern.”

That made sense, Miranda thought, and there was little point in trying to keep the West Wind’s involvement secret after his wind had blown her across half the continent. “One of Illir’s winds brought me,” she said. “Payment for a favor.”

“Must have been some favor,” Alric said thoughtfully. “Thank you for your honest answer, Rector, but I’m afraid you’ve caught us at a rather busy time.”

“I thought you might be busy,” Miranda said quickly. “That’s why I’m here.”

Alric gave her a strange look. “Really?”

Miranda nodded emphatically. “I think we can help.”

If Miranda had known the Deputy Commander better, she would have known how rare the look of pure confusion on his face was. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Maybe you should explain from the beginning,” he said. “Just to be sure we understand one another.”

“I don’t see that there’s much that needs explaining,” Miranda said. “Surely the League is aware that stars are vanishing.” She paused, watching Alric’s face. His polite smile fell at once.

“Ah,” he said. “You’re here about the panics.”

“Why else would I be here?” Miranda asked, exasperated. “Maybe you haven’t noticed, but the world is tearing itself apart out there. The spirits who lose their stars are convinced the world is ending, and frankly, I don’t think they’re too far off. Not when the stars who form the foundation of the world are vanishing without a trace.”

“How do you know about—” Alric stopped and took a long breath. “Never mind, I’m not going to ask who told you. It doesn’t really matter. I suppose, then, you’d like to know why the stars are vanishing.”

Miranda nodded. “It would be a start.”

“Then that makes two of us,” Alric said, spreading his hands helplessly. “All I can tell you is that the Shepherdess is the one who calls her stars away. As to the why of it, your guess is as good as mine.”

“But you work for her, don’t you?” Miranda said. “I heard you say it before, in Izo’s camp. The League does the Shepherdess’s work.”

“The Lord of Storms serves the Shepherdess,” Alric said flatly. “And the League serves the Lord. We know only what the Lady sees fit to tell her demon hunter, which has never been as much as most seem to believe.”

“So you don’t know why she’s doing it?” Miranda said hotly. “Why she’s ruining the world she’s supposed to be guiding?”

“No,” Alric’s voice grew sharp and cold. “Only that it is for the best.”

Miranda gaped at him. “How can you possibly believe that?” she cried. “Open your eyes! There is no way this kind of panic is good for the spirits. How do you know she’s not ruining everything and counting on her doctrine of ignorance and fear to discourage questions until it’s too late?”

“I don’t,” Alric said. “But I’ve trusted my life to the Lord of Storms and his mistress for a long, long time now, Lady Rector. In that time, the Shepherdess has done many things I did not agree with or understand, and yet the world has continued.”

“Not like this,” Miranda said. Her anger was boiling now, and her head was full of the memory of the river’s screaming voice.

Gone! Gone! Gone!

She forced herself to stop and take a breath. Only when her temper was firmly back under control did she let herself speak again.

“When I first decided to come here, I meant to demand that the Shepherdess stop whatever she was doing,” she confessed. “But while I was stuck in the air, I had time to calm down and think, and I realized I was asking the impossible. The Shepherdess is the top authority in this world, isn’t she? No one stands up to her, not the Shaper Mountain, not the Lord of the West, no one.”

Not even Eli, her mind whispered, but Miranda forced the thought out of her head. “I am a Spiritualist,” she continued. “My oaths demand that I serve the spirits, protect them from abuse, and try to make the world better for them. I don’t know why the Shepherdess is taking her stars away seemingly without a care for the spirits who depend on them, but I understand now that I can’t stop her. All I can do is try to control the damage as best I can.”

Alric was looking down at his empty desk when she finished, tracing the worn grain of the wood with his fingertip. “That is unexpectedly wise of you, Rector,” he said quietly. “But while I can understand why you came here initially, I don’t yet see what you want from the League now.”

“I want to help,” Miranda said. “I’ve seen the League work twice now, once repairing the damage in Mellinor and once in Izo’s camp. I saw your power firsthand both times, how you calm panicked spirits and repair damage like it never was. I’ve also seen how you can move easily through the world using those white lines. All over the world, on this continent and I’m sure on the Empress’s as well, maybe even in the frozen north, spirits are panicking. With every star that vanishes, the spirits who relied on it lash out in fear and despair, hurting themselves and everything around them. If we don’t stop the panic quickly, the spirits will do enormous harm in their fear. I’ve seen it already with the rivers, and it’s only going to get worse as more stars vanish.”

“It can’t be helped,” Alric said. “Spirits are panicky by nature.”

“Anything would be panicky if it thought the world was ending!” Miranda cried. “The only reason people aren’t tearing their cities apart is because we’re too blind and ignorant to know what’s going on. The Shepherdess holds all the power. The spirits have no choice but to depend on her. How can you fault them for panicking when she rips the floor out from under their feet?”

Alric took a deep breath. “I’m not blaming them,” he said. “Believe it or not, Rector, I’m on your side, but the League has other priorities at the moment. We are not a large organization—”

“I know that,” Miranda said. “It’s not your job to guard the common spirits, but it is mine.” She pulled herself straight in her chair, fixing her gaze solidly on Alric’s. This was it. “The League is small, far too small to deal with a crisis of this scale, but the Spirit Court is over a thousand strong, and every one of us has sworn the same oath to serve the spirits and protect them from harm. What I’m proposing is a partnership. If you will share the League’s powers with the Court for the extent of this emergency, we will take over calming all the panicked spirits gently and with understanding, in accordance with our oaths.”

To her surprise, Alric smiled. “You don’t think we’ll be gentle?”

“I think you’ll be rushed,” Miranda answered. “The League doesn’t have the manpower to handle every panic. We do. If we don’t have to worry about travel time, my Spiritualists will be able to take the care needed with each outburst. With us handling the panic caused by the lost stars, your membership will be free to pursue your ‘other priorities.’ ”

Alric drummed his fingers on his desk, his brows furrowed in thought. “You propose an interesting plan, Lady Rector,” he said at last. “But I wonder, could you follow it through?”

Miranda jerked back. “What?”

“You forget I am well informed,” Alric said, his voice bland. “The Court is fractured, and you are Rector only until those who balked at Banage’s leadership organize to kick you out. Even if it were in my power to wave my hand and give you everything you ask, you’re hardly in a position to be making deals on behalf of the Spirit Court.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Miranda said, holding her head high. “I know which way the Court will go once the situation is properly explained. We may quibble about how the Court is run, but to stand back and abandon the spirits to panic and fear goes against the very nature of our purpose and our oaths. No Spiritualist would allow that, no matter who wears the Rector’s mantle. So long as there are rings on our fingers, we will honor our oaths and do our duty. That I swear to you, Deputy Commander.”

Alric leaned back in his chair, his face closed, considering. “It is a bold offer,” he said at last. “Bolder than I’d ever expect from the Court, but I can find no guile in it.”

“Of course not,” Miranda said, insulted. “I’m not a liar.”

“No, you’re not,” Alric said, looking at her with a faint smile. “Your offer is a good one, Lady Rector, and would actually solve a great number of my problems if you were successful. Unfortunately, the League’s power is not mine to dole out. It, like all else we have, flows from our commander, the Lord of Storms. He’s the one you’ll have to convince.”

Miranda sighed, frustrated. “Fine, when can I talk to him?”

Alric’s smile widened. “I believe he’s already here.”

Miranda started and looked around, but the office was empty. The only change at all was a faint smell of ozone in the air. And then, without warning, the white line opened right in front of her face, and the Lord of Storms filled the room.

Miranda jerked back without thinking, nearly falling out of her chair. Her eyes saw a tall man stepping out of the air between her and Alric, a man with long black hair that fell well past the high collar of his black League coat, pale, intense eyes set in a pale, intense face, and a long, gently curved sword at his side, its hilt somewhere between blue and silver, like a lightning bolt glimpsed suddenly on a clear night.

That was what she saw, anyway, but her other senses were screaming at her that this was wrong. She’d felt the man appear, felt the air thickening, tightening with the anticipation that came just before a storm. The room was still, and yet she could smell the storm on the air, cold and wild and dangerous, and it took every bit of pride she had to resettle herself in her chair instead of running for cover like her body was screaming for.

The Lord of Storms, for who else could it be, was saying something to Alric, but Miranda couldn’t make out the words. They rumbled through her like distant thunder, and then the Lord of Storms turned to look at her, and his lightning-colored eyes narrowed. All at once, the pressure relented and the Lord of Storms seemed to shrink. It was like he was pulling himself in, resettling the human shell that contained the full extent of… whatever he was. Miranda swallowed and forced herself to be still, but she couldn’t stop the beads of sweat rolling down the side of her face or the deepening feeling that she was now not only in over her head, but so far out that the bottom had vanished completely.

“You.” The Lord of Storms’ voice was softer now, more human, but Miranda could still feel the words vibrating through her ribs. “Wizard girl. Alric tells me you have an offer?”

Miranda swallowed. “Yes,” she said, proud that her voice trembled only a little. “I understand you are having problems containing the spirit panic that is—”

“You understand?” the Lord of Storms’ sneering voice cut her off. “You understand nothing, human. We are in the middle of the greatest hunt of your age. I have no time for your ignorance. Tell me the offer, if you have one, but don’t waste my patience reaching above your place.”

Miranda tensed in anger, glaring up at the Lord of Storms. Who did he think he was? She’d faced down the Shaper Mountain; she’d taken in Mellinor and answered the Lord of the West’s call for aid. She wasn’t some wizard girl for him to kick around.

“My offer is a simple one,” she said, standing up to meet the Lord of Storms’ glare with one of her own. “The world is in a panic and the League does not have the resources to quell it. I can help you. As acting Rector Spiritualis, I offer you the Spirit Court’s aid. We have over a thousand wizards with centuries of experience handling spirits between us. If you will consent to grant my Court limited access to the League’s gifts, namely instant travel throughout the world and the ability to still and reconstruct spirits, we will handle the panic caused by the vanishing stars, leaving you free to continue your hunt.”

She’d expected the Lord of Storms to be angry at her disrespectful tone, but the tall man only put his hand to his chin, considering. “I give your Court temporary access to the League’s power, and you’ll handle the spirits?” He frowned. “Why do you take so much on yourselves? What are you after?”

“Survival through this crisis with the least amount of life lost, along with the continued peace and stability of the spirit world,” Miranda said hotly. “The same thing we’ve been after since the Court was founded. We’ve already tried smoothing things over ourselves, but we’re only human, as you’re so quick to point out. We can’t be everywhere at once. The League can. So let’s help each other.”

She finished with her chin up, looking at the Lord of Storms dead-on, but he wasn’t paying attention to her anymore. He was staring out the window at the stone-paved yard where Gin was waiting, his face set in a deep scowl. “Do you know how we hunt the demonseeds?”

The question caught Miranda off guard, but before she could collect her thoughts, the Lord of Storms answered it himself.

“We listen,” he said, tapping the fall of black hair covering his ear. “When a demonseed awakens, a wave of fear is born with it. When that fear hits the spirits, a great cry arises, and it is that which calls us to our duty. But a cry of demon fear and a cry of loss for something as precious and vital as a star sound very much the same, especially when so many cries happen at once.” He turned to glare at her. “The demon we hunt is a quiet prey. She’s hard enough to track under normal circumstances, but this racket has made the task nearly impossible.”

Without warning, the Lord of Storms leaned down, his face hovering dangerously close to Miranda’s own, and it took everything she had not to duck away. She could feel him all around her, now. The pressure was almost painful, the air alive with the quick pulse of lightning about to strike.

“I tire of waiting while my League wastes its time sorting through frightened spirits,” he said, his low voice booming. “If your Court can quiet the field long enough for us to find and conquer our quarry, I will grant you whatever power you need.”

“My lord,” Alric said, his voice taut with warning.

“It is already done, Alric,” the Lord of Storms said. He straightened up, and Miranda shivered as the enormous pressure subsided. “I’ve decided. The hunt is all that matters. Anyway, they can hardly make things worse, can they?”

“Things can always get worse,” Alric said tiredly. “But if you’ve decided, then that’s that. We’ll still need a pledge for the transfer, though. When can we address your Court?”

It took Miranda several moments to realize this last question was for her. “The Spirit Court gathers for the Conclave this afternoon,” she said. “Everyone alive who’s taken the Spiritualist oath will be there.”

“Conclave?” Alric’s voice shifted from weary to interested in a flash. “Isn’t that the Court’s great meeting, called in times of dire crisis? And doesn’t it usually start with a referendum on the Rectorship?”

Miranda’s cheeks flushed again, with shame this time. “It does,” she said quietly.

The Lord of Storms’ glare swept back to her. “I hope you have not promised more than you can deliver, girl.”

“The Spirit Court will do whatever it needs to ensure the protection of the spirit world whether I’m Rector or not,” she snapped. “We will keep our end of the bargain, Lord of Storms.”

The Lord of Storms laughed then, a great, terrifying sound like thunder cracking directly over her head. “I love it,” he said, grinning wide. “Alric, get it started.”

“Yes, Commander,” Alric said, bowing.

The Lord of Storms nodded and vanished in a flash of lightning. Miranda covered her eyes a hair too late and was left blinking against the afterimage of clouds pouring through a long, white line.

“Well,” Alric said, standing, “shall we get going?”

“We have some time,” Miranda said slowly, glancing out the window as she pulled herself together. “It’s still morning. The Conclave doesn’t start until noon.”

“Then we should certainly get going,” Alric said. “It’s twenty past already.”

Miranda blinked at him. “But the sky,” she said lamely, looking again at the gray morning clouds.

“It’s always like that here,” Alric said. “This is the citadel of the Lord of Storms. The sky reflects his moods, not the time of day.”

Miranda took a deep breath and saved the cursing for later. “Do I have time to get Gin?”

“He’s already in Zarin,” Alric said, taking the sheathed gold sword down from the stand behind him and buckling it to his belt.

Miranda’s head whipped back toward the window. Sure enough, the ghosthound was gone. So was the man who’d introduced himself to her as the League quartermaster when she’d first come tumbling out of the sky.

“We in the League take good care to jump before the Lord of Storms says frog,” Alric said with a smile. He reached out, his hand hanging in the air before her. “Shall we be off?”

Rather than answer, Miranda reached out and took his offered hand. His skin was surprisingly cool and dry to the touch, and as his fingers closed over hers, a white line opened in the air in front of them.

“After you, Lady Rector,” the Deputy Commander said with a smile she would have called wry were his face less serious.

Miranda nodded and, after only a tiny hesitation, stepped through the hole in the world.