The Spirit War

CHAPTER 12

As many times as she’d seen the white walls of Zarin rising in the distance, Miranda had never been so glad to be home. Gin’s time chained in the mountain seemed to have left him ready to run. Even with two passengers, he’d raced down the mountains in record time, though Miranda wasn’t sure if that was because of the urgency of the situation or if he just wanted Sparrow off his back. For his part, Sparrow hadn’t changed a bit. He still took up every bit of breathable air.

“Finally,” he cried as Zarin came into view. “Civilization. Powers, it’s been too long. I can’t wait to eat something that hasn’t had dog slobber all over it.”

Miranda sniffed indignantly. “You’re free to catch your own food, you know.”

“Hardly matters now,” Sparrow said. “We’ll be at the gates in an hour if your little puppy keeps up the pace.”

Miranda winced and glanced down at Gin. He’d threatened to eat Sparrow if the man called him a puppy one more time, but the ghosthound kept running as though nothing had happened. She sighed. Sparrow had no idea how lucky he was that spirits had a hard time hearing him. Of course, Miranda could hear him just fine, and that was enough to make her consider letting Gin eat him anyway.

As their road joined the main highway connecting Zarin to the northern Council Kingdoms, Miranda was astonished by the volume of traffic. Loaded carts filled the paved highway, forcing people on foot and horseback to spill over onto the fields beside the road. Since a ghosthound isn’t the sort of thing you want in the middle of a crowd of horses and ox-drawn carts, Gin had to turn out farther still, beyond the hard-beaten grass that lined the road and into the mud of the freshly plowed fields.

“Lovely,” Sparrow said, lifting his boots as high as he could.

Miranda ignored him. “What’s all this?” she said, nodding at the packed roar. “It’s months too early for the new year’s market, unless I am drastically wrong about how long we were under that mountain.”

“Those aren’t farm carts, either,” Gin added. “I smell steel.”

“You’re right,” Miranda said, straightening her knees so that she was almost standing on his back. “And they’re marked, look.”

Every cart was marked with a flag or seal. The traffic went on farther than she could see in both directions. Hundreds of carts from more countries than she could name hauling what had to be thousands of tons’ worth of goods into Zarin. But for what?

“They’re supply wagons,” Sparrow said, yawning. “You know, for the war.”

Miranda stopped Gin right there, nearly throwing Sparrow off. “War?” she yelled, whirling around. “What war?”

“The upcoming war with the Immortal Empress,” Sparrow said, resettling himself.

Miranda was staring at him like he’d just grown a second head. “The Immortal Empress?”

“Yes,” Sparrow said. “You know, terrible lady? Comes from across the sea with thousands of ships to kill us all? Don’t they teach you any history in that little social club of yours?”

“I know who the Immortal Empress is!” Miranda shouted. “What I want to know is what is she doing back? I thought she was defeated at Osera two decades ago?”

“Defeated?” Sparrow snorted. “She lost a few ships and a little pride, but women who own half the world don’t roll over just because you beat up their forward fleet. She retreated is all. Your real question should be, what took her so long to come back and finish the job?”

Miranda stared at him. “Well?”

“Well what?” Sparrow said, leaning back tiredly.

“What took her so long?” Miranda said, gritting her teeth on each word.

“How in the world should I know?” Sparrow said. “But she’s back now, and word is she’s got a fleet large enough to crush us flat five times over. Of course, that’s probably an exaggeration, but there must be some truth to it if Whitefall’s worked up enough to squeeze the Council Kingdoms this hard. There must be carts from here to Gaol.”

“I can see that,” Miranda snapped. “What I want to know is, if you knew all this, why you didn’t see fit to tell me.”

Sparrow arched his thin shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “What good would it have done you to know? You were already running your darling dog into the ground to get to Zarin, so it’s not like the knowledge would have spurred you any faster.”

Miranda’s jaw clenched. “And did it never occur to you that a continent-scale war is something I should be informed of?”

“It did,” Sparrow said. “But quite frankly, Miranda dear, you have a bad habit of getting bent out of shape over things that have nothing to do with you. Remember who sprung you out of your charming little cold cellar under the mountain. You’re working for Sara now. She, not I, decides what you need to know and when, and she said nothing about telling you anything about the war.”

Miranda’s eyes went wide. “Said?” she hissed. “When did you—”

Before she could finish, Sparrow flicked his hand and a blue ball the size of a marble attached to a leather cord rolled out into his palm. Miranda snapped her mouth shut. Of course. She’d forgotten he had a Relay point. How stupid could she be?

“You still should have told me,” she grumbled.

“Think that all you like,” Sparrow said, rolling the Relay point in his hand. “I’m not sticking my neck out for your desperate need to meddle.” He flicked his hand again, and the blue orb disappeared. “Remember, little Spiritualist,” he said, smiling at her startled jerk. “Sara owns you now. I suggest you do as I do and do just what she says, no more and no less. In the meanwhile, get moving. You’re wasting our time.”

Gin snarled and craned his head back, enormous teeth bared, but Miranda shook her head.

“Ride,” she said.

Gin snapped his teeth. “Let me teach this—”

She dug her fingers into his fur. “Go.”

Gin snarled one last time, but then he turned and dashed toward the northern gate as fast as he could go, his fur bristling in wild gray swirls. Miranda hunkered down on his back, grateful that the rushing wind made further conversation impossible.

Zarin’s gates were thrown wide open to accommodate the massive influx of people. The northern gate was staffed with a squad in Whitefall’s white and silver directing traffic. They waved Gin forward without question, and Miranda immediately turned them down a side street, dodging the crowds as best she could. When they were clear of the gate’s confusion, Miranda nudged Gin west, toward Whitefall Citadel. It felt strange to enter Zarin and not go directly to the Spirit Court, but she had the feeling that if she didn’t see Sara first, things would get ugly. Still, she couldn’t help craning her neck as they rode, watching for any flash of the Spirit Court’s white walls between the buildings as Gin began the run up the hill to the citadel.

The approach to the Council’s stronghold was even more crowded than the road into Zarin. The city was packed to bursting. Troops in a rainbow of country colors clogged the streets and side alleys in noisy, suspicious packs. Everyone made room for Gin, even bravado-filled soldiers weren’t stupid enough to stand in a ghosthound’s way, but it was still infuriatingly slow going. Finally, after almost an hour of climbing, they made it to the citadel gate.

The guards stepped aside the moment they saw Sparrow, and Gin trotted into the citadel’s paved yard. Even here, the traffic was heavy. Ornate, official carriages clogged every inch of the Council’s entry, and servants, footmen, and guards stood in every available space, waiting for their masters with sullen, suspicious looks. Gin turned immediately, sticking to the fence until he found a space under the ornamental trees wide enough for his passengers to dismount.

“Wait here,” Miranda said, eyeing the other carriages nervously. “And try not to startle the horses. I’m going to see what’s going on.”

Gin nodded and sat down with a huff, growling deep in his throat. He was still biting mad, but he’d been with Miranda long enough to know that acting out wouldn’t get him anywhere but into her bad graces. Still, swallowing anger graciously was not a ghosthound virtue, and so Miranda had to content herself with leaving him growling in the shady corner of the packed citadel yard. This should have made her nervous, but today she was too angry herself to care. And so, filthy, bedraggled, and furious, Miranda marched past the carriages and up the stairs of the Council of Thrones. Sparrow drifted along behind her, thoroughly amused by the whole affair.

A page separated himself from the flock in the entry hall the moment they entered to inform Miranda and Sparrow that Sara was expecting them.

“Of course she is,” Miranda muttered, waving for the page to lead the way.

But rather than leading them down to the dark cavernous room where Miranda had met Sara before, the boy led them up a grand staircase and into a series of richly appointed halls. The outside commotion was here as well. Servants in a rainbow of liveries were constantly running by with papers tucked under their arms. Here and there, doors were guarded by solemn-faced soldiers who watched them suspiciously as they passed. These crowded hallways lasted only two floors, however. After climbing another set of stairs, they entered a quieter hall of elegant offices with important-looking brass nameplates on the doors, all of which were closed. After climbing yet another set of stairs, they entered an elegant waiting room full of serious-faced men in excessively expensive jackets talking in hushed, urgent voices. The men fell silent the moment Miranda stepped into view, and she paused at the top of the stairs, watching to see where the page wanted her. But the page walked right past the waiting men to the closed door at the far end of the room, which, unlike all the others, bore no nameplate at all.

The page stopped at the door and motioned for Miranda to step forward. The waiting men were openly glaring at her now, and Miranda glanced back at Sparrow only to find that she was alone. She turned in a full circle, eyes wide, but Sparrow was nowhere to be seen. Miranda cursed under her breath. She was less annoyed at Sparrow for vanishing than at herself for being surprised. For a moment, she considered turning around and walking out, obligation or no, but even as she thought about it, she knew she couldn’t. Sparrow and, through him, Sara had saved her from the mountain. The least she could do was show up and see what Sara wanted. After that, she would go straight to Master Banage and tell him everything.

Decision made, Miranda lifted her head and smoothed her dirty hair and travel-stained clothes with quick fingers. When she was as presentable as she could make herself, she walked past the glaring men and through the heavy wooden door the page opened for her.

A roomful of people turned to look at her. A few she recognized at once. Sara stood beside the large wooden desk at one end of the lavish office, a pencil in her mouth and a stack of papers dangling from her hands. Opposite her was Tower Keeper Blint, one of Hern’s old cronies. He was leaning over the desk as well, tapping the map that covered its surface with his jeweled fingers and looking just as displeased to see Miranda as she was to see him. Seated at the desk between them was a man Miranda had never seen personally, but whose face she knew by heart. Though he’d gone a little grayer since the parade days of her youth, no Zarin native could fail to recognize the current head of the family who had ruled Zarin since there was a Zarin: Alber Whitefall, the Merchant Prince himself.

Left alone, Miranda might have stood gawking in the doorway forever. Fortunately, Sara didn’t have that kind of patience.

“Finally,” she said, snapping her fingers and motioning for Miranda to come stand beside her. “What took you? I was beginning to think Sparrow was lying.”

Miranda started to answer, but Blint cut her off.

“What’s this, Sara?” the Tower Keeper said, his voice dripping with insult. “The Lyonette girl? This is your plan? She’s cut from the same cloth as Banage. What good do you hope to accomplish, bringing in another traitor?”

“More than I can accomplish waiting on you to do more than complain,” Sara said, crossing her arms with what felt like a long-standing huff.

“Enough,” Prince Whitefall said, glaring at both of them. “If you must bicker like children, you can do it outside. I’ve got representatives from every kingdom in the Council waiting for audiences today, and that’s enough childishness for any man. Now,” he said, glancing at Miranda, “who are you, young lady?”

Miranda straightened up, self-consciously hiding the worst of her stained clothes by clutching her arms in front of her. “Miranda Lyonette, your majesty,” she said with a deep bow. “Spiritualist of the Court and former apprentice of the Rector Spiritualis Etmon Banage.”

She said this last bit with a pointed scowl at Blint, but it was the Merchant Prince who spoke next.

“Ah yes,” he said with a wry smile. “The one who keeps losing Eli Monpress.”

Miranda felt her face go red.

“You see?” Blint snorted. “Incompetent as well as treacherous, just like her master.”

“Now see here!” Miranda said, her voice quivering with rising anger. “Master Banage has never betrayed anyone. If anyone is a traitor here, it’s you, Blint. How dare a Tower Keeper speak ill of the Rector Spiritualis to outsiders?”

Blint arched a gray eyebrow at her. “Incompetent, treacherous, and ignorant,” he said, glancing at Sara. “You certainly can pick your champions.”

Sara’s jaw clenched, pressing her lips into a thin line.

“What is he talking about?” Miranda demanded.

Merchant Prince Whitefall looked pointedly at Sara. She tossed down her papers with a sigh and walked over to Miranda, grabbing her arm and steering her toward the large bay window that took up most of the office’s right wall.

Miranda tried to yank her arm away. “What are you—”

“Just look,” Sara said, pushing her toward the window.

Miranda stumbled forward and landed on her knees on the padded window seat, her face inches from the clear glass that separated her from all of Zarin. The city lay spread out before her, every street alive with activity and packed to bursting. But that much she had already seen, and her eyes moved up, following the city east, down the slope of the river, and then up again to the other colossal building that dominated Zarin’s skyline, the Spirit Court’s white tower.

Even from this distance, Miranda knew something was wrong. The Tower looked strange. Its sides were stripped of the usual red banners and the great red doors had vanished. The spiraling windows were gone as well, leaving the Tower smooth and solemn, an impenetrable spire of cold, white stone.

“The Tower is sealed?” she said at last, her voice shaking as the truth dawned on her. Every apprentice in the Court knew the Tower could be sealed, though Miranda had never seen it happen. But… she looked over her shoulder at Merchant Prince Whitefall. “Why?”

“As you no doubt know, our lands are soon to be under siege by a foreign power,” Whitefall said calmly as Sara returned to his side. “Any hope of survival rests on our ability to stand together. To that end, I asked Banage for his help in the fight against the Empress. He refused. The rest you can see.”

So that was it. Miranda swallowed.

“With all due respect, Merchant Prince,” she said, turning away from the window, “the Spirit Court exists to protect spirits from human abuse. We do not go to war.”

Whitefall’s eyes narrowed. “And whose land do you dig your heels into to make that statement? When the Council falls and the Empress makes slaves out of every man, woman, and child, do you think she will spare the Spiritualists?”

Miranda stiffened. “Every Spiritualist swears an oath to protect their spirits, to use them only in self-defense. They are not weapons.”

Whitefall sighed. “So that’s a ‘no’ for you as well, then?”

“I am a Spiritualist of the Spirit Court,” Miranda said. “I follow the will of my Rector.”

Whitefall leaned back in his chair. “And I suppose that appealing to your sense of duty to your country would be a waste of time? No point in reminding you how many of your countrymen will die when the Empress rolls us over because we cannot stand up to her wizards.”

“Or how she owes the Council her life, at the moment,” Sara added, resting her hands on her narrow hips.

Miranda swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. “I owe you my life and my freedom,” she said, picking her words carefully. “But you should know by now, Sara, I choose my oaths over my life every time. But even if helping you didn’t violate my pledge to guard my spirits, I would still say no. I am sworn to follow the will of the Rector. If Master Banage has already refused as you said, then his refusal is the Court’s refusal. Though,” she glared accusingly at Tower Keeper Blint, “apparently some Spiritualists understand their obligations differently.”

Blint rolled his eyes in disgust. “Spare me,” he said. “I’ve followed Banage longer than you’ve worn your rings, little girl. Long enough to see the cliff his absolute refusal to compromise is leading us toward. This is the real world, Miss Lyonette, not some morality play. Standing firm on the letter of our oaths may sound noble, but the reality is that the Empress is coming, and her wizards have no qualms over using spirits in the fight. We will all perish if we do not meet her in kind.”

“So because our enemy abuses her spirits, we must abuse ours?” Miranda cried. “Is that what you’re saying?”

“I’m merely stating fact,” Blint said. “The army with spirits defeats the army without. The Spirit Court represents nearly all of the wizards within the Council Kingdoms. If we all follow Banage and bury our heads in the sand, the Council will be defenseless. The Empress will conquer everything, and if you think she will let an organization like the Spirit Court remain when these lands are hers, then you are delusional.”

Miranda clenched her fists, her rings glowing like torches on her fingers. “I will not abandon my oaths,” she said fiercely. “And I will not abandon Master Banage.”

Sara and Blint both started to speak, but the Merchant Prince cut them off with a wave of his hand. He turned in his chair to look at Miranda directly, and when he spoke, his voice was kind and genteel. “I understand you’ve been through a lot lately, and this may all be a bit much. Please know that I admire your loyalty. I wish I had someone on my staff half as willing to stand up for me as you do for Banage, but a lot has changed since you last left Zarin.”

He stood up and walked around his desk, taking Miranda gently by the arm as he turned her back to the window. “Look there,” he said softly, pointing down, toward the streets. “Do you see those soldiers?”

Miranda nodded. She could hardly miss them. The streets of Zarin were full.

“Three days ago I called in the pledges for the first time in Council history,” Whitefall said. “Three days, Spiritualist, and already we have so many men ready to defend their homes. Every country in the Council is sending its army to help defend the whole against the Empress. Several of those men down there are conscripts, boys taken from their mothers’ skirts. Most have never even seen the coast they are going to defend.” He looked down at her, his eyes sad. “Banage told me he would not force the spirits to fight a war that has nothing to do with them, but those young men are here to fight a war that ostensibly has nothing to do with them either. Even so, here they are. They have come to fight because their countries have spent the last two and a half decades benefiting from the Council, and the time has come to pay.”

Miranda stiffened. “The Spirit Court is not part of the Council of Thrones.”

“No,” Whitefall said. “But the Rector has had a place at our meetings since the beginning. The Court has benefited from the peace and prosperity of the Council as much as any country. Maybe more. But even if the Court was as fully aloof as you claim, you and Banage and every Spiritualist who serves the Court were born on what is now Council land. Spiritualists you may be, but that membership doesn’t change the fact that you are all citizens of the Council, and you are beholden to the same rules that govern everyone else.”

Miranda stepped away. Though the Merchant Prince had not said it, she could read his meaning plainly. “You mean to conscript us too?” she said softly.

“Not ‘mean to,’ ” Whitefall said. “I have. I delivered the order to Banage himself, and then he tore it up, threw it in my face, and sealed his Tower. Do you know what we call that, Spiritualist Lyonette?”

Miranda began to tremble. “Treason?”

“Treason.” Whitefall nodded. “It is a mistake to think that your duty to the Court outweighs all others, my dear. Tower Keeper Blint here understands that. So do the other Spiritualists who have chosen to fight for their homes and way of life. They understand that if we continue to divide ourselves, the only person who will triumph is the Empress.”

“Merchant Prince,” Miranda said. “I understand what you’re saying, but if Master Banage refused, I’m sure he had good reason.”

“Really?” Whitefall said, his voice low. “How sure?”

“Absolutely,” Miranda said, drawing herself up. “You may call it treason, but we must follow our oaths to the Court and our spirits above all other obligations. Master Banage understands this better than any Spiritualist I’ve ever known.”

“I’m sure he does,” Whitefall said. “That’s why I’m sending you back to him with a compromise.”

Miranda blinked. “What?”

“A compromise,” Whitefall said, his stern face breaking into a smile. “I realize you Spiritualists don’t have much knowledge of the concept, but they can be very useful.”

“But you just said Master Banage was a traitor,” Miranda said, staring at him.

“He is,” Whitefall said. “But he doesn’t have to remain one. Listen, child, no one wanted things this way less than myself. Banage is a hard man. I thought if I laid things out in hard terms he would see reason, but all I managed was to divide the Court, which was the last thing I wanted.” He tightened his hand on her arm. “I don’t want Spiritualist defectors. I want the Spirit Court—the whole Court—fighting with us against a common enemy.”

He turned Miranda around to face him, looking down at her with a sad, serious expression. “I am not a proud man,” he said quietly. “I am not afraid to eat my own words if that’s what’s best for the Council. If the Spirit Court will agree to help us in this war, I swear that they will be kept in a purely supportive roll—no fighting, no risk to your spirits, no danger to your oaths. In addition, I am prepared to give Banage something he’s been angling at for a long time: a Council law making Enslavement illegal.”

“Illegal?” Miranda said.

Whitefall nodded. “Think of the possibilities. The Court will no longer have to deal with rogue wizards alone. You’ll be able to call on Council law to demand backup from local officials. The Court will have authority like it’s never had before. Plus, you will save your Spiritualists from a division that could doom your entire organization without compromising your ideals, and you’ll help me keep our necks out from under the Empress’s boot. Now”—he smiled—“is that a compromise that could interest you?”

Miranda bit her lip. It was a good offer, a potentially fantastic offer, but… “I’m not the person who can make that decision.”

“I know,” Whitefall said. “Sara says you owe us a debt. I’m calling it in. Take my compromise to Banage. I’ve tried sending him messages, but he won’t open his Tower for anything. That said, I’m betting he’ll open it for you. Make my case to your master and I’ll wipe your obligation to Sara and the Council clean. There is no downside for you in this, Spiritualist Lyonette. Even if Banage refuses, you’ll still be with him, and your debt to us will still be forgiven. What do you say?”

Miranda thought the words through carefully. “Just support?”

“Just support,” Whitefall said, nodding.

“All right,” Miranda said at last. “But I want everything in writing first.”

Whitefall smiled. “Very shrewd, but I expected no less.” He walked back over to his desk and drew out a thick stack of papers. “I had the clerks draw it up the moment Sara told me you were on your way.”

Miranda took the papers. The offer was all there, just as he’d said. Copied in triplicate, she noticed with a sigh, but what else could you expect from the Council?

“I’ll take this to Banage at once,” she said, tucking the papers under her arm. “But I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”

“With Etmon, I never do,” Whitefall said, sitting down at his desk. “Nice meeting you, Spiritualist.”

Miranda bowed from the waist, turned on her heel, and left. The men in the waiting room sneered at her as she pushed past them, but Miranda didn’t even notice. Her head was reeling with everything that had happened. This morning she’d been preparing for the potential pitfalls of telling the story of the Shaper Mountain to Sara, now she was bringing the Council’s compromise to Master Banage with war looming over them, and there was still the issue of the demons, the stars, and the Shepherdess. She didn’t even know what crisis to focus on anymore but, pressing the papers hard against her chest, she knew where to begin. First she had to find Master Banage and explain everything. Once all the cards were on the table, he would know what to do.

That thought alone was enough to calm her mind as she marched down the stairs toward the citadel yard where Gin was waiting to take her home to the Tower.

Tower Keeper Blint turned to face the Merchant Prince, brandishing his rings as he did. “You do realize you just gave Banage back his greatest weapon?”

“A calculated risk,” Whitefall said, leaning back in his chair. “And the best choice, given our options. She certainly wasn’t going to turn against Banage, and you can’t force a Spiritualist to work. That left locking her up, which I don’t have the resources for at the moment, or sending her running home to sulk with her master. At least this way I can get an offer through that stone wall of his, and who knows, the old zealot just might take it.”

“He won’t,” Blint said. “Banage would die before he compromised his integrity.”

“We also thought he would die before he split his precious Court,” Sara said. “But he laid down the line and shed you Tower Keepers without so much as a look back, didn’t he? But you saw the girl’s eyes light up when Alber offered to outlaw Enslavement. The Court’s been after that apple for years. It might just be enough to convince Miranda that the Council’s position is in the right, and she can be very persuasive when she thinks she’s on the moral side of things.”

“It will take more than an apple and an earnest girl to talk Banage out of that Tower,” Blint said, his voice dripping with superiority. “The Rector Spiritualis is a slave to his pride. I don’t even know why you want him along. He’ll just get in our way.”

“With all due respect to you and your Tower Keepers, Blint,” Whitefall said in a tired voice, “you’d better hope Sara’s right. It’s no secret that Lyonette and Banage are the two strongest wizards in the Court. They are weapons we cannot afford to lay by, however much trouble they may be. If sending the girl doesn’t work, we’ll just have to try something else. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other people to mollify today.”

Blint opened his mouth, but he closed it again as Sara swept by to open the door. Duly dismissed, Blint stomped out. Sara followed right behind him, stepping out of the way as the pages showed in the royal ambassador from some country she couldn’t be bothered to remember.

As ordered, Sparrow was waiting in the hall for her. He was freshly washed and dressed, and his hair was pulled back in a long, blond snake of a braid over the shoulder of his impressively garish orange coat. He stood aside for Blint with a flourish as the Tower Keeper stomped down the stairs and then turned to Sara, smiling as he handed her a lit pipe.

“Thank the Powers,” she muttered, snatching the pipe from his hand and putting it to her mouth with a deep draw that she held for nearly half a minute. “At least something’s going right,” she said, letting the breath go at last. “Do you have it?”

“Of course.” Sparrow pulled a worn leather book from his sleeve. “Just as I told you.”

Sara snatched the book with greedy fingers, her eyes widening with delight as she flipped through the pages. “Not as good as the man himself,” she said. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

“You’re welcome,” Sparrow said pointedly as they started down the stairs.

Sara blew a line of smoke at him. “Did you manage to plant the point?”

“Not an hour ago,” Sparrow said. “Just before we entered the city.”

“And she didn’t notice?” Sara asked, taking in a fresh lungful of smoke.

Sparrow looked affronted. “Who do you think you’re dealing with?”

“Just checking,” Sara said. “I’ve been far too much in the company of idiots lately.”

“That’s the risk you take working with the Council,” Sparrow said cheerfully. “Are you sure about this Miranda thing? I mean, I went through all that trouble to get her in debt to us, I’d hate to think we let her off the hook too easily.”

“I’m sure,” Sara said, flipping through Slorn’s book. “I got back from the desert this morning, but Alber’s weapon isn’t ready yet, and at this rate I don’t know when it will be. I need more wizards, and fast. Myron’s already drawn up plans for more spirit defense points than I can man, even with Blint’s deserters. That militaristic idiot doesn’t seem to understand that wizards are not interchangeable. There’s a huge power difference between a man like Blint and our Miranda. I’d hoped that by making Banage a traitor we could squeeze the Court enough to get what we needed, but it looks like all the true talent has stayed loyal so far.” She blew an angry line of smoke. “They’re worse than burned sugar, the way they stick together.”

“If you’re holding out for Miranda to turn, it’ll be a long wait,” Sparrow said. “Banage could say the sky was green and she would still back him.”

“It’s her loyalty I’m counting on,” Sara said with a sad sigh. “Blint was right, you know. Banage will never back down now that Whitefall’s forced him to make his stand. He won’t budge an inch from that tower until I roll over. We’ve been playing this game for twenty years now, he and I, but not for much longer. I didn’t want it to be like this, but the Empress is the trump that forces all hands, even mine.”

“Well, that’s the problem with games,” Sparrow said. “Sooner or later, someone has to lose.”

Sara sighed again and tapped out her pipe. Sparrow just smiled and held the door for her as they started down the dark stairs toward her office in the Relay chamber.

Outside, at the edges of Zarin, another hundred soldiers arrived at the gates.