Rachel Aaron - The Spirit War

“We hold here,” he said, planting his feet firmly on the sandy road. “Get ready.”

He felt the line tighten around him. The royal guardsmen moved to take the road’s center, locking together in tight formation with their short swords ready. The sailors hovered at the edges, clutching their knives with wild-eyed intensity as the first enemy reached the top of the storm wall.

For a few seconds, it was just one man, and then the Empress’s army poured over the wall. They came in a black wave, armor rattling like an avalanche, their raised swords gleaming in the last rays of the evening sun. When they opened their mouths to shout, the air itself seemed to thicken with the rage of their battle cry.

“Hold!” Josef shouted, but the command was lost in the enemy’s roar. It didn’t matter. His men were frozen in place by fear. They couldn’t have moved now if they’d tried, not even to run. All they could do was bunker down and scream their last defiance as their death charged forward to crush them under a thousand booted feet.

Josef gripped the Heart. Even his sword couldn’t beat so many, but he would hold as long as he could. The Heart weighed heavy in his hands, echoing his resolve. They would go down as a swordsman should, in glorious battle surrounded by the bodies of their enemies. But even as he braced for his final stand, Josef heard a cry that stopped him cold. It was a high-pitched shout, not panicked or afraid, but commanding. A woman’s shout, and as it sounded, a great wave of water shot through the air above his head and landed on the charging army.

The wave swept the soldiers off their feet, washing them back over the storm wall and down to the beach in the space of a breath. Josef lowered his sword, staring dumbfounded at the now-clear storm wall. He was so shocked, he didn’t even flinch as the lithe, silvery, canine shape sailed through the air and landed right in front of him.

Gin landed neatly and turned to flash Josef the smuggest, toothiest grin he’d ever seen, but the dog’s grin was nothing compared to the haughty smile on his rider’s face.

“Well, well,” Miranda said, looking down on him from her ghosthound’s back. “If it isn’t Josef Liechten.”

“Miranda,” Josef said, leaning on his sword. “Took you long enough.”

Miranda sniffed. “Is that any way to greet your savior?”

Josef shrugged. “Better late than never, I suppose.”

She shook her head and turned Gin back toward the city. Josef moved to follow her and stopped, eyes wide. The road from Osera, which had been empty not a minute before, was now filled with the strangest creatures he’d ever seen. There were cats made of living wood, birds shaped from clouds, and even what looked like a long, flat snake made of mud. There must have been a hundred at least, each different, and each carrying a rider whose hands flashed with enormous, gaudy rings.

“Powers,” Josef whispered. “What in the world is that?”

“That is your salvation,” Miranda said proudly. “The Spirit Court comes to face the Empress.”

“Lucky us,” Josef muttered, taking a step back as the lead rider, an intense man mounted on an enormous jade horse, came to a halt beside Miranda.

“Who is this?” the man asked, looking Josef up and down.

“A criminal, Master Banage,” Miranda answered. “But one on our side, for now at least.”

Josef looked the old man over. So this was the Rector Spiritualis she was always going on about. He’d have to remind Eli to change his alias.

Banage arched an eyebrow at Miranda’s introduction and then moved on to business.

“Miranda, with me,” he said, dismounting. “The rest of you”—he looked over his shoulder at the waiting Spiritualists—“form a perimeter and wake the local spirits. This island is now under the Court’s protection.”

“Yes, Rector!” The shout rose from a hundred throats in unison, and the wizards began to dismount. One by one their creatures disappeared, flowing back to the rings on their riders’ fingers. Josef noted that the Rector’s own mount had vanished into the large oval of polished jade on his index finger. Banage didn’t even seem to notice. He and Miranda were already walking toward the sea wall.

“Hold it!” Josef shouted, leaving his poor, shocked sailors standing dumb on the road as he ran after the two wizards. “What are you, crazy? There are a thousand soldiers down there!”

“Shoo,” Miranda said. “Go back to the others. We’ve got it from here.”

“Got what?” Josef yelled.

“Young man,” Banage said calmly, not even looking at Josef as he walked. “A thousand soldiers are of little concern. Whom do you think you are dealing with?”

“A pair of suicidal idiots,” Josef snapped back.

“I see only one of those,” Miranda said, glaring at him.

Josef threw up his hands as Miranda and the Rector Spiritualis stepped out onto the edge of the storm wall. Gin sat down beside his mistress, tail lashing back and forth. Down on the beach, the enemy was regrouping. Soldiers from the boats were trading places with the men down the wall by Miranda’s wave. Meanwhile, a mass was gathering at the wall’s base with archers taking up position to cover the next push to retake the wall.

Josef cursed and reached to pull Miranda out of arrow shot at least, but she smacked his hands away.

“Just stand back,” she said, raising her voice over Gin’s growling.

Josef had a pretty nonkingly answer for that, but Miranda had already turned back to face the beach. She stood still a moment, feet pressed against the storm wall’s edge, her red hair blowing in the sea wind like a painted archer target. Josef cursed, but before he could yank her down to safety, dog or no dog, Miranda held out her hand and a wave of water exploded into the air.

The torrent poured down the storm wall, sweeping it clean. It blasted the soldiers into the sand before turning like a snake and rushing down the beach until it reached the northern cliff. There it shot up again, defying gravity in a geyser of white spray to knock off the soldiers scaling the cliff face, shucking them from the stone like barnacles before turning back toward the beach, knocking those soldiers who’d tried to stand back onto their faces as it rushed to clear the southern cliff.

But while Miranda’s water was sweeping the beach, the soldiers in the boats were on the move. Archers brought up their bows while those with shields gave them cover, and the air filled with the snapping of bowstrings. A volley of arrows launched from the water, whistling toward the two wizards on the storm wall’s edge.

Josef moved on instinct, raising his sword. He couldn’t cut all the arrows down, but maybe he could stop enough to keep the idiot wizards from getting themselves killed. But as he stepped into position, the Rector Spiritualis raised his arms, the ruby on his thumb glowing like a furnace. That was the last thing Josef saw before a blast of light drowned his vision.

A wave of blistering hot air caught Josef in the face. He stumbled away, cursing as he blinked against the swimming shapes the light had left on his vision. As his eyes cleared, he looked up to see a great ball of fire hovering in the air before Banage. Its edges burned like liquid gold, and its center was so bright Josef couldn’t look at it. The fire roared and twisted like a living thing, the flames turning until they settled at last into the shape of a great, golden bird.

The bird opened its mouth, roaring like a furnace as it devoured the arrows. The shafts were consumed instantly, transformed into a harmless rain of ash that pattered at the Spiritualists’ feet. When the last arrow had been consumed, the bird began to beat its wings. Each wing beat hammered Josef with a wall of heat, and with each flap, the bird grew larger until its fire filled the sky. The light was so intense now, Josef could barely see, but he could make out the shadow of Miranda crouching on the wall, her water surrounding her and her dog in a protective barrier against the heat. Banage, however, had no protection. He stood at the heart of the fire, a speck of black against the inferno. With a great sweeping motion, the Rector Spiritualis threw out his arms, shouting words that were instantly lost in the roar. The bird screamed in answer and fell, plunging down the storm wall in a river of fire.