The Legend Of Eli Monpress (102 page)

“That’s unfair,” Josef said. “You know our names, but we don’t know yours.”

The tall man swung his sword up, resting the flat against his shoulder. “I am called the Lord of Storms. So I was named when I was pulled from the sky and given my purpose, the eradication of the creature who stands behind you and all others of her kind. I cannot be killed and I do not give up. Now do you understand the position you are in?”

“More than before,” Josef said, tightening his grip on the Heart. From the moment he saw the clouds overhead, the Heart had been almost vibrating in anticipation. He could feel its excitement even now, and it made his own pulse quicken. The only thing that roused the sword was the possibility of a good fight. Josef smiled, remembering that night in Gaol. From the way the Lord of Storms was talking, a fight seemed inevitable, and this time, Josef was determined to honor his sword. This time, he wouldn’t hold back.

“I’ve found that men of purpose are the best fighters,” Josef said, looking the taller man straight in the eye. “Tell me, Lord of Storms”—Josef’s face broke into a wide smile—“are you a good swordsman?”

“What does it matter?” The Lord of Storms gave him a
bored look. “I told you, I can’t be killed. No matter what you do, the end will be the same. I will kill the demon. You can either die with it, or step aside.”

Josef didn’t move. “It may be you can’t be killed,” he said. “But never did you say you couldn’t be defeated.” He reached up and undid the buckle on the belt of knives across his chest. The heavy belt of blades fell to the ground with a thud, followed by the swords at his waist. Piece by piece, Josef shed his weapons. When he dropped the last knife from his boot, he stepped toward the Lord of Storms, completely unencumbered. “I’ll ask you again. Are you a good swordsman?”

“I am the first swordsman,” the Lord of Storms answered. “And the best.”

“Then I will not move,” Josef said, pointing the Heart’s dull, dark blade at the Lord of Storms’ chest. “I am Josef Liechten, and I will become the greatest swordsman in the world. So come and fight me, Lord of Storms. Give me a challenge worth dying for.”

The Lord of Storms looked at him for a long time. “I won’t spare you once I begin,” he said. “If you step down this path, there’s no turning back.”

Josef braced his feet on the icy rock, the Heart sure and heavy in his hands. “I’ve never needed a path I could turn back from.”

The Lord of Storms laughed. “You are bold to the point of stupidity,” he said, swinging his sword so that it matched tip to tip with the Heart. “I find that refreshing. Very well, Josef Liechten, your life has bought you a lesson in the difference in power between you and me. It will be quick, so learn it well.”

Josef’s answer was to lunge, swinging the Heart of War
with both hands. The black blade whistled through the air, carrying the weight of a mountain as it swung under the Lord of Storms’ sword and up toward his unprotected chest. What happened next happened too fast for Josef to see. One second the Lord of Storms’ guard was broken, the next, the long, blue-white sword was in front of him, poised to meet the Heart’s charge. The two swords met in a blinding clash, and the Heart stopped cold.

Josef grunted as the breath slammed out of his lungs. Hitting the Lord of Storms’ parry was like running into a stone wall at full speed. He bore down with a roar, pushing with all his strength. The Lord of Storms stood before him, a bored look on his sharp face, holding the blue-silver sword against the Heart of War’s straining blade with one, bored hand. The will of the Heart pounded through Josef’s muscles, clearing his vision and sharpening his senses to a level he’d reached only once before, and it was only thanks to that painful clarity that he perceived what was about to happen.

He caught the gleam in the taller man’s eyes just in time before the blue-white blade swung, cutting through the air where Josef’s head had been a split second earlier. Josef danced back, panting, bringing the Heart up again. But the Lord of Storms lowered his blade, looking at Josef as though he were seeing him for the first time.

“If you’re good enough to dodge my attack, then you’re too good to die like a dog here,” the Lord of Storms said calmly. “The Heart chooses its wielders with great care. It must see great potential in you. Don’t waste its time on a battle you can never win.”

The Heart of War quivered in Josef’s hands, rejecting the idea, and the Lord of Storms looked surprised.

“You always did love lost causes,” he said, shaking his head. “But facing me with a deaf boy for a wielder is foolish even for you. The Lady will not be happy when she hears how you’re using the freedom she gave you.”

The Heart burned against Josef’s hands, and a surge of strength flowed up his arms, urging him forward. Josef didn’t need to be told twice. He charged, but this time he was watching for the Lord of Storms’ lightning-fast block. Sure enough, it moved into position with a silver flash, but with the Heart’s rage singing through him, Josef moved even faster. He dropped and rolled under the Lord of Storms’ sword, coming up inside the taller man’s guard with a triumphant cry as the Heart of War’s black blade bit into the Lord of Storms’ unprotected ribs.

The Heart slid into the Lord of Storms’ side, cutting flesh for a split second before a flash of lightning blinded Josef, and the Lord of Storms vanished. Josef reeled as the resistance disappeared, flying through the air on the force of his blow, which was now lodged in thin air. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened when something hard and impossibly sharp struck his back directly between his shoulder blades. Josef slammed into the ground, gasping and choking on the blood that was suddenly everywhere. The Heart of War clattered from his hand, but Josef couldn’t see where it had landed. Flashing spots danced across his eyes, but as he struggled to push himself up, something cold and dull slammed into his ribs, flipping him over onto his back.

The Lord of Storms towered over him, taller and darker than before, his long black hair dancing in a wind that blew only for him. His lightning-colored sword was dark with blood, but what caught Josef’s eye was the man’s
left side, where the Heart of War had stuck. There, where the wound should have been, black clouds were billowing. There was no blood, no bone, just black thunderheads swirling in and out of the gap in the Lord of Storms’ black coat. Josef blinked in disbelief as lightning arced across the wound, and the hole in the man’s side began to shrink. The clouds pulled together until there was only the smooth fabric of the Lord of Storms’ coat, leaving no sign that he had been breached at all.

Josef’s horror must have been plain, for the Lord of Storms’ face broke into a wide grin.

“Ah,” he said and chuckled. “The arrogant boy begins to understand his situation.” He held out his sword, pressing the flat against Josef’s cheek. “And I was so impressed. To think, someone as spirit deaf as you was able to feel the Heart’s will. I haven’t seen such a thing in centuries, yet here you are, on your back like all the others, not even realizing you’re dead.”

Josef tried to answer, but his retort turned into a hacking cough. He spat out the hot blood in his mouth and tried to focus, but his back was burning against the freezing stone, and he could feel the slick, hot blood melting the ice below him. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to move. Above him, the Lord of Storms was blurring, becoming just another shape in the red dark, and Josef realized with a start that he was dying. Truly dying, from a single blow.

The Lord of Storms watched sadly as Josef struggled to breathe, and then he turned in a swift motion.

“I am not without honor,” he said, walking to the far end of the narrow pass. “You fought well for what you are, so I shall give you a warrior’s death.” He turned again
when he reached his destination, sword held delicately in his long hands. “Stand up,” he called, fixing his eyes on Josef’s. “Stand and die as the swordsman of the Heart of War should.”

The pass fell silent. Even the endless winds outside ceased their blowing, leaving the narrow space between the cliffs dark and still, save for Josef’s ragged breathing. With a low groan, Josef’s hand reached out from his chest and began to feel for his sword. He found it at once, the rough-wrapped hilt jumping into his grip. He expected the Heart to say something. He was certainly gone enough to hear it, but the black blade stayed silent.

A great, clear sound rang out between the mountains as Josef plunged the Heart of War into the stone. He took a long, shuddering breath and, using the Heart as a crutch, pulled himself up. The moment he was no longer horizontal, blood began to rush down his back. The pain between his shoulders grew so intense he had to stop a moment, halfway between sitting and standing, just to bear it. But a second later he was moving again, uncurling inch by inch until he was standing straight, facing the Lord of Storms with his sword clasped in both hands. He would not die. He would not fail Nico. He would not fail Eli. He would not fail his sword. He hadn’t thrown everything away to die like this. He would stand and meet the monster, the man whose body was made of storms, and he would not go down.

The Heart of War radiated its approval, and he felt its strength flowing back into him, clearing his vision, dimming his pain. This was it, the final blow, and they would make it together. But as he stepped into the ready position, a piercing cry stopped him cold. It was high and
keening, and it came from behind him. Even the Lord of Storms looked startled, and they both turned to find the source of the sound. What Josef saw next turned his blood to ice water.

“Powers,” he whispered. “Not now.”

E
li climbed down the snowcovered slope until the pass hiding Josef and Nico from the wind was itself hidden by the blowing snow. This turned out to be a shorter distance than he’d anticipated, thanks to the rather spectacular blizzard howling on this side of the peak. The flurries were so thick he could barely see his own feet as he picked his way down the cliff, but the white storm did little to hide the mountain rising across the valley ahead, enormous and sharp against the endless snow.

Eli let out a low whistle. The mountain was an inkblot on the white landscape. Impossibly tall, it towered over the surrounding peaks, its black slopes rocky and bare without a flake of snow or twig for cover. Eli stared in wonder at the mountain a moment longer before he sat down in the snow to wake up his suit. Sneaking into castles and treasuries was one thing. To sneak into the home of the demonseeds, he was going to need all his tricks.

“Eli.” Karon’s whisper was like smoke in his ear. “Are you sure about this?”

“Getting cold feet?” Eli asked, laughing as he rubbed his hands on his sleeves. “I didn’t think it was possible in a lava spirit.”

The burn in his chest began to tingle, a sign that the lava spirit was not in a joking mood.

“I’m positive,” Eli said, his voice steady and certain. “This is our best chance of helping Slorn, and the
only
chance to get around Josef’s stubbornness.” He heaved an annoyed sigh. “The man is thick as his sword, sometimes. If I hadn’t taken Nico’s offer I might have ended up on the wrong end of that iron pigsticker. A famous death to be sure, but not the kind I want.”

“Josef wouldn’t raise his hand against you,” Karon said. “It’s not his way. As for Slorn, he’s a better friend to you than most, but to go willingly onto forbidden ground? The very home of the demon? That’s too much, even for him. So why are we here? For real, this time.”

Eli closed his eyes. “Nothing gets by you, does it?”

The lava spirit chuckled. “I’ve lived in your chest for four years now. If I can’t call your bluffs, then your tongue really will have turned to silver.”

“Fair enough,” Eli said. “I am here to find information on Slorn, but also because Nico suggested it. I always suspected she knew more than she was letting on, and now’s a good time to show I trust her advice.”

“Do you?” Karon sounded surprised.

“Well, I certainly want her to think so,” Eli said. “I don’t know what’s going on with that girl most of the time. If she feels I trust her, maybe she’ll open up a little more, especially about her powers, or the lack thereof.
But”—he lowered his voice to a whisper—“that’s just extra, sugar on the pie. Really, I’m here because it is forbidden.” Eli leaned back and stared up at the shadow of the mountain. “It’s the only place in creation Benehime forbade me to go.”

“Naturally,” Karon said. “You’re her darling. She didn’t want you to become a bed for a demonseed.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” Eli said. “Not all of it, anyway.” He squinted through the snow. “Living with her, I always felt like I was a doll in her perfect white dollhouse. Nothing there existed unless she willed it, even me. Everything I did, I did because she wanted me to do it. So while she always said I had everything I wanted, what I really had was everything
she
wanted. But I always knew, even then, that somewhere beyond the white world there had to be places she didn’t control. Places where the spirits didn’t fall all over themselves to answer her every beck and call. I think the Dead Mountain may be one of them.”

“But it was the Shepherdess who trapped the demon under the mountain,” Karon whispered. “Her will that keeps it pinned.” A tremor ran through Eli’s chest, and he realized the lava spirit was terrified. “This isn’t something we want to mess with, Eli.”

“Maybe so,” the thief said, grinning. “But we’re already here. We need to find Slorn, and there’s no harm in just taking a look. Besides, last time I checked, even demons weren’t omniscient. If we play our cards right, they’ll never know we were here.”