The Legend of Eli Monpress(319)

Another whistle screamed through the forest as an arrow struck the ground right beside Eli’s foot. This was when he decided to forget finding the archer and just run.

He sprang forward, dashing through the trees. Arrows whistled behind him, each bolt striking his footprint a second after his boot made it. He ran as fast as he could, lungs slamming for air while his brain spun even faster, trying to come up with a plan. The trees were sparse and open, offering little cover. He saw a rocky defile to his left and tried to turn, but the arrows struck the ground in front of him, landing deep in the soil where he would have been if he’d moved a second faster. With an undignified squeak, Eli turned on his heel and kept running, trying the turn again a few dozen feet later only to have the arrows cut him off again. The third time it happened, Eli knew he was being driven. Every time he tried to dodge left or right, the arrows pushed him straight again, forcing him east down a slope toward a wide mountain stream.

It was a trap for sure, Eli realized grimly, but he couldn’t stop. Already his feet were sliding on the slippery leaves, forcing him to run even faster or risk going down the hill on his back. He skidded down the bank and landed in the creek with a splash. The mossy rocks slipped under his boots, sending him sprawling face-first into the icy water. He was up instantly, sputtering as he scrambled back to his feet only to slip again. He fell cursing back into the water, flailing around to make himself a harder target. But as he scrambled to get his legs back under him, he realized that the arrows had stopped. He paused, listening, but the forest was silent except for the soft trickle of the water.

Carefully this time, Eli stood up. Maybe he’d gotten out of range of the archer? If that was the case, whoever it was would be coming down after him. He looked over his shoulder, eyeing places on the opposite bank where he could hide and see who had been shooting at him. He spotted a good vantage point and began to quickly, but carefully, pick his way across the slick rocks. He’d made it halfway across the streambed when the water suddenly stopped.

Eli tripped and pitched forward, arms flying out to catch himself, but there was no need. The water, which had been running against his legs, was now hard as baked clay, and he was baked in as well, trapped from the knees down in crystal clear, freezing cold, perfectly still water.

After several moments of desperate tugging proved this wasn’t something he could just yank his legs out of, Eli calmed down and took stock of the situation. The water had stopped moving for as far as he could see up and down the creek. Except for the wind overhead, the stream valley was perfectly silent. Experimentally, he tried to wiggle his toes, but even they were trapped, entombed in the water that had flowed into his boots before the freeze. No, freeze was the wrong idea. The water wasn’t ice. It was just stopped. Stopped and not talking about it, which meant there was a wizard around.

The moment that realization crossed his mind, he knew who it was. He turned slowly, and there was no shock on his face when he saw a woman with red hair stepping out from behind a tree with an enormous grin on her face.

“Miranda Lyonette,” Eli said. “A pleasure, as always.”

If possible, the Spiritualist’s grin grew even wider. “For once, we agree.”

There was a rustle of branches from across the valley, and Eli turned to see her dog loping down the far bank with a grin that matched his mistress’s.

“You’ve outdone yourself,” Eli said as Gin joined her. “Caught me flat-footed and unprepared. The arrows were especially nice. Brava, my dear. So what now? Is there a contingent of Spiritualists coming to clap me in irons?”

Miranda shook her head. “No. You showed me how effective irons were back in Gaol. This time I’m using something you can’t wiggle out of.”

Eli smiled politely. “Which is?”

Miranda stepped into the stream, and Eli swallowed when he saw the still water slide back to make a dry path for her. She walked forward over dry stones, stopping just out of Eli’s reach, her smile wider than ever.

“Eli Monpress,” she said, her voice deep and joyful, “you are under arrest for crimes against the Spirit Court and the Council of Thrones.”

“That’s a pretty broad accusation,” Eli said. “Can’t you be more specific? This is my arrest. It would be a shame to gloss over my impressive record.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Miranda said. “I’m certain they’ll read the whole list at your trial.” She leaned forward and, to Eli’s enormous surprise, gave him a long, slow wink. “See you on the other side, Eli Monpress.”