The Spirit Rebellion(133)
Below the edge of the stairwell, out of Hern’s line of sight, Miranda clenched her bucket of water. “Enough lies, Hern,” she said. “Hide here all you want, but I’m taking my spirits back, and then I’m going to put a stop to this. If you won’t do your duty to your lands, I will.”
She took a step toward the box containing her rings, but she stopped at the familiar whoosh of flame. Hern was standing now, his outstretched hand wreathed in blue fire.
“You forget yourself, Miranda,” he said, grinning from ear to ear. “You are in my tower, on my land. You are powerless, spiritless, and trapped. You are in no position to be making demands.”
The flames licked at his fingers in long, threatening waves. It was just what Miranda had been waiting for. In one sweeping motion, she flung the bucket at him. Hern barely had time to understand what had happened before the bucket, and the wave of water flying out of it, struck him straight across the chest. The flames on his hands sputtered out and Hern yelped, leaping back and toppling his heavy chair as he did so.
It was only a momentary interruption, but it was enough. From the second the bucket left her hands, Miranda was running for her rings. By the time Hern had his feet back under him, she had the box in her hands. Roaring with rage, Hern made a throwing motion, and a wave of fire leaped from his hand.
Clutching the box to her chest, Miranda dove behind a long couch upholstered in gold and blue silk. The fire flickered out inches from the couch’s surface, and Miranda grinned. She’d known Hern would never risk his nice furniture, not even to get her, and that hesitation would be her victory. She looked at the box in her hands. It was small, about the size of a hat box, and she could feel her rings inside jumping and clattering against the wood, trying to get to her.
Miranda checked the lock, but it was enormous, heavy, and dead asleep. So were the hinges, and the wood itself. Still, she thought, grimacing, there was no point in being subtle anymore. So with a whispered apology to the sleeping box, Miranda closed her eyes and opened her spirit. Power flowed into her, and she caught it as it surged, sharpening the raw wizard’s will to a needle-thin point that she forced through the crack in the box and into her spirits.
The moment the surge of power hit her rings, she felt their power echo back along the connection. The box in her hands burst into a shower of splinters as Durn, her stone spirit, exploded out of his ring. He rose to his full height in the blink of an eye with her rings clutched gently in his enormous stone hands. Almost sobbing with relief, Miranda took her spirits and slid them back onto her fingers, quaking as the connections roared open again as they met her skin. Durn stood guard until she’d fit every last one back on her fingers. Then, her rings awake and flashing like embers on her hands, Miranda stood again and turned to face the man responsible for all of this.
Hern, however, was ready. He stood across the room, his rings blazing like small suns, and a calm, concentrated look on his face.
“So,” he said. “It’s come to this.”
“You were the one who started it,” Miranda growled, standing firmly beside Durn’s hulking form. “If you’re too scared to finish it, then you shouldn’t have called that trial in the first place.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about the finish,” Hern sneered, lifting his hand so Miranda could see not only his rings but the glittering bands of his bracelets set with large, colorful stones, all sparkling with suppressed power. “You might be Banage’s protégé, but I’m the older Spiritualist, more experienced, and master of a larger retinue of spirits. No, I know exactly how this will finish. I’m only sad because I’ll probably have to kill you, as that seems to be the only way to keep you down.” He sighed. “I was so looking forward to parading you in shame before Banage and the Court, but at this point, I’ll take what I can get. However”—his face broke into a thin, hateful smile—“with you dead, I can probably blame this whole Enslavement mess on you, seeing as you won’t be around to defend yourself, so the situation is not without its silver lining.”
“Don’t count your victory so easily,” Miranda growled, planting her feet and raising her glittering, jeweled hands. “You may have more spirits, but even if I had only one I would count it against all of yours. It’s quality and loyalty of spirits that matters, Hern, not quantity, and we have no intention of losing to a man like you.”
“Well, then,” Hern said, “let’s not waste any more time.”
He clapped his hands and then thrust them apart, and every stick of furniture in the room suddenly slid back to the tower walls, leaving a large, open space at the center of the room. Hern, the blue fire still flickering on his fingers, took up position on the far end, while Miranda stepped up to stand opposite, Durn hovering over her. They stood for a moment, studying each other, and then, sick of waiting, Miranda attacked.