Mellinor just tightened the spinning of his water, forcing it to race faster and faster.
That was all Miranda needed. She shot up, pushing off the dirt as she threw out her arm, throwing all her power along with it. At the same time, Durn surged forward, joining her power and riding with it. Mellinor joined a moment later, sharpening his water to a swirling point at the end of Durn’s sharpened fist.
The power from the three of them, Durn, Mellinor, and Miranda, hit the trapped war spirit at the same time, and it screamed as Durn’s fist, sluiced with Mellinor’s water, dug into the tangle of metal and stone at its center. The spirit’s body flashed red hot, boiling Mellinor’s water away, but this just made the attack worse. Water, stone, and steam now forced their way into the Empress’s war spirit like a drill, tearing everything in their path until, with a deafening shriek, the war spirit’s head and front left leg fell to the ground, ripped from its body by the sheer force of her blow.
Miranda flopped to the ground, gasping with relief. Durn and Mellinor fled back to her, and she welcomed them with open arms. She was beaming with pride, but as she opened her mouth to shout her joy, the ground shook.
She scrambled back, raising her hands against the blast of heat as the war spirit tore itself to its feet, breaking through the granite rings of Banage’s stone spirit. She heard Banage cry out somewhere in the dark, but she didn’t have time to look for him. Her eyes were on the war spirit as it teetered on its three remaining legs, its headless torso listing sideways as its metal began to glow red hot yet again.
“These things are impossible to kill.”
Miranda glanced to see Gin beside her with Banage on his back. The Rector Spiritualis hopped down and moved to Miranda’s side, clutching the cloudy-gray gem that had been his stone spirit’s black ring.
“He’ll be fine with time,” he said before Miranda could ask. “Dunerik is nothing if not resilient.”
“None of us will be fine if we don’t find a way to make these things stay down,” Gin growled. “Even that pigheaded idiot’s still fighting.”
Miranda could only guess the dog was referring to Josef. She didn’t have a look to spare for the swordsman, but the constant clang of metal on stone from the walk in front of the tower told her everything she needed to know. If the Heart of War couldn’t carve these monsters… She clenched her teeth, forcing the thought from her head before it could finish. No point in going down that path. She’d do better to stay focused on the spirit in front of her.
The war spirit was burning full tilt now, and the heat pouring off it was enough to make Miranda’s hair crackle. It moved slowly backward, its three feet taking small, careful steps toward the pulverized remains of its head and fourth leg.
“It’s trying to put itself back together,” Miranda said, sending a pulse of power to Durn. “I want a pillar underneath it. Shoot it up, we’re going to knock the head and the leg into the bay.”
But as she gave the order, she realized something was wrong. The surge of power she’d sent down the thread that connected her stone’s spirit to her own had reached its destination, but Durn had not answered. A cold cringe of fear curled in her stomach, and Miranda looked to see Durn standing behind her, still as the ground under their feet.
“Durn,” she said again, adding a little force to her voice.
“I can’t,” the stone whispered, his voice full of fear. “We’re too late.”
“Too late?” Miranda asked, but even as the question left her lips, the wall of power crashed into her. Miranda gasped as the enormous weight forced her to her knees, and she wasn’t alone. Every one of her spirits had gone perfectly still. Even Gin was on the ground, facing the bay with his head on his paws, almost like he was bowing.
“Durn’s right,” her hound whined, pressing his nose into the dirt. “We took too long. She’s here.”
Miranda didn’t have to ask whom they meant. Straining against the power, she lifted her head just enough to see the palace ships. She didn’t know what she was looking for, what to expect, but she knew the Empress the moment she saw her.
She was smaller than Miranda would have thought, narrow boned and pale, her black hair piled in an elaborate knot on top of her head. Her golden armor shone brighter than her war spirits, but it was not the brightness that drew Miranda’s gaze, nor was it the fact that the woman was standing on a seemingly impossible line of wooden boards stretching out from the palace ship’s destroyed prow. What drew Miranda’s attention was the same thing that drew the attention of everything in the bay, large and small, awakened or asleep. It was power. Pure, unadulterated, undeniable power radiated from the woman like light from a lamp. Even as a blind human, Miranda could almost see it burning, and her heart began to sink.