duke, the untouchable, terrible, unbeatable Duke of Gaol, lurched from the blow of a single tile.
For a long second, everything was silent, and then, with a great cry, another roofing tile launched itself at the citadel. It fell short, clacking off the stone wall, but the next one whizzed just past the duke’s head, forcing him to duck for cover. The moment his head disappeared below the battlements, the square went crazy.
Houses shook, tossing off the drainpipes, shutters, and overhangs that had been their mouthpieces for reporting to the duke’s wind. The lamps flared up like tiny, glass-trapped suns, spreading the story of what had just happened down the dark streets in a wave of light. Everywhere, spirits were casting off the duke’s order, shouting and carrying on and doing what they wanted. The cobblestones slid out of their perfect geometric alignment to lie comfortably crooked. The tiny flowers in the pristine window boxes sprouted in absurd abundance, spilling leaves and seedpods into the street. Inside the empty houses, whose residents had fled for the walls the moment the conscript army was routed, tables flipped themselves over, chairs fell backward, and neat piles of table linens threw themselves like streamers over everything, creating dancing shapes behind the wobbly glass windows.
It was, in short, beautiful chaos, and Eli could not have been happier. He hopped off his pile of now-jittering barrels and waved at them as they rolled off to wherever they wanted to go. He was sliding his wet jacket back over his sore shoulders when Monpress jogged over from his alley, an anxious look on his usually calm face.
“Excellent job,” Eli said with a wide grin, slapping the old man on the back. “Beautiful arc, too. You haven’t lost an inch on that throw.”
Monpress gave him a sideways look. “Glad to hear you’re so happy about it,” he said, glancing at a pack of wooden benches as they gallivanted down a side street. “From my point of view, it looks like we just kicked off the end of the world.”
“Hardly,” Eli said. “We were merely the catalyst for something that had been brewing for years.” He smiled up at the empty battlements. “People and spirits aren’t all that different in their fundamentals. When the circumstances are primed, all it takes is one act of defiance to set off a revolution.”
“I see,” Monpress said, frowning as a line of barrels rolled out of a shop on their own accord and emptied themselves into the street, dumping gallons of dark red wine into the gutters. “Remind me never to take you into a country I like.”
Eli just grinned and settled back to watch the show.
The Duke of Gaol ran down the spiral stairs of his citadel, taking the broad stone steps two at time. He could hear the chaos through the thick stone walls, and rage like he had never felt burned in his mind, tightening the grip of his enslavement even as more and more of the city’s spirits slipped free. Well, he thought as he burst into the great hall of the citadel, not for much longer. He was the Duke of Gaol still. The rebellious spirits would remember who their master was before the sun rose.
The last of his soldiers had already fled, leaving the great hall empty. The duke marched past the scattered benches and to the enormous hearth. The fire was banked for the night, awake and quiet under a blanket of ash. Without hesitation, the duke thrust his hand into the glowing embers, and the fire sprang up with a piteous, crackling roar.
“You’re coming with me,” the duke growled. “We’re putting an end to this.”
The fire bowed, shuddering under the Enslavement that roared down the duke’s arm. It rose heatless from its bed and settled itself in his hand, flickering across his skin without so much as singeing his white cuffs, too cowed even to burn. Satisfied that this spirit was still loyal, for the moment at least, the duke turned on his heel and walked toward the great racks of weaponry on the far wall. He grabbed an ax with a great, curving moon for a blade. Hefting it in one hand, he mastered the small, stupid spirit with one blast of his will. Thus armed, he marched to the front of his citadel. The great doors flung themselves open as he approached, and he stepped into the chaos that was once his ordered, beautiful, perfect city to face the man responsible.
“Monpress!” he roared,