weight of Mellinor’s spirit all through it, comforting and a little apologetic.
“I am sorry,” the water whispered. “I know you wanted a peaceable solution, but we spirits have our own laws that must be upheld.”
“No,” Miranda said, shaking her head. “Being a Spiritualist means understanding and respecting my spirits’ natures. But”—she slapped the water, sending a splash up in the air—“I wish you’d told me what you were going to do before you did it.”
She felt a wave of power that was distinctly like a shrug. “I didn’t know I needed to until I was doing it.”
“I see,” Miranda said. “Well, at least no one can argue that I Enslaved you now. Not after that display.”
“Only idiots argued it in the first place,” Mellinor said. “But”—she felt a motion that could only be the spirit equivalent of a grin—“you’ll like this next part.”
Miranda sank into the water, suddenly alarmed. “What do you mean?”
“He means he’s the Great Spirit of Gaol now,” Eli said beside her. “And everyone knows it.”
Miranda looked at him, confused, and he nodded toward the shore. She followed his gaze, and her eyes widened. The city, which had been a knot of controlled chaos, was perfectly still. The lamps were all burning steady, not flashing, and the dark clouds were frozen in the night sky. On the bank across from them, Miranda saw the army of conscripts standing with their torches. The archers drew their bows when they saw the two floating in the water, but even as they notched their arrows, Mellinor gave a warning rumble, and the bows went limp. The soldiers scrambled, but the bows had lost their tension and refused to draw.
“Was that you?” Miranda said in awe.
“Partially.” Mellinor sounded extremely pleased with himself. “Most of it is the spirits.” He laughed. “Let’s just say they didn’t particularly like being under the good duke’s thumb, and now that I’m here to back them up, they’re not feeling particularly charitable toward his forces.”
As if to prove him right, at that moment every sword of the enemy army cut through its sheath and clattered to the ground, some of them going straight through the feet of their previous owners. A great cry of fear and surprise went up, and, sensing the chaos, the torches they carried chose that moment to erupt in great geysers of flame. Suddenly, fire was everywhere, and the army broke into a mob. Men in flames screamed and dove into the river, which pulled back at the last moment to let them land in the mud. Others ran away, disappearing down the alleys and leaving the wounded gripping their bleeding feet.
“That’s what I call a complete rout,” Eli said cheerily. “Though I can’t say I’ve ever seen an army defeated by its own swords before.”
Miranda grinned. “Come on,” she said, turning to swim for the far shore. “Let’s get your swordsman and my dog and we’ll finish the duke before he does something drastic.”
“Sounds marvelous,” Eli said, swimming beside her. “See, we can agree on occasion.”
“Don’t push it,” Miranda said, giving him a sideways look. “Swim faster; you’re dragging me down.”
“Yes, mistress,” Eli quipped, earning himself a baleful glare, which he ignored completely, swimming in long, easy strokes toward the shore.
High overhead, Othril watched the battle of the Great Spirits with a growing sense of terror. This was bad, very bad. He needed to warn the duke before things got completely out of hand. He spun around to start toward the Duke’s citadel, but as he turned, something inside him hitched, and he froze motionless in the air. For a moment, panic completely overwhelmed his mind. Had a wizard caught him? Was the duke angry? Then he felt a familiar cold breeze, and he realized what was wrong. He was blowing west.
“Othril.”
The voice blew through him, cold and salty and enormous as the western sea. Frozen in place, he could only tremble as he answered.
“All hail the West Wind.”
A laugh gusted past, and he felt other winds slide up beside him. Strong, powerful winds, and all blowing from the west.
“Othril,” the great voice of the West Wind chuckled. “Did you honestly think that allying yourself with a wizard who coerces Great Spirits would end well?”
“How are you even here?” Othril said with as much authority as he could muster. “Fellbro told you to get out! I don’t care how strong you think you are, you can’t ignore a direct dismissal. Winds are forbidden by the Shepherdess from interfering in the affairs