Rachel Aaron - The Spirit Thief

My orders are to speak only to the king himself, Miranda said. It is a matter of some delicacy.

I am Oban, Master of Security. Youll speak it to me, or not at all, he huffed.

Miranda looked at Gin, who flicked his ear in the ghosthound equivalent of a shrug. I suppose we have wasted enough time, she said. I am here on behalf of the Spirit Court by order of the Rector Spiritualis, Etmon Banage. Yesterday morning we received a tip that the known fugitive wizard and wanted criminal Eli Monpress has been sighted within your kingdom. It is our belief that he is after an old wizard artifact held in your treasury. I am here to offer my assistance to keep him from stealing it.

There was a long pause, and Miranda got the horrible, sinking feeling that she had missed something important.

Lady, the Master of Security said, shaking his head, if youre here to warn the king about Eli, then youre a little late.

Miranda scowled. You mean hes already stolen the artifact?

No. The Master of Security sighed. Hes stolen the king.

The Legend of Eli Monpress

The Spirit Thief

The Spirit Rebellion

The Spirit Eater

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright 2010 by Rachel Aaron

Excerpt from The Spirit Rebellion copyright 2010 by Rachel Aaron

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

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First eBook Edition: October 2010

ISBN: 978-0-316-12082-1

For Travis. All the really good ideas are his.

I n the prison under the castle Allaze, in the dark, moldy cells where the greatest criminals in Mellinor spent the remainder of their lives counting rocks to stave off madness, Eli Monpress was trying to wake up a door.

It was a heavy oak door with an iron frame, created centuries ago by an overzealous carpenter to have, perhaps, more corners than it should. The edges were carefully fitted to lie flush against the stained, stone walls, and the heavy boards were nailed together so tightly that not even the flickering torch light could wedge between them. In all, the effect was so overdone, the construction so inhumanly strong, that the whole black affair had transcended simple confinement and become a monument to the absolute hopelessness of the prisoners situation. Eli decided to focus on the wood; the iron would have taken forever.

He ran his hands over it, long fingers gently tapping in a way living trees find desperately annoying, but dead wood finds soothing, like a scratch behind the ears. At last, the boards gave a little shudder and said, in a dusty, splintery voice, What do you want?

My dear friend, Eli said, never letting up on his tapping, the real question here is, what do you want?

Pardon? the door rattled, thoroughly confused. It wasnt used to having questions asked of it.

Well, doesnt it strike you as unfair? Eli said. From your grain, anyone can see you were once a great tree. Yet, here you are, locked up through no fault of your own, shut off from the sun by cruel stones with no concern at all for your comfort or continued health.

The door rattled again, knocking the dust from its hinges. Something about the mans voice was off. It was too clear for a normal humans, and the certainty in his words stirred up strange memories that made the door decidedly uncomfortable.

Wait, it grumbled suspiciously. Youre not a wizard, are you?

Me? Eli clutched his chest. I, one of those confidence tricksters, manipulators of spirits? Why, the very thought offends me! I am but a wanderer, moving from place to place, listening to the spirits sorrows and doing what little I can to make them more comfortable. He resumed the pleasant tapping, and the door relaxed against his fingers.

Wellit leaned forward a fraction, lowering its creak conspiratoriallyif thats the case, then I dont mind telling you the nails do poke a bit. It rattled, and the nails stood out for a second before returning to their position flush against the wood. The door sighed. I dont mind the dark so much, or the damp. Its just that people are always slamming me, and that just drives the sharp ends deeper. It hurts something awful, but no one seems to care.

Let me have a look, Eli said, his voice soft with concern. He made a great show of poring over the door and running his fingers along the joints. The door waited impatiently, creaking every time Elis hands brushed over a spot where the nails rubbed. Finally, when he had finished his inspection, Eli leaned back and tucked his fist under his chin, obviously deep in thought. When he didnt say anything for a few minutes, the door began to grow impatient, which is a very uncomfortable feeling for a door.

Well? it croaked.

Ive found the answer, Eli said, crouching down on the doorstep. Those nails, which give you so much trouble, are there to pin you to the iron frame. HoweverEli held up one finger in a sage gesturethey dont stay in of their own accord. Theyre not glued in; theres no hook. In fact, they seem to be held in place only by the pressure of the wood around them. Sohe arched an eyebrowthe reason they stay in at all, the only reason, is because youre holding on to them.

Of course! the door rumbled. How else would I stay upright?

Who said you had to stay upright? Eli said, throwing out his arms in a grand gesture. Youre your own spirit, arent you? If those nails hurt you, why, theres no law that you have to put up with it. If you stay in this situation, youre making yourself a victim.

But The door shuddered uncertainly.

The first step is admitting you have a problem. Eli gave the wood a reassuring pat. And thats enough for now. Howeverhis voice dropped to a whisperif youre ever going to live your life, really live it, then you need to let go of the roles others have forced on you. You need to let go of those nails.

But, I dont know The door shifted back and forth.

Indecision is the bane of all hardwoods. Eli shook his head. Come on, it doesnt have to be forever. Just give it a try.

The door clanged softly against its frame, gathering its resolve as Eli made encouraging gestures. Then, with a loud bang, the nails popped like corks, and the boards clattered to the ground with a long, relieved sigh.

Eli stepped over the planks and through the now-empty iron doorframe. The narrow hall outside was dark and empty. Eli looked one way, then the other, and shook his head.

First rule of dungeons, he said with a wry grin, dont pin all your hopes on a gullible door.

With that, he stepped over the sprawled boards, now mumbling happily in peaceful, nail-free slumber, and jogged off down the hall toward the rendezvous point.

In the sun-drenched rose garden of the castle Allaze, King Henrith of Mellinor was spending money he hadnt received yet.

Twenty thousand gold standards! He shook his teacup at his Master of the Exchequer. What does that come out to in mellinos?