I may have made a mistake in capturing the iele, but what choice did I have? I'd never imagined myself an intimidator of spirits, but somehow I made it happen. When Mirel took our cohort to learn how to tame spirits by binding them in scrolls, it had been different. They lay in rest, in a stasis, until released. Once summoned again and used for whatever purpose, their energy returned to cel?lalt t?ram with insinuations they not recall their imprisonment. Safe. Effective. I had done no such protective measures.

  From the journal of Drago? Buh?scu

  Zgavra’s voice ricocheted down the cliff. A stone clattered away off the ledge by the volume alone. Dragos squinted as he held out the box. He normally wouldn’t ask the question that sprang to mind, but he didn’t have anyone else to ask.

  “What should I do with it?”

  “Throw it away!” Zgavra waved a taloned hand in the vial’s general direction. A snarl pulled at its lips, disgusted.

  “I can’t,” Dragos replied, looking at the vial. It shone in the flicker of the little fire of his little campsite on the cliff ledge, the gleam of the thick glass containing it was dull, but there. Within, the liquid sat dormant, but Dragos could feel it. The spirit within.

  It was nothing like containing a spirit on a scroll.

  He’d reworked the spell intuitively, left out a good portion of it, because he had no binding elements, no way to keep it tethered through the veil. He kept it fully there, and fully attached to him.

  “It was the only thing I could think of…”

  “What did you do?”

  Dragos lifted the vial from the filings with his fingertips, and the zmeu snapped it up right out of his hand. It held the vial up and steam rushed from its nostrils, though from anger or simple frustration, Dragos couldn’t say.

  Its reaction was funny, in a way. He’d never seen the creature act like that.

  “I bound it to myself,” Dragos said, and had no room for more.

  “To yourself? Why not just rope yourself to a feral lynx? How about stuff yourself in a sack full of hungry rats? Are you insane?”

  “I was low on options. I was surrounded by iele.” The irritation that had flagged in the face of the zmeu’s surprise was back. Dragos felt it in the set of his jaw.

  “You could have called me,” it protested, shaking the vial at him like an accusing finger.

  “Oh?” Dragos smirked. Heat fumed from his collar and had nothing to do with the fire he sat beside. “And you would have come to help me? From whatever distance, no matter what you were doing?”

  The vial stopped shaking at him.

  Dragos took that as a confession in itself. “Exacty. Why should I rely on you? I’m not some boyar and you’re no loyal vassal. I’m—”

  “Barely more than a child playing at being a wizard! It’s pure luck you captured it and the others didn’t kill you,” Zgavra replied, its tone dark enough to reflect the danger he’d been in.

  As if Dragos hadn’t been aware.

  He snatched the vial back and put it with the iron filings. No doubt the iele was too afraid to come out with the zmeu near. The filings would keep her in the vial until Dragos figured out what to do with her. He buried it in bits of iron and closed the lid again. The box was tucked back into the specific slot meant for it, and replaced on his back.

  “You’ve cursed yourself,” Zgavra muttered, scratching talons along its muzzle.

  “What’s one more?” Dragos said, flat-toned. He leaned back and pulled his cloak around himself. The stone behind him was cool, but the fire made it feel more comfortable, even with its weak heat.

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  With his eyes closed, Dragos said, “In the morning, we climb. Or, if you get bored with that, we can fly.”

  The creature didn’t respond, merely stared into the fire, as was its habit.

  Zgavra was still there when Dragos flinched awake to some night terror that left him feeling much like he’d felt when he went to sleep. A doomed stormcrow, caught at the edges of nature’s tumult. His eyes snapped open, and he rolled closer to the fire.

  It was bigger. The monster must have added to it. He closed his eyes on the crouched monster, its shaggy mane falling around black-scaled skin. The comfort of its presence let him go back into a drifting, not-quite sleep until the pre-dawn turned the moonlit night into a deep gray wash across the sky.

  When he decided he’d had enough rest, Dragos coughed against the dry raggedness of his throat and croaked, “Have you seen a spring anywhere?”

  The monster pointed up the mountain silently.

  With a groan, Dragos pushed up off the ground and stiffly gathered his belongings. The beast buried the fire, and they set out. The climb grew steeper. Dragos angled for a valley until the zmeu kept going in the upward direction.

  So much for taking the easy way.

  He heard the trickle before he saw it, a hollowness of water and stone. Had he any liquid left in his body, he might have salivated. The box on his back jerked as if someone had grabbed it. The str?luciele must have sensed its element nearby.

  It meant he was headed in the correct direction, even more than what his ears told him.

  The box rattled on his back as he drew closer to the sound. Water funneled down a channel along the stony surface and carved a trough for itself, deep enough that Dragos had to reach into the crevice to reach the water. He plunged a hand into the chill flow and brought some out in the cup of his palm.

  He sniffed it, then dipped the tip of his tongue in. Sweet with a trace mineral tang. Iron and a touch of limewater. Not too alkaline or acidic. Perfect for drinking. Thrusting his waterskin into the gap, he filled it, then drank, and filled it again.

  The whole time, the box vibrated angrily.

  “Would she escape? But how far could she go… Is she like you, Zgavra?”

  “Oh, she’s not bound by a name-gift. That bestows a hint of fondness. Exactly what did you bind her to?”

  “Myself.”

  “Not your will or your cause? Either would have been better than just yourself, though neither would save you from her retribution.”

  Dragos frowned, realizing he should have thought of that.

  The zmeu hovered, a smoke-like smudge that circled around the traveler. It wafted closer to observe the activity of Dragos's belongings and humphed loudly. “It would use that water you catch to drown you, and be caught in this spring forever, trapped by your bones, or where they lay to rest. Probably quite contented.”

  Dragos sniffed. Not only from the less-than-ideal news, but from the cold. The ascent grew colder as the trees fell away, from pine to scrub, and then not even that.

  He’d forgotten how it was on the mountains in the fall and winter. The bitter cold and thin air made him weary. Hunger may have had something to do with it. He had a few bites of dried meat left, but a long way yet to go.

  “How can I make it care?”

  The shadow rippled like laughter. “I don’t know. A love spell?”

  Dragos stared at the beast, then rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

  The orange eyes solidified as the monster set down, congealing into its half-human form. “You’re not seriously considering…?”

  A smirk tugged Dragos’s lips.

  “No,” Zgavra stated firmly.

  “Yes,” Dragos countered, tugging the peddler’s box off his shoulders.

  “It’s a terrible idea,” the zmeu grumbled.

  “What’s one more?” Dragos asked. The monster had no words for that.

  He could ask Zgavra to destroy her. Even though there were other water iele in the glade where he’d been surrounded, and the forest wouldn’t suffer for her loss, something inside him resisted suggesting it. Was it his foolish kind heart getting in the way, again?

  She would have killed him.

  Dragos stared at his waterskin for a moment, then looked to the horizon where the Spineback leaned, its jagged edges painted in shadow and morning light. His choice wasn’t for kindness or foolishness.

  “I might need her, and I'll need her on my side, not trying to kill me. Let’s find a spot where the wind doesn’t stir,” Dragos announced, straightening from his crouch.

  The zmeu turned its head to the mountain, the wind rushing up behind it to ruffle its mane. A claw pointed the way, and Dragos climbed. The beast itself unthreaded, billowing into a dark cloud that rode the breeze upwards. The young wizard picked his way along goat paths until he found a leeward stone. If it had been higher, or later, he would have chosen it for a campsite.

  Instead, it would be the place where he worked some magic.

  Zmeu: Shapeshifter dragon

  Iele: Nature spirit

  Boyar: Landowning lord, aristocracy

  str?luciele: Spirit of spring water