Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (10 page)

Miranda sighed, and turned away, concentrating on the statue before her.

I must bring you to life. And I haven't the faintest idea how to start.

She approached the golem, or what would hopefully become one, with apprehension.
This is ridiculous. If I was descended from a great soldier would they expect me to be able to command an army?

Probably they would, knowing this country.

Miranda ran her fingers lightly over the statue, wondering how she could possibly get this creation of stone up on its feet.

"'And the Young Gods fashioned mankind out of clay and water and their own blood. They hardened them in fire, and set fire within them. Then they breathed the breath of life into them and the clay came to life. Thus were men created," Abigail recited. "Or so the Novar Church teaches, at any rate."

Miranda paused. "Thank you, Mater Abigail."

Abigail winked. "You are very welcome, Filia."

Miranda turned back to the golem, shuffling towards its head, her stick clattering on the courtyard stone. They had given it tourmalines for eyes, and its mouth was open so that it looked to be gawping at something up in the sky. It was awkward, what with the size of its head and her own lack of mobility, but she was able to get close enough to the mouth for what she had in mind.

Closing her eyes, Miranda reached inside of herself for the power that lay there, teasing it out as she always did when called upon to heal a patient, threading it through the needle-eye of her control, careful not to let it explode out of her in a torrent, but rather trickle out like a stream according to her will. She could feel it building up inside of her, feel the magic's eagerness to be used, to be employed. It was always so restless, so impatient with inaction. It wanted release, and for release it would serve any end she wished. Magic gathered in her chest, and ordinarily she would have released it out via her hands. On this occasion though, she kept forcing the power upwards, up through her throat. It felt like choking, like drowning, she wanted to wretch and spit and vomit it all out and it was only her iron control over herself that kept her drawing the magic upwards calmly, carefully, until she breathed it out of her mouth and into the waiting mouth of the golem.

For a moment, nothing happened. Miranda thought she could hear Ascanius sniggering. Then, the green tourmalines which were its eyes sparked with life and the golem creaked and cracked as it pushed itself off the ground ─ Miranda staggered away from it ─ and rose to its feet. Ascanius Posci cursed as the golem stood, towering over the men around it. Julian Dalassena drew his sword. Lucifer raised his metal-clad arm, and Miranda saw that his long iron gauntlet was covered in all manner of sorcerous incantations. Metella placed herself between Quirian and the golem, her eyes glowing with magical intensity, a blue light gathering in her hands that reminded Miranda of her own magic.

Abigail, on the other hand, did not seem panicked at all. In fact she looked quite unsurprised by the whole business.

And Octavia clapped her hands together and quite literally jumped for joy. "You did it! Isn't that wonderful?"

"Quite right, Octavia," Quirian said, beaming broadly. "Yes, it is wonderful. It is superb! Filia, in a few brief moments you have vindicated my faith in you a thousand times."

"A walking statue," Aelia murmured. "Did you ever see the like?"

"I'm not sure I want to," Ascanius muttered.

"Come now, Ascanius, is this not what His Highness desires?" Quirian asked. "An army loyal to him, and to no other?"

"It takes more than size to make a soldier," Ascanius said.

"Indeed, indeed," Quirian said, looking the golem up and down. It stood quite still, its thoughts unreadable. If, indeed, it had any thoughts to speak of. Quirian continued, "Would you like to give it an instruction, Filia?"

Miranda hesitated, then said, "Turn to the right."

The golem did so, its steps thudding on the ground.

"Walk forward," Miranda said.

The golem started walking.

"Stop," Miranda commanded.

"Excellent, excellent," Quirian said. "Run!"

The golem did not move.

Ascanius smirked. "He doesn't seem to like you much, m'lord."

Miranda cleared her throat. "Look at me."

The golem turned, until the faintly glowing tourmalines were fixed on her.

Miranda gestured towards Quirian, "This is Lord Quirian. You will obey him. Try again, my lord."

"Thank you, Filia," Quirian said. "Take one step forward."

The golem advanced one step.

Quirian smiled. "Now, kill Miranda Callistus."

"What?" Miranda squawked in alarm as the golem started to stomp slowly towards her.

Something shoved into her. Miranda toppled over, the ground rushing to meet her. A pair of strong arms caught hold of her.

"Here, dear, I've got you," Abigail said softly.

A shadow fell across Miranda, who looked up to see Octavia standing in front of her, her back to Miranda, facing the golem with her hands held before her.

"Stay away from her!" Octavia yelled.

The golem kept moving its legs, but it did not seem to be advancing. It was as though some invisible force was pushing it backwards, so that all its motion could do was keep it stationery.

"Aulo's tits, lass, are you doing that all by yourself?" Ascanius asked incredulously.

"Stop!" Quirian commanded, and the golem subsided, sliding backwards across the courtyard as soon as it stopped walking.

"Octavia, that will do," Quirian said gently. "I apologise, Filia, for startling you. I meant no harm. I merely wished to see if there was a limit to its obedience."

"You could have warned me first," Miranda growled as Abigail helped her stand upright again.

"I have apologised," Quirian murmured, sounding hurt. "I must say I am impressed you were able to stop it, Octavia. Well done."

"Yes, Lord Father," Octavia murmured.

"You stopped it?" Miranda asked. "How?"

Octavia half turned towards her and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm an air mage."

"A bloody powerful one at that," Ascanius said, shaking his head. "To stop something that big and heavy. And while wearing iron, too, you must be a bloody prodigy."

"I always select the very best for the Lost," Quirian said. "Now, Julian, Ascanius, Lysimachus, what do you think?"

"He is certainly an imposing fellow," Julian said.

"But if somebody has to give him an order for every little thing he won't be much of a soldier," Ascanius said. "Walk, run, go forward, stop, kill; I could run rings around him."

"But you could not kill him," Quirian said. "And he would catch you eventually. You forget, Ascanius, that by the time we are through there will be thousands of these golems standing shoulder to shoulder. Their strength is unmatched, no mortal army will be able to stand against them on the battlefield."

"Unless they're carrying masons' hammers," Ascanius replied.

"Ascanius, that's enough," Julian said.

Ascanius's eyebrows rose, "You trying to give me orders, Optio?"

Julian rolled his eyes as he sighed, "I'm making a suggestion, that's all."

"They worry me," Lysimachus had been quiet throughout the demonstration, but now he spoke. "An army that can't think for itself, that obeys every order that it's given, is completely dependent on the morals of the man commanding it. These golems would never have mutinied in Oretar, would they?"

"No commander wants soldiers who mutiny," Julian murmured.

"No," Lysimachus said quietly. "But you can bet the poor bastards we spared are grateful for it."

"I have complete faith in the conscience of Prince Antiochus," Quirian declared. "That will be all, thank you. You may leave us now."

The three soldiers bowed themselves out. Miranda kept working under Quirian's supervision, raising up fifteen more golems until she grew so tired that Octavia had to carry her to bed, where she napped on and off until late afternoon, when it was time get ready for the reception.

Miranda shared a palanquin with Lord Quirian on the way to Lord Maro's townhouse. Lord Quirian's toga was blue, sewn with minute crimson lions and fringed with golden thread. His loincloth, again the only garment he wore beneath the toga, was cloth-of-gold, and he wore golden vambraces on his wrists and a gold torque around his neck. His boots were pink. He looked very dandified, in fact, dressed in a matter fitting a younger man than he.

"You look ready to get drunk and dance on a table," Miranda observed. "You didn't say it would be that kind of party."

Quirian barked with laughter. "I think you will be safe from that degree of riotous excess, Filia Miranda. I admit that I have done my share of table-dancing in my youth, but never since I became, forgive my lack of modesty, a mover in society and a player at court. Would you grow too cross, Filia Miranda, if I were to compliment you upon how you look?"

"I would not mind, if you weren't essentially complimenting your own taste," Miranda replied. Quirian had supplied a formal dress for her to wear to the palace, something pure white and pristine, with a bodice tightly tailored to embrace her form and an airy skirt with a layer of lace underneath it. Her white hair had been done up by Abigail in an elegant bun, a few strands of white hanging in artful dishevelment down to frame her face, the whole structure pinned in place by a multitude of sparkling silver hairpins. Lord Quirian had even had a pair of formal slippers specially made to fit her clubbed foot.

"You should have worn the pearls, my dear, they would have added the perfect touch," Quirian said, referring to a necklace he had offered her which Miranda had refused.

"I feel about too much finery as I feel about too much formal language," Miranda said. "The less of it the better."

"And yet, the ring upon your finger," Quirian remarked, raising one eyebrow.

Miranda looked down upon the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was a diamond, as opaque as glass after a frost had fallen on it, cut in the shape of a square peg and set in a ring of white gold. "It was my mother's ring," she said. "A family heirloom, I think, she had it as long as I could remember. When we were children she used to tell us it was a magic ring that could help her tell when we were lying, not that it was of course but it certainly made Felix confess what he'd done often enough.

"After mother died Michael pawned the ring for six shillings; he was cheated horrendously, it was worth four times as much."

"Ten times, at least," Quirian murmured.

"But we were desperate so he took what he could get, though it broke his heart. As soon as I could afford it I bought it back. Because everything that I deserve I will have, through hard work and determined effort."

Quirian smiled. "Your determination is truly admirable, Filia. May I take a closer look?"

Miranda slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to him.

Quirian peered at it closely, examining it all around. "I do believe that this is an Aurelian ring of power, given to those who had inherited the Aurelian magic. It is the white gold, you see; the Aurelians used the colour white always to indicate magic. These rings were to distinguish the elite of Aureliana, the arch-mages of the city. Given what you have inherited, it is fitting that you should have this ring, rather than either of your brothers."

"How can you be so certain?" Miranda asked. "There must be other white gold rings in Pelarius."

"Possibly, but given your own circumstances it is an obvious conclusion to draw," Quirian said. "Besides, this particular cut of diamond is also associated with these rings. I remember..." A shadow passed over Quirian's face. "I have seen similar rings of proven provenance. I have made something of a study of them." He handed her back the ring. "Treasure that, Filia, it is a rare link to a bygone age."

"I do treasure it," Miranda said, placing it back on her finger. "Though for the link to my mother rather than some distant past."

"Of course, of course."

Quirian's palanquin was surrounded by members of the Lost. Metella and Octavia both walked alongside, as did nearly a score of young men, while Lucifer walked in front with three burly warriors Pericles, Telamon and Danaus.

"Make way!" Lucifer shouted. "Make way for the Lord Quirian! Make way!"

The streets of Eternal Pantheia became very crowded as they made their winding way towards the palace. Looking out of the palanquin, Miranda could see hordes people pushing and shoving, their faces illuminated by the oil lamps hanging from outside the most prosperous houses, or flickering from columns lining the road. She could see a young woman lighting the street lamps by shooting flames from her fingertips. Men, orcs and minotaurs all jostled and fought for the right of way, while aestivals, the winged folk of Hawk's Roost, avoided all crowding by flitting to and fro in the skies above, silhouetting themselves against the full moon.

Beggars cried out for alms, but the Lost kept them away from Quirian's litter, forcing a way with arms and fists and, at times, by drawing their weapons.