Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

He visited the Temple of the Knights of the Covenant, naiad warriors despatched by Turo after the wedding of Simon and Miranda to help defend Corona. They had been errant warriors, journeying forth from Davidheyr to fight monsters and battle wickedness wherever it lurked, but they had been guards as well: in Miranda's memory they had carried the honour of Corona's princesses, and some knights had remained in Davidheyr at all times. When he had been defeated by Ameliora for the leadership of the Firstborn Prince Jonathon had chosen to serve with the knights instead, becoming the only man of the Coronim to do so. The Knights had been wiped out in the Danai-Shardayan invasion, and with the line of Simon also annihilated in that battle Turo had not restored the order. Their temple, when Michael reached it, was looking a little run down: the grey stonework was chipped and cracked all along the walls, and stained with soot and dirt in just as many places. The doors of beaten bronze were dented, the frieze which had once adorned the door so worn away Michael couldn't even recognise it. He could just make out the frieze carved out of stone upon the archway: a depiction of the wedding of Simon and Miranda, and underneath that an inscription in Old Coronan which Michael would not have been able to read had it been carved yesterday. Even they were so worn down that Michael guessed in another generation they too would
be unrecognisable. He supposed that the fortress temple had once been an imposing sight, but with the walls so damaged and a hole in the roof now it just looked melancholy. What was once a testament to Corona's greatness was now nothing more than a sign that that greatness had passed.

Finally, Michael's feet led him to the barracks of the Firstborn, where the eldest sons of Corona had trained in arms for generations. The walls had crumbled in several places, and there were holes that would only get larger if left unattended. Nor was it unoccupied, and from the smoke stains on the rotting wood beams Michael got the sense that people had been squatting here long before the recent troubles had uprooted so many honest citizens from their homes. One could still see glimpses of how solid the walls would have been when it teemed with warriors, but the truth, the experience, was gone beyond recall.

Michael sighed. He had wanted to see the monuments, thinking - hoping - that the legacy of Corona's glory would inspire him to great deeds, to virtue and valour, to a decision on the forked road before him. Instead, all it did was remind him of how far Corona had fallen. Like the barracks, what had once been a great nation was now crumbled to ruin and a mighty people had fallen so low as to squat for shelter in the shattered seat of their now vanquished pride.

Yet it could be rebuilt. The foundations were strong, some parts of the walls still stood. It could be rebuilt, and without using flesh for bricks or blood for mortar. In fact, Michael resolved that once the battle with Quirian was won he would ask Lord Gideon to use influence to have the monuments restored, and other things besides perhaps, as a testament to the Empire's respect for Corona's past.

Assuming Lord Gideon still regarded him fondly enough to do him a kindness. Assuming Michael did not abandon him. God, what was he to do?

The dragons of the sun had pulled that golden orb down almost to the horizon. It would soon be time for Raphael to raise the moon, and Michael went looking for Gideon through the streets and the square. Everywhere he went people gave him an affable nod, or called out some encouragement, but none of them had seen Lord Gideon or Amy, or even Wyrrin. At last, Michael's feet brought him to the orphaned children led by Judah, looking frightened by the sudden arrival of the Crimson Rose outside the walls.

"Any of you seen my lord, or the fire drake or the naiad knight?" he asked.

"No," Ruth answered quietly. "Do you think the rebels will attack tonight?"

"I doubt it," Michael said. "They've no need to rush, or they will not think they have, and they have no engines to breach the walls. They will rest, after their march, and not try the defence until tomorrow at the earliest."

"But when they do come," Ruth replied. "When they come, will they take the city?"

"Of course they will," Judah murmured. "No one can stop them."

"Lord Gideon will stop them," Michael said.

"He's just one man!" Judah shouted. "My father took a wood axe to hold them off while I ran, and they killed him and burned our home because he was only one man, too! There's nothing any of us can do, there are too many of them!"

Naboth moaned, and seemed to be trying to burrow into his sister's side he was holding her so close.

"Ameliora was only one woman," Michael said loudly, gesturing to the statue of the princess behind him. "An old woman, weary with age, yet she held this city against all the power of Deucalia, Turma and Antigenea. When the Crimson Rose come, if they come, then do what you can. Fight with all your strength, fight for everything that you hold dear. Almighty Turo will provide the rest."

Judah nodded firmly, a look in his eye that was not confidence but rather grim resolve. "I'll die before I see them hurt."

"Good man," Michael said, turning away. He looked at the statue of the princess. She was clad head to toe in armour similar to Amy's, and wielding a Naiad greatsword, both of which she had inherited from her mother. With her helmet on, it was impossible to tell if the statue was intended to be the young Ameliora who had contested with Jonathon for the right to lead the Firstborn and crushed the ambitions of the Deucalians, or the aged Ameliora who had risen to the moment one last time against the Turmeians. He hoped it was the latter, the final stand at Davidheyr had always been his favourite of the Ameliora stories.

"Michael," Gideon called out as he crossed the square, passing through the crowd without either appearing to notice or inconvenience them. Amy followed behind him, having to make rather more effort not to tread on the people underfoot.

"I trust you slept well," Gideon said as he reached Michael.

"Well enough, my lord."

"I still don't see why I have to wait here," Amy groused as she joined them.

"For the same reason legionaries do not undertake night attacks in their segmenta," Gideon said. "You cannot move either quietly enough nor swiftly enough in all that armour. Besides, we need you to hold the door for us."

"Not very glorious is it?" Amy said. "I'm stuck holding the door open for you while you too get to raid the enemy camp. Couldn't you have come up with a plan that included me?"

"Sorry, Amy," Michael said.

"I don't see why I have to be the one to go for help either," Wyrrin grumbled as he appeared at Michael's shoulder.

"Someone must," Michael said.

"But why me?"

"Because you are accounted swift of foot," Gideon said. "And speed is required to find the Thirty Fifth and fetch them back here."

"I will find them," Wyrrin said, his tone suddenly turning sombre. "I stake my flames upon it."

"Let's go, if we're going," Amy said. "You three haven't got all night."

"Ready?" Gideon asked.

"Ready my lord," Michael replied.

They made their way past slumbering people, through weary crowds, until they reached the gate to Davidheyr. Two urbani stood guard upon it, while more men walked the wooden parapet above. The soldiers came to attention as Amy approached.

"Ser knight," the sergeant bowed hastily. "You honour us with your presence."

Amy said, "I need you to open this gate for me a fraction, and keep it open until I tell you otherwise."

"Of course, ser," they said, and set too opening the gate.

"Michael." Amy grabbed Michael by the arm, leading him a few paces away. Hastily, she untied the tattered blue and red scarf from around her arm and held it out to Michael. "I want you to wear this tonight."

Michael frowned. He had given that scarf to Amy as a birthday present, the last birthday before she'd disappeared. It was no fine quality, but it had cost him a shilling and sixpence, more than he could afford at that time. It belonged to her, not him. "What for, Amy?"

"Down in the ocean there's this thing called a Favour. When a knight enters a tournament his or her...friend, gives them something to wear around their arm for good fortune. I can't fight alongside you tonight, but if you wear this then I know you'll come back."

Michael smiled. "I'd have come back anyway, our Amy. But I'd be honoured."

Amy tied the scarf around his right arm. "I wore this when I entered the Right Hand's tournament at Seafire Peak, as a mystery knight. I was one of the last five standing in the melee and I'd beaten down some of the finest knights in the Seareach to get there. There's real luck in this scarf, believe me."

The two guards had opened the gate wide enough for a person to slip through the gap. "Will this do, Ser Knight?"

"Fine," Amy called back. She patted Michael on the cheek. "Stay safe, and go with God."

"Always," Michael replied, and followed Gideon out of the gate and into the night.

He turned to Wyrrin as they stood just beyond the gateway.

"Get close to their lines on the right flank, and when the confusion starts, run. In the chaos you will not be noticed."

"How will I know when the confusion has started?" Wyrrin asked.

Michael smiled. "I mean to make sure that it is unmistakable."

Wyrrin tilted his head to one side. "Good fortune, Michael Callistus. Stay alive until my return."

Michael nodded. "Good fortune, Wyrrin of Arko. Don't get lost."

Wyrrin chittered with indignation. "Never."

Michael grinned, and turned away to creep into the night.

Leaving the city felt like leaving one day behind and passing through the night on the way to another day ahead. Davidheyr was lit behind them by candles in the houses, great lanterns in the streets, and torches carried by the guards atop the wall. Ahead of them, the campfires of the Crimson Rose gleamed ahead, beckoning Gideon and Michael in. But first they had to pass through the twilight land of darkness that lay between. They strode through the grass, Michael stumbling over things he could not see with only the lights ahead to guide him. The lights ahead, and Gideon. Lord Gideon seemed to have no difficulties with the dark, walking as if he were taking a promenade along a pier, occasionally changing his direction to avoid some pitfall Michael could neither see nor guess at. Michael kept Gideon in his sights, tried to follow in his steps, but still tripped and almost fell far too often for the liking of his dignity. He was extremely grateful that Gideon gave no sign of noticing his accidents, though he was sure Lord Gideon could not be ignorant of them: he was simply choosing to spare Michael's feelings, that was all.

When they were close enough to the lines of the Rose that they could make out individual figures sleeping amongst the dying fires, Gideon stopped and dropped to his knees, motioning for Michael to do the same. The watchfires of the Crimson Rose varied in their intensity: some were well tended, the glow of their flames beating back the darkness, while others were dying out. Likewise the state of the rebel defence: the limitanei, and what looked like some of the better equipped companies of rebels had placed sentries who paced between the fires, peering outwards into the night. The gladiators and the new recruits on the other hand had no lookouts whatsoever, and it was their fires that were the least well tended.

Michael steeled himself. His plan was threefold: first, to destroy any supplies that the Crimson Rose had brought with them - they had to have some provisions for a siege amassed if they intended to camp before the walls like this - so that they would have to withdraw from the city or starve. Secondly, to create enough confusion in the camp to give Wyrrin a chance to slip away northward and convey their urgent need to the Thirty Fifth Legion. And lastly, to free the prisoners that the rebels had undoubtedly swept up in their march across Corona. No slave Michael had ever talked to objected to slavery in and of itself, merely to his own place in the hierarchy, so Michael would not be surprised to see a great number of citizens caught and humbled by being forced to serve those who had once been the servants. With luck he and Lord Gideon would accomplish all three goals, and moreover show the Rose they did not enjoy a monopoly on the use of the cover of darkness.

"I'll take the left, you take the right," Gideon whispered. "Count to twenty after I leave, and then go."

"Yes, my lord."

Gideon stood up again, and slipped into the darkness like a wraith. Michael had lost sight of him by the time his count reached five.

Michael waited,
seven, eight,
and watched the enemy, listening to the sounds of their laughter drift out from their camp.

Twelve, thirteen
.

The sentries came and went, but there seemed to be fewer of them over on the left flank already.

Fifteen, Sixteen
.

When the rebels awoke the next morning they would realise they were not the only ones who could be killed.

Eighte
e
n, nineteen, God watch over us this night.

On the count of twenty Michael sprang up, drawing his spatha, and began to run as quietly as he could towards the right flank of the rebel position.