Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (37 page)

And then he was back.

"Michael." Gideon knelt over Michael's prone form. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"

And Michael found that he could hear him, in fact he could hear more clearly than he ever had before. And, as his vision returned to the real world, he found that he was all right. He felt a little detached from himself, but he felt strong too, stronger than ever, and quicker too.

Michael vaulted to his feet in a single bound without even needing to push up on his hands. "What have you done to me my lord?"

Gideon smiled, a quiet smile that spoke of absolute satisfaction. "I have done nothing, Michael, you have done everything. If you were to ask me what has happened to you then I would say: precisely what I hoped and expected would occur."

"I do not understand my lord."

"Soulbark's unique property is that it partially frees the soul from the bonds of mortal flesh and allows the user to stand with their soul half in the spirit realm and half in the mortal plane. While you were out of it the powers of the spirit plane judged your soul and character. Had you failed to meet the criterion as most do you would have been vouchsafed a vision of the spirit realm in all its terror and hostility. Or it might have killed you. Fortunately however you passed, as I thought you would, and have now reaped the benefits of access to spirit magic. You will find that you are stronger, faster, and more agile than would normally be the case. That is because you are a selfless man, Michael, a sacrificing man, a man willing to give all for the sake of a cause. You are in, short exactly the kind of man in whom the potential for spirit magic exists."

Michael felt his face begin to burn. "You make me seem such a paragon I do not recognise myself."

Gideon replied, "I did not say you were a good man, I said you had selfless motives and pure intent; few things are more dangerous in the wrong hands. As it happens, I think that you are a man of potential for goodness, but potential it remains, for now. The improvement of your physical abilities is the essence of the most basic spirit magic: you are striking with the strength of your soul, not of your body, and, as the soul is greater than the body, so is your spiritual strength far greater than your physical prowess. That is what we will work on tonight, I want to help you master the enhanced abilities."

Michael nodded, drawing his swords - they seemed duller than normal, grey and lifeless - and settled into a sparring stance. "I am armed and well prepared, my lord."

Gideon drew Duty and Piety: Duty glowed as though the blade had stolen the light from out of the moon, the gold hilt aflame and the ruby in the pommel shining like a third sun; Piety was liquid night, and the sapphire set into it was the ocean in a gem.

Gideon must have understood what Michael saw, for he smiled out of the corner of his mouth. "My swords are my soul, Michael, a part of me, the means by which I defend this country most precious to my heart. They are, quite simply, the best part of myself, and you perceive them as such."

"This is all very strange to me, my lord," Michael said. "Swords with souls, and mine own spirit judged by otherworldly powers. It is a great deal for a poor freedman to comprehend."

Gideon chuckled. "I am sure that you will rise to the occasion with your customary vigour. If it helps, remember that you are wandering in the footsteps of Gabriel, who was himself a potent Spirit Warrior. Now, begin."

Every time they had sparred before this Michael had thought - had known - that Gideon was holding back, giving less than his best in order not to overwhelm Michael in the first few seconds. But now... now everything was different. Michael found that he could read Gideon's movements and counter them with appalling ease. He pressed his attacks, forcing Gideon back in the face of his onslaught, and he dared to think that he was actually making Gideon work this time.

But, though sweat was standing out on Gideon's brow, he showed no dismay or distaste. On the contrary he looked positively giddy with joy. "Excellent Michael, excellent! I knew you had this in you."

"It is not really me, my lord," Michael said as he kept up the pressure. "I am merely the agent of the soulbark you administered."

"Soulbark is a key, Michael, nothing more. It only opened the door to what was already in you," Gideon replied. "In time, you will have no need of it to unlock your potential, but be able to strive on equal terms with gods and monsters."

"All very well, my lord, but it seems a bit unfair," Michael said. "I could never beat you like this under normal circumstances."

Gideon stiffened. "Fairness, Michael, is a childish obsession; and like the most beloved toy the time comes when one must put it away as one progresses to manhood. Fair play will not save your sister's life nor defend the Empire from its enemies. My brother was very fond of his honour, and it weakened him, made him less valuable as a servant of the Empire, eventually got him killed. Only the excessively vain care for their honour above all else, Michael, it is symptomatic of an inability to put the needs of others ahead of oneself. I know you are not such a man, so I'll hear no more on the matter from you."

"Aye, my lord," Michael did not, could not agree with that assessment, that would confine so many of Corona's heroes to irrelevance; but he had no wish to antagonise Gideon.

"Good, then carry on," Gideon came for him again.

"May I ask you a question my lord," Michael said as he swatted away Gideon's counterattack. "Why is it that you haven't used Spirit Magic to defeat Quirian?"

Gideon stopped fighting so swiftly that Michael nearly impaled him.

"I tried," Gideon said softly. "I failed."

"You mean he defeated you, my lord?" Michael could scarce believe it.

"As I told you Michael, spirit magic is more than anything a test of character: I failed the test and the magic damn near killed me in consequence."

"But-"

"You will forgive me, Michael, if I do not wish to dwell upon my shame," Gideon said, in a tone that brooked no argument. "May we return to your training?"

"Of course, my lord. I am sorry," Michael said.

"Now," Gideon said. "Your enhanced speed and strength should not make you careless in your form and actions; it is very easy to be lulled into a false sense of security while using spirit magic, and forget to take care of your physical wellbeing. All pain is numbed while in the spirit state: as the bonds between soul and body are weakened, so the physical sensations of the body are felt less keenly. Yet the effects are there nonetheless, and will assert themselves as soon as the magic fades. I could cut off your head and you would keep fighting so long as you remained in the spirit state, for the only way to kill a foe who is in the spirit state is to destroy their heart. Yet as soon as you left that state you would die, so don't do anything too rash on the basis the magic will protect you. On top of which, the enhanced abilities the magic grants you will take their toll on a body unused to them, so don't be surprised if our little session wears you out more than you might expect. The first time I used spirit magic I spent the next three days in the surgeon's tent unable to move."

"Are you sure this was such a good idea my lord?"

"Certainly," Gideon said. "Now-"

A horn sounded. Then another, then another and soon the air was alive with the sound of horns, horns blowing beyond the walls.

"The Crimson Rose," Michael muttered.

Both men started to run towards the walls. They burst out of the yard to find the people crying out in confusion, looking this way and that.

"Is it the attack? Are they coming for us?"

"Any man who is prepared to fight to defend his home and his kin, with me!" Michael bellowed. "The rest of you, stay here and pray to God. He will not forsake us, I swear it."

Amy, Jason and Tullia joined Michael and Gideon as they ran to the ramparts, men and boys following in their wake. They found the walls already manned by all the surviving provincial comitatus, the limitanei and the urbani who had survived the ambush at Ameliorahem, and by the revenue men whom Amy had led to the walls. But they were few in number for what they had to defend, and there was more than enough space for Michael and company and all of those who followed in their wake to line up on the earthen parapet, though they had but knives and sticks for their defence. Judah was there, clutching his blade so tight his knuckles had turned white.

"Sergeant, what's going on?" Amy demanded.

"They've formed for battle, ser," Levi said. "But they're not advancing."

Michael found he could see in the dark more easily than usual. He could see the host of the Crimson Rose, formed beneath the tribal standards and the banners of the Rose, facing the walls of Davidheyr in a menacing crescent-shaped mass. The moonlight glinted off the armour of those that had it, the night breeze wafted through their flags. Apart from the incessant sounding of their war-horns, they were completely silent.

He could not see any sign of ladders or siege equipment.

"No way to scale the walls, no way to breach them," Amy muttered, shaking her head. "Are they going to stand on one another's shoulders and then climb over the defences?"

"Perhaps they expect us to surrender?" Gideon said. "Someone appears to be coming to parley with us."

The Voice of Corona had advanced out from amidst his troops, walking slowly and alone towards the gates of Davidheyr. His hands and arms were hidden within his long cape, which fluttered softly as he walked. The crest of his helmet was red and burned like fire. His bronze helmet glinted under the light of the moon and stars.

"He's got a nerve, hasn't he?" Amy growled. "Jason, do you think you can use your sorcery to shoot him?"

"I would rather not use the gift the gods have given to mankind to take life," Jason said.

"Is that a 'no', or is it 'I don't want to'?" Amy demanded.

"We cannot shoot a man approaching to parley," Michael said. "It would dishonour us and our cause."

"Would he be as restrained?"

"Probably not," Michael conceded. "But all the more reason to show the difference in our spirit. What have we to fear from any words that he might say?"

"You'd be surprised," Amy muttered.

The Voice advanced to within a spear's throw of the wall and then he called out, his deep bass voice rumbling through the night air. "Michael Sebastian ban David. The third time which I foretold has come. For the last time, I would have speech with you."

Michael cried, "If you wish to parley for the fate of this city then it is to my lord that you will speak, for he commands in absence of any captain or magistrate."

"I have no need to bargain with the wolves," the Voice said. "The city is mine whenever I wish to make it so. My words are for you, Michael, and you alone."

"Then it is a pity you drew such a large audience with your horns," Michael replied.

"Will you not come down from there and follow me somewhere private, that we may discourse as gentlemen without their uncouth interruption?"

"I think not," Michael said. "Forgive me, but I have some difficulty placing any stock in the honour of a man who has behaved as you have done."

The Voice laughed. "I suppose that I can hardly blame you: were our positions reversed I would not freely enter the camp of the Empire. Yet it is a pity that we must bellow at one another like this like rival bulls in different meadows."

"What is it that you want?" Michael demanded. "Say your piece and be gone."

"Very well, your highness, it is nothing less than this: Michael Sebastian, I would offer you the crown of Corona."

"Offer you the what?" Amy said.

Michael's eyes widened, of all the things he had expected the Voice of Corona to come out with, he had certainly not expected that. "If you came here but to mock me, then you are wasting your time."

"It is no mockery," Corona said. "You are the descendant of Gabriel, the last of the blood of David. The line of Simon is extinct, and the house of Rheoboam which succeeded to the throne has died out also. You are the last scion of the ancient dynasty, the blood of Old Corona flows within you. Join me, and all the power of the Crimson Rose will stand ready to raise you to your rightful place and there defend you against the power of the Empire and Quirian alike. Once Corona's ancient liberties are restored we will even go to war to rescue your sister, if that is the Prince's command.

"Think of it, Your Highness, in place of a soldier and a naiad, a bastard and a mage, you would have all the strength of the Crimson Rose at your disposal. And once the people hear that their prince has come home to them, every honest man in Corona will take up arms and cry out 'Freedom! Liberty! Death to the Empire!' I offer you not only the power and position that are your due, but the means to protect all those who are dear to you. And all you need do is step aside, and let us deal with those who seek to bend you to evil purposes.

"You have a generous spirit, fitting in a prince, but you must know that those who claim to be your friends are but wicked councillors manipulating you for their own purposes. We are your family, Michael, you belong with us. Accept it now, and take command as we strike a blow for liberty, god and country."

Michael had his eyes tight shut, trying not to imagine the reactions of his friends to what he had just heard. He wanted to be sick, he wanted to scream and shout, to damn Corona and the Crimson Rose straight to the maelstrom. He thought of his mother, dying in her son's arms, and of Felix's hand left upon his doorstep. He thought of himself standing shoulder to shoulder with those responsible and his heart was filled with revulsion at the notion.