Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (38 page)

And yet.

And yet they had offered him the power to save Miranda. An army at his command, to direct to whatever purpose he saw fit. And the Crimson Rose would have information gleaned from its alliance with Quirian. With their help, a rescue might well be possible much quicker, much easier, than by following Gideon. And if the price for that was personal discomfort, shame, loneliness, was that not a price worth paying? If he had to abandon and betray Gideon, Amy, everyone, was that not his duty as a brother? Did he have the right to abandon Miranda to her fate upon a point of honour, because he did not feel like doing what was necessary to rescue her? A man takes care of his family, whatever that entails; Michael's mother had taught him that long ago, and it seemed like he had certainly reached whatever now. It might stick in his craw, it might fill him with self-loathing, but it was all for Miranda and did that not make it all worthwhile? In the end, Turo would understand, mother would understand, Felix would understand. It was all for Miranda, as it had always been. And if he accepted this crown the Rose had offered him, he might even be able to command them to spare his comrades. Amy was a naiad, the rebels would revere her, she might even join him if he asked it of her. And as for the rest, he would command them to be taken alive, and never need to see them die. He would have to live with the looks of betrayal upon their faces, but it was his family at stake, and he had a duty to them. Lord Gideon would understand duty, surely. He could save Miranda, and it might not even cost any lives.

No, all it would cost would be his ability to look at himself afterwards. All it would cost would be every ideal he had ever clung to in the long dark nights, everything he had ever tried to become. All it would cost would be anything about him that Miranda might still have respected, any hope he had ever had of redeeming himself, becoming a better man than the one he was.

All it would cost would be his soul. And Michael found that was not a coin he had it in himself to spend.

"You certainly how to tempt a man, I will grant you that," Michael said. "Unfortunately, though I would give my life to save Miranda, what you ask of me is much more than that, and it is a price too high. Therefore, my answer must be this." He grabbed a pilum from one of the soldiers and cast it at the Voice of Corona. The javelin flew straight and true, and buried itself in his chest.

He did not fall. He did not even move. The leader of the rebellion stood in the middle of the field like a grisly scarecrow, a spear sticking out of him, and for longest moment did not move. Yet he was unquestionably alive.

"Gabriel's wounds," Michael murmured.

"Was there ever a man there at all?" Jason said.

"There must have been, or who did I parley with?" Michael said. "But how can he yet live?"

"For the same reason, I would guess, that you could hit him in the dark," Gideon said.

"Spirit magic?" Michael hissed. "But he's a murderer! He is responsible for all the suffering of this province!"

"Selfless motives and pure intent, Michael, I said nothing about being right from an outside perspective," Gideon said. "In fact, I'm sure I said the opposite."

The Voice of Corona laughed, a deep throaty laugh, as one hand slowly emerged from the all concealing cloak to draw the spear out of his chest, "You have a strong arm, Michael, worthy of the heroes of old. Or should I say you have a mighty soul? Are you that surprised that I can wield this power? I am a Coronim patriot: of the two of us, I alone am willing to die for the sake of this country."

He dropped the spear and ran forward, his hand beginning to glow with an eerie blue light. Arrows fired from the ramparts, but the Voice of Corona dodged all of them as he reached the gate and slammed his hand into the wooden gates.

The Voice's hand glowed even brighter than before and then the gates were rent asunder in a giant explosion, splinters of wood blasting backwards into the street.

"Maelstrom's Fury!" Amy cursed. "No wonder they didn't bring any sodding ladders!"

The warriors of the Crimson Rose let out a great howl and stormed forwards, their banners advancing as their soldiers beat spears on shields as they came on.

Michael stepped up onto the very lip of the rampart. "Amy, hold the gate!"

"Wait, what are you-"

Then Michael leapt, landing like a cat on his feet upon the ground below.

Slowly, with studied ease, the Voice of Corona turned to face him. "So, it seems that we could not talk as gentlemen, but we may fight as spirit warriors. Tell me, traitor, what cause do you hold so dear that is as powerful as my love of country?"

Michael drew his swords. "Your Corona would be a land bereft of honour or chivalry, stripped of all that made it great. I may not care for the forms of Corona's independence, but I embody the spirit of this nation better than you ever will! I am Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella ban Ezekiel, the last Firstborn of old Corona, and I will defend the Coronim to my last breath!"

"Then let us match our souls in combat that ennobles men, and we shall see whose cause enjoys the favour of Turo," the Voice of Corona cast Michael's spear right back at him, then leapt to the attack.

The spear moved sluggishly, or perhaps it was just that Michael's perception had improved because he was able to cut the spear in half with a single swing of his sword. The shattered pieces clattered to the ground in front of him as Michael charged to meet the Voice.

The Voice drew a sword in one hand and an axe in the other, the same weapons that Gabriel had used once he had thrown the spear that casts a long shadow. "So you still cling to the slave title that the Empire gave you? The mocking name of the Last Firstborn? So be it, then your fate will be the same as theirs!"

They came at one another like two bulls in the mating time who, flushed with the pride of their youth and strength, crash together in a locking of horns and a pushing of muscles. Just so did Michael clash with the Voice of Corona amidst the ringing of sword on sword and their appeals to God to judge them worthy.

Michael's spirit magic was making him faster than Lord Gideon, and stronger than Michael had ever been before. But the Voice of Corona had spirit magic too, and it made him swifter than a hyrcanian beast and stronger than a river in spate. Both men were aware that a single blow could shatter limbs or sever them, that though they might fight with the power of their souls until time ended and the world cracked, once they let go of this miraculous gifts the injuries that they had sneered at would lay them low. So they fought like eagles duelling in the air, circling one another, darting forwards then retreating back, flowing here and there like water, pirouetting around each other like a pair of dancers. Their blades would clash, Corona's axe would strike at Michael's spatha with fierce force, but neither would stay close enough to the other for an exchange of blows such as would break the battle line, nor would they stand toe to toe and strike at one another like boxers with their hands clad in ox-hide strips. Instead they were like two armies, marching and counter-marching upon the plain, who skirmish with one another but are each too fearful of the other's strength to bring on the clash of arms that decides the destiny of nations.

"You are skilled with your swords," the Voice of Corona murmured as he retreated a few paces. "You would have been a great warrior for your people, had you chosen a different path."

"And you are a Jonathan reborn," Michael replied. "Complete with all the vices that make him so inferior to Gabriel as a hero and a man."

The Voice laughed. "Like Jonathan, I do what I must to free those I love from cruel enslavement. Anything. You may be able to stand against me, but can you hope to oppose all the strength of a free Corona?"

Michael looked west, to where the army of the Rose was nearly on them. In all their duel neither he nor the Voice had strayed far from the gate.

Michael smiled thinly. "Call me not fallen till all life's blood has fled. If God wills it, I will resist you all."

And as the host of the Crimson Rose came close, Michael dived in amongst them like a seagull diving into the water to catch a tasty fish. He tore into them, cutting down gladiators and slaves, fanatics and opportunists alike. They turned their spears towards him, but he laughed as he sliced through their spear shafts and slew all those who wielded them. He split helms with his blows, sliced through shields, pierced cuirasses of bronze and iron. He cut down the standard bearer for the banner of the ban David, and trampled it into the dust - praying for forgiveness as he did so - and roared out his victory as the Crimson Rose fell before him.

The Voice of Corona howled as he threw himself on Michael, axe and sword glinting under the moonlight, and the two warriors resumed their duel. This time the arena was a little more crowded, and they darted here and there as warriors dashed around them, the ranks of the rebels disintegrating as each man raced to be the  first man to the gates of Davidheyr. Saving only the Voice, every man seemed slow to Michael, and with one blade he fended off the Voice and with the other he cut down the common rebel herd as they tried to evade his fury.

"With me, Coronim!" the Voice yelled. "With me, and bring this traitor down! Slay him and the city is ours!"

A group of hoplites, veterans of the rebellion of the Rose, charged forward, shields locked, spears levelled. Lesser warriors followed, brandishing swords and clubs and staves. There was a flash of lightning and the hoplite in the centre fell with a crash upon the sandy ground. Then Gideon was amongst the heavy foot, Duty and Piety weaving their deadly arcs as the rebel formation collapsed.

Tullia leapt from the wall to land at Michael's back. She had a knife in one hand, lightning blazed in the other, and she cut one foeman's throat at the same time as slamming her lightning palm into the chest of another. He convulsed and jerked like a puppet before he fell.

"Face to the front, Michael," Tullia said with a slight smile. "I will deal with these." She struck with the speed of the lightning she controlled, and Michael barely had to watch for a moment to see the Crimson Rose men were doomed for all their overwhelming strength of numbers.

"Leave the rabble to us, Michael," Gideon called out, idly striking down another foe. "Focus on the Voice."

As he spoke, a bolt of magic flew down from the rampart and caused an explosion on the ground, the blast hurling a warrior of the Rose up into the air. Michael glanced towards the city and saw Prince Jason standing in the midst of the defence, his staff glowing.

"Hoi!" Amy yelled. "Let some of them get nearer, won't you?" For she stood in the centre of the broken gateway, just as her namesake had done centuries before, and with her Magnus Alba in her hands she filled up the passage with her towering strength and dared the Crimson Rose to pull her down.

The Crimson Rose, though assailed by magic and by the blades of a great warrior, kept up the assault. Their forces bunched together in front of the gate, surging for their only way into the city. But just as the Turmeians had found an Ameliora standing between them and great slaughter, so too did the Crimson Rose find another Ameliora there, in the full bloom of her youth and strength, and she cut them down though they came one at a time or in whole companies. She even captured the standard of the ban Tiralon, and whooped with fierce glee as she tossed it behind her where  she could not lose it.

"So, this is the naiad knight my informants spoke of," the Voice snarled. "I will deal with her easily enough."

"Over my dead body," Michael snapped.

"But of course," the Voice replied mockingly, and their battle resumed.

Driven by the threat to Amy's life, Michael ceased his playing. He paid no more attention to the common soldiery, trusting to Gideon and Tullia to keep him safe. He ignored the explosions caused by Jason's sorcery erupting all around him. He did not retreat from harm as he had before. He hurled himself against the Voice of Corona again and again, beating down his guard and shattering his axe with a series of thunderous blows.

The Voice of Corona's guard was down, he had no defence, and Michael drove his spatha forward to pierce his heart.

Corona caught the blade. His fingers became slick with blood, but even so Michael felt his stroke come to a halt before that grasp. Corona laughed. "While I use spirit magic, no injury you inflict upon me will prove fatal. Not until I have won this fight in any case. Don't crow over your victory while I still fight on. Or did you think that speed and strength were all that spirit magic gave me?"

Michael, who had thought exactly that, said nothing.

Corona leapt back and held out his free hand. A strange blue glow began to manifest in his thrust out palm. It coalesced into a swirling mass of light.

"Allow me to show you the true power of spirit magic," Corona declared grandly in a voice made for just such declarations.

The blue light in his palm flashed, and Michael felt a surge of heat as he jumped out of the way. There was a flash of light, a loud bang and the ground erupted in all directions. When Corona himself emerged from out of the dust his sword was glowing as blue as the light in his palm.

Corona swept his sword in a wide arc. Michael parried with his sabre - which shattered upon contact with the rebel's blade like a child's wooden toy. The broken shards fell to the ground as Michael stared in disbelief.