Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (41 page)

"No, thank you," Lucifer said tersely. He gripped his right arm above the elbow with his left hand, then pulled it out of the sleeve of his dark robes. Miranda's eyes widened as she saw that it was made of metal, iron or steel, above the mail glove. Lucifer tucked his arm under the stump of flesh that remained to him and pulled off the chainmail glove, revealing that the entire arm was covered in runes carved into the metal.

"This is my conduit, Filia," Lucifer said. "I channel sorcery through this arm, though I have a wand as well which I used to train with."

Miranda pursed her lips together. "How?"

"I don't remember," Lucifer said. "I don't really remember much about my life before I came to live with Lord Father. He told me that he found me, sold into slavery by my older brother, and that he rescued me from that. He told me it was my brother who cut off my arm. I don't remember that, all I remember is the pain."

"Your brother makes mine sound a paragon by comparison," Miranda murmured.

"I don't know," Lucifer said. "I don't have any real memories, but what I do remember isn't bad. But, still, Lord Father wouldn't lie to me, so I must be remembering wrong."

"And you wear the glove so that no one will know that you are a sorcerer," Miranda said. "Are you hiding something under your mask as well."

Lucifer said, "Only an ordinary face, Filia. And now, as you yourself have reminded me, it is time for the lesson to proceed."

What followed was a fairly interesting lesson on the mechanics by which sorcery operated. By the end of it, Miranda was able to cast a very simple light spell, conjuring a ball of light into the palm of her hand. It was a spell such as sorcerers frequently started out with, but Lucifer had assured her that much greater, grander spells would await her in the end.

Miranda wasn't sure exactly how she felt about having so much power inside her, about having so much more potential than anyone else. Obviously it had its advantages, most noticeably that it had brought her to this place and to this lifestyle, but Miranda was wise enough in the ways of the world to know that there were downsides to being so exalted as well: envious rivals, free-loaders keen to take advantage of the good things she enjoyed, those who wanted to use her abilities for their own gain - Prince Antiochus and arguably even Lord Quirian himself fitted that description. Most of all, though, she was wary of those who would only see her powers and abilities when they looked at her, not herself. She had already known that back home, some people had seen only a fountain of healing, not a young woman. She did not want to become Aurelia's Heir, and have Miranda Callistus be lost or forgotten.

And yet she knew of no way she could be sure that she would not be, save to abandon her present path, which she was not willing to do.

"Are you all right?" Octavia asked, coming to stand beside her.

Miranda looked at her and smiled. "Yes. I was just wondering how to prevent myself from being taken advantage of."

"I don't know," Octavia said. "Nobody's ever wanted to take advantage of me. I wish someone would."

Miranda gave her a look.

"What?" Octavia asked.

Miranda stared at her for a moment, before her composure cracked and she started to laugh. "You have no idea what you just said, do you?"

"No, I-" Octavia squeaked with embarrassment as her faced turned red. "I didn't mean it like that!"

Miranda smiled. "I know, and I'm very sorry, you just make it irresistible."

Octavia pouted. "You're evil."

"So I've been told."

Octavia's eyes widened. "Really? By who?"

Miranda looked down at the courtyard floor, the hem of her dress waving slightly. "A witch-hunter for the Novar church said that my powers were sent by the Eldest One. A dissatisfied customer called me a wicked, callous bitch because I couldn't give him blue eyes like he wanted. And a friend of the Crimson Rose told me that I would suffer the torments of the maelstrom for not giving my talents to the rebels."

"Then none of them knew a thing about what they were talking about!" Octavia shouted. "You're the best, most decent person that I've ever met, and I won't let you ever think differently!"

Miranda took a step back, surprised by the vehemence in Octavia's voice. "You...you really mean that?"

Octavia nodded. There was water gathering in the corners of her eyes. "I really do."

Miranda blinked a few times, then looked away. She let some of her white hair fall across her face, concealing it from Octavia's view. "Thank you," she whispered. "For everything."

"Huh?"

"When I first met you I thought that having a bodyguard hanging around me all the time would be very tiresome. But you...this has been among the most comfortable time I have ever known. Certainly the most comfortable I've ever been since my mother died. I think a lot of that is your doing."

Octavia blushed very prettily. "I...I'm very...comfortable with you as well."

Miranda looked at her, smiling eagerly. "Why don't I talk to Lord Quirian and see if you can come to the party tonight? As a guest? I'd like to have somebody around who is on my side." Lord Quirian was hosting a soiree for the folk of highest distinction in the city, and Miranda was not looking forward to a second round of snobbery, insult and indifference. Having Octavia there would be quite reassuring. Not to mention Miranda thought that Octavia's statuesque figure would probably clean up quite well.

"I...uh, I can't," Octavia said. "I mean, it's very kind of you, but..."

"Do you think Lord Quirian will refuse?"

"No, it isn't that, well he might but..." Octavia reached over her shoulder to the lump on her back.

"Oh, right," Miranda said quietly. "Yes. I'm sorry for bringing it up. I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"It was a lovely thought, really," Octavia said loudly. "I just-"

The doors to Quirian's compound opened and Lysimachus, Ascanius and Julian strode through the opening, before the gates were closed swiftly behind them. Miranda wasn't quite sure what the point of keeping the gates shut was, considering the power wielded by the hooded figure terrorising the city, but it seemed to keep the Lost and Lord Quirian happy, so who was she to argue?

Lysimachus and his men crossed the courtyard swiftly. They were armoured in mail and all wore swords at their hips, along with various assortments of knives and small blades. Again, Miranda questioned the useful of it all, but then again doing nothing and waiting to be killed was hardly much of an alternative.

Lysimachus bowed his head as he approached her. "Filia Miranda. Have you been practicing your magic?"

"Barely scratching the surface," Miranda replied.

"Better get scratching, at this rate you'll be the only mage left in the city," Ascanius muttered.

"Are things that bad?" Miranda asked. "What's the news?"

"Two more men turned up dead last night," Ascanius said. "Caius Arpius, of the Mage Corps Red, and Captain Turnus Mallius of the Seventh Legion."

"He was a Lieutenant when we served under him," Julian said solemnly.

"Was it the Unstoppable Man both times?" Miranda asked.

"Caius Arpius had his head ripped off, we only recognised him by a scar on his shoulder," Ascanius said. "That's twenty three it makes now. Twenty three in a month."

Since the death of Lord Manzikes his killer, known as the Unstoppable Man, had begun a reign of terror over Eternal Pantheia. The houses of three other patricians had been broken into, guards slaughtered and the lords themselves executed. Mages and officers had also been among the victims.

"Isn't there anything that can be done?" Miranda asked.

"They're putting more troops on the streets, as if that will do anything more than give the bastard more people to kill if they catch up with him," Ascanius said.

"They say Major Skleros is out for blood," Julian said. "He takes patrols out hunting every night."

"Yes, because he did so well the last time they crossed swords," Ascanius snapped. "Anyone with any sense knows him and his men can't stop the assassin."

"Anyone with any sense knew that he couldn't save Helenia with half a legion, but he did it anyway," Julian said softly.

"Whether the army can stop him or not isn't our business," Lysimachus said harshly. "For myself, I'm more minded to praise this Unstoppable Man than curse his name."

"He's a damned murderer," Ascanius snarled.

"No, the people he's killing are damned murderers," Lysimachus said, his tone as hard as iron. "How many men did Caius Arpius kill in Oretar? And you remember Lieutenant Mallius, did he ever question one of Gideon Commenae's orders?"

"What I don't understand is why Lord Quirian is holding a party in the midst of all this," Miranda said. "And why anybody is coming."

"They're coming because they don't want to lose face by not coming," Julian said. "And as for Lord Quirian-"

"He's no better than the rest, is he, in the end?" Ascanius said. "Nobles don't give a damn about anyone but themselves."

Miranda frowned. "Is that why you think these killings are justified?"

"They're justified because the Oretine War has to be paid for," Lysimachus said. "We went into those mountains for silver and glory, we killed for no good reason at all, we covered our hands in blood, we stained our souls in sin. If we are being punished now, it is no more than we deserve."

"We went into those mountains because we were ordered to," Ascanius said. "We killed because people were trying to kill us. We did what we had to do to survive."

"Were the children in the villages we burned trying to kill you?" Lysimachus demanded.

Ascanius looked him in the eye. "Their fathers and brothers were. I'll not say that all the things we did were right, or even most of them. But I'll not apologise for being glad that I'm still alive, and I won't wish myself dead so some hairy-bearded mountain tribesman can live."

"Do you think it could be an Oretine, doing this?" Miranda asked.

"It would fit the pattern of killings," Julian said quietly. "Officers who led troops in the Oretine war, noblemen who played a conspicuous part in the conflict, and mages. Towards the middle of the war, when the Oretines had gone to ground, we made great use of mages to wreak slaughter easily, hoping to bait the enemy into open battle."

"If the Oretines had a champion as strong as this bastard they'd have used him in the war," Ascanius said. "Gods know we've got no one to stand against him."

"The captain could have stood up to him, then," Julian said. "Maybe that's why he's struck now, when Gideon Commenae isn't here?"

"Are you so sure the captain could have beaten this Unstoppable Man?" Ascanius asked. "We never saw him make anyone's head explode."

"He didn't need to," Julian said. "He worked enough butchery with those swords of his to make the Unstoppable Man look like an amateur."

"Shut up, both of you," Lysimachus snapped. "You're giving me a headache. I'm going to make my report to Lord Quirian."

He stomped off, leaving Ascanius and Julian behind with Miranda and Octavia.

"Bastard," Ascanius spat. "He gets worse every day. You know there was a time when he'd look out for his men. Now he hates us as much as he hates everbody else who served in Oretar."

"Including himself?" Octavia said.

"Especially himself," Julian muttered darkly.

Miranda said, "Was it really so terrible, in Oretar?"

Julian and Ascanius hesitated for a moment, before Julian said, "You'd be better off asking an Oretine about that, if you can find one. It's not for us to say how hard the people we were killing had it while we were killing them. But...I don't think any of us who held the blades sleep as well as we used to. Except Gideon Commenae, maybe. I doubt he thinks about it at all."

Lord Quirian had elected to hold the soiree in his courtyard, rather than in the house, and the space between the walls was festooned with lanterns. Slaves bearing torches lined the walls, and candles were set discreetly near the statues, casting an orange glow upon the stone faces. Under the starlight mingled the great and good of the Grey, taking dormice, quails' eggs and stuffed sparrows from the platters of the ever-shifting servants, drinking out of gold and silver cups filled with the finest wines. Despite the danger, or perhaps because no one wanted to lose face by admitting to fear, almost all of the most notable patricians and equestrians of the faction had attended, willingly putting their lives at risk for the sake of a little social capital.

Miranda, wearing a dark blue dress with a high neckline, stood on the fringes of the festivities like one of the old or sick members of the herd, forced out onto the edge to be the first devoured by a hungry lion. After her experience at the palace, she had no wish to plunge again into this den of hostility. So she hung close to the wall, watching Lord Maro talk in hushed whispers with Lady Ahenobarbus, watching Gellius of Helenia knee deep in some plotting with Dio Verra, watching the Lost stand guard nervously around the walls. Whether it was because he feared attack or simply because he wanted to present an impression of security, Lord Quirian had deployed his entire company to protect the compound. Metella and Lucifer shadowed the host himself as he moved assiduously amongst the guests, never talking to anyone for too long, while the rest of the Lost, including Octavia, stood close by the walls, weapons too hand.