Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (50 page)

"Lord Quirian would not allow her to come? I wonder which of us is really being deceived," Michael said, but at the same time he frowned. She sounded genuine, as best he could tell, and an agent of villainy bent on deception and discord would surely have had a more apt tongue. There had been no artifice in her speech, nor much solid argument, but a great deal of impassioned pleading. He did not believe her, but he did believe that she believed it.

"Your Highness, may we have some light," Michael said. Jason incanted, and the tip of his wand lit up.

"Step into the light," Michael said. "If you are a friend of Miranda then you know that she has always detested my honour. Yet as a man of honour I guarantee that you will not be harmed. Come forward and let me see you."

Octavia stepped into Jason's wandlight. She was about Miranda's age, with a pixie cut of golden hair and eyes to match. Her wings - he had been right about them - were tawny like the wings of an owl. She met his gaze keenly, her expression vaguely hopeful.

"Miranda and I had another brother, what was his name?" Michael asked.

"Simon Feliccius. Everybody called him Felix," Octavia said.

"She had a cat growing up, what was it's name?"

"Bungle."

Michael said, "What kind of men does Miranda find attractive?"

Octavia frowned. "Miranda doesn't like men."

Michael smiled. "No, indeed she does not. I believe that you are more than a gaoler at any rate. Why have you come?"

"Because I care about her," Octavia said. "She's my friend."

Michael stared into her eyes for a moment, and the nodded. "Aye, I believe she is."

"Then you'll stop, like she wants?"

"No," Michael said. "Not unless she comes to me in person - alone and without escort - and convinces me she is not in danger. Tell her that, and tell Quirian too."

"You're letting her go?" Gideon said. "Michael, that is not wise."

"Perhaps not, but it is honourable," Michael said. "Octavia, will you swear an oath for me? Will you swear, by the Eldar and the Novar, to protect Miranda if it turns out that you are more mistaken than I am?"

"I won't let any harm come to her; I swear it by Thanates and Aulo and Ubis and on my soul and my hope of paradise," Octavia said. "And I do it with a light heart because I know I'm right."

"I would be overjoyed if you were," Michael said. "Farewell, and give Miranda my love when you see her."

"I'm sorry I couldn't convince you," Octavia said. "I hope that we never have to fight each other. For Miranda's sake." She turned away, and sprinted off into the night.

"Michael-"

"I know, Gideon," Michael said. "But you asked me to make decisions, and I made one. You may not think much of honour but I do, that I may be called a good man by any stretch is down to it. I will not do violence to a friend of Miranda's who comes to me with peaceful intent."

"I was going to ask if you really expect Quirian to let Miranda go," Gideon said.

"No," Michael said. "That was why I had her swear an oath. Even if we fail, I hope I have made sure Miranda will not be unprotected."

He sighed. "I am sorry for having woken you all, get back to sleep."

"Michael, may I have a word?" Tullia asked.

Michael nodded, and allowed her to lead him back to the old tree.

Tullia sat down, facing him. "I will make a pact with you, Michael Callistus, as an elder sister to an elder brother: if you fall in this battle, I will do whatever must be done to rescue Miranda in your stead, see her safe, and care for her as a sister for as long as she has need of me. And if I fall, then you must promise to see Lucilia's ailment cured, be a brother to her, protect her while she stands in need of protection. Will you make this bargain with me, Michael Callistus?"

Michael was silent for a moment. He could not express the honour that Tullia did him. To be asked this, it was a sacred trust she wished him to undertake. A solemn duty. If he failed her, then gods and men alike would damn him for all eternity.

Michael presented Duty to her, resting the glimmering blade upon his knees. Slowly, he picked it up and sliced it across the palm of his left hand. He did not flinch as blood began to drip upon the ground.

"In the name of God, Turo almighty, Lord of the Seas and Oceans, I swear it; and let me be hurled screaming into the maelstrom if I break this vow."

With a deft motion, a knife appeared in Tullia's hand and she cut her right palm. "By Aulo and Ubis, I swear it also, may I find no rest in death if I break this vow."

They clasped their bloody, bleeding hands. And thus was their bargain sealed.

Such friends and comrades I have found in this time, upon this quest,
Michael marvelled to himself.
I am more alive, and my heart more full of gladness, than ever it was in all my days in the arena. I begin to wonder if I truly died at Lover's Rock.

For surely I have entered into paradise.

XI

Hired Knife

Miranda sat in the courtyard, watching Lucifer and Metella spar furiously. Metella was not moving so quite so fast as she had two nights ago when she had fought Lysimachus, but she was fast enough as it was, her knife and gladius weaving through the air as they clashed against Lucifer's blade. She was driving him backwards before her, though Miranda wondered if Lucifer might have done better if he had his other arm; there had not been time yet to forge a new one for him. He was  not a bad swordsman, but he was quite clearly not up to Metella's standard.

It was an impressive display, particularly from Metella, but Miranda could not help but shake her head at it.

Both of them
nearly died not too long ago, yet already they beat at one another. Pure foolishness.

And so she watched them batter away at one another with a sour eye, and when they both paused to catch their breath she levered herself onto her feet and walked towards them.

"Is this absolutely necessary?" she asked. "Shouldn't you both be resting after your ordeal."

"Thanks to you, Filia, we have no injuries to speak of," Lucifer said. "So why should we use them to excuse idleness?"

"Besides, we failed in our duty against Lysimachus," Metella said. "Clearly we must train harder and become stronger so that we do not fail in future."

"Is there likely to be another such as he, possessed of such extraordinary power?" Miranda asked.

"I am another such as he," Metella replied, turning her back on Miranda and walking away to get water.

Miranda watched her go. "What is that power they share? It is a magic I've not seen before."

"Spirit magic, Filia," Lucifer replied. "Metella's devotion...she is the best of us, the most selfless. That gives her power, even as it empowered Lysimachus as well."

"Devotion? To what?" Miranda said. "Not to Lord Quirian, certainly. She disobeyed him to save your life."

"To all of them," Metella replied, her voice a little cold as she rejoined them. "When I was a child, all that I had was taken from me by barbarians out of the north. All that I have is what my Lord Father has given me, and what I have found here in the company of the Lost. And so I would give my life for my father, for my brothers and sisters; or even simply to ensure that no one else will ever lose everything as I once did."

Miranda frowned. She was not at all sure that such self-abnegation was completely admirable, or even mostly admirable. It was her considered opinion that a little selfishness was necessary in a person to keep them from becoming a monster. Lysimachus, after all, had been completely devoted to his cause, and look what he had done. Selfless devotion, a willingness to sacrifice oneself for a cause, these were no guarantees of a good character.

But all she said was, "Selfless or not, you should not be exerting yourself so hard."

Metella smiled thinly. "I shall soon be doing much more than spar, Filia Miranda. Compared to that, this exercise was practically idle of me."

Miranda's eyes narrowed. "What are you doing?"

"Lord Father is taking a company to Corona, at the command of Prince Antiochus, to investigate the troubles befalling the province," Metella said. "Fifty of the Lost go with him."

"Including the both of you," Miranda said.

"With Lysimachus dead I am the only one who can open the way into the spirit world, allowing Lord Father and the Lost to reach Corona much swifter than travelling on foot or ahorse," Metella said.

"And I command Lord Father's guard," Lucifer said. "How can I not go with him?"

"Because you're not up to it," Miranda said sharply. "You both
almost died
."

"But we are alive," Metella said.

Miranda sighed. "Be careful, both of you. I won't be around to save you a second time. Although I wish I could be."

"I am sure that Michael will be fine," Metella said.

"How long will that last once he gets into a fight with you?" Miranda asked. Michael was fast and strong, but Metella was something else altogether, a goddess among men.

Metella looked trouble, though Miranda could not fathom the reasons for it. She said, "Perhaps he will heed Octavia's message, and it will not come to struggle."

"And if he does not?" Miranda said. "You will not spare him simply because he is my brother, will you?"

"You must allow us to defend our lives, and that of our Lord Father," Lucifer said.

"If I can take him alive, I will do so," Metella said.

Miranda blinked. "Really? You would do that for me?"

"I would do it for...for both of you," Metella replied.

Before Miranda could ask her exactly what she meant by that, Aelia came running towards her at a full pelt from the gates, which still bore the damage Lysimachus had done to them. She skidded to a halt, hands on her knees, breathing heavily.

"Filia Miranda," she gasped. "Prince Antiochus is on his way. I've just seen him coming down the road."

"To see Lord Quirian, I presume," Miranda said.

"Or perhaps to see you, Filia," Metella said. "Aelia, well done, return to your post. I will bring the news to our Lord Father."

"I will stay with you, Filia, until Prince Antiochus asks for privacy," Lucifer said, as Metella strode inside the house and Aelia scurried back to the gate.

Miranda faced the broken gateway, both hands resting upon her walking stick. Prince Antiochus had not given her a lot of time to get ready, but she was not disgracefully turned out, even if she was dressed plainly. And if the prince objected, well, he should have sent word of his coming, shouldn't he?

She heard his approach before she saw the man himself: she could hear the tramp tramp of his guards' marching feet as they echoed on the cobblestones. Prince Antiochus was preceded by a column of twenty guardsmen, their shields painted with a silver wolf upon a purple field. Then came the litter of the prince himself, adorned with strings of pearls and with curtains of cloth-of-gold. Another twenty guards followed in its wake, with the same design upon their shields. From what Miranda was starting to learn about the way such things worked, she took the single design to mean that they were all of the same unit. Each man, she noticed, wore a grey cloak. From what she could recall of other occasions when she had seen Imperial guardsmen, that was not a part of their uniform. In fact she was fairly certain that Princess Romana's ill-fated protectors had worn cloaks of white. It seemed a fair assumption to say that the grey was Prince Antiochus' own notion, to identify his guards as members of his faction.

I wonder how many of those men really want to get caught up in the political machinations of their masters?

The guards halted, making a slamming sound as they stopped in unison, before the slaves put down the litter and Prince Antiochus emerged from within. He was dressed in a purple tunic fringed with grey, with no toga, and sturdy purple boots. Upon his finger he wore a diamond ring as large as his thumb, and on his wrists he wore bands of gold that looked like rope fibres weaving over one another, over and over in a pattern that never began and never ended.

"Filia Miranda," he said jovially, striding towards her and taking her hand to kiss it. "Words cannot express how delighted I am to see you again."

"Nor need they, your highness," Miranda said quietly. "Lord Quirian has been informed of your arrival."

"Ah, but as much as I value Lord Quirian's help it is you whom I have come to see, Miranda," Antiochus said smiling. "I wished to thank you for the superb performance of your golems two nights ago. Already they are the talk of half the city, and several equestrian famillies have joined our cause. There have even been defections from the blue."

"I..." Miranda hesitated, wondering what his reaction might be to her disgust as using death as an opportunity to make political capital. "To be honest, your highness, I find it difficult to take any pleasure in the events that happened here. Not when so many died."

Antiochus nodded. "I understand your feelings, Filia, and it is fitting that you feel compassion for the dead. But men die every day, often in pointless wars and battles that accomplish nothing. Yes, some died to prove the efficiency of your golems, but once they have replaced soldiers on the battlefield then the deaths in war will be at an end. How many lives may have been saved in the future by the deaths of two nights ago?"

"I cannot imagine," Miranda replied. "Are you so sure that golems can replace soldiers? I am no soldier myself, I have no idea how effective they would be in the field. As grand as it sounds to say that no man will have to march to war in future, if the golems fail then-

"They will not fail," Prince Antiochus said, with absolute certainty in his voice. "Do you doubt your own abilities?"

"I doubt the things I do not know," Miranda said. "I would be happier if some experienced soldier would tell me that my golems would work in battle, but I fear that all the soldiers are opposed to us in this."

"For now, unfortunately," Antiochus said. "But not forever. The more my power increases the more highborn officers will rally to my side, if only in order to preserve the status of their famillies. And without the support of the patricians the army is doomed."

"Has the Emperor appointed a new commander to replace Lord Manzikes?" Miranda asked.

"No, not yet," Antiochus said. "I have half a mind to lobby for the position myself."

"You, your highness?" Miranda said. "Is that normal?"

"No, but it is not out of the question, the position is wholly within the gift of the Emperor," Antiochus said. "And how better to pave the way for the rise of golems than to stand at the head of the institution that golems will replace?"

Miranda smiled. "That does sound like a good idea. But can you do it? When I first came here, Lord Quirian made it sound as though the army was so powerful, so contemptuous of the court, that they would do as they liked and damn the commands of the Emperor. What if they turn on you?"

"Then I will have you to protect me," Antiochus said with a chuckle in his voice. He put one hand upon her shoulder. "You know, in some ways I quite envy you, Miranda. The power that you have is worth far more than my birthright. Without your help I would be nothing."

"And yet without your patronage I would be but a Coronim healer, highness," Miranda said. "Your Highness, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Your sister, Romana, talks a lot about what she wants for the Empire, but you do not," Miranda said. "What is that you would do with this country, if you had power?"

"Need I do anything, with the country?" Antiochus replied. "Romana makes it sound as though the Empire is dying and she alone has the cure for its ills, but it doesn't seem to me as though there is anything terribly wrong with the state of affairs as it is now. The people are happy, the treasury is full-"

"People kill each other on the streets over their political allegiance," Miranda pointed out.

"Yes," Antiochus murmured. "Yes they do. But that...I love my brother, Miranda, but Demodocus was not made to sit upon a throne. He does not have the wit for it, he does not have the vision for it. He wants nothing but to be happy in himself, which is no poor ambition for a private man, but it cannot be the sum of an Emperor's desires. His wife is of no help, all she wants is to adorn herself in pearls and sapphires while she makes a fool out of my brother.

"The throne is weak, I do not deny that. The Empire would be better served with a stronger Emperor on the throne. But not to follow Romana's advice, to go charging off into foreign wars, waving some 'destiny' over our heads like a battle flag. The Oretine war exposed our army for the inefficient, posturing machine it really is. The Xarzian invasion devastated the eastern provinces. What the Empire needs is peace, but to have lasting peace we must also have strength at the centre that can then flow out to the peripheries. Strength, not radical changes of course, not leaping blindly into the future or turning with longing back towards the past, but strength to maintain the course that we are on and which has served us well. I can provide that strength, with your help. Demodocus is a fool, Romana is dangerous, only I can provide the balance of strength and stability that the Empire needs. The Equestrians are with me, the Novar Church is with me, all I lack is armed power. For that I must rely on you."

It was a different side to him than Miranda had seen before: the callous politician gathering support while up to his ankles in blood. This was a better man, passionate and earnest and, to Miranda's mind, with a good deal of sense in his head. If the Empire could be made secure, if law and order could be restored to the capital and the army brought to heel, then it would be no bad thing to preserve the status quo that allowed so many to sleep safely in their beds.

"And you may rely on me, your highness," she said. "I guarantee it. I will not fail."

That evening saw Miranda sat in the dining room with Ascanius Posci, Julian Dalassena and Abigail all clustered around a small table, with silver tankards laid out before them. Rather than the wine that Lord Quirian served, Ascanius had filled these mugs with sour beer, such as was distributed with rations in the ranks of the legions.