Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (61 page)

"I would rather not stain my honour if it can be avoided," Michael said. He looked at Wyrrin. "Filius Wyrrin, what say you?"

"I think it is a noble duty they are offering us, to avenge their queen," Wyrrin said. "I do not think that they would lie to us."

"Because you are both of the elder races?" Tullia asked.

Wyrrin nodded. "There is a bond there, even if they do not acknowledge it."

"So, what do we do, Michael?" Jason asked.

Michael's eyebrows rose. "You ask me?"

"Gideon left you in command," Jason said.

Amy grinned. "You've had the fun, now comes the hard part."

"Hmph," Michael said. "I must confess that I feel ill used in this matter. Am I the only one to think so?"

 Amy's armour plates grated on one another as she shrugged her shoulders, "If there is a monster or villain out there, then hunting it down is a quest of a kind that suits a knight. Certainly you wouldn't ask the peasants to do it themselves. Ser Viola was asked to hunt down more than one beastie while I was with her: a megalodon, kraken, even a leviathan once."

 "Be that as it may," Michael said. "A patron's obligation to her clients is quite different from a reliance upon outsiders to solve one's problems. Their princess certainly seems full of her strength and martial prowess, why has she not hunted down this peril herself?"

 "Just because it is not the Imperial way does not make it without value," Jason said pointedly. "Making use of experienced warriors makes sense from a different perspective. Besides, it seems likely the king did not wish to risk his daughter's life unnecessarily, especially after losing his wife. Honestly, the motives of the dryads do not offend me. I would simply know if we intend to oblige them."

Michael closed his eyes.
God grant me wisdom to do the right thing.

He looked at each of his friends in turn. "It is as Amy says: if we wish to reach Aureliana, with Gideon healed, we must do as they ask. They have presented us with an honourable situation. Beyond that, we shall not look."

"Is turning a blind eye honourable now?" Jason asked, amusement in his tone.

"If it were not, Your Highness, how could one-eyed men have honour?" Michael replied. He turned to face the dryad king. "Your Majesty, we accept your terms. Though I beg leave to delay our departure for a day, that we may rest."

 "It shall be so," Gerallt said. "You shall depart at dawn tomorrow, and I charge you to return before the evening of the third day following, or we will hunt you down and slay you."

"I suppose the first question," Michael said. "Is does anybody believe their injuries will render them unfit to fight tomorrow?"

 They were all sat together in a tight huddle in the middle of a cluster of trees a little way from the royal courtyard. Giant oak trees, hundreds of years old at the very least, towered into the sky above them, sheltering them from the sunlight with their leaves and casting mottled shadows across their faces. The leaves rustled in the light breeze, and butterflies in colours so bright they seemed to be shining blue and red flew overhead. Birds chirruped, and animals called out to one another.

 Jason, now reunited with his sorcerous channels, scratched idly at his forehead. "I should be all right. Tullia?"

 "I have trained to endure far worse, Your Highness," Tullia said coolly. "I am more concerned with you, Michael."

 "I barely feel a throbbing pain, I am content and capable," Michael said. "I will not watch while you go off to battle without me. And, if we are all ready to go forth, we may discuss our strategy for tomorrow."

"That will be difficult without knowing the strengths and abilities of our dryad companion," Tullia remarked.

 "True enough," Michael said. "Though I cannot say I know much about her."

 "Then I suggest you find out," Tullia said mildly.

 Michael smiled. "You chide me well, Filia, I shall go to at once to seek her out." He stood up. Fiannuala was not with them, but he did not think she was very far away.

Michael found her about forty yards off, practicing spear forms under the shade of a weeping willow tree. Michael had never had any great opinion of the spear as a thrusting weapon - good enough to be thrown as part of a charge yes, but not a thing to place one's trust in when the metal met. It was too long, too unwieldy, too easily bypassed. And yet, watching the dryad princess move with a grace and fluid motion that Michael associated only with the sword, he found himself giving ground, grudgingly, on that opinion. She wove the weapon in and out, using the shaft as much as the point, and never overextending the spear beyond its reach. And she was fast, not as fast as him perhaps but not far off. She deserved the plaudits she had heaped upon herself.

 Fiannuala saw him, her motions coming to a halt. "What is it?"

 "It was suggested to me that I should find out what you're capable of, ma'am," Michael said.

 Fiannuala's golden eyes flashed in anticipation. She smiled like a viper. And then she went for him.

 Michael drew Duty just in time to parry her first thrust, the shining blade knocking her ashen shaft aside. She spun on her toe, swinging round to bring the spearbutt flying towards his head. Michael raised his arm and let it slam into his manica with a thwack and a jarring sensation. Fiannuala turned again, thrust again, and Michael parried with Duty again before drawing his spatha with his free hand to cut at her bare midriff. She leapt back.

She lunged. He dodged. She started swinging the spearshaft like a quarterstaff and he had to block it with his manicae, feeling the impacts travel down his arms making them shake. For someone so wiry she was surprisingly strong as well as fast.

 Nobody in the arena or on the battlefield had ever made him work this hard without some aid that was not normal: the Voice's spirit magic, or the abominations that his followers had become through eating hearts. But the princess had none of those gifts, she was simply that good.

 Michael counterattacked, Duty biting into the shaft of her spear. It was her turn to fall back for a change. Woodchips flew everywhere as she used the shaft to block. She tried to evade, but Michael kept up with her. She thrust at his eyes and momentarily had him back on the defensive, but he pressed her hard as he could and put her on the back foot once more. Finally, he backed her up against a tree and with nowhere to move she cast her spear down at his feet.

 "Not bad," she said, taking deep breaths as sweat streamed down her.

 Michael was breathing pretty heavily himself. He bent double over his knees. "You were rather good yourself your highness."

 "Rather good? I was superb."

 "Superb?" Michael said. "What would you have called yourself if you had bested me?"

 Fiannuala looked down at him archly. "I would have called myself the greatest warrior in the world."

 Michael grinned. "Thank you kindly your highness, but I fear I am not that worthy of regard."

 "Don't you find all that your highness stuff is a bit of a mouthful," Fiannuala said. "For me and for your other prince who isn't really a prince, I found his story a bit confusing."

 "You are not alone in that," Michael said. He straightened up, "But in answer to your highness' question, it does not matter how much of a mouthful it is. The proper forms must be observed. I am, after all, a gentleman of chivalry and honour."

 Fiannuala smirked. Then her expression became sombre. "I feel like I should apologise for my sister, Cati. She had no right to treat you the way she did. She has no right to treat anyone the way she does."

 Michael waved it away. "No harm was done. It is of no matter."

 "It does matter," Fiannuala shouted. "Ever since our mother died she has pranced about the forest, playing at being queen, playing at being mother, sometimes I think she's going to start playing at being father's wife. It's disgusting."

 Something rustled in the bushes behind Michael, and he half turned towards it before thinking better of it to focus on the dryad girl before him. As an elder brother, it pained his heart to see strife and hatred where there ought to have been perfect love and mutual devotion. He said, "If I may, your highness, were things different when the queen lived?"

Fiannuala nodded. "Before mother died, Cati was kind. I used to annoy her so much, and she was so patient. That thing you saw, flicking me on the forehead, she would do that if I was really getting on her nerves, but she would only do it one time in a hundred, if that. She would always spend time with Gwawr if Gwawr wanted it. And now look at her, whispering in father's ear, using you, using me! From the moment she set eyes on you she knew what she wanted, and she twisted everybody around her fingers to get it. She's not the queen, she's not mother and she has no right acting like either of those things."

 Michael said, "Your mother the queen, she was an active ruler?"

 Fiannuala nodded. "Of course, but she listened to father's advice."

 "And now your father rules and your sister advises him?" Michael said.

 Fiannuala glared a little, but nodded.

 Michael stood next to her, leaning against the same tree and feeling the knots driving into his back. "I am not a prince. My mother was not a queen. But I was eleven years old when she bled to death in my arms and I was left with a younger brother and sister to take care of."

 "Your father?"

 "We never had one," Michael said shortly. "Now, I was never kind. But I think that I was kinder than I became. My sister, the middle one in the family, used to complain that I was trying to act like her father. And I was, but only because someone had to. It was not easy, but I think that trying to be a queen as well as a mother, trying to replace the head and prop of state, must be even harder."

 "It is," Fiannuala said. "Even both of us together we can't replace her. And Gwawr-"

 "Is still a child," Michael said. "She has not had to face the cold as you and Cati have."

 Fiannuala nodded. "Cati tries to push her, but that doesn't work, it only makes Gwawr more nervous. She needs to be encouraged, not snapped at and insulted."

 Michael said. "My sister told me that I coddled Felix too much. Mayhap she was right, but I was glad that he was still innocent after what happened."

 "Gwawr will grow up when she's ready, and that ought to be good enough," Fiannuala said. "Cati-"

 "Is doing the best she can," Michael said. "That ought to be good enough."

 "Maybe," Fiannuala grudgingly allowed. "So, have you decided how you're going to use me in battle yet?"

 Michael nodded. "With your speed, I will place you in the van with me, I think. If you would kindly join the others, I will explain my tactics to you all."

 "You aren't coming with me?"

 "Not right away," Michael said. "Soon."

 "Okay," Fiannuala said, and she picked up her spear and walked off in the direction of Michael's comrades.

 Michael waited until she was gone, and the grove was clear and empty, before he said, "If I may, your highness, eavesdropping is a rather shameful habit for an elder sibling to be engaged in."

 Cati stepped out of the bush. "I didn't mean to until she started insulting me. Then if I'd come out she would have accused me of spying on her. I can't believe she thinks that I want to be father's wife, that's disgusting. She hasn't grown up at all, she's such a child."

 Michael didn't say anything. He imagined, from his brief acquaintance, that this was quite a cloistered world the dryads enjoyed. They were sheltered from all externals foes and perils by the protection of the Imperial Army, and never had to suffer trespassers or outsiders meddling in their affairs. He did not suppose that murders, or crimes of any kind, were commonplace. Such a place would yield a placid, tranquil existence; albeit not one that would appeal to him, craving as he did the thrill of battle that ennobles men. It stood to reason that a bloody and unnatural death would be even more shocking in such a place than in the heartland of the Crimson Rose, and its people less well equipped to face it. Yet it seemed to him that both sisters had faced it with as much courage and integrity as they possessed, and it was not right that they should be at loggerheads for their pains.

 Cati looked at him. She really was very striking, her features like a sculptor's rendering of fire-forged strength given the breath of life by some act of God.

 "I don't want her to hate me," Cati said. "But I do what has to be done. As I did today. Even if you have only fought one battle it is more than any dryad here can say. Fiannuala thinks that because she is fast and strong that makes her a warrior. It doesn't and she isn't. But you are. You understand, don't you?"

 "I suppose, if I had to make a choice between sending our Miranda into danger or sending you,"  Michael said. "I... actually I would probably go myself but yes, I do understand."

 "Sending her with you was father's idea, not mine," Cati said. "You will take care of her, won't you?"

 "On my honour," Michael said.

 "Thank you," Cati said. "Did you ever make amends with your sister?"

 "No," Michael said. "I was too stubborn and full of vainglory to admit that I was wrong, and I ended up going much farther than you did. She came to hate me, to despise the very sight of me. I still think I made the best decision I could at the time, but I should have treated her better."