Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

"How did you-" Michael began.
 

The woman turned to face him, he noticed that her eyes were icy blue as she said, "I have done no wrong, and so I am beyond their harm. Yet I may still harm them, and so they flee my coming. You were fortunate that I was here; my lord father permits me to run this realm and hone my skills that I may better serve him in the proper world. Sometimes I come across those in need and aid them, but this place is vast and I am only one."
 

"I cannot deny I would have perished but for your assistance," Michael said. "I am in your debt, Filia..."
 

"Metella," Metella said. "Metella Kardia."
 

"Michael Sebastian Callistus ban Ezekiel at your service," Michael said.

Metella's eyes widened a fraction. "You did not enter this world by chance accident did you?"
              

"He was brought here by me," Silwa said, the first time Michael had noticed her since he had looked away. "Hello again, Metella."
 

"You?" Metella's eyes were definitely wider now. "I must go." She turned and fairly began to run in flight from them.
 

"Filia Metella, a moment please," Michael shouted, and she stopped and half turned to look back at him. "I am in your debt. Should you ever need me to repay, should you ever have need of my small aid, you have but to call upon me."
 

Metella nodded, a tiny acknowledgement, and then disappeared into the thicker mists.

"We must go too," Silwa said. "I am sorry I was no help to you there, I confess I counted on Metella to intervene. This is Tanuk's realm, and I do not wish to draw his attention by an exercise of my power. He never liked me, not even when we were young and on the same side. But now we must run, we have tarried here long enough."

Michael had to run to keep up with her now, but at least the roaring and the howling was at an end. They ran, until at last they stood in the same murky water to which Lady Silwa had summoned him.

"I am sorry, Majesty," Michael said, dropping to one knee once more. "I should not have disobeyed."

"You are safe, that is all that matters," Silwa said. "I have taken the liberty of applying a touch of sorcery to your numerous injuries; they should heal up a little faster now. Try not to get hit so often in future. Goodbye, Michael, we shall speak again soon, I hope."

“Radiance, please wait,” Michael called, as Silwa turned to go. As she looked back towards him, he rose to his feet and said, “If I may ask a question?”

Silwa's eyes twinkled. “Of course.”

“What was Prince Gabriel like?” Michael knew that it was a childish question, in view of the circumstances, yet in the presence of one who had actually known and spoken to his great hero he found that he could not resist.

Silwa smiled. “Rash, impassioned, careless of his own safety while smotheringly protective of others; and yet he was earnest in all his dealings, never spoke angrily to a friend, and was quite possibly the bravest man I have ever met. When he was giving a speech he would make a certain gesture, reaching upwards with his hand and grasping something invisible within it."

"A thunderbolt?" Michael ventured from his memory.

"Yes, exactly that, grasp the thunderbolt, those were his very words. 'Grasp the thunderbolt and steal all glory out of heaven.' A good man, remarkable in many ways, the finest warrior of the age without a doubt. His fate was a tragedy; yet I have often believed it is the fate he would have chosen. Goodbye Michael, for now.”
             

Michael’s eyes opened, and then immediately closed them again before the blast of sunlight that assailed them. Squinting while he waited to get accustomed to the brightness of the morn, Michael sat up.

He and Lord Gideon sat by the side of the road that led from Lover's Rock to Davidheyr, not far from a field of Corona's famous white roses. Around them lay the flickering of a hundred campfires, and around every campfire huddled two, three, four people: men and women, young and old, husbands and wives, sweethearts and lovers, drinking pals and bitter rivals, the folk of Lover's Rock forced from their homes with nothing but their lives and the bundles they could carry on their backs.

"Ah, you're awake," Gideon said. "Good. I was starting to worry."

Gideon was the only other man sharing Michael's fire, staring at him from over the yellow flames flickered upon his sallow skin. His green eyes, as bright as any star, stared into Michael's soul with as penetrating a gaze as any blade was sharp.

Michael brushed some of his hair out of the way of his face. "Lord Gideon Commenae, yes?"

Gideon nodded. "Sleep has not robbed you of your memory, it seems."

Michael shook his head. "How long have I slumbered, lord?"

"Three nights, including the night of the battle," Gideon said. "This is the third day since then."

"God under the waves," Michael muttered. "Since I clearly did not walk in my sleep all this way I wish to apologise, my lord, for being such a burden as to force someone to carry me for so long."

"Don't worry Michael, I have carried more burdensome objects, and more burdensome people too," Gideon said lightly. "You complained less than the last person to have the honour."

Michael felt his face going very pale. Gideon had carried him? A lord of the Commenae family had carried
him
? "My lord, I cry your pardon without reserve. If I had known then I would-"

"Then you would not have gotten yourself wounded?" Gideon asked, amusement in his tone. "Not have fallen unconscious? Or would you have woken up sooner?"

Michael frowned. "You mock me, my lord. I suppose I am worthy of mockery."

"A little, Michael, and gently meant," Gideon said.

"If I may, my lord, where are we?"

"I do not know if this place as a name, but we are on the western road towards the Iskalon. When we reach the river we will turn north for Davidheyr."

Michael nodded. Davidheyr was the provincial capital, and the largest town in Corona province. He had been there more than once, to fight in bouts in the arena there, and he recalled that it had an earth wall for its defence and a cohort of limitanei to guard and maintain it. It was probably the safest place in the province, at the moment; certainly it was safer than Lover's Rock, with the Crimson Rose on the loose and able to return whenever they felt like it.

"If the Rose does not trouble us again then the people should be safe there," Michael said quietly.

"If the Empress wills it," Gideon replied. "But for me, for us, I hope, the road does not end at Davidheyr. It lies eastward, on the other side of the Iskalon."

Michael frowned. "I do not understand, my lord? Is this something to do with Miranda?"

"It has everything to do with Miranda, she is at the heart of this," Gideon said. He hesitated for a moment. "Would you like some tea? I find that explanations can parch the throat horrendously if they are not kept well watered."

A battered tin teapot sat atop the flames of Gideon's fire, beginning to whistle and tremble from side to side as steam rose out of it. Two tin cups, tea leaves lining the bottom, sat not too far from the fire.

"Allow me, my lord," Michael's shoulder ached as he picked up the teapot. "It is not fitting that the grandest lord in all the Empire should wait upon a slave."

Michael did not know a great deal about the land in which he lived - it interested him not as much as the history of the Corona that had been - but even he, boorish rustic that he was, knew the significance of the Commenae name. Excluding the Imperial family itself, there was no house so old in honour or so rich in history as House Commenae. Michael thought he remembered that there had even been a Commenae at the right hand of Aegea the Great, at the very founding of the Empire. One did not ask a man with that kind of lineage to make tea, it would be quite improper.

Gideon, judging by his expression, did not share Michael’s sentiments. “In the first place Michael, I am not
the
Lord Commenae. I was the second son of the thirty second Lord Commenae, and with my father and elder brother dead I am now only the uncle to the thirty fourth; which I hope you will agree is not so very grand as all that. On top of which I have been a soldier and served in all manner of places where I did not have the luxury of servants to do my bidding so I am quite capable of seeing to such matters myself. Better than you, I'll wager. Keep your hands to yourself and leave it to me. You just try not to reopen the injuries which I bandaged for you three nights ago, another matter in which my noble birth proved no obstacle to my capability.”

"Thank you, my lord." Michael could feel the bandages around his leg, thigh, arm, shoulder and side. Michael tilted his head slightly to one side. “Are you quite sure that you require no aid?”

“Completely.”

Michael raised a hand to touch his forelock. “Thank you my lord, 'tis very generous of you.”

A smile ghosted across Gideon’s face. “Your deference is gratifying Michael, but if you were to be less obsequious I would not be offended.”

Michael frowned. “I fear I could not sink so low, my lord.”

“If you insist,” Gideon said.

Michael waited while Gideon poured each of them a cup of strong, bitter tea. While they drank, Gideon smoked a pair of kippers over the flame and served them up to Michael and himself.

Gideon took a bite. "Not bad, if I do say so myself. How are you finding it, Michael?"

"I acknowledge your superior fieldcraft and medical skills my lord, but I would offer my services as a cook," Michael said.

"That bad, eh?" Gideon said wryly. "Well, you shall have your chance tonight and then we shall see. I shall not be sorry to give that particular duty up. Now, to business."

Gideon stared at Michael for a moment, his green eyes boring into Michael. They were so bright, so intense, they seemed to pierce Michael's very soul and draw out the heart of his mystery. Michael could not bear it, he looked away.

 "The Crimson Rose did not attack Lover's Rock out sheer malice, nor solely for the benefit to them, although they have benefited from it in plenty: the proconsul, praetor and military tribune dead, along with the high priest to boot; the governance of the province crippled, it is fair to say that they have done well from one night's work. Yet the fact remains that they were put up to it by another whose purposes, fortunately, were not so well served."

 "The person who has Miranda, my lord?"

 Gideon nodded. "Did your sister tell you anything about who she was going to work for?"

 "No, my lord," Michael said.

 "His name is Quirian," Gideon said. "A foe to the Empire, perhaps the most dangerous in its history. He is, amongst many other things, a patron of the Crimson Rose. He supplies them with money, weapons and information and in exchange they do his dirty work upon occasion. With Miranda safely in his custody, Quirian had the Crimson Rose attack Lover's Rock with the intent of removing you as a threat to him."

"Why should this Quirian fear a gladiator so?" Michael asked.

"He fears a brother's devotion and tenacity," Gideon replied. "He is in a position to appreciate what virtues they may prove."

 "I see," Michael said. "And does he mean to kill Mirnada, as Lady Silwa said?"

 "Silwa?" Gideon asked sharply. "What has she to do with this?"

 Michael realised that perhaps he should not have mentioned that, but it was too late now. "She came to me in a dream last ...while I slept, my lord. She showed me Miranda."

 "Did she now?" Gideon said wryly. "Do not trust that woman further than you must, Michael."

 "She is a goddess, lord, and a friend of old to the Coronim."

 "Nevertheless." Gideon's voice was soft, but firm. "She is a creature without loyalties, Michael: she is no friend to you, nor to me, certainly not to the Empire. Quirian counted her among his party once, yet now she comes to you and sets herself against him. You will be very fortunate to go your whole life without becoming her enemy in some way. What did she tell you, anything beyond oracular utterance?"

 "That I should follow you, my lord, and that she has despatched to join us on...on whatever purpose you propose we undertake."

 "I have no need of her assistance," Gideon growled. "Was there anything else?"

 Michael felt his face start to redden a little. "Only that I... I asked her what Prince Gabriel was like, my lord."

 Gideon laughed. "When I met her I asked her about Panthus. I do not reproach you, Michael, it would take a better man than I to resist the temptation to draw closer to legend, if only at remove. Now then, Quirian's plans. Leave them for now, they will be meaningless to you unless you understand why he wants Miranda. You probably don't realise this but Miranda is-"

 "Aurelia's heir, is she not?" Michael said. "I'm sorry to interrupt my lord, but is that it? I always thought it must be, even when I was a boy, because I have not heard of anyone else who could heal the way Miranda can, save of course for Aurelia in the stories."

 "You are quite correct Michael, well done," Gideon said, his lip curling upwards into a faint smile. "Perhaps I won't have to wet nurse you after all. How much do you know of Aurelia the White Champion, and of her descendants?"