Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (28 page)

"The arrogance of it," Michael muttered. "The unspeakable arrogance."

"Something you're seeing that I'm not, Michael?" Gideon asked.

Michael's brow knitted. "See the tall banners, larger than the Crimson Rose flags, larger than most of the Royal Standards. They are the flags of the Nine Tribes of the Coronim, arrayed in the traditional order of an army of Old Corona. See there, the ban Jonathon holds the right flank, the place of honour. Then ban Tiralon, then Matthew, Samuel, Levi, Ezekiel and then finally ban Nathan upon the left. 'Array your men according to their tribes, that ties of blood may make them steadfast.'"

"So they are staking a claim upon the heritage of Old Corona," Gideon said softly. "Very clever of them. And in the centre?"

"The troops of the ban David," Michael replied. "The Royal Guard."

"Is that so? But who do they guard in absence of royalty," Gideon mused. He hesitated. "Tiralon? Hardly seems a Coronan name."

"Coronim, my lord, please. Only ignorant gentiles call us Coronans," Michael replied. "And no, Tiralon was no Coronim. He was an elf, or so the stories say, who befriended David and Jonathon and made cause with them against his own people. He rose to high honour in their company."

"Fascinating."

Amy leaned upon the rampart. "They don't look as though they plan to attack. Looks more like they're settling down for a siege to me."

"I agree with your assessment, much as it makes no sense for them to take such a course," Gideon said. "We've seen no evidence of any siege equipment, and it will not take long for the Thirty Fifth to turn back from Ameliorahem and fall upon them."

"Unless they took the Thirty Fifth upon the road and destroyed it before reaching the city," Michael said.

"Don't be absurd Michael," Gideon said in tones of injured pride. "In the first place, they're coming from the wrong direction to have already encountered our troops. The Thirty Fifth marched north, and these people are moving in from the west. In the second place, if they'd met the Thirty Fifth on the way then whatever the outcome they'd be looking a good deal worse for wear. And in the third but most important place it will take more than an untrained mob of dissolutes and degenerates to destroy one of Her Majesty's Legions."

"There is a simpler explanation," Amy said. "Your legion has been on their side this entire time and they marched when they did to let the Crimson Rose walk in unopposed. You can see plain men in the Empire's uniform under the rebel standards."

"Your suggestion is even more ridiculous than Michael's," Gideon said harshly. "Rusticani may betray their colours, legionaries do not. I knew the legate of the Thirty Fifth in Oretar, he is a good man who would never turn traitor. As for the men, they would never stand by and watch as the Crimson Rose massacred Imperial citizens. Bardas once told me that the men have more scruples than the officers in the Imperial army. I didn't understand at the time why he thought that was a good thing. Now I do."

"You have to admit the convenience of it," Amy said.

"Not when it flies in the face of over twenty years experience," Gideon said. "The legions will remain true to their salt, you have my word upon it; now let us hear no more of illusory traitors in the ranks."

"As you say my lord," Michael said.

Amy struck the rampart with her fist. "What do we do, there's the real question."

We cannot leave, that's certain. Not now. It would be cowardice and desertion both.
In a strange way, Michael found himself grateful to the Crimson Rose. They had taken his choice away from him, and done so in a way that took Lord Gideon's and Amy's choices away as well. There would be no splitting up now, not until the battle was done.

Gideon folded his arms across his chest. "Michael, thoughts?"

Michael started in surprise. "Me, my lord?"

"Yes, I want to know if you have any notions as to our course of action," Gideon said mildly.

Why does he ask me?
Michael considered the possibility that Gideon wanted him to make a fool of himself, but dismissed it: Lord Gideon was not that kind of man. Still, what did he hope Michael would see that he did not see himself?

"I want to know if you can think for yourself, Michael," Gideon said.

"How do you do that my lord?"

Gideon chuckled. "We all have our secrets Michael. But you were saying?"

Michael leaned on the earthen wall, trying to think of something that would not sound absurd. It had to be something that could be done by the three of them: he Amy had some hold over the remaining troops, but their lives were not his to risk on some foolhardy plan sprung form his mind. But the three of them could not lift this siege or defeat so mighty a host by themselves.

"Michael! Michael!" Wyrrin rushed up the steps, his claws tapping on the wood, to stand beside them on the rampart. "Is this it? Is there to be another great battle?"

Amy straightened. "Whichever city you're from you're a long way from home, aren't you?"

Wyrrin drew back, as if affronted. "And who are you, daughter of Turo?"

"I could ask you the same thing, son of Arus," Amy murmured.

"Wyrrin of Arko."

"Amitiel Ameliora, daughter of Niccolo."

"Niccolo?" Wyrrin said. "It is strange to see such as you fighting alongside men."

"I could say the same," Amy replied. "You know Michael?"

"A little," Wyrrin said. "We fought together at Lover's Rock."

Amy nodded. She held out one hand. "Then it seems I owe you thanks, for helping to protect my people."

Wyrrin bobbed his head up and down. "I only did what was natural."

"You're of the warrior caste then?" Amy said. "That is right, isn't it? I've never been to Arko, or met any fire drakes, but you're the ones with the castes, aren't you?"

"We are," Wyrrin muttered. "But I have none. I was not content to do as my caste dictated, and so I fled Arko and ended up here. And now I wish to fight alongside you, Michael, against the Crimson Rose."

"Why?" Amy asked. "This isn't your fight."

"Perhaps not, but it is sure to be a glorious one," Wyrrin said.

Amy chuckled. "I don't suppose I can argue with that."

"Lord Gideon," Michael said. "Shall we admit Wyrrin of Arko into our company?"

Gideon said. "I see no reason why not. One more sword to throw against the enemy should not go amiss. But what use shall we put him to, Michael, that is the question?"

Michael looked at the Crimson Rose spread out before him. The four of them could not break the siege, not without assistance. And in the meantime the people were terrified...

And then he had it. "I have a notion to inspire the people my lord, raise their spirits a little. Hopefully it will make the rebels feel some fear too. And it will provide a distraction to enable us to send for aid."

"Excellent," Gideon said. "Let's hear it."

Michael straightened up. "We need to wait until dark..."

Once Michael had outlined his plan, and Gideon, Amy and Wyrrin had consented to it (the former more willingly than the latter two), they descended the wall to find the people of Davidheyr, and all those who had fled into the city, waiting at the bottom of the steps. They were apprehensive, Michael could see the fear in their eyes. Yet they made no complaint, no great wailing. The admirable qualities for which they had always been renowned where to be found amongst the Coronim still: they feared to die, but they would not make a spectacle of themselves before death took them.

"Will Turo deliver us, ser?" an old man asked. "Will he send his naiad armies to our aid?"

Amy looked uncertain. She hesitated under the gaze of the crowd, her tongue silent and her silence damning.

"With your permission, ser, might I say a few words," Michael murmured.

Amy looked at him, something between surprise and relief in her eyes. "Go ahead."

Michael mounted the first few steps leading up the rampart, so that people could see him better in spite of his small stature. When he spoke, his voice carried into the streets.

"God has given you hands to fight and hearts to gird up with courage," Michael declared. "What more would you have him of him than that? What greater means of deliverance would you have than your own valour, that same unconquerable valour which was ever the salvation of the Coronim in the days of our noble ancestors?

"Our history tells us that when David and Jonathon worked as slaves of the elves, some men lived among the oppressors freely, wearing their clothes and speaking their language. Those men talked of freeing all mankind, but while they talked more and more men were put in chains alongside the fathers of Corona. David and Jonathon did not wait for those other men to finish their talking. No, they broke their chains, slaughtered the elves and won their freedom.

"When Turo in his anger barred the seas to men, Simon sought out a way to assuage his fury, and won the heart of His daughter, Miranda. When Gabriel fell, Simon lived on and reclaimed his throne from his dishonest servants. When our temple was threatened, we fought for it!" Michael heard Gideon coughing behind him; it was the Empire who had threatened the temple, but he would make his apologies later after he had recalled these people to somewhat of their ancient virtue. A gladiator's task was to uplift the people and convince them to be better than they were, and if that was sometimes a task accomplished with words rather than deeds then Michael would speak the words that needed to be said.

"Ask not salvation from the hands of Turo. Pray to God for strength, yes, pray for courage, pray for life; but give Him thanks as well for what He has made of you: that you are the Coronim, descended of heroes, blessed with virtue and valour in equal measure. Turo has given us the strength to save ourselves, and that is the truest salvation which He could provide."

The four of them began to push through the crowd, and as they did so Michael could hear the people muttering to one another and, he flattered himself, they were doing so in support of his words.

"I begin to see why the Crimson Rose would like you on their side," Gideon said once they reached a quiet, secluded spot. His tone was rich with amusement. "You are a good speaker when you become impassioned."

Michael's eyebrows rose. "You think the Crimson Rose wants me for my oratory my lord?"

"I spoke in jest, Michael, though poorly I admit," Gideon said.

"Apologies, my lord, and thrice more for referring to the Revolt of the Covenant."

Gideon nodded. "Different times, Michael, a different Empire. Not necessarily a worse one, mind, but certainly different. Ironically, I think you would have fitted in better there."

Before Michael could ask why, Amy broke in to say, "Thank you, for speaking up. I wouldn't have been able to answer them."

"I take it there isn't any army of naiads coming?" Michael said.

"According to our laws, to even set foot upon the land is death," Amy said. "No one will follow me here."

"But you came," Michael said, his tone curious, his brow furrowing.

"And I cannot go back," Amy said, casually. "If I do they'll chain me to a rock and let the sharks devour me. I will die under the sun and either be remembered as a hero to men long after any naiad who even knew me has forgotten, or my name will fade from memory on land and under sea."

"Amy," Michael whispered. "You...did you do this, for me?" the thought made him feel so guilty it was all he could not to vomit. Already he could feel his stomach cramping.

Amy laughed as she ran one armoured hand through her red hair. "Same old Michael, you always have to take the blame for everything, don't you? Don't worry, you didn't steal me away from a paradise. I would rather be here, with you, than anywhere in the ocean realm. There is friendship and the prospect of great glory here, two things which have been sorely lacking from my life in years past."

"I...oh," Michael said. "I'm glad. I...I don't know if I could have borne being responsible for you being put under a death sentence, our Amy."

Amy smirked. "It's sweet of you, but we're not children any more. You don't need to pretend it was you who broke the window. Well, since there's nothing much doing until nightfall I'm going to get some rest; I won't get any tonight after all." She walked away into the streets, her cape swaying slowly as it followed behind her.

Gideon said, "She is right about that at least, you should try and get some rest." Michael noticed he said nothing about sleeping himself.

"I will find sleep difficult," Wyrrin said. "For my claws yearn for action. But, since I have a long journey ahead of me tonight, I will attempt it."

Michael understood Wyrrin's reluctance, for he did not feel much like sleeping himself. Not with the enemy in sight, it was all he could not to leap from the walls and attack them right now. The Crimson Rose, tearing families apart, blighting lives; there had to be an end to it.

Hoping that it would calm him down, Michael wandered through the Davidheyr streets looking at the monuments of Old Corona, and the city's ancient history from its foundation by Prince David. He picked his way through the crowds to reach Gabriel's Arch and Jonathon's Arch, celebrating the triumphs and the sacrifices of Corona's greatest captains. He saw the old statue to Prince David, the city's founder, and the more recent statue that the Empire had erected to Flavius Commenae, an ancestor of Lord Gideon's, who had conquered Corona for the Empire. Michael noted that while David and Ameliora's statues depicted them on foot, Lord Commenae was envisaged mounted upon a splendid winged unicorn, and was a deal taller than anyone else on account of it. It was also worked in bronze, when everything else in Davidheyr was built of stone - the Coronim of old having been master stonemasons, as evinced by the Firstborn guarding the river. He visited the arena, thought it was closed, as was the Great Temple to Turo raised by Simon after his marriage. It was an impressive monument, towering over every building even the palace, but the fact that it was full of squatters rather than worshippers made it seem a little forlorn to him.