Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (44 page)

"Wake up!" Miranda yelled, slapping her across the face. "I told you you were going to survive and I mean the things I say." She grabbed Octavia's severed arm, and joined it back to the bloody, bleeding stump. "This will hurt, but I don't have time to gag you or to take it gently." She poured her power out, fusing arm to stump, rejoining blood vessels, knitting bone, joining flesh. Octavia screeched in pain like a bird having its wings pulled off by a callous child, but when Miranda was done she was alive. Gasping and dry retching, her eyes filled with tears, but alive.

"Stay there," Miranda gasped, taking deep breaths as she girded herself for a night of much work. "Stay there and rest, I'll see who else can still be saved."

And so, as the golems tore Lysimachus to shreds, Miranda worked to put his victims back together.

Fewer of them than she would have liked remained in reach of salvation. Astaraeus had died of shock while Clodia had bled to death from the rent Lysimachus' had made in her gut. Geta lived, but barely, and Miranda did not have time to make him perfectly well again. There were too many wounded, and not enough of her.

The golems were done by the time Miranda limped her way over to where Metella lay, dreading what she might find. Some of the lords and ladies had begun to applaud her stone warriors, while ignoring Miranda's work in saving lives not far away. Miranda more than half expected to find a pale corpse when she reached Metella, but her heart lifted when she found a woman still alive, a slender glow in her blue eyes, her breath the merest whispered hint of life.

Miranda called upon air to aid her other magics this time, to keep Metella alive and breathing as she poured her power into Metella's chest to repair a heart half torn to shreds.

"I can't imagine how you're still alive after this," Miranda said.

"It was not as clean a blow as he believed," Metella murmured. "He should have made certain to destroy my heart."

Miranda shook her head, not understanding. "You are a remarkable woman."

Metella's face remained impassive. "Lysimachus could do as much. Was he a remarkable man?"

Miranda frowned. "You shouldn't talk so much. Stay still now."

"The captain?"

"He will live, as you will," Miranda answered. "You were very brave, to attack for his sake."

"He is...my friend," Metella said. "How could I not?"

Miranda stood up, feeling her back creak and ache while her legs made their feelings know perfectly well. Some of Lord Quirian's guests had approached the golems and were admiring them up close, while Aelia had retrieved Lysimachus' head and presented it to Lord Quirian; Prince Antiochus clapped in delight at the sight of it.

Miranda sighed. None of this was of any interest to her. She had done all she could for the living, all she wanted to do was sleep.

"Filia, with me," Princess Romana yelled peremptorily as she ran out of the courtyard and into the street. The blood stained her purple boots and ruined the hem of her skirt, but the princess did not notice as she gazed about, her mouth open in dismay, her eyes wide with shock, at the devastation wrought by Lysimachus.

Dead men covered the street: Imperial guardsmen, hired blades in crude armour or no armour at all, men wearing the colours of noble houses. There was no place outside the courtyard that was not drowning in blood. Severed limbs were piled high wherever Miranda looked.

"Lysimachus," Miranda murmured. "Why, in the name of God, did you do all this?"

"Lieutenant?" Romana called out frantically. "Lieutenant Aquilla? Sergeant Kalimus? Phebus? Stilicho?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Anyone?"

Someone groaned, and Romana ran to the side of a man in a bloodstained guard's uniform, his armour rent and torn, sitting propped up against the outer wall of Quirian's house, his head resting on his chest. Miranda saw that he had been near enough disembowelled, and by the looks of him he did not have a lot of blood left.

"Dolon, Dolon you are going to be all right," Princess Romana said, taking the guardsman's hand in her own. "Filia, make him well. Optio Dolon, listen to me!"

Dolon's eyes flickered. "Your Highness. I'm sorry."

Romana shook her head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. You did well. You all did well, I am so proud of you."

Dolon smiled as Miranda knelt beside him. "I think I'm a bit far gone ma'am, even for a miracle."

"No!" Romana yelled. "Open your eyes, Optio. Damn you, Optio Dolon I order you to stay alive, do you hear me? In the name of the Empress I command you not to die!"

Dolon's eyes closed.

"Miranda, do something!" Romana shouted.

"I'll do it whether you yell or not," Miranda growled under her breath, conjuring her magic once again, dragging it out no matter its protests or its weariness, thrusting her hand against Dolon's wound and pouring herself into it. His flesh stitched back together, his breathing deepened, until he went from the last gasps of a dying man to the slumber of one who was merely weary.

"Empress be praised. Thank you." Princess Romana's head slumped forward, her bangs falling down over her face. Her hands clenched into fists upon her knees. Miranda realised, with a mixture of surprise and squirming embarrassment, that Romana was sobbing, tears falling down her alabaster face.

"What's the matter?" Romana demanded when she caught Miranda staring. "Does it amaze you so much that I have tears to shed?"

"It surprises me that you would shed them over your common guards," Miranda replied. None of the other nobles had yet come out to view the damage.

"Twenty men, and nineteen of them dead now," Romana sobbed. "Nineteen of my men, my guards, mine. They followed me, they obeyed my commands, they kept me safe. They died to keep me safe. They served me, and those who serve me are more kin to me than Antiochus shall ever be. I am the daughter of Aegea, and they were her sons. Why should I not weep for them?"

"It is over now," Miranda said, offering the only cold comfort that was open to her. "They are avenged."

Romana looked up at her, and through her tears Miranda saw her purple eyes were hard as diamond. "Were it so easy."

Other people had started to drift out into the street now; Princess Romana hesitated for a moment, then rose to her feet, her face becoming a mask of graceful serenity. She bore herself so proudly and so nobly that Miranda could almost ignore the blood that soaked her dress, almost forget that she had been weeping like a babe but a moment earlier.

Princess Romana nodded to Miranda. "Filia. You have done good work this night."

Miranda snorted. "Why, highness, because my creations are able to kill?"

"No, because you saved lives," Romana said. "I once heard the late Lord Manzikes say once that the lives of good soldiers were more precious than cities stormed, treasuries plundered or battlefield triumphs. If he had lived, I think he would have valued you highly. If he had lived."

"Yes, well," Miranda looked away. "Forgive me, your highness, I find that I am very weary." She limped away, moving so slowly and so wearily that Octavia and Aelia had to help her back inside the courtyard. No sooner where they out of sight of the ladies than Miranda collapsed against the nearest wall.

"First the Manzikes' house, now this. Are all nights in Eternal Pantheia so wearying?" Miranda asked. "And on top of everything else you have wings. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I...I didn't know what you'd think," Octavia replied. "Thank you, for saving my life."

Miranda shrugged her gratitude aside. She sighed. "I am afraid I have to ask a favour of you."

"You want me to go to Corona and speak to your brother?" Octavia asked.

Miranda looked up. "How did you know?"

Octavia smiled. "You were yelling."

Miranda snorted. "Would you be willing? I know I haven't the right to ask-"

"I'll do it," Octavia declared. "Because we're friends, and how could I say no? I'll tell him that you're all right, and that he doesn't need to risk himself any more, because I'll protect you now. And I'll come back as soon as I can with good news, I hope." She smiled encouragingly. "Goodbye, I'll see you soon."

"Good luck," Miranda murmured, as Octavia spread her tawny wings and took off into the night sky, winging her way across the stars and the face of the moon. Miranda watched her until she could no longer spot Octavia in the darkness of the night, and only then did she look down to see Lord Quirian, together with Prince Antiochus, glad-handing and accepting the congratulations of the notables and the publicani around the motionless golems and the bloody remains of Lysimachus and his victims.

Miranda shook her head. "I had hoped that he was a better man than this, to canvas for support amidst an abattoir."

"Are you surprised?" Aelia asked.

"No," Miranda said, shaking her head sadly. "And I won't claim I have the right to be surprised, he is a politician after all. But I think I have the right to be disappointed."

X

The Advancement of Michael Callistus

Michael leaned upon his knees. The heat of the sun was making sweat drench his back. Somehow that blazing orb seemed hotter and more savage here, in Deucalia province, than it had back home in Corona. He supposed that Turo under the waves, cherishing that far-famed land, had girdled it about with an ethereal shield which kept the fiercest savagery of the sun at bay. But now he had left the boundaries of God's chosen land and entered into the domain of villainy, so was it any wonder even the weather persecuted him?

In the days of old the Coronim had often warred with the Deucalians, who were known by all to be thieves and liars to a man. In the full bloom of their greatness the Coronim had gained the upper hand over their honourless adversaries: Gabriel had slain the king of Deucalia in single combat, and taken half his lands in token of the victory, and while a scion of Aurelia's line sat the High Throne the Firstborn had defeated the Deucalians at the battle of Deridaeum and put an end to their invasion plans. But the greatness of Corona had diminished, the High Queen fell and the line of David ended, and the fortunes of war had turned against Turo's chosen. Twice Deucalian armies had sacked Davidheyr, carrying off first the Turoneum, the mystic idol given to Simon by God as a talisman to keep Corona safe, and then the sacred tablets of Turo's Covenant with men. Neither treasure had ever been recovered. It was said that the ferocious savages of Mavenor, who dined on human flesh and wore their beards down to their waists, were less strange and barbaric than were the blasphemous heathens who dwelt in this Deucalia, to whence Michael had been driven by cruel circumstance and the hands of fate.

"I hope you realise that Deucalia has been an Imperial province for almost as long as has Corona," Gideon said, displaying again his uncanny ability to know Michael's mind perfectly. He himself had made a concession to the heat by taking off his tunic, revealing chiselled muscles and the emblem of the Empire tattooed upon his back: a wolf and a winged unicorn combatant, separated by the infinity symbol - looking slightly squashed by Gideon's narrow frame - and a sword running down the line of Gideon's spine. "The people here are as thoroughly Imperial as any man in Corona, no different than you or I. Actually, there are probably a great many ways in which they are different from you and I, but I imagine they are much like..." Gideon moved to gesture to Jason and Amy, causing the Emperor's bastard son and the ocean knight to watch him with bemused incredulity. Even Gideon seemed slightly at a loss for words for a moment, before rallying to continue. "Much like ordinary people one might find anywhere."

"They are base decievers and dwarfish thieves, utterly without honour, my lord," Michael insisted. "And murderers too most like."

"Once, perhaps, but several hundred years of good Imperial governance has cured them of such childish nonsense," Gideon said airily. "Though I do believe the Novar church is stronger here than anywhere else along the south coast so, Jason, be careful that travellers along the road do not discover your religious leanings. And Michael, I do believe you have already been told to call me Gideon."

"Your pardon, Gideon," Michael said. "But we should all be on our guard in this land. Any passing knave, happening upon us on the road, will try to slit our throats for the ruby in this blade you, by your graciousness, have given me; or else for the sapphire in that weapon you yet bear."

"They will have quite a task before them, if that is their aim," Gideon said.

"I said not otherwise, Gideon, but these lawless folk will attempt it nonetheless," Michael said.

"I do not think caution is unwarranted in any circumstance, but I do believe your paranoia is a little out of date," Jason said.

"Maybe, Your Highness, but I will believe the sinner has repented when I see evidence of his good works," Michael said.

"Enough of this, we have weightier matters to attend to," Gideon said, picking up his tunic off the ground and putting it on. "Michael, dress yourself and kneel before me."

Michael wondered why, but did not question as he pulled his black tunic over his head and onto his still sweaty body - Gideon, of course, had not so much as breathed heavily over the course of their entire training session - and got on one knee in front of Gideon.

"I must ask Duty back from you a little while, Michael," Gideon said. "It is far more appropriate for this business than Piety is."

Michael drew Duty out of its scabbard, and presented it to its rightful master. "It is yours at any time, Lord Gideon."

Gideon did not reply as he plucked Duty out of Michael's open palms and held it up so the blade caught the light of Deucalia's over-boisterous sun.

"I mean to swear you in as an Imperial soldier now, Michael," Gideon said. "It will be necessary ere long and the time seems right to me. I trust you have no objection."

"If it is what you wish, Gideon, then I am ever at your service."

"It is irrelevant if it is what I wish or no," Gideon said, a trifle sharply. "What do you want?"

"I want to serve you, Gideon, now and always. Will this help me more ably do so?"

"It will, and more than that," Gideon said. "Much more."

"Then do I undertake it gladly, with an eager heart," Michael said, thinking that when this was over it might be easier to remain at Gideon's side if he were a soldier enlisted, however informally. "And if I break this oath, and fail your trust, may gods and men alike condemn me to the utmost."

Gideon's mouth twitched with a brief smile. "Good boy. Now, repeat after me: I, Michael Callistus Dolabella."

"I, Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella ban Ezekiel," Michael said, using all his names for this was a solemn business, and thus deserving of solemnity.

"Do swear by my gods and the divinity of the Eternal Empress."

"Do swear by Almighty Turo, Lord of the Seas and Oceans, and the divinity of the Eternal Empress," Michael said.

"That I will bear faithful and unwavering allegiance to Her Imperial Majesty Aegea the Divine Empress, to the Prince Imperial Demodocus II, Her steward on this mortal plane, and to his heirs and successors," Gideon said.

"That I will bear faithful and unwavering allegiance to Her Imperial Majesty, Aegea, the Divine Empress, to the Prince Imperial Demodocus II, Her steward on this mortal plane, and to his heirs and successors," Michael said.

"That I will, as in duty bound, honestly, faithfully and selflessly defend Her Imperial Majesty, His Imperial Highness and his heirs and successors in Person, Honour and Dignity against all enemies wherever," Gideon paused for a moment, swallowing. "Or whomsoever they may be."

"That I will, as in duty bound, faithfully and selflessly defend Her Imperial Majesty, His Imperial Highness and his heirs and successors in Person, Honour and Dignity." Michael wondered if this was what it had felt like to be a Firstborn in those ancient days, to pledge one's life to the service of Corona. And how had Gideon felt, when first he knelt to take this selfsame oath? Had he felt the weight of it, the force behind the words pressing down upon him? Not likely, Lord Gideon was a man to whom this oath would be uplifting. And Michael, though he felt the fear of failing these proud words even as he spoke them, found he could understand why. Here, in these words nobly declared, were the whole pattern of a life laid out. A life spent in honourable service to a noble cause, serving the monarch and the state with blood and sweat and mayhap life itself. A life that would mean more than the sum of its mean accomplishments, be more than the vulgar tally of days lived and moneys earned. A life measured in the survival of nations, and the outcome of great battles, as greater than himself as he was greater than an ant. A life such as even one sprung from the ancient tales might be contented with. Michael found he had a lump in his throat as he finished repeating, "Against all enemies, wherever or whomsoever they may be."

"And shall observe and obey all orders of Her Majesty, His Imperial Highness, his heirs and successors, and of their appointed officers set over me until the throne release me or death take me. Upon my honour, life and soul all this I swear."

"And shall observe and obey all orders of Her Majesty, His Imperial Highness, their heirs and successors, and of their appointed officers set over me until the throne release me or death take me," Michael hesitated a brief moment, praying inwardly to Turo for the strength to carry out this weighty vow. "Upon my honour, life and soul all this I swear."

"Now kiss the blade," Gideon said, offering Duty to him, point first.

Michael pressed his lips against the cool metal, which seemed to crackle at the touch of them. Michael felt as though the sword itself had someone been witness to the contract, and let him know that it would see him keep his vow.

"Rise now, Michael Callistus, soldier of the Empire," Gideon said, handing Duty back to Michael before pulling him to his feet.

"Thank you, sir."

"You're still to call me Gideon, Michael, I insist upon it; no getting out of it that easily," Gideon said.

"That does not seem to be the entirely current version of the oath, if I recall correctly from the times I saw it administered in Eternal Pantheia," Jason said.

"No, if Michael was in the legions he would kiss the flag - which we obviously do not have - before swearing another oath to the legion itself. And the current oath omits all business of Divine Aegea, and has our soldiers swear allegiance to the Emperor. Foolishness, denying her divinity does not stop Aegea from being divine, nor does she cease being the only true Empress because a prince's vanity would have it otherwise."

Tullia offered Michael her hand and when he took it she pulled him into an embrace. "Congratulations, soldier."

"Thank you," Michael said. "Did you have to swear an oath like that?"

"Twice, the new oath that Gideon mentioned," Tullia said. "Once when I first joined the Corps, and again when I was sixteen. I, too, kissed a sword. Did you feel a... a kind of spark as you did so?"

"Yes," Michael said.

"So did I," Tullia said. "I do not know about Aegea, or any gods, but I do believe someone heard me say those words, as they heard you."

"How did you feel?" Michael asked.

Tullia tilted her head to one side as she considered. "Like I had just locked all other doors behind me, and dropped the keys into the gutter. From then on there was no turning back, only to continue forward on this course."

"Did you ever regret it?"

"No," Tullia said at once. "To do so would be to regret too many things that do not bear regretting." She smiled at him. "Don't worry, I do not think you will regret it either, though you live to be a hundred years old in the Empire's service for you, too, may stand alongside those you love in the brotherhood of duty." Tullia glanced towards Gideon.

"I would not be parted from him for anything," Michael said.

"And now you never shall lest Death himself sunders you, as I shall never stray from His Highness side," Tullia said.

Wyrrin tilted his head to one side. "You are...content with this?"

Michael nodded. "Wherefore should I not be so?"

"Is not a chain a chain, however it is forged?" Wyrrin replied.

Michael shrugged. "I know not, save that I have never minded chains particularly. Do you not believe there is great honour to be found in service to a higher power, a higher cause?"

"I seek glory, not honour," Wyrrin said. "And I would not trade my freedom for either."

"Obviously you have not been free for very long if it sees so gilded and precious to you," Tullia murmured.

"I think, Filia, that it is simply that Wyrrin has not found his cause yet," Michael said. "Filius, once you discover something about which you are so passionate that you willingly subsume yourself in service to it - and I believe that all men find such a thing, if they live long enough - then you will think differently."

"Perhaps," Wyrrin said, sounding sceptical.

Jason looked at him curiously. "You know, for a fire drake you're quite astonishingly human."

"That does not surprise me," Wyrrin said. "Why else am I now living among humans?"

"Michael," Gideon said, interrupting the discussion. "Now that you officially sworn in as a servant of the Empire you may now take over leadership of the company."

"I... what?" Michael said, his genteel verbosity momentarily failing him in the face of Gideon's sudden declaration. "But my... but Gideon I am but a slave lately risen out of bondage."

"You're a soldier now," Gideon said.

Michael frowned. "If you are weary of the burdens of command, Gideon, then the lot ought fall on better men than I. Prince Jason is nobly born, and born to rule besides, and part of rule is the command of armies; appoint him captain if you must, for it is in his blood to lead in war. Our Amy is a knight sprung from a fearsome race, trained in the arts of war as I never was; appoint her captain if you must, for she has more experience than I, though not one third of yours."

"It is not Jason or Ameliora's leadership abilities that concern me, but yours," Gideon said. "I do this not because I am weary of the burdens of command, or wish to hand them over, but because I consider it necessary; or at least, better experimented now than at a more critical juncture. In short, Michael, I wish you lead the unit because I want to see how you do."