Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) (51 page)

"Remind me of what we're doing here?" Miranda asked.

"We are here to give libations to a not so dear old comrade," Ascanius said slowly, his slightly slurred speech suggesting that he had started before inviting Miranda to join him. "It's a very old army tradition."

"Though I don't know why we're bothering," Julian muttered. "Let's be honest, Sergeant, we never really liked the man."

"That's not the point," Ascanius said loudly. "He was our sergeant-major. If we don't remember him, who will?"

"Lysimachus?"

"No, our other sergeant-major who happened to die at the same time, of course it's bloody Lysimachus," Ascanius growled. He rose unsteadily to his feet. "To Lysimachus Castra! May the next world be kinder to him than the next."

"To Lysimachus," Julian raised his mug, and drank deep.

"Lysimachus Castra," Abigail murmured.

Miranda did not drink. "I have difficulty in toasting the memory of a murderer."

"You've drunk with murderers enough, by now," Ascanius said. "If you'd seen what we went through in Oretar, you wouldn't judge him so harshly."

"You judge Gideon Commenae harshly enough, it seems," Abigail said.

"He wasn't twisted by Oretar, he was part of what made Oretar so bloody awful in the first place," Ascanius spat.

"You two were there with him," Miranda said carefully. "Are you two murderers as well."

Julian frowned. "That depends on your definition, doesn't it?"

Ascanius smacked him on the back of the head. "What the idiot optio is trying to say is that it hit Lysimachus harder than us, because ultimately we're a pair of heartless bastards. Gods save him, the sergeant-major cared about people."

Julian nodded. "It tore him up, the things we had to do. He was never the same coming down from those mountains."

"Poor man, having to cut down so many defenceless people," Abigail said quietly.

Ascanius fixed her with a long look. "You're a gobby cow, aren't you?"

"You're only now noticing?" Miranda said, taking a swig of the beer that scorched her throat. "What was so terrible about Oretar? What drove Lysimachus mad?"

Ascanius and Julian hesitated, looking at one another. After a while, Ascanius spoke, "The first thing you have to understand about the Imperial Army is that we are the best. In a straight fight, no army can beat us. Not one. We are invincible in a fair fight."

Abigail snorted, but the two men ignored her.

"That," Julian said. "Is why the buggers didn't give us a fair or straight fight. Once we'd clobbered the warbands in the foothills, the warriors melted away into the hills. Hiding in caves and snows while we marched up and down, freezing our fingers off, trying to find someone to have a battle with.

"You couldn't leave the camp without having your throat cut by some bandit, it took a vexillation to escort every supply convoy, and they bled us with ambushes then ran off before we could come to grips with them properly. And us with all our drums and flags, our mules and wagons, all that weight of iron on our backs; we were elephants chasing after rats.

"And if the rat bites the elephant often enough, he can eat him," Julian said darkly.

"So that's when cold-eyed and cold-hearted bastards like Gideon Commenae turned up with a new plan," Ascanius growled. "We started burning villages, taking all of their food and leaving the survivors to starve to death in the snows. The warriors would have to share their food or watch the women and children die. And they wouldn't have food either for much longer, because we were carrying off all that we could and torching the rest."

"They tried to raid our supplies, but they were too well guarded by then," Julian said. "That's not all we...we stopped taking prisoners. We didn't give them due burial either."

"And we kept at it until they came out, half-starved and gave us battle where we could grind them to a bloody pulp," Ascanius then. "Then Lord Mnestheus graciously accepted their surrender to the throne. You know my father was a soldier, a sergeant in the Fifth Legion. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, he said to me, 'Be a soldier, my boy, be the best. Make me proud.' I didn't feel like the best by the time I came down from those mountains, and I don't reckon he's proud of me for what I did there. That...that was when we lost it."

"What?" Miranda asked.

"The respect of the people," Ascanius said glumly.

"The people have never liked soldiers," Julian said.

"That's what they say, but that isn't the truth," Ascanius replied. "When my father-"

"Oh, here we go."

"When my father came back from the Numantine War," Ascanius said firmly. "He got leave from the company captain. So he went home, to this little village in the north of Saba. My mam still lived there then, in a little cottage at the south side of town. My father came in from the north, and he walked down the main road intending to go straight to that little cottage and ask my mam to marry him.

So he set off down the street, and every single pub he passed along the way someone recognised that he was a soldier and offered to stand him a drink or two, a little thanks for all he'd done to keep this country safe. By the time he got to mam's cottage he was absolutely falling down drunk, and to hear her tell it he fell over at her feet in the doorway and proposed in such a slurred voice she could barely make him out. She said she could barely stop laughing." Ascanius's features softened a little as he smiled. "But she married him anyway, and never regretted it, not once. Now, when I came home on leave after Oretar things were quite different, let me tell you.

"There was this girl, who lived on the farm next to ours, absolutely gorgeous. Flaxen hair, blue eyes, rosy cheeks. A chest like you wouldn't believe, cor, let me tell you."

"What a shameless romantic," Miranda murmured.

"She and I had...well we'd rolled in the hay once or twice before I left to join the army. I told her I was going to come back rich, and I asked her to wait for me. So on my leave I went back home, and I walked down the street heading for her old man's farm. And every pub I passed along the way people spat on me, called me a murderer, cursed me, swore at me and threw things... the ungrateful buggers. And when I got up to the farm, stone cold sober and with a pit opening up in my stomach, I got down on my knees and I asked her to be my wife."

"And?" Miranda asked.

"She spat in my face and said she'd never marry a man who killed children," Ascanius said sourly. "The people haven't loved the army since. The army hasn't loved itself since. And some, like Lysimachus, hated themselves for what they did...the people they killed."

"And yet he couldn't stop killing," Miranda murmured.

"It looks that way, doesn't it, the mad bastard," Ascanius spat. He took a long drink. "Mind, I don't reckon we can talk. We've taken our uniforms off but we haven't put our swords away have we?"

"Why not?" Miranda asked.

Julian shrugged. "What else do we have?"

"Brains and ambition," Ascanius said.

"Oh, don't start that again."

"What?" Miranda asked.

"Ascanius has some idea that we could go to Dervalut and found a kingdom there," Julian said with a shake of his head.

"Well, why not?" Ascanius demanded. "There's nothing there but sheep and a few hairy-arsed savages. A man of vision could sort the whole lot out in no time, really make something of the locals."

"If they don't decide to eat you first."

"They won't, with you watching my back."

"Why can't I be king and you watch my back?"

"Because I'm the sergeant, Optio Dalassena. And don't you forget it."

"More violence?" Miranda said, dismay entering her tone. "Can't you just settle down to live ordinary, peaceful lives?"

Ascanius sighed. "It's harder than it looks, putting down the sword once you've picked it up. You can take a grant of land when you muster out, try and make a go of farming, but if you've done no farming before you went in the army the chances are you'll starve before you work out to how to grow enough to keep you through winter. You can take silver instead of land and try to go into a trade, but chances are some fat bastard whose been at his work for twenty years while you were off killing Mavenorians already has a stranglehold on all the customers. When all you have is a sword, and all you know is how to use it, it can get very tempting sometimes to just take what you want, no matter who it belongs to; especially when everyone else seems to have more than you."

"And that's why you're here?" Miranda asked.

"We're here because we get fed," Ascanius said. "Because here we don't have to break the law to survive. Not forever though; just you wait, one day I'll be the one setting the laws."

"Pah!" Julian said.

"Oh, you may laugh now," Ascanius said. "But you'll come begging me for a position when I'm the King of Dervalut, won't you?"

"If it ever happens, I will come visit you in your hall," Miranda said. "And make you a hundred golems for your royal guard."

Ascanius chuckled. "A thousand."

"Five hundred," Miranda countered.

"Done," Ascanius said, holding out his hand.

"Done," Miranda said, shaking his hand with a smile and a light heart because she knew she would never have to honour her agreement.

Ascanius raised his tankard. "To making good and having grand ambitions."

"Hear hear," Miranda said as she joined the toast.

Miranda was woken that night by a bellow of rage.

Her eyes snapped open to see Abigail, who by some trick of the moonlight looked younger than she had done even this evening, grappling with a young woman with auburn hair and a knife in her hand, the blade catching the glimmer of the moonlight.

There was a line of blood on Abigail's neck, as though someone had slit her throat or tried to, but Miranda could see no trace of a cut on her neck. That was no less surprising than the good account she was giving against someone less than half her age.

Or so Miranda would have said before tonight, Abigail suddenly did not seem so old.

The younger woman glanced at Miranda, and growled as she tried to reach her, only to be thwarted by Abigail's stubborn refusal to let go. The old maid had one hand clamped around the other woman's wrist, and her other arm locked around her waist. The woman with the knife beat at her with her other hand, but it was having as much effect on Abigail as a bird tapping at the wall of a fortress with its beak.

Still the other woman kept trying to reach Miranda.

She's here for me. My God, someone has sent somebody to kill me.

"HELP!" Miranda yelled as she reached for her stick at the side of the bed, fumbling with the sheets so that she could get out of bed and out of this room. "HELP!"

She heard footsteps pounding up the stairs moments before the bedroom door burst open and Ascanius ran in, sword drawn and Julian close behind him. No sooner had they crossed the threshold than the auburn-haired woman drew a second knife from her belt and plunged it into Abigail's side once, twice, three times, four times. Abigail grunted in pain, dropped to her knees, her grip on the other woman lessened, the assassin slipped out of her grasp and charged for Miranda, who was still trying to get out of bed.

A knife flashed in Ascanius' hand as he threw it at her. The assassin screamed as it pierced her palm. One of her knives clattered to the floor. Ascanius collided with her and they fell to the floor in a heap. The assassin screamed again as he drove his sword through her other hand. Julian put his blade to her throat.

"Right," Ascanius said. "Tell us who paid you and we'll cut your throat."

The assassin grinned. "Shouldn't that be 'Tell us who paid you or we'll cut your throat'?"

Ascanius smiled savagely. "Oh, we're going to kill you either way love, and don't think we won't. But it will be a lot worse for you if you keep your mouth shut."

"What is the meaning of this?" Quirian demanded as he strode in, followed by Metella, Lucifer, Aelia and a half dozen other warriors of the Lost. He crossed the room in two quick strides to stand by Miranda's side. "Filia Miranda, are you hurt."

"No," Miranda said. "But Abigail-"

"I'm quite all right, dear," Abigail murmured, taking a deep breath as she stood up. Several streaks of black had appeared in her hair, and half or more of the wrinkles in her skin had vanished, leaving it smoother and finer, revealing a strikingly attractive woman underneath.

"I...I don't understand," Miranda said. "You were-"

"Given a scratch dear, nothing more," Abigail said, and as she spoke she seemed to change appearance again, aging before Miranda's eyes, her hair returning to white, her skin becoming old and wrinkled again, until she was once again Abigail as Miranda recognise her.

"A scratch?" the assassin said. "You should be dead. What are you?"

"I'm Abigail, dear," Abigail said lightly. "I'm the maid."

"Indeed you are, and being so you should be silent," Quirian snapped. "Ascanius, Julian, get her up."

The two men hauled the assassin to her feet, holding tightly onto her arms and keeping her pinned in their grasp.