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

by Frances Smith

  "If you forgive me, I am not altogether sure I would be comfortable," Miranda replied. The settee was designed for her to lie upon her left side, which was the side of her bad leg. She doubted it would take her lying upon it without protest.

  "Ah, of course," Quirian said. "You will take wine?"

  "Only one third wine and the rest water, thank you," Miranda said. "Any more and I will not sleep."

  "Of course," Quirian smiled. "Captain, if you wouldn't mind."

  "Not at all, my lord father," Lucifer bent down and filled Miranda's chalice one third with wine and the rest of the way with water. Quirian's own cup he filled halfway with wine, then water. For some reason he did not use his mailed hand to steady the jug or hold the cups, performing every action with only the one hand, the one that was visible to Miranda's eyes.

  "Thank you." Quirian raised his cup. "To you, my dear."

  "To new beginnings," Miranda replied, taking a healthy swallow. "Now then, my lord, who is it precisely that you wish me to heal? Soldiers? The Imperial Guard? The Emperor himself, is that why there was such secrecy?"

  "Frankly, Filia, I doubt there is anything you could do that would interest His Majesty, unless you can get his wife with child and put to rest for good the rumours of her barrenness," Quirian replied. "The truth is, Filia Miranda, that I did not summon you here - the prince did not summon you here - in order to heal the sick. You are here for a far higher purpose."

  Miranda blinked. "Then you will be disappointed. All I can do is healing."

  "No, my dear, that is all you know how to do at present," Quirian replied. "Have you ever considered where your powers came from?"

  "No."

  Quirian looked surprised. "Truly? Not once?"

  Miranda smiled wryly. "When I was a little girl my mother told me I had been given my powers as a gift from God, a reward for my virtuous nature. Michael thought that too at one time; later on - though he never said it in as many words - he came to believe I was descended from Gabriel and Aurelia. He also thought it made me destined for some sort of greatness and invented all manner of stories about portents surrounding my birth; to hear him talk you would believe that when I was born the earth trembled and the skies burned as comets raced across the heavens. They were both fools. Dreamers, blind to the real world. No one can live on such things. I do not know where my powers came from, nor do I care. I have them and I use them, to help myself and to help others. That is enough."

  "An interesting attitude, ma'am, if noting else," Quirian said. "But I doubt that you are so dull as you maintain, so devoid of curiosity."

  "The world is as the world is," Miranda said shortly. "What of it?"

  "An interestingly pragmatic approach to living," Quirian said. "Tell me, are you familiar with the story of Aurelia, the White Champion?"

  "My mother would tell it regularly," Miranda said. "Aurelia was a Broadlander girl, chosen by the gods old and new to be their champion against the Eldest One when he broke free of his prison, on account of her tremendous virtue. She fell in love with Prince Gabriel and got with child by him before he died. Then she defeated Riate in battle and sealed him away in the Black Abyss once more."

  "Indeed, and what a battle it was to hear it described," Quirian said. "The Eldest One was a master of sorcery - indeed, he had invented sorcery in the first place - but Aurelia had been transformed by her abilities into a source of sorcery, akin unto a god. While the Company of the White battled the Disciples of the Dark who served the Enemy, Aurelia and the Eldest One duelled with every scrap of power that they possessed: they summoned demons to attack one another, created armies of golems in a matter of moments, lashed out with spells powerful enough to rend the world in two, employed every element of magic know to earth or heaven. It is said that by the time she had won the battle Aurelia was too exhausted to heal any of her companions, and collapsed into an unconsciousness from which she did not waken for three days. But when she woke, she healed the injuries of her friends until they were nothing; mark that, Filia, for she could do even as you do now."

  Miranda raised an eyebrow. "You honestly believe that there is a connection there? You think I am Aurelia's descendant?"

  Descendant and inheritor of her abilities," Quirian said, taking a sip of his wine. "I know it for a certainty."

  Miranda took a bite of honey cake, and considered her response while she chewed. "You seem very certain of the fact, considering that it would be impossible to prove at this remove of, what, over a thousand years?"

  "Surpassing fifteen hundred, now," Quirian said. "But I am quite certain. My research has been meticulous, and your powers are near proof enough by themselves."

  "I can heal the sick, sometimes from the brink of death even," Miranda said. "But I am no godlike warrior empowered to protect the world from great evil."

  "Not yet, perhaps," Quirian said, placing a fig inside his mouth the chewing on it slowly. He swallowed, and went on. "I have assembled beneath my roof a formidable company of mages and sorcerers. Their knowledge, their expertise, all of it will be at your disposal. They will teach you in the use of your abilities, expand your knowledge of yourself, your capabilities. Your eyes will be opened to the truth of your destiny, Filia, and to who you really are."

  "I know who I am, I am Miranda Callistus," Miranda said instinctively. And yet... if what Lord Quirian said was true then it was a tempting offer. She had learnt all she could learn from trial and error, random experiment, but now he was offering her so much more. What might she be able to do with what he offered to teach her, who might she not help? She might discover a cure for Mater Doraeus' madness, or Michael's lunacy. If what Lord Quirian said was true. "I will not deny, my lord, that your offer intrigues me. Yet I must ask you what you get out of such generosity."

  The girl behind Quirian, Metella, stiffened as though she had been insulted, but Quirian's face showed no signs of offence. Indeed he smiled as he said. "I? I will be able to serve my prince and my country, as faithfully as I wish to. You must understand, Filia, that the political situation in Eternal Pantheia is very unstable at the moment. The Empire hangs on the brink of a great precipice, and you will be a formidable weapon in hauling this country back from the edge of its own destruction."

  "You speak of me as though I were the warrior Aurelia was," Miranda said. "But even had I the skill to fight you cannot teach me the temperament nor the will to do so. I have no desire to descend into the arena of battle. If you want to wield me like a sword you must find another."

  "Use you as a weapon? Filia, I am sorely hurt by your suspicion," Quirian said, pouting slightly. "I assure you, nothing could be further from my mind. To understand better what I mean, I must explain a little to you of the political situation in the Empire at the moment. You are aware that His Imperial Majesty, Demetrius the Fifth, died some eighteen months ago."

  Miranda nodded. "A month of mourning were decreed throughout the Empire." She had spent most of that month less upset over the Emperor's passing and more worried that Michael would find some way to get himself killed in the memorial games held in Lover's Rock, in which he had competed at wrestling, boxing and armed combat. The fact that he had won all three had been small consolation for her nerves.

  "Quite so," Quirian agreed. "His majesty had three children: Demodocus, Antiochus and Romana. The eldest, Demodocus, now sits the throne as Demodocus the Second, but he is a vain and rather stupid man with a vain and rather stupid wife, and he allows the government of the Empire to crumble into ruin while he admires his good looks or wastes his afternoons away staring at the Empress. The Princess Romana is an empty headed girl, a dreamer as you might say, her wits addled by incense and her head full of dead princes and battles fought long ago. She does nothing but talk of honour and justice and the Empire's mission and other such foolishness.

  "Without a strong Emperor the ambitions of the army, long checked, have begun to rise up from out of the dark depths to choke the life out of the state. Lord Manzikes, the Co
mmander of the Army, is ailing and without an obvious successor. The dukes squabble over his inheritance before his last breath has even left him, I fear that they will tear the Empire to pieces with their infighting if something is not to stop them.

  "Prince Antiochus has the vision, intelligence and charisma to save the Empire from her out of control protectors, to restore the Empire's greatness, but until he has the strength to challenge the legions in the field there is little that he can do. You see, Filia, we stand upon the verge of civil war, of the Empire shattering into a dozen pieces, of armies staining the land with the blood of Imperial citizens, unless something is done."

  Miranda's blood chilled, her hand trembled as she set down her cup, "Had you told me all of this beforehand I might have stayed in Corona."

  "Yes, because things are so peaceful there, what with the Crimson Rose and what have you," Quirian said dryly. "The point is, Filia Miranda, that you alone have the power to avert the war, to stop this crisis in its tracks."

  "How?" Miranda asked. "Would you have me heal Lord Manzikes and make him a loyal servant to the prince?"

  "I think Lord Manzikes would be more trouble healthy than he is sick, Filia, although perhaps a stay of execution for him would buy us time," Quirian remarked. "No, His Highness and I would have you do as Aurelia did, and raise up armies from the dust and stone to oppose the legions and overmatch them."

  Miranda frowned. "You want me to make armies? How? Only the gods can create life, everyone knows that."

  "And the only attempt by man to usurp that achievement ended in the destruction of the Tower of Arcanea by the angry gods themselves," Quirian said. "I am aware of that. I do not expect, nor do I much want, beings who walk and talk and eat and breathe and bleed as we do. All I ask is that you do as Aurelia did, and animate dust and earth and wood and clay so that they may follow simple commands, fight with strength and strike down the Prince's enemies. That alone will be a host sufficient to cow the vain and quarrelsome dukes and bring them to heel. Your work, Filia, will restore peace to the Empire."

  Miranda shuffled uncomfortably on her seat. "It sounds very fine, Lord Quirian, but it does not obscure the fact that you brought me here by false implications. Your invitation said nothing of studying magic or creating armies or of becoming involved in shadowy machinations between the palace and the army. I did not agree to this."

  Quirian's smile became rather fearsome to behold. "You seem to be under the impression that your agreement is necessary, Filia. Do you imagine that the princes and lords of the Empire tremble in fear of treading on your freedoms or your feelings?"

  Miranda felt her anger flare within her. "I am not some damn peasant to be used and spat out as part of a game played by the rich and powerful! I am not a pawn to be moved around by you, Prince Antiochus or any Master of Soldiers and all their bloody legions! If that is your opinion of my worth then I will go right now."

  "Go where?" Quirian asked innocently.

  "I would rather sleep on the street than in the house of one who treats me like a slave," Miranda snarled. "And after that, I cannot believe there is no hospital in this city that would value my talents."

  She stood up, her anger burning hotter than the pain of her leg. Quirian likewise rose to his feet.

  "Forgive me, please, Filia; I see I have offended you far more than I meant. Please, I beseech you, do not go. I have no talent for words, I have not sold you this opportunity as it deserves. Please, it is not so dangerous as you seem to think. And I assure you with all of my heart that the Prince Antiochus and I value you extremely highly. You are worth more to us than all of the strength of the Imperial Guard. My words...I merely meant to remind you that you cannot stand aloof from this struggle. Whether you will or not it will find you, as it will find all of the Empire unless you find a way to maintain the peace. You will be saving many lives, Filia."

  "You have no idea if I can do as you ask," Miranda said. I have no idea if I can do it.

  "I have every confidence in you," Quirian said. "Please, Filia, will you not sit down."

  Miranda sat, watching Quirian warily.

  "Filia Miranda," Quirian said. "Why do you heal the sick? Why use your gift at all?"

  "For money," Miranda replied. "What else could I do that would make me so wealthy and respected?"

  "Indeed, but surely it must please you when your grateful patients thank you for the gift of life which you have given them?" Quirian asked.

  Miranda looked away. "It is pleasant."

  Quirian chuckled. "Think how many people will thank you when you avert a war between the dukes and counts. Think how many lives you will save. Think how many innocents will owe their lives to you. You will be the greatest hero in the Empire's history and for once this nation will have a hero who did not start a war but rather averted one. You will showered with gold and honours in equal measure, a statue will be erected to your glory in Imperial Square. Miranda Callistus, your hour has come, the Empire has need of you." Quirian got down on his knees before her and grasped Miranda's legs in supplication. "I am on my knees, Filia, and through me the whole Empire is on its knees begging you to save it."

  Miranda didn't know where to look. But she could not say that she was unimpressed by his arguments, nor unconvinced. And he did offer her opportunities greater than any she would get anywhere else.

  Miranda sighed. "I will not risk my life for you, but until the knives come out I am at your service, and the service of the prince. When do we start?"

  Quirian beamed broadly. "Excellent, Filia, this is absolutely excellent news! We shall start tomorrow, I think, assuming you feel strong enough. For now, I shall let you get what hours of sleep remain to you. Lucifer, will you show Filia Miranda back to her room? I must go tell Prince Antiochus." Quirian bounced excitedly from the room, all but rubbing his hands in glee. Metella followed, a study in serenity by comparison.

  "Lord Quirian would have been a great actor, I think, had he chosen not to go into politics," Miranda said.

  "Is there any difference, other than the size of the stage?" Lucifer asked. "Will you take my arm, Filia?"

  Miranda regarded him with a mixture of incredulity and disdain. "Really?"

  "It will cost you nothing, Filia, and Lord Father would appreciate your indulgence."

  Miranda rolled her eyes and slipped her arm into the crook of Lucifer's.

  "Thank you, Filia Miranda," Lucifer said as he began to lead her back the way Lysimachus had brought her. "If I may ask, Filia, why do manners discomfort you so?"

  "Because my brother talks like that all the time and I am absolutely sick of it," Miranda said. "He wears his affectations like armour, concealing his hypocrisy and brutality beneath them. I hate that about him, and it's only gotten worse as he's got older.."

  "I'm sorry," Lucifer said. "But, I assure you, Filia, we are not like that here. We hide nothing. Lord Quirian hides nothing. He is the first gentleman of the Empire in truth. He would never lie to you."

  "Really?" Miranda had never met anyone who had never lied, but she supposed she ought to reserve judgement until she had gotten to know her host a little better.

  "Can I ask you something?" Miranda said. "Why is the house decorated in this fashion? All these mosaics of bygone days?"

  "My lord father is very interested in the antique past," Lucifer said.

  Miranda frowned. "If Lord Quirian is your father then why did he introduce you to me as his captain rather than as his son?"

  Lucifer hesitated. "Oh, yes, I apologise, I forgot you did not know. I am not my lord's son, nor is Metella his daughter nor any other member of the lost though we will all refer to our Lord Father. The name pleases him and we are happy to oblige. Lord Quirian is well known in Eternal Pantheia as a great philanthropist, and the height of his generosity is that he takes lost, gifted children from the city and from all over the Empire and gives them a home in his house. There are near two hundred of us in total, all orphans of the world who would have been abandon
ed to fate's cruelty where it not for our Lord Father and his kindness. He has raised us, taught us pride, honour and courtesy and in return we serve him as his warriors, protectors and defenders."

  "Warriors?"

  "Many of us have magical gifts, in some form or another," Lucifer said. "In fact I doubt there is such a large association of magic users anywhere in the Empire outside of the Corps of Mages. The rest of us are skilled fighters in our own right."

  Miranda pursed her lips. While she appreciated the idea of taking children who would otherwise have perished in poverty or worse, the fact that Lord Quirian expected those children to repay him by making them risk their lives in his service was a notion she could not find less than odious. She hardly felt in a position to say that at the moment however, and so she said nothing as she allowed Lucifer to lead her back to the room in which she had awoken. When they arrived at the top she collapsed into bed without even getting undressed, her eyes closed almost instantly as she was engulfed by sleep.

  III

  Aurelia's Heir

  Miranda's eyes opened as the sounds of the city abuzz floated in through the open window of her tower room.

  She half sat up, and looked around. Her room was spacious, considering what it was, with Xarzian carpets on the floor and the walls painted with frescoes of every day life: ploughing the fields, baking bread, feast days and the like. From out the window she could see smoke rising from all over the city, and hear the sounds of all the commerce of life beginning around her.

  "I trust you slept well, dear?"

  Miranda started as she realised that there was someone else in the room with her. An old woman, her hair long and black and streaked with grey, sat on a stool at the foot of the bed regarding Miranda keenly. In her hands she held a pair of knitting needles, which clacked together as she worked them furiously without ever once taking her eyes off Miranda.

  "Have you been watching me sleep?" Miranda demanded.