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

by Frances Smith

  "I offer you real power, Filia, real influence. And if the forms and trappings of democracy mean so very much to you, well then your services are concluded you may take your wealth and buy a rotten borough, appointing your own man to the Chamber to speak the words you tell him and vote as you direct."

  "Your notion of democracy leaves something to be desired," Miranda murmured. "But I see that you will not let the matter rest until I agree, and I will not deny you make more than one good point. I suppose by the time of the next census I will have moved up in the ranks of citizenship yet further, on what you are offering to pay me. My rights will return to me soon enough, I suppose."

  Quirian smiled broadly. "Excellent, Filia. Truly wonderful. I knew that I could rely upon you to see reason. I am glad that we could settle that. I hope that you will also be so reasonable as to retain the services of Abigail and Octavia."

  Miranda rolled her eyes. "Very well. In for a penny, in for a shilling. Or five eternals a day, in my case."

  Quirian clapped his hands together. "Excellent. Excellent. Now, Lord and Lady Maro have invited you to attend a soiree they are holding this evening and, as they are among the most prominent supporters of Prince Antiochus, it would be most remiss if you were not to attend. All other considerations aside it will be an excellent opportunity for you to meet the prince."

  Miranda pursed her lips together. "I would not want to embarrass His Highness, I've no idea how to behave amongst princes and lords."

  "I am sure your natural grace will shine through," Quirian said. Whether he was being sincere or not Miranda could not be sure.

  "Perhaps," Miranda said as she stood up. "In the meantime I suppose you'd like me to start earning my keep, wouldn't you?"

  Quirian said, "If you would like to start now, Filia, I have no inclination to dissuade you. Please, this way." He gestured towards the courtyard, and began to lead her that way.

  The courtyard was large, but deserted save for Captain Lucifer and a small group of people working in one corner of the yard carving stone. Suddenly Octavia burst out of the door and into the courtyard. She had strapped what looked like an armoured leather corset around her waist, and wore a two-handed sword slung across her back, clattering as she ran.

  "Here I am! I'm sorry I took so long getting here."

  Quirian's expression was frigid. "I do not mind the delay, Octavia, so much as I mind you leaving Miranda unattended save for old Abigail."

  "I didn't think she'd be in danger inside the house," Octavia protested.

  "I do not retain you for your ability to think, foolish girl," Quirian replied, each word sharp as a dagger. "In future you will follow your instructions precisely, or I shall put you back where I found you. Would you like that?"

  Octavia's face paled. "Please, Lord Father, forgive me."

  "Then you shall not repeat this mistake?"

  "No," Octavia said, shaking her head rapidly. "No, never. Please, don't send me away."

  Quirian smiled thinly. "Indeed, I shall not. As I am your father, I shall care for you until the end of days." He held out his right hand languidly, a signet ring upon his finger with the design of a lion rampant upon it. Under his eyes Octavia knelt and kissed the ring with what seemed to Miranda to be pathetic gratitude.

  How I despise cringing servility.

  "Come, Filia," Quirian said, his tone warming again. "Let us see what my servants have made for you to bring to life."

  They approached the corner of the courtyard, where a group of servants worked with chisels and hammers upon a large stone statue, laid upon its back, in the vague form of a muscular man. Or possibly a muscular orc, for Miranda had never seen a man so big. When put on its feet, this statue would stand at least ten feet tall, with arms and legs like the trunks of ancient oak trees and a head the size of Miranda's torso. The stonemasons had fashioned it in vaguely human likeness, with representations of muscle along the chest and stomach, but those muscles would hardly do justice to its strength if ever the stone came to life.

  "Aelia," Quirian called out as they drew near. "Is it ready?"

  A girl with flaxen hair and blue eyes turned from supervising the work to bow to Lord Quirian. "I think so, Lord Father. It's mostly solid like you asked, but the old scrolls you gave me on golems makes me think it needs to breathe or it will die the moment the champion stops sustaining it, so I hollowed out a part of its chest for a lung and opened up a mouth and windpipe."

  "That will make it a little more vulnerable, but not distressingly so," Quirian mused. "Filia Miranda, this is Aelia, an earth mage of the Lost. She will take the lead in crafting golems for you to bring to life until your own command of earth magic is sufficient to allow you to create them yourself."

  Aelia smiled. "I'll also be teaching you earth magic in your spare time. The weak points are definitely the joints, Lord Father. We've had to separate the arms and legs at the shoulder, hips, knees and elbow or else I don't think it could move properly. It's like a puppet, with the joints interlocking and attached with iron pins. I don't see how we could avoid it."

  "Armouring the joints?" Miranda suggested. "And the chest, perhaps? After all, every part of a man is his weak point when it comes to being stabbed with swords, but we have created means to work around that."

  Quirian looked thoughtful. "Quite right, Filia. Quite right. I shall consider it at the very least. Now, Aelia, if you would withdraw your section."

  "Yes, Lord Father," Aelia waved the other workers away from the unmoving golem.

  Miranda asked, "Do you want me to get started right away?"

  "Not quite yet, Filia," Quirian replied.

  Lysimachus, Ascanius and Julian ambled out of the house to join the growing party.

  "Morning, love," Ascanius said cheerfully.

  "My name is Miranda," Miranda remarked.

  "I know."

  "These three, as you know, are experienced soldiers. I value their input greatly in matters martial," Quirian explained.

  "I see," Miranda murmured. "Then I'd best try not to disappoint you, hadn't I?"

  "That would be for the best," Ascanius said.

  Miranda gave him an old fashioned look, such as her mother was wont to use to reduce the man who dared remark at her raising three children alone into a mass of quivering shame. Somehow it didn't seem to work so well on Ascanius Posci Castra.

  Miranda sighed, and turned away, concentrating on the statue before her.

  I must bring you to life. And I haven't the faintest idea how to start.

  She approached the golem, or what would hopefully become one, with apprehension. This is ridiculous. If I was descended from a great soldier would they expect me to be able to command an army?

  Probably they would, knowing this country.

  Miranda ran her fingers lightly over the statue, wondering how she could possibly get this creation of stone up on its feet.

  "'And the Young Gods fashioned mankind out of clay and water and their own blood. They hardened them in fire, and set fire within them. Then they breathed the breath of life into them and the clay came to life. Thus were men created," Abigail recited. "Or so the Novar Church teaches, at any rate."

  Miranda paused. "Thank you, Mater Abigail."

  Abigail winked. "You are very welcome, Filia."

  Miranda turned back to the golem, shuffling towards its head, her stick clattering on the courtyard stone. They had given it tourmalines for eyes, and its mouth was open so that it looked to be gawping at something up in the sky. It was awkward, what with the size of its head and her own lack of mobility, but she was able to get close enough to the mouth for what she had in mind.

  Closing her eyes, Miranda reached inside of herself for the power that lay there, teasing it out as she always did when called upon to heal a patient, threading it through the needle-eye of her control, careful not to let it explode out of her in a torrent, but rather trickle out like a stream according to her will. She could feel it building up inside of her, feel the m
agic's eagerness to be used, to be employed. It was always so restless, so impatient with inaction. It wanted release, and for release it would serve any end she wished. Magic gathered in her chest, and ordinarily she would have released it out via her hands. On this occasion though, she kept forcing the power upwards, up through her throat. It felt like choking, like drowning, she wanted to wretch and spit and vomit it all out and it was only her iron control over herself that kept her drawing the magic upwards calmly, carefully, until she breathed it out of her mouth and into the waiting mouth of the golem.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Miranda thought she could hear Ascanius sniggering. Then, the green tourmalines which were its eyes sparked with life and the golem creaked and cracked as it pushed itself off the ground ─ Miranda staggered away from it ─ and rose to its feet. Ascanius Posci cursed as the golem stood, towering over the men around it. Julian Dalassena drew his sword. Lucifer raised his metal-clad arm, and Miranda saw that his long iron gauntlet was covered in all manner of sorcerous incantations. Metella placed herself between Quirian and the golem, her eyes glowing with magical intensity, a blue light gathering in her hands that reminded Miranda of her own magic.

  Abigail, on the other hand, did not seem panicked at all. In fact she looked quite unsurprised by the whole business.

  And Octavia clapped her hands together and quite literally jumped for joy. "You did it! Isn't that wonderful?"

  "Quite right, Octavia," Quirian said, beaming broadly. "Yes, it is wonderful. It is superb! Filia, in a few brief moments you have vindicated my faith in you a thousand times."

  "A walking statue," Aelia murmured. "Did you ever see the like?"

  "I'm not sure I want to," Ascanius muttered.

  "Come now, Ascanius, is this not what His Highness desires?" Quirian asked. "An army loyal to him, and to no other?"

  "It takes more than size to make a soldier," Ascanius said.

  "Indeed, indeed," Quirian said, looking the golem up and down. It stood quite still, its thoughts unreadable. If, indeed, it had any thoughts to speak of. Quirian continued, "Would you like to give it an instruction, Filia?"

  Miranda hesitated, then said, "Turn to the right."

  The golem did so, its steps thudding on the ground.

  "Walk forward," Miranda said.

  The golem started walking.

  "Stop," Miranda commanded.

  "Excellent, excellent," Quirian said. "Run!"

  The golem did not move.

  Ascanius smirked. "He doesn't seem to like you much, m'lord."

  Miranda cleared her throat. "Look at me."

  The golem turned, until the faintly glowing tourmalines were fixed on her.

  Miranda gestured towards Quirian, "This is Lord Quirian. You will obey him. Try again, my lord."

  "Thank you, Filia," Quirian said. "Take one step forward."

  The golem advanced one step.

  Quirian smiled. "Now, kill Miranda Callistus."

  "What?" Miranda squawked in alarm as the golem started to stomp slowly towards her.

  Something shoved into her. Miranda toppled over, the ground rushing to meet her. A pair of strong arms caught hold of her.

  "Here, dear, I've got you," Abigail said softly.

  A shadow fell across Miranda, who looked up to see Octavia standing in front of her, her back to Miranda, facing the golem with her hands held before her.

  "Stay away from her!" Octavia yelled.

  The golem kept moving its legs, but it did not seem to be advancing. It was as though some invisible force was pushing it backwards, so that all its motion could do was keep it stationery.

  "Aulo's tits, lass, are you doing that all by yourself?" Ascanius asked incredulously.

  "Stop!" Quirian commanded, and the golem subsided, sliding backwards across the courtyard as soon as it stopped walking.

  "Octavia, that will do," Quirian said gently. "I apologise, Filia, for startling you. I meant no harm. I merely wished to see if there was a limit to its obedience."

  "You could have warned me first," Miranda growled as Abigail helped her stand upright again.

  "I have apologised," Quirian murmured, sounding hurt. "I must say I am impressed you were able to stop it, Octavia. Well done."

  "Yes, Lord Father," Octavia murmured.

  "You stopped it?" Miranda asked. "How?"

  Octavia half turned towards her and shrugged her shoulders. "I'm an air mage."

  "A bloody powerful one at that," Ascanius said, shaking his head. "To stop something that big and heavy. And while wearing iron, too, you must be a bloody prodigy."

  "I always select the very best for the Lost," Quirian said. "Now, Julian, Ascanius, Lysimachus, what do you think?"

  "He is certainly an imposing fellow," Julian said.

  "But if somebody has to give him an order for every little thing he won't be much of a soldier," Ascanius said. "Walk, run, go forward, stop, kill; I could run rings around him."

  "But you could not kill him," Quirian said. "And he would catch you eventually. You forget, Ascanius, that by the time we are through there will be thousands of these golems standing shoulder to shoulder. Their strength is unmatched, no mortal army will be able to stand against them on the battlefield."

  "Unless they're carrying masons' hammers," Ascanius replied.

  "Ascanius, that's enough," Julian said.

  Ascanius's eyebrows rose, "You trying to give me orders, Optio?"

  Julian rolled his eyes as he sighed, "I'm making a suggestion, that's all."

  "They worry me," Lysimachus had been quiet throughout the demonstration, but now he spoke. "An army that can't think for itself, that obeys every order that it's given, is completely dependent on the morals of the man commanding it. These golems would never have mutinied in Oretar, would they?"

  "No commander wants soldiers who mutiny," Julian murmured.

  "No," Lysimachus said quietly. "But you can bet the poor bastards we spared are grateful for it."

  "I have complete faith in the conscience of Prince Antiochus," Quirian declared. "That will be all, thank you. You may leave us now."

  The three soldiers bowed themselves out. Miranda kept working under Quirian's supervision, raising up fifteen more golems until she grew so tired that Octavia had to carry her to bed, where she napped on and off until late afternoon, when it was time get ready for the reception.

  Miranda shared a palanquin with Lord Quirian on the way to Lord Maro's townhouse. Lord Quirian's toga was blue, sewn with minute crimson lions and fringed with golden thread. His loincloth, again the only garment he wore beneath the toga, was cloth-of-gold, and he wore golden vambraces on his wrists and a gold torque around his neck. His boots were pink. He looked very dandified, in fact, dressed in a matter fitting a younger man than he.

  "You look ready to get drunk and dance on a table," Miranda observed. "You didn't say it would be that kind of party."

  Quirian barked with laughter. "I think you will be safe from that degree of riotous excess, Filia Miranda. I admit that I have done my share of table-dancing in my youth, but never since I became, forgive my lack of modesty, a mover in society and a player at court. Would you grow too cross, Filia Miranda, if I were to compliment you upon how you look?"

  "I would not mind, if you weren't essentially complimenting your own taste," Miranda replied. Quirian had supplied a formal dress for her to wear to the palace, something pure white and pristine, with a bodice tightly tailored to embrace her form and an airy skirt with a layer of lace underneath it. Her white hair had been done up by Abigail in an elegant bun, a few strands of white hanging in artful dishevelment down to frame her face, the whole structure pinned in place by a multitude of sparkling silver hairpins. Lord Quirian had even had a pair of formal slippers specially made to fit her clubbed foot.

  "You should have worn the pearls, my dear, they would have added the perfect touch," Quirian said, referring to a necklace he had offered her which Miranda had refused.

  "I feel
about too much finery as I feel about too much formal language," Miranda said. "The less of it the better."

  "And yet, the ring upon your finger," Quirian remarked, raising one eyebrow.

  Miranda looked down upon the ring on the middle finger of her left hand. It was a diamond, as opaque as glass after a frost had fallen on it, cut in the shape of a square peg and set in a ring of white gold. "It was my mother's ring," she said. "A family heirloom, I think, she had it as long as I could remember. When we were children she used to tell us it was a magic ring that could help her tell when we were lying, not that it was of course but it certainly made Felix confess what he'd done often enough.

  "After mother died Michael pawned the ring for six shillings; he was cheated horrendously, it was worth four times as much."

  "Ten times, at least," Quirian murmured.

  "But we were desperate so he took what he could get, though it broke his heart. As soon as I could afford it I bought it back. Because everything that I deserve I will have, through hard work and determined effort."

  Quirian smiled. "Your determination is truly admirable, Filia. May I take a closer look?"

  Miranda slipped the ring off her finger and handed it to him.

  Quirian peered at it closely, examining it all around. "I do believe that this is an Aurelian ring of power, given to those who had inherited the Aurelian magic. It is the white gold, you see; the Aurelians used the colour white always to indicate magic. These rings were to distinguish the elite of Aureliana, the arch-mages of the city. Given what you have inherited, it is fitting that you should have this ring, rather than either of your brothers."