Gideon nodded. "Indeed. For many years after Lucretia's death the peoples of Pelarius remained in fear of the Aurelian magic, of its potential for devastation if turned to ill intent. As Lucretia's descendants multiplied in hiding, some of them regained the magic their forebears had lost. All those found were put to death."
"Even if they had done no wrong?" Michael asked. "'Tis barbaric, lord."
"Perhaps," Gideon said. "Certainly the Empire has pursued no such policy, but I think that owes as much to greater remove as to greater wisdom. In any case, one of Aurelia's descendants was a man named Cassander, who was determined to save his people if he could. He gathered up fellow Aurelians, as many as could be found, and took them to a fortress he established in northern Deucalia and named Aureliana. Cassander was himself possessed of the magic, as were some others, and that power united was sufficient to ensure that they would be disturbed.
"In time it became less a case of being undisturbed by violent neighbours and more of coercing those neighbours with the threat of magical violence. Turma, Antigenea, Secaenia, Deucalia, even Corona fell under the spell of the Aurelians, who became known as cunning politicians and manipulators of men and nations. Though never a large city, Aureliana became the dominant power in the region even as its people remained shut away from the outside world so that none might know how few of them truly possessed the godlike power that held the world in awe.
"And then the Empire entered their world. Whether they were aware of us beforehand I do not know, but I would guess they found little to trouble them in news of wars away in the west, or even of the fall of Tarquinia and Argonia, states remote to them and little known. In any case, by a little more than five and a half centuries ago the Empire had conquered all the states that had bowed before the Aurelian might, or rather the shadow of it. If the Aurelians had been aware of the Divine Empire before that then they cannot have learned much of its customs for they expected to browbeat and bully the Empire as they had the states that had come before it. They were shocked when the Prince-Imperial demanded their submission to the purple throne.
"There was in Aureliana at that time but one person, Cynane by name, who possessed the Aurelian magic. Under instructions from the Prince of Aureliana, she used her power to destroy the city of Demodocia, and Prince Demetrius was informed that Eternal Pantheia would follow if he did not submit to the Aurelians. His Highness declared that he would share in the fate of the capital while he ordered his army to march on Aureliana and put its people to the sword."
"Was that wise, my lord?" Michael asked. "To stand up for one's cause, to risk death for it, is a fine and noble thing; but for a great prince to risk the destruction of his city and the death of his people for no purpose is foolhardy."
Gideon affixed him with a cold, unwavering gaze. "We are the Empire, Michael, tasked by Aegea herself to spread justice to all lands and peoples. 'This is your destiny, my precious son, my brave and faithful children: to rule all peoples by command, to order their lands and impose on them the custom of peace; to lift up the humble and wear down the proud with arms. And be just, as I have taught you justice.' We do not submit to threats, no matter the power which backs them.
"Fortunately, Cynane was sickened by the destruction she had wrought and fled Aureliana in secret. Her people could not find her. They were defenceless when the Imperial Army arrived. Aureliana was besieged, stormed and sacked. All those within were killed, save one: Quirian."
"But you said yourself this was five hundred and fifty years ago my lord," Michael said. "How could the same man still be alive after all this time?"
Gideon paused for a moment. "The barbarian tribes of Mavenor believe that if you eat the heart of another man then you obtain all that man's bodily abilities: strength, speed, years of life. A disgusting practice. They're absolutely right of course but still, quite disgusting. Quirian has devoured so many that not only has he probably achieved practical immortality by now but he has done so while not appearing to age a day over thirty five.
"I am glad you told me this after we ate, my lord," Michael said, feeling his stomach. "For now I fear I have lost my appetite. If I may, I still do not understand what Quirian wants with Miranda. If she were Aurelia reborn then I might understand wanting her for a weapon, but all Miranda can do at present is heal wounds. Valuable as that is, is it worth such manoeuvres to obtain her?"
"Some might say so," Gideon said. "But you not quite correct, healing is all Miranda could do when last you saw her."
"It has been but three nights, my lord."
"Quirian intends to develop Miranda's power, to make her into, as you put it, an Aurelia reborn. Then he will use that power to destroy the Empire."
Michael shook his head. "Even if she could do so, Miranda would not."
"Do not be so certain," Gideon said. "Quirian is very persuasive."
"I do not frankly care if he is Joseph Silvertongue reborn, I am her brother and I know my own sister well enough to say she will not deal out death and mayhem on the word of any man," Michael snapped. He and Miranda had not always gotten along, but he thought he could say that of her. Miranda was proud, sometimes, self-righteous, yes, and narrow-minded on occasion; but she had never been cruel, nor had she ever loved pain or bloodshed. That was him, not her. She would not do it, not for gold nor glory.
Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I apologise for my unseemly outburst, lord, I was rendered out of myself by worry. Punish me as you see fit."
"I see fit not to," Gideon said. "As for the rest: I believe you. I have little choice but to believe you, given that you know Miranda and I do not. But that does not improve things: Quirian will offer her the chance to aid him, but if she does not he will kill her and take her power for himself."
"Take her..." It was with great resolve that Michael beat off the desire to wretch. "You mean he will cut out Miranda's heart and eat it?"
"Fortunately it is not quite that simple," Gideon said. "Her powers are not yet at their fullest, and I believe Quirian still desires to win her to his cause of her own volition. In any case, the unique nature of Miranda's powers makes stealing them a more difficult undertaking. And that gives us time to yet win all.
"Miranda's power is a mingling of the magics of body, mind and spirit. Simply eating her heart would be completely pointless because of that fact. Thanks to the need to maintain that combination, matters are a little more complex.
"There are three kinds of magic: body, mind, spirit. Magic of the Body is sometimes called elemental magic, and refers to magic granting the mage - this is the magic performed by mages - power to manipulate earth, air, fire, wood or lightning by effort of will.
"Magic of the Mind is also called Sorcery, performed of course by sorcerers, and relies upon the use of memorised spells channelled through conduits such as wands or staffs in order to achieve the desired results.
"Magic of the Spirit is the most powerful of all the kinds of magic, though also the one which Miranda possesses least of relative to the others. Use of it is complicated, but at its heart the spirit warrior steps out of his or her body and into the realm of the spirit, while still standing sufficiently in the mortal plane to use said spirit to influence events. Do you follow me so far Michael?"
"Um," Michael frowned. "Somewhat, my lord; spirit magic rather confuses me."
"Never mind that now," Gideon said. "In order to take Miranda's power for himself, Quirian requires a very specific weapon: one of the Godslayer blades forged by the Young Gods to defeat their parents. Fashioned out of thunderbolt iron and wrought about with spells to absorb the strength and souls of their enemies and trap them within the weapons. If Quirian slays Miranda with such a blade then her soul and consciousness and all her magical power, whether it be elemental, sorcery or spirit magic, will be trapped within the sword and, so long as he holds the sword, Quirian will be able to draw upon all of it, added to his own already prodigious strength and all the power that is within the sword already."
"But the Godslayers were destroyed by the gods themselves when they abandoned mankind, my lord," Michael said. "So that none could ever turn them against the Novar themselves."
"So it is said, and so I believe to be the case, largely," Gideon said. "Unfortunately it appears that not every single sword was destroyed: Quirian and I believed based on memory and written account that the Aurelians had possessed the sword of Cupas, Semper Fidelis. It was not taken by the army during the sack - or at least it is not recorded, and such a find would have been difficult to keep secret - and so it seems most likely that the sword is still there, hidden in the ruins. We must find it before Quirian does."
"But surely Quirian will have gotten the sword from Aureliana long since?"
"He cannot," Gideon said. "When Cynane learned of the city's destruction, she returned to her home and cast a spell over it that none but her bloodline should be able to find the place. Quirian cannot return to Aureliana without one of Cynane's descendants to guide him."
"Oh," Michael said. "I suppose that is your purpose is saving me then, my lord." It was childish, but he had hoped to be valued for his skills and qualities, not for his blood.
"On the contrary Michael, I think you'll prove very useful to me in a great many ways. Perhaps you will even prove more useful to the Empire than myself."
Michael started to shake his head, before something Lord Gideon had said earlier caught up with him. "My lord, you said 'Quirian and I believed...' I do not understand what you meant by that."
"Ah," Gideon said bashfully, looking down at this feet for a moment. "I think I said rather too much there. Did you not wonder, Michael, how a Lord of the Commenae came to be out in the provinces alone and dressed like a tramp? Or how I know so much of his plans? The truth is that I knew Quirian, I was suspicious of him when he came to court and, when I found out what he was, I decided that the best course would be to spy upon him further.
"I convinced Quirian that I was a willing ally, resentful of the achievements of my elder brother Bardas and the resultant fame and praise showered upon him. Quirian took me into his confidence, and it was then that I learned about his past, his plans, and about Miranda and what he would need to do to take her power for his own. Unfortunately, before I could move against Quirian, he discovered that I was not the friend he had thought me. He killed Bardas while pinning the blame upon me; I had to flee Eternal Pantheia before I was arrested and put to death. I have spent the last ten years roaming the Empire attempting to stop him...without much success."
"Because no one will believe you after you have been so accused," Michael said. "I am sorry about your brother, my lord. Truly, I know how hard it is."
"It's all in the past now, think nothing of it," Gideon said, with studied casualness. "Only the Empire matters now."
Michael's brow furrowed. "You are not alone any more my lord. I know so great a lord and fierce a soldier as the Empire's First Sword has little need for a gladiator's help, but I beg you to accept the offices of this poor bondsman for as long as you may require them."
Gideon chuckled. "You are not a slave any longer Michael, Luke Dolabella, the son of your late master, is amongst the column. He has a writ freeing you." Gideon stood up, still dressed in the various shades of grey he had been wearing the night before. He was a tall man, over six feet tall and at least half a foot taller than Michael himself, with a stentorian nose and, of course, those penetrating green eyes that put the fear of God into Michael every time their eyes met. He put on a black sable cloak, which rippled in the wind. "If, as a freedman, you will enter into my service in turn, and join with me to save this great nation from its enemies, then you will have my undying gratitude."
"No gratitude from lords to servants is required, my lord," Michael said. He rose from his seat only to descend onto one knee, taking up his spatha from where it lay upon the ground nearby, drawing it from its scabbard, and presenting it to Gideon.
"This blade, my lord, is no great weapon of great antiquity or powerful magic. It has no lineage, it has not felt the touch of my father or grandfather or my grandfather's father. It is nought but a sword, plain and ordinary, one of a hundred hundred thousand just the same. But it is mine, as my life is mine, as my pride is mine, as my honour is mine, and though they be as common as this sword they are each in their way as dearly held and precious to me. And they are yours, my lord, as I am yours, blade, body and soul. Do with me as you will."
Gideon looked at him for a moment, eyes all-seeing and inscrutable, before he reached out and placed his hand gently upon Michael's forehead. "You are a good fellow. I have no doubt you'll serve me well. Now rise up. Receive your freedom, see to your people. You may be glad to know that your fellow gladiator, the fire drake Wyrrin, survived his injuries as well, though they seem to be taking longer to heal than yours."
"I am glad he lives," Michael said. "I owe him my life. With your permission, my lord."
Gideon nodded, a ghost of a smile upon his face. "Dismissed."
Michael bowed from the waist - something which made half his body begin to ache with a throbbing pain, a reminder that Lady Silwa had helped his healing along, but not healed him so completely as Miranda might have done - and turned away, heading into the mass of campfires and the huddled throngs of the folk of Lover's Rock. Scattered piles of belongings, all that could be carried upon a strong back, lay haphazardly upon the ground as he trod delicately around them: household icons of Turo and Miranda, Turo's daughter; bundles of clothes and blankets; sacks of bread and salted fish; coins peaking out of purses; rusted swords and heavy sticks, boathooks and fishing poles. Women clutched shawls around their bodies for warmth, mothers hugged children to their breasts, men cooked food over open fires, husbands comforted their wives. The local priest - Michael was glad to see that he had escaped the Rose - had rescued the sacred treasures and the holy scrolls from the temple, and was leading a score of people in prayer to God for the deliverance of the province and a safe journey to Davidheyr. Michael knelt unobtrusively at the edge of the crowd, bent his head, and closed his eyes in prayer.
O God, King, Shepherd, Author and Ordainer of All Things, watch over the faithful this day and in all the days to come. Let the wars be ended as the storms at sea come to an end, and let peace reign in this land as stillness reigns upon the waves once the clouds are gone. And let my sister live, let her grow old, let her know love, let her live a life filled to the brim with joy, let her look back in dotage and know that she did well. Let her live, O God I pray to you, and you may do with me as you see fit.
As Michael stood up again the priest called out. "The blessings of God be upon you, Michael; for on that night of terrors you were his instrument."
The congregation turned to stare at him, as did others who had not been worshipping. Michael looked down at his hands. Absent an arena pit and wall to separate him from the crowd, their attentions were less pleasant to endure, especially since he did not feel particularly like God's sword.
"Thank you, Michael; and God bless," some called out.
"You saved my life, Michael, you saved my son," Nathan the carpenter said. "A thousand blessings on you."
"Hurrah for the Last Firstborn!" someone called. "Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" came the shout echoing from a multitude of different throats. At which point Michael did the only thing that a hero could do in this situation, and bowed.
"Your praise humbles me," Michael murmured. "I am but a sword, and I did nought but what a blade is made to do."
He walked away, in search of Luke Dolabella, though whenever someone rose from their seats to thank him he murmured some small words of acknowledgement, touched the hands of any who reached out to clasp his palm in their own.
He had not been lying when he said that he was humbled by it. He had known himself to be - barring the occasional disgraceful display - a popular gladiator in Lover's Rock, and in Corona. But he had never thought himself well-loved as a man in the town he had grown up in, not after the t
hings that he had done in his younger days. This...this he had not dreamt of.
Do you see, Miranda? I am more than just a performing seal?
He found Luke Dolabella sitting by himself, with his own fire shared by no one, befitting the wealthiest man in Lover's Rock and the most gently bred. He started a little at Michael's approach, as if he feared the Crimson Rose had returned to murder him as they did his father. "Oh, Michael. I didn't hear you."
"I am sorry, sir, I shall try to walk with heavier tred in future," Michael said earnestly. "Pater Dolabella, I grieve for your father's passing. He was a gentleman and a good master. You have my condolences."
Master Luke nodded absently. "And you have my thanks, Michael. Without you I'd be dead. So would a lot of others."
"I was fortunate, sir," Michael said. "If any Thomas or Magdalene had lived and I had died they would have done the same."
"Perhaps," Master Luke murmured. "But they're dead...as my father is dead. They're dead and we're alive. It doesn't seem right, does it."
"I have no doubt that God has some plan in mind for you, sir," Michael said.
That raised the edges of Master Luke's lips. "Me? You're the one whom the high lord is asking for, not me. Not that I blame him, I wouldn't even know which end of a sword to pick up." He looked up. "You know, when we were young I was so jealous of you."
Michael blinked. "Forgive me, Pater, but I do not know what I possessed in younger days that should have made you jealous, unless it was the love of a brother and sister quickly lost."
Luke Dolabella shook his head. "When my old man brought you, took you in, I thought...I thought he might love you more than he loved me. You were so strong even then, so tough, you were what a Coronim man should be. I...my hands are stained with ink, not calloused by a blade."
"I have no doubt your father loved you just the same, sir," Michael said. "And whatever courtesy Master Dolabella showed to me was no more than he displayed to any of his servants."
Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) Page 15