Michael bowed his head in shame. "When I was young, after my brother died...I was very angry. There were two men in my village, if they were not with the Crimson Rose they sympathised with them at the very least. Many a night they would get drunk and sing the praises of the heroes of the Crimson Rose, the only brave men in all Corona who dared to strike back against the occupiers. None dared cross them, nor even speak against them, for fear that the Rose would exact retribution. But I felt as though all I loved had already been taken from me so, one night, when they were drunk, I ambushed them, tortured them...and killed them. I set their bodies adrift upon the ocean in their own fishing boat, none knew what I had done." He closed his eyes, trying not to let the memories of that night of blood and anguish overwhelm him. May God forgive him but he had enjoyed it. It was the first time he had ever enjoyed causing pain. "I fear that they have every right to claim my soul but...I do not want them to."
Metella was silent for a moment. She said, "The powers of heaven are merciful, they say. They will forgive you, even if the Furies do not."
"Do I deserve to be forgiven, after what I have done?"
"Everyone deserves to be forgiven, if they are truly penitent."
"That is what I am afraid of," Michael murmured. "If you will forgive me, Filia Metella, you have twice now intervened to save my soul. May I ask why?"
Metella was quiet for a while. "Because I would save everyone, if I could."
Michael bowed his head and touched his forelock. "I am right grateful to you, Filia. You have my thanks for the second time."
"I do not do this for gratitude, or to store up favours with you," Metella said. "Only because it is the right thing to do. Now, I think it is time for you to leave. I believe your friends in the mortal world are trying to wake you."
She touched her fingers gently to his forehead, and Michael awoke to find Jason shaking him to tell him it was his turn to go on watch that night.
Amy's eyes snapped open, her head turning away as she flinched from the harshness of the sun.
"You looked happy about something just now," Michael observed from where sat nearby, cooking breakfast. "Having a good dream, our Amy?"
"Something like that," Amy said. She didn't particularly want Michael knowing that she had dreamt of him swearing fealty to her despite the fact, or maybe because, he might have actually done it. It was not a new dream; she had been having ones like it for years. She would do some great deed, and her grandfather would knight her, pronounce her worthy to be his heir, and bestow upon her Magnus Alba and all his lands and titles. Michael and Felix bowing to her as her vassals, though, they were new; that had only happened since she came back on land. Unfortunately the idea of them growing gills to let them live under the sea - the idea of Felix coming back to life - was actually less ridiculous than her grandfather naming her his heir.
At least he's not around here to sneer at me. Amy sat up, "What's for breakfast?"
"Scrambled eggs with smoked salmon," Michael said, not looking up from the cooking pot.
"Really? Oh bless you." Amy crawled closer, sniffing the delicious aroma. Eggs had been the thing she had missed most of all the food she had been deprived of under the sea, and scrambled eggs and smoked salmon most of all. It had been her favourite, and by the way her stomach had just startled growling like some kind of desperate animal it still was.
Michael grinned. "I'm glad you haven't changed that much. I knew you'd still like this."
The company crowded around to recieve and then to eat.
"You have rebuked me in the past for not acting as someone of my so-called station should," Jason observed. "And yet, now you are leader, you still act as a servant. Do you not perceive any hypocrisy there?"
"I do not, Your Highness," Michael said. "Were I the highest prince in all the land still I would hold my cherished friendships dearer to me than rich crowns, and nurture them after long absence like watering a garden after drought. Besides, petty fault finding of this type ill becomes a prince of royal line."
"And another thing, why do you talk like that to me and not to Amy? You weren't speaking so ridiculously a moment ago."
"I spoke not to a prince a moment ago," Michael said.
Amy didn't know what Jason was complaining about. She wouldn't have wanted Michael to talk like that when he was talking to her as a friend, but it was the right tone for a commander to strike. It was the way Ser Viola spoke when she gave orders to her naiads-at-arms, and the way her lord grandfather spoke to his fealtor lords. She liked Grandfather better when he spoke like that than when he was sneering at her. Unfortunately, she had not quite got the hang of that tone herself.
"How far along do you think we'll get today?" Amy asked. It had been six days since they had crossed the river into Deucalia province, and in that time they had encountered no notable strangers after that visit from Quirian's servant. Amy's sword was starting to itch for action.
"I think we should reach the outskirts of Eena today, if we have a good march," Michael said. "Then we will turn north, and skirt the forest boundaries before sneaking towards the ruins at the shortest point."
"Are we sure that this is a strictly necessary course of action?" Jason said. "Who is to say that we will be better guardians of Semper Fidelis than the ruins will? After all, Quirian cannot even find the place."
"He can with Miranda's help, Your Highness," Michael said. "If, as it appears, Miranda has been duped by Quirian then we must expect her to help him in this venture."
"That still doesn't prove that it would be any safer with us," Jason said. "Quite the opposite in fact; our possession of the blade will simply encourage him to seek us out and take it from us in turn."
"All to the good, if that be the case," Michael said. "If it was the Eldest we spoke of, or some monster beyond our comprehension, then I might concede Your Highness' point; but Quirian is but a man and any man may be slain with a well placed blade. If he seeks us out then we may kill him quick and prevent undue bloodshed. I say let him come if that is his desire."
"You shouldn't be blinded by your desire for battle," Jason said. "Quirian may be a man, but that is no guarantee that we could defeat him and it is certainly no reason to seek out an encounter we may not win."
"No true warrior shrinks from a fight on the grounds that he may lose," Wyrrin said.
"That is why so many true warriors die," Jason replied.
"And what would you do instead?" Amy said shortly. "You seem to have criticisms but no ideas."
Jason's purple eyes flickered towards her, and he shuffled his feet for a moment. "If what the girl Octavia said is true, if Miranda Callistus is not a prisoner but a willing agent of Quirian, then we may have to consider the possibility of-"
Michael leapt to his feet. "Your Highness, I strongly advise you not to finish that sentence."
"Be reasonable," Jason said, apparently unaware that he was within moments of losing his teeth, or perhaps an eye. "We came here not to save your sister but to save the people of this country from a danger that, for better or worse, she is a part of. She may be the greater threat than Quirian in all this, she is the one with the magic."
Michael was quivering with rage, his hands knotted, and Amy knew that unless Jason shut his mouth he would be in for a beating that would make any previous suffering he had endured look mild.
"You do not know Miranda," Michael hissed. "She would never hurt anybody. A shooting star lit up the sky on the night that she was born, and snow fell upon her baptism as testament to the innate goodness of her soul. She would not use her magic for evil, not ever! You cannot kill her because you fear what she is capable of. I will not allow it."
"Are you really willing to risk the lives of everyone in Pelarius rather than face up to what has to be done?" Jason said. "If she can be fooled by Quirian then she might be fooled by others too. Gideon, you know that this is the rational choice."
Michael's head whipped round, his eyes imploring as he shook his head desperat
ely. "Gideon, no."
Gideon said nothing for a long while. He rarely said anything when questions of command arose. Amy had been puzzled by that at first - she had got the impression that Gideon liked the sound of his own voice - but then she had realised that he did not want to control, or be seen to control, Michael. He wanted Michael to make his own decisions, and if he strongly disagreed then he would say so only in private.
Yet he could not avoid speaking now. After clearing his throat he said, "That was indeed the manner with which the Aurelians were dealt in times past. But we of the Empire have always taken a more honourable attitude to our enemies. We do not strike at them until they give us cause."
Amy frowned a little at that - since when had Gideon been concerned with honour? - but Michael looked too relieved to notice.
"Foolishness," Jason said, failing to recognise the point at which he should have let well enough alone. If he had stopped after Gideon made his feelings clear then he might have gotten off without bruises. "No one person's life is worth the whole world. You cannot stand upon niceties when the stakes are so high. Would you really risk all Pelarius rather than do what must be done?"
"Yes!" Michael screamed. "I am her brother, her firstborn, her protector. I may not have defended her from her foes but I can at least defend her from my friends. And if the world should perish from my actions then I shall plead to God that I did my duty and trust it is enough to excuse the crime. One more word, Your Highness, one more and I swear to God that I shall spill your blood upon the ground."
Amy had noticed that there was a particular kind of stupidity that was unique to clever people. It was often seen amongst stewards and envoys. And she was seeing it in Jason now as he continued to plough on. "If you would put aside your feelings for a moment and-"
Michael bared his teeth, reached for Duty, and drew a foot of blade from its scabbard before Amy managed to grab his arms and hold him fast. Tullia was on her feet, knife in hand, her expression filled with alarm.
"Let go!" Michael yelled.
"No," Amy said. "Michael, you're in charge now; that means you have to calm down."
"But he said-"
"I know what he said, but he's not worth it and you can't carry on like you did when we were little. Look at me. Look at me!" Amy grabbed him by the chin and wrenched his face so that he was looking into her eyes. "I promise that nobody is going to hurt Miranda. I promise." Amy had been indifferent to Miranda growing up, she had known that Miranda was jealous of her but hadn't cared, not even noticing her most of the time. But that didn't mean she wanted to see her dead on account of something she was born with. "No knight ever won the respect of his peers by using his sword or his fists to keep them in line."
Some of the anger drained from Michael's eyes, and he sighed deeply.
"I know," Amy said. "But it'll be all right, I swear it."
Michael smiled wryly. "I'm supposed to be the one who says that."
Amy smiled. "We all need reassurance sometimes."
Michael nodded, glared at Jason, then turned away and stalked off. Amy looked at Tullia, and raised one eyebrow. Unspoken, Tullia understood her thoughts, and nodded.
Jason shook his head, "I'm glad that some of you comprehend s-" his words were transformed into a squawk as Amy grabbed him by the collar, hauled him up onto his toes and punched him on the jaw so hard he fell right back onto his arse on the ground again.
"I don't much care whether you respect me or not," Amy said. "Bastards don't inherit where I come from so you're no prince as far as I'm concerned. You're just a spoiled brat who thinks he was hard done by."
"And you're nought but a bloodthirsty brute," Jason said, rubbing his cheek.
"I wasn't the one talking about murdering an innocent girl," Amy said. "You can't just kill people because you think they might be dangerous! Your brother and the Novar church say you're dangerous but I don't see you lying down for the butcher's knife."
"That's different," Jason said.
"How?"
"Miranda really is dangerous."
Amy laughed. "I may not be her brother, but when I was little I went to Miranda to ask her to fix my eyes. I wanted them both blue; as deep as the ocean and sparkling like sapphires to boot. She couldn't do it, but she tried as hard as anything. She didn't like me, she might even have hated me as far as I know, and she could probably have struck me blind but she didn't. Because that's who Miranda is. Maybe that's why she's got all that magic, because God knows that she'll use it right."
Jason opened his mouth again, but it was Tullia who spoke first, "That's enough, Your Highness. That is more than enough." The mage's face was pale with fury, her voice sounded barely under control. "How can you suggest such a thing? To ask a brother to kill his own sister, or to stand by while she is killed which amounts to the same. After the way you have been treated by your own brothers, by the church, have you no compassion?"
"I have to think of-"
"No one who is worth saving would wish to be saved by such an act of vileness," Tullia said, giving him no chance to speak. "If you become threatened by my lightning magic will you kill me too? I have never before been ashamed to be your bodyguard, Highness, but I am now. To the depths of my soul I am ashamed."
"I hope if nothing else you can see how crass your behaviour was," Gideon murmured.
Jason flinched from Tullia's disapproval. It was strange the way he did that, it was not how nobles behaved in Amy's experience. It was like he wanted her to like him. She couldn't decide if that was a point against him or a point in his favour.
"I only wanted to make him see," Jason said. "If Miranda turns against him he may have no choice but to fight her whether he wants to or not."
"You can't expect him to be happy about it can you?" Amy asked.
"I suppose not," Jason said. "Do you think I ought to apologise?"
"I think you ought to make yourself scarce for now," Amy said. "Don't go near him till he has a chance to calm down. He'll forgive you easily enough, but only once he doesn't want to stove your face in."
"Amy!" Michael shouted. "Get them ready, we march at once!"
"Right," Amy yelled back. She turned back to Jason, "He hasn't calmed down yet."
They did not quite reach the forest that day, though the great mass of tall trees were within view by the time Michael called a halt. Jason could feel his legs trembling beneath him so badly he had to lean on his staff for support. Michael had set a gruelling pace, striding out far in front of the others, occasionally looking back to give Jason a dirty look.
Jason was beginning to doubt Amy's assessment that he would be forgiven. He knew that what he'd said must have been difficult to hear, but damn it all somebody had to think about these things. You couldn't go through life expecting everything to turn out fine just like a story. Especially not a Coronim story, where the heroes were always valiant, the princes always noble, the ladies always graceful and right always triumphant. He had not read any of them personally, but he had read a treatise on pre-conquest mythologies which had scathingly condemned the Matter of Corona for its flat, archetypal characters, black and white morals and trite plotting. In fact, the impression he had gotten was that all those stories were intended primarily to indoctrinate the masses and lead them towards correct behaviour. And yet life was not like that. Not every prince was a hero, not every hero was made of marble, not every choice was as simple as that between right and wrong, and people had to acknowledge that for their own good and that of the people around them.
If it did come to battle between Michael and Miranda, then Michael would not just be able to appeal to filial piety and return her to the side of right. Something would have to be done, or else Dido and Sophoniba and all the gang and everyone across the length and breadth of the country would suffer.
There was nothing wrong with idealism; Jason considered himself an idealist. But Michael was a romantic, and that was inexcusable. An idealist knew when to accept reality, a romantic refused to
ever do so.
By the time they see, it may be too late.
"Your Highness," Michael surveyed him with a grim face. "I would have words with you alone, if I may."
Jason hesitated, and Tullia looked wary, one hand reaching for the knife up her sleeve.
"Nay, Filia, I swear I will not harm him," Michael said. "I merely wish to talk."
Tullia nodded, and relaxed her stance. There would be no more help from that quarter.
"Well, Your Highness?" Michael demanded, looking at him expectantly.
With the feeling of a man going to his execution, Jason trod across the grass; following where Michael led until they were sufficiently far from the rest of the group.
Michael gestured to a tree stump, left behind when the rest of the majestic oak was felled. "Please, Your Highness, sit."
Jason did so, keeping an eye on Michael as he sat down with his staff across his knees.
Michael himself sat down upon an uncomfortable looking rock, his face void of expression.
He looked down at his feet for a moment, his hair falling down to obscure his face, before he looked up and began to speak. "I will not apologise for my threats of the morning, Your Highness. All my words were in fear for the safety of my family. And to my familial duty even the deference due to gods and princes must take second place."
"I see," Jason said cautiously. "Did you bring me all this way to tell me this?"
"I was not aware that I had given Your Highness cause for facetiousness," Michael said.
"Sorry," Jason said. "Where did you learn all of these long words?"
"Epic poetry," Michael replied. "Your Highness, I have asked you here so that we might talk more...calmly, about the things that we both said this morning."
Jason blinked. "I thought that we had reached the limits of logical argument."
"I said calm, not logical," Michael said. "When I was a boy, after Miranda was born, my mother taught me that it was my duty to protect her from all harm: to be her shield, her sword also if need be. My life for hers, my happiness for hers, my needs and desires sacrifice to her own. And, later, for Felix's also. That was the code of the Corona Firstborn in ancient days, and that was how she taught me."
Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) Page 43