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

by Frances Smith

  Meinir pointed her staff at Michael and Tullia. "Eldest and Highest, hear my call! Send me forth my servants: Baruel and Bellach!"

  The air in front of Michael and Tullia exploded, and when the flames dispersed two demons barred their way: a warrior, carrying a black sword and clad in armour of scraps and scales and chitin, and a captain clad from head to toe in black armour, covered in spikes and wielding a great axe in his hands.

  "Do you need help?" Fiannuala called.

  Michael looked mildly insulted. "Avenge your mother, Your Highness."

  Fiannuala nodded, and when Meinir leapt from the trees to the ground below, Fiannuala leapt after her.

  "You think yourself angry?" Bellach asked as he advanced on Michael, swinging his black sword lazily. "You think that you have cause for rage? I can feel it boiling off you, but your anger is nothing compared to mine. You cannot hope to match my fury."

  "Is that so?" Michael asked quietly.

  Bellach laughed. He had an ugly face, a cruel face, a leer permanently upon those features devoid of skin, covered only in bloody flesh that looked as though it had been seared like meat. His footprints upon the wood were of ash, and smoke rose from his body. "I have been bound in the Black Abyss for thousands of years, burning in the fires of eternal torment. I have been slave to gods and mortals alike. What rage have you compared to mine?"

  He attacked, swinging his black sword wildly but with great ferocity. Michael gave ground before him, retreating, staying out of reach of the blade, waiting for the abomination to overreach himself. When he did - raising his sword above his head as Amy had during their sparring session - Michael dove under his guard and sank Duty point first under the demon's armpit.

  Bellach howled, and tried to bring his sword down upon Michael's head. Deftly as a flitting bird Michael evaded the blow and sliced through one of Bellach's wretched arms. Bellach screamed, flailing his sword wildly, lunging at Michael like a bear until Michael drove his spatha through the demon's knee.

  "It may be that you have greater rage than I," Michael murmured as he laid Duty's edge against Bellach's throat. "But by the grace of my lord Gideon I have calmed my rage, and now have virtue on my side. And with that, I am more than a match for you and all your fury. I know not if you will die, or return to the fiery pits from whence you came, but either way, you will not trouble this world again for ages long." He sliced the demon's throat, and Bellach turned to ash before his very eyes.

  Michael was about to turn his attention to the demon captain when Tullia sprinted past him, wreathed in magic.

  As Michael engaged the demon warrior, Tullia studied the armoured captain. She could see his red eyes through that black helmet. The way Baruel was looking at her reminded her of the way that Aggaroth, His Highness's familiar, looked at her: with a mixture of desire and contempt, as though he wanted to eat her or worse and could not imagine that she could prevent him from doing so.

  Baruel walked slowly towards her, the axe shifting in his hands.

  "You are well armoured no doubt," Tullia murmured. "But I must confess, I have long wanted to try something against an armoured opponent." Her weariness seemed to fall away from her as she contemplated whether she would have the strength to win this battle, it seemed that Amy was right about the tonic of victory.

  Tullia conjured lightning into the palm of her right hand. She made a fist, and let the lightning magic wreathe it tight as she poured more and more magic, more and more power, more and more energy into the small space around her small hand. She roared, "I am Tullia Athenaeum! I am servant to Prince Jason of the Divine Empire. I carry his honour, I bear his pride, and I fear you not, demon or no." And with that cry she charged straight for the demon captain.

  How jealous will Amy be that I have done this? Tullia asked herself. She will choke with envy that I was here instead of her.

  She drew back her fist as the distance closed, pouring everything she had and did not need to keep running into the magic. She had never used this much energy at once before. This would have to work. She would be nought but a dead fool if it didn't.

  Tullia allowed herself to scream in anger as she drew back to strike.

  Baruel raised his axe to split her in two.

  Tullia ducked his stroke without breaking stride and, her fist glaived in lightning, punched the demon in the chest.

  She felt burning flesh and blood splashing her face and hand, and it was only after a moment of staring dumbly that she realised her hand had gone right through armour and chest and out of the other side, destroying Baruel's heart in the process. Her whole arm was sticky with demonic ichor.

  That worked even better than I expected. She allowed herself a quiet smile as the demon captain dissolved to ash, some of it landing on her and sticking to the ichor covering her face and body.

  "God under the ocean," Michael murmured. "That was...quite incredible, Filia Tullia. Had I the wit I would compose that act into a poem. Lacking the wit I may yet do so regardless, for such a feat is worthy of remembrance alongside the deeds of the ancient heroes."

  "That would be very kind of you," Tullia murmured as she collapsed, exhaustion abruptly catching up with her. "But quite unnecessary. I did nothing but my duty."

  When Meinir landed at the base of the tree circle, the first person she encountered was Amy, who pointed Magnus Alba straight at her.

  "You aren't going anywhere," Amy growled. "Bare your neck for the blade and we may come to think fondly on your dignity in your last moments."

  Meinir shrieked in anger. "Riate, my king! Defend your servant and your queen. Raise up to aid me my guardian: Resnarak!"

  "Not another one," Amy groaned as a guardian demon appeared before her in a burst of flame. He was a green-skinned monster with the head of a bull, the body of a man over thirty feet tall and arms so corded with muscle they were as thick as mighty oak-trees, wearing heavy manacles loaded with chains.

  "Mistress," Resnarak rumbled. "What command?"

  Fiannuala had by now leaped down after Meinir, and so Meinir gestured to her and Amy both. "Kill these fools! Kill them now!"

  "As you wish," Resnarak rumbled, bringing his massive fist down on Amy. Amy leapt out of the way - her armour was the finest, but she wasn't sure she wanted to put it to the test against a fist that size - and rolled along the ground as the brute slashed at the ground with his chains.

  Watch this, Your Highness, and see the kinds of people who go around summoning demons, Amy thought.

  Fiannuala yelled as she charged, but Resnarak turned on her next, drawing back his fist to crush her into nothing.

  Amy snarled as she grabbed one of the trailing chains dangling from his manacles. Resnarak looked at her in confusion, as if he couldn't understand how she was holding his arm back.

  Amy grinned as she hauled back on the chain.

  Compelled by Amy's god-given strength, the demon was pulled howling towards her or, more properly, towards her waiting fist as she punched the monstrous creature between the eyes. The demon roared as it flew backwards, and Amy was shouting now as well as she pulled on the chain with both hands, spinning like an athlete throwing a hammer and whirling the demon on its chain around her head before bringing it slamming into the ground in a crater and a billowing cloud of smoke.

  Leaving Fiannuala to deal with her own personal demon, in the form of Meinir, Amy picked up Magnus Alba and stalked towards the twitching monster.

  "This blade is Magnus Alba," Amy announced as she raised it over his head. "It was made to slay the likes of you. I do not think you will be coming back from this."

  "No," Resnarak moaned.

  "Oh, yes, you spawn of darkness," Amy spat, and slew him with a single blow between the eyes.

  Fiannuala laughed. "Your demons are gone, your warriors are gone, your human allies are gone. Who will you turn to now, Meinir?"

  Meinir bared her teeth. "I don't need any help to deal with you."

  "Then why did you run?" Fiannuala asked. "I promi
se, You'll die screaming by the time I'm done with you."

  Meinir chuckled. "I doubt that." She pointed her staff at Fiannuala as the runes began to glow, "Dala, I call upon the Queen of Forests and Mistress of the Hunt, choke her!" A long green vine shot out from the end of Meinir's staff, intent on wrapping itself around Fiannuala's neck and strangling the life out of her.

  Fiannuala leapt away, raising one hand as she reached out with her wood magic. She summoned a vine of her own down into her hand and swung upon it until she was behind Meinir. With a yell she jumped down upon her mother's killer, spear ready.

  Meinir turned as Fiannuala landed behind her, parrying the spear thrust with her staff.

  Fiannuala drew back for another-

  Meinir's fist slammed into Fiannuala's stomach as firm and hard as a boulder. Fiannuala gasped, bending double and coughing up blood. Meinir grinned savagely as she grabbed Fiannuala's hair and used it to haul her upright before punching her in the face. It was like jumping headfirst into a tree. Fiannuala sprawled on the ground, blood dripping out of her broken nose and several smashed in teeth.

  Meinir kicked her over onto her back, her expression contemptuous, "Did you really think that once you got past my guards and my demons that I would roll over and die? Did you forget who I am, the greatest, most accomplished dryad that has ever lived? I hated your mother, but she made me work for the kill, she was tough. But you...compared to Cerys you are as a weed to a mighty oak." She raised her staff to bring it down on Fiannuala's throat.

  Michael roared as he leapt at Meinir, forcing her to abandon her assault on Fiannuala in order to parry Duty's downward slash.

  "I rather think that ladies of a certain age ought to leave fighting and struggle to younger backs," Michael said as he pressed against her.

  Meinir scowled. "Just what is that supposed to mean?"

  "I was rather hoping, ma'am, that you would turn out to be beastly vain and become terribly offended at an insinuation of your age," Michael said with a smile. "Certainly you pet your hair often enough."

  Meinir broke away, retreating a few paces before attacking him, staff whirling. But she was obviously not a close quarters fighter primarily and Michael was. He drove her steadily backwards. Fiannuala was left behind, out of danger, though she moaned feeble protests as he pushed her mother's killer back.

  Fear not, Princess. Michael thought, blocking another attack and forcing Meinir back further.

  Meinir's expression became furious. "Are you playing with me? How dare you hold back on me you damned human! I am the pride of Eena, the greatest dryad that has ever lived!"

  "A common murderer is what you are," Michael said. "Hardly the act of greatness."

  "You understand nothing. I should have been queen, not Cerys. I was more beautiful than she was, a better sorcerer than she was, the greater warrior. But she was more beloved than I was, though by rights she should have been on her knees begging for everything I had. So why didn't she?"

  "Nobody likes a braggart, perchance," Michael suggested.

  "Shut up! I'm sick of your sententiousness. Fight me seriously!"

  Michael grinned, this would make the crowd roar with approval. "As you wish ma'am." And then in a single deft motion he was underneath Meinir's staff as she swung it round, inside her guard before she could recover, bringing Duty up towards her.

  And then, like a cherry blossom blown away in the wind, Michael cut off Meinir's hair below the nape of her neck and watched the black locks fall slowly down onto the ground.

  "What?" Meinir said. "But... why didn't you?"

  "Your life is not mine to take," Michael said. "A gentleman, after all, does not stand in the way of a comrade's vengeance. Are you quite recovered, Princess Fiannuala?"

  Fiannuala smiled as she stood up, wiping blood away from her mouth, "You bet."

  Michael smiled. "Then I wish you good hunting."

  Fiannuala grabbed hold of her left arm with her right, and felt the strength of Dala's dreams begin to flow through it as she said the words, "I call upon the Lady of the Woods, I call upon the Queen of the Gods, I call upon Dala the Huntress: grant me the strength that I may take my revenge. In the name of the love you bear our people, let your might fill my arm!"

  She winced in pain as the spells she had tatooed into her arm began to glow with an eerie light and her arm swelled up, her flesh turning twisted, rippling wood until her arm and hand resembled the trunk of a gnarled and ancient tree.

  "You used your own arm as the conduit for sorcery?" Meinir said.

  "It can't be taken away from me," Fiannuala said. And then she charged.

  Meinir dodged the first blow of her now massive fist, leaving an equally massive crater in the earth. Fiannuala wielded her spear with her free hand, duelling with Meinir's staff as she tried to get Meinir with her good arm.

  Meinir retreated, "Thirty arrows of magical light!" The arrows flew from her staff. And Fiannuala caught them all, harmlessly, in her sorcerous hand.

  "No!" Meinir gasped.

  "Yes," Fiannuala said savagely, and sprang on Meinir. Her staff shattered under the force of Fiannuala's punch and, filled with a righteous anger, she pinned Meinir to the ground.

  "I worked these spells specifically to kill you with," Fiannuala snarled. "You will never feed the forests of Eena with your corrupt filth: Arus, Lord of Fire, let the flame spring forth from my hand!"

  "No, no!" Meinir screamed as white fire spread out from Fiannuala's hand and consumed her. She kept on screaming as she burned, and Fiannuala drank up her pain and suffering and offered it to her mother as an offering of devotion. The bitch was still screaming as her body was turned to ashes.

  Fiannuala looked up to see Michael looking at her with touch of distaste.

  "Something wrong?"

  "No," Michael said, looking away. "I apologise."

  "Was that the last of them?" Amy asked.

  "It would seem so," Jason said. "The remaining dryads appear to have run off."

  "Where can they go, now that their queen is dead?" Michael asked. "Most likely they will cry pardon at the feet of the king. It is done. Your Highness, it was our pleasure to assist you; I hope that you can take some comfort in your vengeance."

  "This was never about making me feel better," Fiannuala said. "This was about helping mother to rest easier. Thank you, all of you."

  Michael bowed. "It was an honour to fight at your side, Highness. Though we may require a short rest from our exertions before we press on to Aureliana."

  Fiannuala smiled. "If you hadn't mentioned it I would have insisted on it. Eena is yours; welcome, friends, and be at peace within this refuge in the leaves."

  XV

  A Refuge in the Leaves

  The King's brow was lifted, the thunderclouds that marred his face lightening in hope. He spoke in reverent whisper, "Meinir, dead? Is this true, child?"

  "You don't think I'd lie to you about something like this," Fiannuala said loudly. "What kind of a brat do you think I am?"

  "A large one, but that's not the point right now," Cati said. "You did it, you actually...I should not have doubted you."

  "No, you shouldn't."

  The woodland court was silent. Michael and his friends, the dryads who gathered at the edges of the grove to hear the news of Meinir's death, the three princesses, all waited upon the word of the king who sat with his head bowed, his leafy beard stained with tears.

  Gerallt raised his head, his golden eyes wet. "After all these years passed I did not dare to hope...my dear, dear Cerys at last avenged at the hands of her daughter. Dala be praised. The Traitoress is Dead! Dala be Praised!"

  "Dala be Praised! The Traitoress is Dead!" the dryads shouted.

  "The victory was not mine alone," Fiannuala said. "Meinir did not fight unaided, and she would have killed me if it hadn't been for Michael. We made a deal with them father, you have to honour it and allow them passage through the woods."

  "Of course, of course," King Gerallt said. "
And, for the great service you have done my line, ask any other boon that you would have and I shall grant it."

  Michael cleared his throat. "Lord King, I am son to a dear mother murdered, brother to a brother slain before his time... I know the weight that grief can bear upon the heart. But justice has been done, vengeance taken for your grievous loss. So cast off now your bitter cloak of mourning, embrace your daughters, and mend with love the cankerous hatred that has riven those between whom only perfect fellowship ought dwell."

  "You speak longwindedly for a short-lived race," King Gerallt replied, rising from his wooden throne. "But you chide me well. Cati, Fiannuala, Gwawr, too heavy did I let my cares rest on my shoulders, ignoring weights as great that each of you struggled to bear. Cati, Fia, will you patch up this quarrel that has grown between you, for the love you bear me and your youngest sister both?"

  Fiannuala and Cati eyed each other, before Cati stuck out her hand. "'Neath Dala's bower, I offer sorrow."

  Fiannuala took her hand. "'Neath Dala's bower I accept your sorrow, and offer mine in turn."

  "And I in turn accept it," Cati said.

  Gwawr beamed with happiness as a second sun, and the old king's mouth, though it looked stiff as the branches of an ancient tree, found life in it to twitch with something approaching joy.

  "Take my arms, my daughters dear," Gerallt said. "And from this day forth let us share our sorrows and our joys."

  They embraced, and as they did so Michael crossed his arms and smiled. "And that is how a family ought to be."

  "You are the worst combination of moralistic, dogmatic and sickeningly sentimental, I hope you realise that about yourself," Jason said.

  Michael glared at him. "Your Highness is determined to allow me not one moment's happiness unalloyed, is that not so?"

  "It's aren't you! Not 'is that not so'! Aren't you! Aren't you!"

  "Mayhap to you Your Highness, but not to me."

  "Now you're just doing it on purpose."