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

by Frances Smith

King Gerallt declared. "In honour of this day, I decree this night a night of celebration across all of Eena. Let a feast be prepared! Let the music play! The Queen has been avenged! Let all rejoice!"

  The dryads whooped and howled and soon all order and discipline that had restrained them was cast aside as the revels began. Michael was garlanded in flowers, and all the others too. They began to gather in fruit and nuts and lay them out for all to partake from.

  "Michael."

  Michael turned to see Gideon approaching through the crowd. He alone of all people seemed to have avoided being draped in flowers. Michael bowed his head. "Gideon. How do you feel?"

  "Better now, thank you, though still a little stiff," Gideon murmured. "You did well, today."

  "I did nothing but fight," Michael said.

  "You brought everyone back alive, that is not nothing," Gideon said. "Take praise when it is given, Michael. Too much humility is as bad as too much pride."

  Michael smiled. "Then... thank you, Gideon."

  Gideon clasped Michael's hand firmly. "Damn well done."

  "Hey, everyone! Come on," Fiannuala said, breaking away from her father and sisters. "While they're making the preparations, follow me."

  They followed, Gwawr trailing along behind them. Fiannuala led them through the forest, past dryads with eager expressions gathering fruit and flowers, past those who bowed respectfully to their princess or congratulated her upon her vengeance. These Fiannuala acknowledged with a glad smile and gracious nod, while continuing to lead the company upon its way. Eventually she brought them by mist-shrouded paths to a great oak tree, the tallest tree that Michael had ever seen. Higher than mountains it seemed to loom, the ridges of its bark like the lines on an aged face, the twigs and branches bent as crooked fingers, but the trunk as straight and proud as the back of any old soldier when the bugle sounds.

  "What is it?" Jason said.

  "A big tree," Amy replied.

  "Obviously." Jason rolled his eyes. "What I meant was what is important or special about it?"

  "This is the oldest tree in the whole of Eena, the ancestor of the entire forest," Fiannuala said in whispered awe. "The first king of the dryads, Glyndwr, gave up his life upon this spot, and when he was buried this tree sprouted over his grave. That was back in the First Age, the Elder Age, before men or elves or orcs. The whole forest has grown up around this spot, and this tree has seen all of it.

  "My mother is buried in this grove. One day Cati will lie here too."

  "What of you?" Michael asked.

  "I will never be queen, Dala willing," Fiannuala said.

  "Gabriel never ruled Corona as diademed prince, yet such was his glory and valour, and such was the love that Simon had for him, that when the war was done his body was taken back to Corona and interred amongst the ruling princes in the tombs beneath the palace," Michael smiled. "There is yet time to win Cati's love so."

  "And what of the glory and the valour?"

  "The latter I believe you possess in great store, the former I believe you will win in great quantity, your highness," Michael said. Gwawr beamed.

  "Maybe," Fiannuala said. "But that isn't what I really brought you here for." She leapt up, grabbing hold of a low hanging branch and pulling herself up onto it, "Come on up, all of you."

  "Really?" Jason's eyes boggled a little.

  "I'll give you a hand if you don't think you can do it," Fiannuala said as Gwawr scampered up after her, squirrel fashion. "Here." Stout branches dropped from the trees to loop around Jason's chest and haul him up into the tree.

  "Anyone else?" Fiannuala asked.

  Tullia raised her hand a little tremulously, and she too was picked up by Fiannuala's wood magic.

  As they rose, and as Fiannuala and Gwawr climbed out of sight, Gideon matter-of-factly rubbed some dirt on his hands and began to climb up. Wyrrin followed, using his claws to good advantage.

  "Come, come," Wyrrin called out. "Follow, quickly!"

  Michael looked at Amy, vested of the heaviest of her armour, and she looked right back at him.

  A grin spread across Amy's face, "Race you to the top!" She shouted, and like a tiger fierce in pursuit of its prey she sprang at the venerable old oak and began to scramble up.

  "Oh ho, you'll never take me in a contest of speed our Amy," Michael said as he too began to climb, arms working furiously as he moved from branch to branch, sometimes leaping in his efforts to keep ahead of her.

  But it soon became clear that endurance, not speed, would count here. His arms began to protest the exertion, his legs became more hindrance than help, twigs and branches battered into his face. In the fog of leaves he lost all idea of where Amy was. It started to beggar belief that the sun had not set yet.

  But then he pushed through the last of the leaves and felt the sunlight bursting on his face and what he saw made all the effort to see it seem worthwhile.

  For he stood on the high branches of the tallest tree in Eena and saw the whole world laid out before him.

  The forest of Eena lay beneath him, tall trees and small trees both alike seeming like child's toys from his lofty vantage. To the north he could see ruins overwhelmed by leaf and foliage, the ruins of Aureliana only he could find. To the west he could see right across Deucalia province, across the villages and towns and farmers fields, all way to the Iskalon river, that great winding sapphire serpent, and beyond that to Davidheyr and sweet Corona. To the east lay lands whose names he did not know, crop fields, sandy dunes, tiny specks moving amongst them in ones or twos or clumps. In the utmost east loomed mountains no larger than ants' nests, lined up in a range that covered the eastern horizon. Farther north, beyond the borders of the dryad forest, he could see a great city walled around with stone, a fitting fort for children to play soldiers with, and beyond that land, and land and more land, stretching green and fertile as far as far could go. And to the south, the sea.

  The ocean stretched unlimited southwards from the shore, its greatest wave observed by him in miniature like a ripple in a stream where a stone is dropped in it. If it was beautiful to watch from on the beach, it had ten times such beauty from this vantage. A field of gems, emeralds, sapphires, pearls and diamonds that no man could buy or steal.

  This is the very view of gods I have been given, Michael thought. What else is this, but the world as seen from heaven? If I raise my hand, will my fingers scrape against the firmament?

  He raised his hand and felt nothing but air, but that did not diminish his awe.

  "Raphael must see something like this each night," Michael murmured.

  His comrades, his dear friends, were all around him. Fiannuala stood perched upon the very highest branch of the tree, Gwawr not far beneath her, clinging to the tree trunk like an animal. Wyrrin used his claws to dig into the tree bark and hold himself in place. Jason and Tullia clutched at lower branches. Amy was sitting just below Michael, her legs dangling in the air. Lord Gideon was beyond the need to hold on to anything, and stood pikestaff straight with his arms folded across his chest. Doubtless he can see even further than the rest of us.

  "I will no longer envy the aestival," Wyrrin said. "For so long as I carry this memory I will have seen as they do."

  "Impressive sight, isn't it?" Fiannuala said.

  "A bit of an understatement there," Jason said, his eyes wide with awe. "It's spectacular."

  "Best view in the whole world," Fiannuala replied.

  "I do believe that that is not hyperbole," Gideon said, a look of wonder crossed his face. "I think I can even see Eternal Pantheia. She is just as beautiful seen from above."

  "Obviously you and I have lived in different cities," Jason muttered.

  "Don't spoil the mood," Amy hissed. "This is just...I never understood how big it was before."

  "The land or the sea?" Michael asked.

  "Either," Amy said. "I wish Felix could see this."

  "Yes," Michael said. "Him and our Miranda both."

  "And Lucilia," Tullia added. "S
he would love it. It is beautiful."

  "Do you like it, really?" Fiannuala asked. "I wanted you to see it because I love it up here. I thought that..."

  "Thank you, Your Highness," Michael said. "You have done us a great honour."

  They stared there a little while, taking in the vastness and the greatness of the world in silent fellowship. When they returned to the ground they found the celebration underway without them. Before Michael could get anywhere near anything to eat a pair of dryads forced him to his knees so that Gwawr could weave wildflowers into his hair.

  "Stop this at once," Michael said as he tried to pull free. "Men do not so adorn themselves in such wise as this."

  "But it's a tradition for a dryad celebration," Gwawr said. "Look, everyone else is doing it." She gestured all around her, to where Fiannuala was weaving violets into Cati's hair, and some old dryad woman was doing the same into King Gerallt's beard. No sooner had they finished than Cati and the king began to do the weaving in their turn. "It's a symbol of friendship with the person whose hair you decorate. Fia and Cati are doing it for one another as a symbol of their reconciliation. I want to do it for you because you saved Fia's life, and I want to say thank you."

  She looked so keen, so eager, that Michael's chivalry would not allow him to simply tell her that she could thank him by not dolling him up like a girl's plaything. That didn't mean he was happy about it though, and he looked about him for some other escape. "We all fought, could you not stick some flowers in His Highness's hair, or-"

  "You're the only one with hair long enough for this to work," Gwawr said.

  His Highness laughed. Gideon's eyes shone with amusement. Tullia was clearly chuckling behind her hand, though Michael thought her hair would be as long as his were it not tied back in that tight bun at the nape of her neck. Amy, for their sake of their friendship, was stifling her amusement though the effort looked to be causing her physical injury. Only Wyrrin seemed to find no amusement in the business, probably because he didn't have any hair.

  Michael glared at them for a moment, and then his frown softened to a smile. "It's alright Amy, you can laugh."

  Amy let out a great bark of laughter, and near fell on the ground clutching her sides with laughter. "With the way she's doing it, and the garland round your neck, you look a proper little flower girl let me tell you."

  Michael held still while Gwawr adorned his hair with white camomile and meadowsweet, weaving lavender and bluebells into his dark locks. Her enthusiasm shattered his grim-faced countenance, and he found himself smiling in spite of himself.

  "Actually when you smile like that, a proper smile, not your usual bloodthirsty smirk, you look rather cute," Jason said. "It's only the fact that you've got a face like a dockside bruiser most of the time that made it so ridiculous."

  "That is because I am a dockside bruiser, or near enough Your Highness, but thank you for the compliment," Michael said. He frowned. "I have a bloodthirsty smirk?"

  Jason rolled his eyes. "Princess Gwawr, you've done a wonderful job."

  "Indeed, thank you ma'am," Michael said, touching his forelock to the little princess. "I would offer to do yours in return, but I fear I would prove a ham hand at it."

  "That doesn't matter," Gwawr sat down with her back to him. "Just put a few in, otherwise you'll have offended me by not reciprocating."

  Michael looked to the others for help, but Jason and Amy looked too happy in his discomfiture to lift a finger in his aid. Not that either of them would know anything about putting flowers in girls' hair, but still.

  "A fine crew of comrades you reveal yourselves to be." Michael pouted. "Have you no shred of solidarity, no feeling of loyalty or generosity that you will not stir yourself to help one who has sacrificed so much on your behalf?"

  "Oh, stop complaining," Jason said. "I know crossdressers who are less melodramatic than this."

  "Here," Tullia said as she knelt down by Michael's side. "I used to braid my sister's hair when we were younger. I had to steal the flowers first of course, but the gentry are more likely to give to a pretty beggar, especially a pretty waif of a girl who looks so lovely and forlorn. And it used to calm me, put me at peace."

  And so she helped him to weave daisies and wild celandine through Gwawr's raven locks, Tullia's fingers soft and warm as they brushed against Michael's own. It was entirely to Tullia's credit that, when they were done, the youngest of Eena's princesses did not look an unsightly hideous mess. In fact, she seemed to rather like it.

  "Thank you," she flung her arms around the necks of Michael and Tullia, surprisingly strong for her small stature. "Thank you all, for looking out for Fia. If I can ever do anything to help you-"

  "There is no debt incurred when a warrior keeps a sharp eye on the life of a comrade, Highness," Michael said. "But even if there were, she looked after us as well."

  "Music!" Fiannuala yelled. "Sound the drums and play the pipes. Is this a revel or some dour troll ceremony?"

  As the sun began to set, the drums began to beat, drums in the trees that could not be seen but whose thunderous sound echoed through the woods. Dryads began to play on pipes, the tinny sounds of the tiny instruments offsetting the heavy beating of the drums. And then the dryads were dancing in circles, quivering with wild abandon, convulsing ecstatically as they reeled hither and thither. They careened about lights that seemed to spring up without fires in the middle of the clearing, and always more dryads and came in from every part of the forest to join the bacchanal.

  They looked so wild, the yellow light reflecting on their fey faces and casting shadows over their untamed and extravagant motions.

  "Is it me or is it getting very hot?" Amy said. "I feel like I'm sweating."

  "You're right," Michael murmured. "It feels... sultry, somehow."

  Jason chuckled.

  "What?" Amy said, her voice sounding vague and unfocussed.

  "You really don't understand, do you?" His Highness sounded very smug and superior. "Well, I think I'm going to join the dance." He drifted away, into a nearby circle of dryads, and before a minute had passed he was cavorting madly just like they were.

  "Since I'm hot," Amy said. "Do you think I should take my clothes off?"

  Something about that itched at the back of Michael's mind. There was something he should say in response to that, but he couldn't remember it. He wasn't sure why he wanted to.

  What was going on? Dancing. Ah yes, that sounded fun.

  Michael stood up, and bowed to Tullia with one hand held behind his back as he presented the other. "Would you care to take a turn, Filia?"

  Tullia smiled, and took his hand as Michael pulled her to her feet and led her out into the clearing. He felt so light. Light in the head, light on his feet, he half expected to float off the ground, borne aloft by this strange and wonderful music. All about them dryads cavorted in wondrous motions, vibrating to the beating of the drums, swaying to the music of the pipes and flutes.

  And they were moving too, Michael and Tullia, spinning wildly around one another as the fae-lights cast their faces in pale yellow hues and the dryads danced around them.

  The drums were pounding Michael's head, and like a soldier on the march it seemed that the drums were driving him on, forcing his steps, forcing the movement of his arms. Driving his hands onto Tullia's shoulders. Driving her hands onto the back of his neck. She was beautiful: her eyes so blue, her face so fair, her hair so inky-black. So beautiful, though not so beautiful as when she was in battle and she glowed with strength and pride in herself. So strong, so fierce. She was bright as a star, shining on the battlefield and off it. There was a voice trying to speak in the back of Michael's mind but he could not hear it over the sound of the drums. Her lips were so full, smiling so invitingly.

  He pulled her close and she bent forward, his chin tilting up to meet her lips with his-

  Michael Sebastian Callistus! Just what in God's name do you think you're playing at? I should stripe your back with a belt for beha
ving so, shame on you!

  "Mother?" Michael murmured, his back straightening and his eyes widening as he stumbled backwards out of Tullia's grip. It had been her voice, he would swear on it, recalling him to his senses. Whatever could have possesed him to - "Tullia!"

  Tullia's eyes were wider than Michael's felt, and her face was red and comical looking in the light of the fae-fires. She was very still, quivering slightly.

  "I... um..." Michael stammered, his verbosity deserting him in his hour of need. "I'm sorry." He turned and fled, tripping and falling to his knees before getting up and staggering like a drunk through the mass of revellers. Their movements seemed more threatening than inviting now, strange and wild and dangerous; his feet felt weighted down by shame, every step the lifting of a mountain, yet at the same time it seemed that very shame stood guard against the pounding of the drums and the caressing of the pipes, armour against the madness that had overtaken him.

  What's going on? What made me act like that? Tullia was a comrade, a friend. She trusted him with her life, with the most precious thing that she possessed in this world, and he had been on the verge of using her like some dockside tart. He had come within a whit of staining his honour beyond recall, descending to the level of...of his father.

  God forgive me, God forgive me, God forgive me, he pushed his way out of the dance and into the trees; pursued by the music which called out to him, trying to drag him back into it's clutches.

  "That was a bit rude of you, wasn't it?"

  Michael spun in the direction of the voice, lost his balance and fell backwards onto a tree. Cati stood before him, her green eyes sparkling. She smiled like a predator. "Mind you, she jumped away near as fast as you did. What happened to the pair of you?"

  Michael swallowed. He could feel the music all around him, smell the sweat of straining dancers, see the fae-lights gleaming. But he was armed against their enchantments now and well prepared. He said, "I cannot speak for the young lady, ma'am, but I was recalled to myself not before time. I recoiled from an unseemly act most unbecoming."

  "Unseemly? Unbecoming?" Cati purred as she advanced upon him, hips swaying. "Surely she isn't that bad looking?"