"You're weak and you're a coward and if I never have to see you again it will be too soon. My mother was worth a hundred of you."
And then, just like that, they were all gone. Her grandfather, her father, the entire court. All vanished, returned to dust and shadows. Amy stood once more in Aureliana, all alone.
She planted her sword point first on the ground, pushing her helmet up at little so that the cool air could blow upon her face.
"So that's how it's going to be, is it?" she muttered. "Look sharp, our Michael they'll be sending little Felix after you or I miss my bet." She was half surprised that she hadn't seen Felix herself. Maybe he was to come. Or maybe she didn't care about him enough any more.
That was an uncomfortable thought. Had her time as a squire made her selfish? Was she more concerned with herself than with anyone else?
No. I still care about other people. I care about Michael, I care about Fiannuala. I'd even be sad if something happened to Jason even if I do want to smack him sometimes.
God, if you really are still listening to us, if the prayers of your children mean anything to you, if you have any love in your heart for anyone, protect them all. I know they aren't all Turonim, but one of them is pious enough for three people and three of them worship your brothers and sisters.
"Hey, our Michael, are you about?" Amy yelled. "Fia? Fiannuala, can you hear me?"
No one answered.
"Obvious they're a way away then, they should have heard that half a city away," Amy said to herself.
She heard something chittering at her feet, and looked down to see Char crawling up her leg.
"Char!" Amy cried, as the tiny salamander climbed onto her shoulder and licked her face, chirruping cheerfully a moment later. "At least you're still here."
Char squeaked as he cocked his head to one side.
Amy grinned. "Let's go find the others, shall we? What do you say?"
Char bobbed his head up and down, chirping enthusiastically.
"I'll take that as a yes," Amy said, and she set off down the road, Magnus Alba drawn and held before her. "Our Michael, can you hear me?"
"The fire of the Arunim stands in grave peril," the bone-bill priest intoned as he paced up and down, his robes of many hues swirling around him. "If we do not take care, the fire of our race may be snuffed out forever."
Wyrrin stood with his head bowed before the elders of his city district: the district master, born of the ruling caste, the priest, the master soldier of the warrior caste who served as a captain under the Bright Flame, and seven masters of the artisanal caste. They were smiths, carpenters, stone-masons and potters, for Wyrrin's home lay in an artisanal district where there were no farmers or keepers of beasts, nor any great store of warriors. There were few drakes here who understood his frustrations, let alone sympathised with them. Even the warrior, the drake whom Wyrrin might have hoped for the most sympathy from, stared at him with hard eyes and nought but disdain in his expression.
They sat at a long, semicircular table, his judges, all save for the priest who had risen to pontificate. They wore their best robes, each of them, with the finest for the ruler and the least elaborate or elegant for the warrior. That was the way things were in Arko: rulers wore cloth of gold, slaves wore nothing but loincloths, and everyone else wore something in between, each according to his station.
Behind him, in the darkness of the shrine to Arus, two guards stood. They were both spike-tails, heavyset and with such thick scales they almost had no need of armour. Either one was capable of overpowering a scrawny raptor like Wyrrin in this confined space, and their armour had been forged by master smiths, proof against even his sickle claws.
That would have been true even had his hands not been bound in manacles.
“In order for the city to survive, all must serve as Arus has dicatated,” the priest continued, bobbing his duck-bill head up and down as he gestured wildly with his arms. “Every fire drake has their place, every caste has an allotted role under the eyes of heaven. It is for females to breed, to bring forth the new generation who will carry on the sacred flame that burns within the heart of our race. It is for the rulers to govern us, the priestly caste to nurture the souls of the lesser castes, the keepers to raise the salamanders gifted to us by Arus, the artisans to make our home sturdy and comfortable. It is for the warriors to defend us, the farmers to feed us, and it is for the slaves to labour to assist the higher castes in whatever small measure that they can. This is the sacred word of Arus, delivered up to us by our revered ancestors. You, Wyrrin of the slave caste, stand accused before the elders of this district of breaking this most sacred law, and transgressing against the will of divine Arus himself.”
As the other elders murmured in disapproval, Wyrrin raised his head and looked each one of them in the eye, in turn. “So I am condemned for my whole life for something I had no part or choice in? Does my own worth count for nothing in the face of my birth?”
“It is not for you to judge your worth, nor to question the will of Arus; you are but a slave!” the priest roared. “You lied about your caste and impersonated a warrior.”
“You even fought on the field of battle against the faithless humans,” the warrior thundered, his anger undimmed by the fact that Wyrrin had risked his life under his command. “You have tarnished the honour of the whole army by your actions!”
“Yet I fought better than any of your warriors, born to fight,” Wyrrin spat. “I have killed humans and saved the lives of brother fire drakes, does that count for nothing? Do we not need our best fighters to defend us? Will it please Arus if we all die from following our castes?”
“Blasphemy!” the priest hissed. “The protection of Arus does more to protect this city than a hundred thousand warriors!”
The crafters, none of whom would have dreamed of taking up arms even if their homes were burning around them, nodded and murmured their assent. The ruler, Master Orrin, brought his hand down hard upon the table before he rose to his feet. He was a frill-neck, and his red-and-green frill flared wide around his neck to make him seem larger and more intimidating as he stared down at Wyrrin with disgust.
“Your reasons for breaking the law as you did are irrelevant, both to Arus and to this council,” Orrin declared. “You have admitted your guilt, which was in any case beyond doubt, and you have shown no remorse for this offence. Since it is clear that you have no respect for this city or her laws, the verdict of this council is clear: Wyrrin of the slave caste, I, Orrin of the ruling caste, master of this district, hereby declare you untouchable. I strip you of your caste and exile you from Arko and her lands. You are banished and cast out, to die amongst the faithless humans far from Arko and the protection of the community.”
“Very well!” Wyrrin cried. “I will take my freedom and venture out into the world of men, and win great fame in a land where there are neither castes nor chains.”
They laughed. Every last one of them, their harsh laughter echoing around the shrine as they mocked him without mercy.
“You think that it is freedom that I offer?” Orrin said. “You fool, all I give to you is death. Think you that you will ever be more than a curiosity to the humans, an animal to be caged so that the crowds may gawk at you for their own amusement?” He chuckled. “How does your freedom taste, Wyrrin?”
“Very well,” Wyrrin replied defiantly. “I have found a comrade-“
“And how has he used you thus far?” Orrin demanded.
“He-“
“Abominably!” Orrin shouted. “He has used you, has he not, as a dog.”
“Our quest-“
“You are nothing to him, nothing to anyone, not any more,” Orrin yelled. “Were you not more fortunate as a slave in Arko than you are ‘free’ in these callous human lands?”
Wyrrin growled softly. “I would rather die free than live in chains.”
“Bold words, but even you do not believe that. In your heart, you crave the sense of community and protection
offered to even your low station by Arko and the fire-god.”
“No I don’t!” Wyrrin cried. “I do not regret a day since leaving Arko. I do not regret the cage, I do not regret the whip, I do not regret my wounds at Lover's Rock. I regret none of it, because each morning I have awoken free, because I have seen more of the world then I ever dreamed of, done more of value than ever before. I saved lives in Lover's Rock, and was honoured by those I fought to defend. A human promised to name her son Wyrrin in my honour. When I fought to defend Arko my reward was exile! I will fight until throughout the Empire there are statues to my glory, the first fire drake to be honoured among men. I may die tomorrow. I may even die today. But I would rather die a swift death from the sword or the spear than die a slow death over many years from labouring without reprieve to the whims of a lesser drake.”
“So be it,” Orrin said as he, and the entire council and the guards and even shrine around them, disappeared. Wyrrin stood in the ruins of Aureliana once more.
“Michael?” Wyrrin called, turning where he stood in the ruins of a temple to one of the usurper gods. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling, and many of the statues and columns had collapsed and become overgrown with weeds. “Michael, can you hear me?”
“Oh, it's you,” Amy said dismissively as she walked into the temple through one of the holes in the wall. “I suppose you're better than nothing.”
Wyrrin hissed. “What does that mean?” She was so proud, this naiad, so full of her own strength and the might of her armour. Naiads always thought much of themselves, but he had known some that were capable of kindness. Not this one thought, not this Amy. There was nothing in her but arrogance. She looked down on him, she who had never had to work for anything in her life, because he had been born a slave. Why else would she take so well to Fiannuala, the dryad princess, but be so distant with him when they, too, shared a bond as members of the elder races. “Have I offended you in some way?”
Amy looked at him for a moment. She sighed. "No. I'm just... I'm worried about Michael on his own. And..."
"What?" Wyrrin demanded.
"What was it like, in Lover's Rock?" Amy asked.
Wyrrin blinked. She was from there, he remembered that now. The Crimson Rose had killed her mother.
"Are you angry that I did not save your mother's life?" he asked.
"No, I'm not angry about that, I'm angry that you were there and I wasn't," Amy snapped. "That was my home, as much as Michael's; I should have been the one to fight for it, not you. What was Lover's Rock to you, eh? A place where faithless humans dwell?"
Wyrrin nodded. "A place where humans dwell." He would not call them faithless, not again. Humans, after all, had shown him more loyalty than his own people.
"Then why did you fight?" Amy asked. "Why not run away, why not flee for your life?"
Wyrrin cocked his head to one side. "You may not know this but Arko is under siege. Barbarians roam throughout the land, hunting us, attacking our city. Even with the help of naiads and orcs who honour the old agreement we can barely hold our own. But when I tried to help defend my people I was cast out and banished. Yes I had my own motives, but that did not make my desire to help any less real. At Lover's Rock I had the chance to help another people facing the same threat, I could not have turned away from it. It would have made me as faithless as the proverbial humans. More. Ser Amy...I am sorry about your mother."
"Don't be, I've made the Crimson Rose sorry enough already," Amy replied. "Now come on, let's find the others."
Amy strode through the streets, her salamander-scale cape flowing behind her. Wyrrin followed at a discreet distance. In fact everything about Wyrrin was discreet at the moment: since there might well be enemies about, Amy had decided that it would be for the best if Wyrrin kept out of the sight for now; that way any enemies trying to ambush Amy could be ambushed in turn by Wyrrin.
There was a loud bang to her right, behind the row of abandoned houses, or possibly the street beyond that it was hard to tell. She saw the entrails of a pillar fire erupting into the sky before a winged demon rose into the air, screeching loudly like a strangled bird.
It saw Amy a moment later, crimson eyes focussing on her, and let loose a high pitched scream from its curved beak.
Amy growled as she planted Magnus Alba in the ground and ran for the nearest house. A few swift strides carried her to the wall, where she dug her armoured fingers into some of the cracks and pulled with all her might. The stonework shuddered, then shunted with a grinding sound, then a great chunk of rock came away in her hands with a sound of groaning and moaning from the house itself.
The demon screamed again, circling above her like a vulture. The abomination looked to be about the size of a man, with arms and legs in addition to its wings, but it showed no desire to come down and fight her. Most likely it was marking her position for its summoner, who would call up more warlike demons to finish her off once they arrived.
Amy didn’t intend to let it stay in the air that long. With a mighty roar she turned in place like an athlete throwing a discus and hurled the stone she had torn from the walls of Aureliana upwards towards the demon above her. The demon turned, but not fast enough to avoid getting hit on the wing and it tumbled to the ground with a shriek of pain.
Amy seized up her sword as the demon hit the ground, rolling along the road. She bellowed in anger as the demon rose to its feet, springing at her with the fury of a hyrcanian beast. Its muscles were lean and corded, its chest was ripped, and when it opened its beak the monster revealed rows of teeth within.
It was fast, faster than she was, and it passed inside her guard before she could swing her sword, and closed its beak around her shoulder.
Thanks to her sturdy paudron, she didn’t feel a thing.
“Get off me!” Amy yelled, bringing her fist around in a sideswipe into the demon’s neck. It crunched satisfyingly beneath her blow, and the creature howled as she threw it backwards. It cried out again as she planted her foot upon its chest, and screamed as she drove her sword into its face. It kept on screaming – Magnus Alba did not banish demons, as ordinary blades did, but destroyed them – as it turned to ash before her eyes, the charred remnants of one of the Dark Lord’s creatures floating away on the soft breeze.
“No! Stygorax!” yelled a man with a soft, mellow voice as a young man dressed in black, carrying a summoning rod in each hand, dashed around the corner. “Do you have any idea how useful he was?”
“Well, I’m so sorry if I’ve put you out,” Amy said. “I tell you what: put your neck down here and I’ll see if I can’t reunite the pair of you.”
The demon summoner scowled. “Maybe I’ll send you to join him instead, I’m sure he’d like the chance to pay you back.”
“In that case I’ve hope you got more of your evil little friends handy, because frankly I don’t think you’d be more than pathetic if you tried it yourself,” Amy said. Fighting demons was one of the proper occupations of a knight, since before the Eldest fell, and she relished a battle with no moral dimension, a true battle of good versus evil.
The summoner laughed. “Oh, trust me, I’ve got lots more friends. Heleroth, Strymon, Tyranoth come forth! In the name of the Eldest One I summon thee! Mummax arise, from the depths of your banishment; hear my call!”
He raised his summoning rods, which began to glow all around with red light as the runes illuminated. Amy shut her eyes against the burst of fire as the sky cracked in two and a smell of acrid smoke assailed her nostrils. When she opened her eyes a thick layer of smog blanketed the ground, and between her and the demon summoner stood four ugly, angry looking demons.
Three of them were warriors, all with the same flayed look to their skin, their fangs sharp, their eyes golden, their faces red and raw. Horns emerged from the tops of their heads, flames licked at the fringes of their overlong hair. They were armoured in scraps of metal, bone and hide, the skin and bones of the enemies they had slain in the dark world, so the tales said, an
d their weapons were crude but vicious looking creations of black metal. One carried a greatsword, gripped tightly in both hands. Another bore a one handed sword and a round shield. The last one carried a sword in its right hand and an axe in its left.
Above the three warriors – Heleroth, Strymon and Tyranoth presumably – loomed Mummax, the guardian demon. Its skin was a pale grey, with horns like a ram curling behind its ears and a face like a monkey. It wore no armour, and carried no weapons, but its hands looked big enough to crush Amy whole if it caught hold of her.
She’d cut off its hands before she gave it the chance.
Turo be my sword and my shield in this most righteous battle.
The summoner laughed manically. “Kill her! Avenge Stygorax!”
With a keening cry, Wyrrin leapt off one of the nearby roofs and landed on the shoulders of Mummax, the guardian demon. His sickle claws slammed downwards, burying themselves in the demonic flesh as Mummax howled in pain and thrashed wildly, groping blindly for the gnat that was paining it. Wyrrin hung on by the claws, drawing both his black swords as he slashed downwards again and again, ichor spurting from the wounds he dealt to the demon.
The summoner gaped in astonishment, but swiftly recovered himself as he yelled at his trio of warrior demons. “Don’t just stand there, get the other one! We’ll deal with the lizard later. Oh, my poor Mummax, just hang on.”
He talks to them like pets. Did he really think that Stygorax was his friend? Have humans forgotten so much? Amy wondered in the little space she had left to think as the three warrior demons charged towards her, their footsteps leaving a trail of ashes in their wake.
Amy planned to go for the one with the greatsword first, and charged to meet it with a battle cry of her own. But when it saw her coming the demon retreated even as its fellow with the sword and shield stepped in between them. Amy swung downwards, not greatly caring which demon wished to die first, but her blow crashed against the demon’s shield and did not even dent it. The demon with the sword and axe attacked from her flank, his blows hammering against her with such weight it was though destiny itself, and no demon, was wielding the blade. Amy might have turned to meet it had not the demon blocking her stroke with its shield began to strike at her with its sword, and the last demon closed in too to bring its greatsword to bear upon her.
Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) Page 61