Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2)

by Frances Smith

  But to place herself above them...how cruel and vain would she have to be to believe that her pride was worth the blood that she would have to spill to elevate herself to her 'rightful place'?

  Of course, if Quirian's analysis of the Empire was right, then one could just as easily ask if her conscience was worth the blood that the Empire would spill if she did nothing to restrain its violent impulses.

  She thought of Portia, of how sweet she was, how kind. She thought of the Emperor, how he had always heeded her council. But she also thought of Princess Romana, of her constant talk of the Empire's enemies, of her eagerness for war and conquest, of her dreams of destiny that would always lead to death and suffering. She thought of the Lord Commenae and Helen Manzikes, threatening civil war to maintain themselves in wealth and comfort. She thought of the pride of the patricians, of the poverty of the provinces. She thought of her mother's death, of her brother's enslavement; she thought of the honest lives that so many had lived and continued to live under the protection of the Empire.

  Miranda shook her head. "I cannot judge a nation, no one can. How can I know everyone in the Empire, and without knowing them how can I judge them?"

  "You can judge the institutions that they support, even if only by their apathy," Quirian replied. "You can judge the world they live in. I do not ask you to pronounce upon an abstract, only to think hard and honestly on what you see around you, and ask yourself if it is the fate that you would choose for the people of Pelarius. Think on it, Filia," Quirian purred, his voice as smooth as silk. "Decide nothing, now. But think on it, I pray you."

  "I will," Miranda said.

  And the worst part was, she meant to do just that.

  X

  Captives

  Michael stood in the spirit realm, staring at Miranda where she sat in Quirian's chambers. To him, she appeared a phantom, ghostly figure, half-shrouded in mist, yet at the same time she seemed so full of life, vigour and happiness. Whatever the reason, whatever Quirian's motives in bringing her here, Michael could not but think that his sister's time in the capitol had been good for her.

  "Can she hear me, my lady?" Michael asked.

  "I fear not," Silwa replied, from where she hovered at his shoulder. "It is possible, but unlikely."

  Michael's brow furrowed as he reached out to her, knowing that he could not touch her but wanting too so desperately. "Our Miranda," he murmured.

  "Michael," Miranda whispered, looking around wildly. "Michael, is that you?"

  "Miranda?" Michael gasped, falling to his knees. "Miranda, I'm here, I've come to get you, Miranda, all this way. Can you hear me?"

  "Michael," Miranda murmured, her voice becoming a little disconsolate. She shook her head. "I must have been imagining it. Lord Quirian has my head spinning."

  "That is truth, even if the other is not," Michael muttered.

  "You should leave," Metella declared, appearing suddenly between Michael and his sister. "You should not have come here."

  Michael rose to his feet. "You would deny me the right to see my sister, ma'am."

  "I would deny you the right to spy on her," Metella said flatly. "I have helped you when I should not, kept secrets for you from my lord father, but this...you trespass too far on the bounds of my duty if you expect me to keep this secret. Go, or I will be forced to bring this to my lord father's notice. And if he then orders me to kill you..."

  "A fight to sing of, I am certain sure," Michael said. Nevertheless he made no hostile move, but offered instead a courtly bow. "Yet I will not, as you say, trespass further upon your duty, for I have no wish to match my skills with yours. We shall withdraw, Filia Metella, and thank you for your consideration."

  Metella nodded. "Your sister is a remarkable young woman."

  Michael bowed his head. "Indeed she is, though not the only one in Quirian's house. A pleasant goodnight, Filia."

  "And to you," Metella said.

  Silwa drew Michael off a little way, at first under the blue eyes of Metella Kardia, until finally they must have reached a sufficient remove from Quirian's home that she ceased to observe them. Once they were safely away Silwa turned to Michael and said, "Now, Michael, why do you think that I brought you here, upon this night, to bear witness to that conversation?"

  "To see our Miranda, ma'am," Michael replied. "To see that she was well, and not yet in mortal peril."

  "That, yes, but not entirely," Silwa said. "I wanted you to hear Quirian's account, to understand the man. Some of that tale you had heard from Gideon, but not all of it and not from Quirian himself."

  "He did not mention Demodocia, the attack his people launched upon the Empire," Michael said.

  "He was a child, and the Prince of Aureliana did not announce his actions to the populace," Silwa said. "Gideon did not lie to you."

  Michael stiffened. "I had never thought he did, ma'am. I merely wondered if he had been misled by the histories."

  "No, he was not," Silwa said serenely. "So, now that you know his story, what is your opinion of Quirian?"

  Michael hesitated for a moment. "Honestly, ma'am? I feel I respect him more than I did before, now that I know his intentions."

  Silwa's eyebrows rose, "Respect? Now that you know what he plans to do?"

  "Perhaps I respect him because of what he plans to do. Not the acts themselves, but the feelings that motivate them: his devotion to his kinsfolk and his comrades, be they so many centuries dead and gone. It speaks well of his loyalty and devotion that he has kept faith with them for all these years. It is my sincerest wish that I shall never forget Filia Tullia, or Princess Fiannuala, or gods forbid our Amy or His Highness, though I should live five hundred years as Quirian has."

  "And what of those alive today, who will bleed to ease the resting of dead men?" Silwa asked archly. "Do they deserve such a fate?"

  "No, my lady, of course they do not," Michael said. "And yet...ought they matter to Quirian? What are they to him, set against his dear friends departed? Why should a stranger's life weigh as much as a friend? Should you ask me to choose between our Amy and a man unknown to me, with death for whomsoever I did not choose, I would choose Amy every time though the stranger be the most sinless man to ever walk the world? Is that so wrong? Should we not hold those we love higher in our hearts than all the rest?"

  "Perhaps," Silwa said. "Yet we are talking about doing deliberate harm to innocents for the sake of friendship? Would you condone that?"

  “Nay, my lady, I would not, but…” Michael hesitated. “It is easy for me to say so because my comrades are yet living, and the Empire has done me no wrong. Were I in Quirian’s place…I do not know what I would do. The duty to revenge is a sacred thing, but it is a duty, not a right, and it takes but one hand to wield a sword, not an entire nation. And yet…having gone mad for a time from my own grief I feel the need to be charitable towards mine enemy. I…God’s grace, I know not if Quirian be right or wrong, let posterity or those wiser than myself be the judge of that. I only know that I must stop him for right or wrong I cannot allow him to succeed or sweet Lucilia and all those dear to me will perish and Tullia and Fiannuala will have died for nought. Beyond that I need no greater righteousness, let history judge me ill for that if it will, by then I shall be beyond the feel of it.”

  Silwa laughed. "I envy you your mortality in this, Michael, the simple ability to let posterity be your judge, while you live your life according to your lights. I, on the other hand, am immortal, deathless and unchanging, and there will come none after me to judge my doings while the world lasts. Therefore I must needs take a longer view, and if I cannot see the future I must at least try to guess at it, nudging the progress of the world upon the path I deem best for the most of those who'll walk it."

  "Is that why you helped Quirian once, but now work against him?" Michael asked. He looked away. "I apologise, madam, that was too forward of me."

  Silwa smiled. "There is no need for apology, Michael, the question needed to be asked and deserves to b
e answered. I was Quirian's friend. Or rather I am his friend, but once I was his ally. I once saw the Empire as he did: as a rapacious monster, a force for wickedness that needed to be checked. And so I did what I could to check it, manipulating the nations of Pelarius against the Empire as best I could, only to see my efforts fail time and time again in the face of Imperial military might. Quirian was my greatest achievement, my champion. Unfortunately he outlived both his usefulness to me and my own opinions.

  "I had viewed Aegea's ambitions with great cynicism, that curse of old age. I expected the Empire to rape the lands it conquered, exploit and slaughter those who passed beneath its yoke. And there has been some of this in recent years; I hope that you will put a stop to it if ever you rise to influence. But in those days the Empire was like some ancient hero, it followed Aegea's code, strove to fight with honour and with fairness, to treat all peoples with courtesy and dignity. It incorporated those it conquered into the state not as slaves but citizens, subject to the throne but equal with those born in Eternal Pantheia itself. They sheltered the minotaurs, accepted the friendship of the aestivals, even made a place for the northern orcs.

  "I have never been concerned with territorial politics. My goal is, and always has been, the preservation of mankind. It became clear to me that the Empire, vigorous and strong and possessed of such a code as Aegea had left to it, would be a better guardian for the fortunes of man's race than the petty, squabbling kingdoms it succeeded had ever been. So now I defend the Empire, in hopes that it can regain the glory it once had."

  "And so it shall, ma'am," Michael said with certainty. "Gideon will make it so."

  Silwa opened her mouth to speak, but before she could utter a word she was interrupted by a cold cackling sound, a high-pitched laugh that carried with it the echoes of funeral boats washing out to see, of corpses wrapped in shrouds of white and candles burning on the prow, their feeble light battling against wind and rain and the darkness of the night to light the way to Turo's hall. The laughter sounded chill enough to snuff out any burning light.

  "Gideon will make it so," the cold, high voice declared, as dark clouds closed around Michael and Silwa, consuming the eerie blue of the spirit plane in a dark veil. "You little fool. You have no idea at all, do you?"

  Michael looked wildly this way and that, hands going to the hilts of his swords. "What sorcery is this?"

  "Sorcery? Pah! I spit on sorcery. I piss on sorcery. Let Riate keep his tricks, I have real power."

  Silwa seemed more annoyed than anything else. "Get you gone, Kal. You are not welcome here."

  "Do you think that you are your father, to give me commands?" a figure appeared in the centre of the darkness, shaped a little like a man of medium build, but with large ears pointed like knives jutting out on both sides of his head, and gossamer wings of midnight black humming gently on his back like a fly. His skin was pale and covered with tattoos of black and crimson, arcane symbols that Michael did not comprehend. His eyes were red, and sharp with anger as he advanced on Silwa. "Order me again, and I promise you that you'll regret it."

  Michael stepped between the two. "Not while I live."

  The figure - Kal, Silwa had named him - smirked. He had a sharp face, with dark hair so close-cropped its exact colour was hard to say, with a nose like a bird's beak and teeth that were too white to be real. "You know what she is, boy. Do you really think that she needs your protection? If I am a danger to her, then what would I do to you?"

  "Aye," Michael said. "I know well Lady Silwa's power, but a gentleman will always go to the aid of a woman in need, though he be ever so feeble and she be ever so capable, if he be a true man. Honour, after all, need not be wise. As to the question of what you might do to me...I know not. You will have to show me, if you can."

  "Few are brave enough to talk to me that way."

  "And who are you that I should hold my tongue?" Michael demanded. "A gentleman would have introduced himself before he started making threats."

  "This is Kal," Silwa said. "The Source of All Evil and the Lord of the Darkness. Such he would tell you, in any event. What he wouldn't tell you is that the reason no one challenges him directly is that no one knows he exists. He has spent the last eight hundred years as the Empire's prisoner, a secret so well kept even the Emperors have forgotten him. Yet here he is, his armies gone, his power stolen, his name faded even from myth. Only in the spirit realm can his soul wander, and only then not too far from his physical form. He has nothing left but his tongue, and that has no power but what you give it. Pay him no heed."

  "Pay him no heed," Kal said, a smirk crossing a face that, plain as it had seemed at first, on closer attention appeared so serpentine that Michael's fists urged to pummel it. "Your father paid me no heed when I told him that his precious dear beloved daughter was conspiring against him."

  "If he had not been listening to every drop of poison you poured into his ear I would not have had to conspire against him," Silwa replied.

  "But you did, and I knew, and I told your father but he did not listen. As a result he is bound in the Black Abyss, in an even more wretched state than I am. Your little Coronim should profit by the example. No good will come from paying me no heed."

  Michael's lip curled into a sneer. "You will forgive me, sir, if I do not leap to trust the word of a self-proclaimed Lord of Darkness over a queen of heaven of renowned wisdom; one who has always given me good council."

  "She gave Quirian good council too, once," Kal said.

  "Only a fool worries that his dog might bite him when there is a bear trying to maul him to death," Michael said. "Not that I am suggesting you are a dog, ma'am, I merely meant-"

  Silwa smiled. "I know what you meant, Michael, there is no offence taken. You see, Kal, my little Coronim is not so easily swayed. You had best go; there is nothing for you here."

  Kal did not move. He stared into Michael's eyes, and Michael saw the crimson orbs flickering like fire.

  "I am offering you a chance to change your fate, Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella ban Ezekiel. A chance that may not come again. If you ignore my warning then only torment and suffering will await you."

  He spoke in a hushed whisper, as if he meant to inspire awe, but Michael did not flinch, and answered him firm and loud. "In my life I have inflicted torment and suffering upon myself, and others. Now both are at an end, but you say to me, turn back? What would you have me do, crawl back into the arena? Abandon my sister to her fate? Desert my companions? Tell me, dark creature, what fate so dire awaits me that I should soil my honour and cast all virtue to the winds to escape it?"

  "You will be cast by those you serve with love into a darkness from which there is no escape," Kal said. "You will be raped by dogs, and leeches will drain the lifeblood from your veins. Your back will crack under iron and gold loaded on your shoulders until they crush you. You will watch, weak and feeble, as rabid wolves devour their mother. You will give your whole life over to the service of others and be repaid with betrayal and desertion. And at the end of your life, broken and ruined, having bent beneath the acts demanded of you, you will die having sacrificed everything to achieve nothing, and your name will fade from the minds of men."

  Michael tried to hide the shiver passing down his spine. "You will have to do better than that if you wish to frighten me."

  Kal smiled. "You will kill Jason."

  Michael's eyes widened. "What?"

  "He will find his mother, and become a great prince in a foreign land," Kal said. "He will raise up a great army in that land, and lead it home to claim the Empire for his own. You will oppose him, and the soil of Pelarius will be watered by the blood you two will shed as you do battle. Finally, when the world has been glutted by the slaughter, you two shall meet in combat, and you will weep as you drive a blade through his heart."

  Michael shook his head. "No. Speak lies more plausible, demon, for these imaginings would not fool a child."

  "And in your battle you will set me free," K
al continued, his eyes burning with anticipation. "And pledge yourself to the service of the Eldest One, to wreak his havoc upon an unsuspecting land."

  "Oh, so in one stroke I fight for the Empire against His Highness then with the next I fight for the Eldest One against the Empire?" Michael laughed too loudly and with unconvincing eagerness. "Such a plot is so contrived it would not pass muster with the most credulous of audiences."

  "You believe it, clearly," Kal murmured.

  "Ignore him, Michael," Silwa said. "He has no power but what you give to him."

  "I give him nothing!" Michael snapped. "I defy him and deny him and I call him a liar who knows nothing of truth! Say on, if you can, dark one; where is our Amy in all this?"

  "Dead, at your hand," Kal said. "Which disappoints me, as I like to kill naiads myself. They are so proud, it pleases me to break them."

  "Shut your fucking mouth!" Michael yelled, the green blade of Eena appearing in his hands as he pressed it against Kal's throat. "No more lying! If you ever hurt Amy, if you ever hurt His Highness. If you do anything but stay wrapped warm in the embrace of your chains then, by Turo and by Aegea, I will find a way to kill you once and for all."

  Kal was silent for a moment. "And that, that fury that you try so hard to repress, that is what will set me free. Oh how I look forward to the day when your soul is consumed by unstoppable rage. Oh, how that fire will consume the world."

  And then, just like that, he disappeared, fading before Michael's eyes, still smiling as the darkness cleared, smiling as the last traces of him vanished, smiling as he burned himself into Michael's memory.

  Michael lowered his sword, his arms hanging limp at his side.

  "You realise, I hope, that the entire point of his absurd display was to get a rise out of you?" Silwa said. "Kal likes to play games, it is about the only amusement left to him."