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

by Frances Smith

  "I cursed in front of you," Michael muttered. "I should not have done that."

  "Regrettable, but understandable in the circumstances," Silwa murmured.

  "I do not curse," Michael said softly. "I have never cursed before in my life. I...I thought I could master myself better than that. God, what anger he provoked in me, to rob me of my last scrap of virtue, and that which I thought most secure within my character."

  "It is not a sin to swear once," Silwa said.

  "It is a sin to lose control of oneself," Michael said. "And to excuse the loss once will lead to further lapses. A man's worth can be determined by his mastery of himself and of his temper; by that measure I am a poorer man now than I have ever been."

  Silwa said nothing.

  "Is it true, ma'am," Michael asked, his voice small and childlike. "His words...is there truth in them?"

  "He has a limited power to see into the future," Silwa admitted. "But it is shadows that he sees, nothing more. His words are just the worst gloss put on an unclear picture, phantoms meant to frighten, to anger, to intimidate. If he saw good in your future he would tell you nought of it."

  "So, he is really a dark god?" Michael said. "He is really the Source of All Evil, as you named him?"

  "Perhaps not evil everywhere," Silwa said. "But evil in Pelarius, and the lands beyond, to be sure. It was he who corrupted the titans, he who brought about the ruin of the minotaurs, he who strove against the Eldar and against my cousins and myself when we came of age. Look to the greatest and most bloody tragedies of history and you will find him there, dancing in the flames, lapping up the bloodshed, laughing at the tragedy."

  "Then how does the Empire come to hold him captive?" Michael asked. "Why does it hold him captive?"

  Silwa sighed. "Because the Empire is very foolish, and not nearly as clever as it thinks itself."

  "Perhaps I may be able to explain this matter better than you, Lady Silwa," the Empress Aegea declared, riding out of the mists on the back of her winged unicorn, her wolf padding along at her side.

  Michael dropped to one knee. "Your Majesty."

  "Aegea," Silwa said. "You do not normally leave the confines of your realm."

  "As the whole world is my temporal realm, so is the whole of this plane my spiritual dominion," Aegea declared. "Rise, Michael Callistus."

  Michael rose to his feet, but kept his gaze averted.

  "Well done," Aegea said. "You have proven yourself worthy of Gideon's trust in you."

  "Thank you, ma'am," Michael said, still not looking the Divine Empress in the face. "I apologise, I did not wish to-"

  "It is all right, it is a matter which demands some explanation," Aegea said, dismounting. "Kal was loosed upon us by my enemies. They had found him buried deep in the earth in Daricium, with seventeen spears sunk into his flesh. They thought that he would help them to fight me, but he took over the Daric League instead or what remained of it by that time, whispering in the ears of all its leaders, bending them to his will. He sent their armies out to die beneath the swords of my legions then, having had his fill of fun with the Darics, he tried to take over the Empire."

  "He wanted your strength," Silwa said. "Kal led armies out against my father, but his true talent was always for manipulating others to do his work for him. He provoked war, not by commanding himself but by gaining the ear of prominent men, gaining their confidence, becoming the sole voice that they would listen to and trust. In such a way he would prolong conflict, stir up bloodshed. In the case of the Empire there was hardly any persuasion needed."

  Aegea ignored her fellow goddess. "He stole into our camp one night and set to spreading his lies and whispers. He came into my very presence and thought to make me his slave in all but name. He had no idea at the strength of my will or that of my courageous children. I resisted him, fought him, defeated him in battle and took some of his power for my own: the shapeshifting ability of the wolf brotherhoods, that lets some of my most loyal servants assume the forms of wolves. After that, we tried to kill him. A score of times. He did not die. I realised why he had been buried the first time."

  "The third time, actually," Silwa said with a slight sigh. "We kept on trying to imprison him and he kept on getting out, and each time it was literal murder catching him again. I suppose one must credit his persistence if nothing else."

  "He will not escape again," Aegea declared. "That is why I had him bound beneath my palace, to ensure that no one would unwittingly release him."

  "No, someone will just wittingly release him instead," Silwa said. "You cannot control him."

  "I do not need to control him, simply to contain him," Aegea replied. "Put him from your mind, Michael Callistus. He is no danger. His words have nought but venom in them."

  Michael frowned. "I do not fear the fates he said that I would suffer, only the things he said that I would do. But more than that I... nay, your majesty, never mind."

  "You fear what he made you do just now, do you not?" Aegea asked.

  Michael looked at her.

  "I would be a poor Empress if I could not read a man," Aegea said, her purple eyes boring into his soul. "And you are written in an easy script, if that does not offend you."

  "I had hoped I was beyond such anger," Michael said.

  "You are a good man," Aegea said. "Not a perfect one, but a good one nonetheless. Hold to that, and do not fear. For I am with you, and my strength is yours.

  "Now go, and serve me in the waking world. Leave Kal to me, and your troubles here. You have enemies closer and more real to fight in the waking world."

  Michael's eyes snapped open. He was back in Mistress Dido's House of Pleasures. The wall of the little room stared back at him.

  He sat up, his bare feet touching the wooden floor as he twisted half out of the bed. Michael lowered his head, his long black hair falling around his face, and stared at his hands.

  He could scarce believe himself. He had never sworn before. He had never lost control of himself like that before. Even when he was committing terrible sins, enough of a veneer of civility remained that he had been able to convince himself - if no one else - that he had been justified in the things that he had done. Kal had stripped even that away from him, and left him with nothing at all to hide behind.

  Michael clenched his fists, trying to understand just what it was about the self-proclaimed Source of All Evil that had so provoked him. Not what he had done, for he had done nothing. What he had said...

  It was what he had said about killing Amy, and His Highness. He could stand to be told that he would suffer a horrible fate. He hoped that with God's grace he could endure a horrible fate. He would never wish for the deaths of his friends, but if they fell as Fiannuala and Tullia had done then he could mourn and avenge them. But for him to kill them... for him to harm Amy, by his own hand... better that he should die now than take the risk that such a thing would come to pass.

  It will not happen. It cannot happen.

  "I defy him and deny him," Michael muttered, but the words sounded weak and feeble to his ears, and even Lady Silwa had confessed that Kal had some power to see things that were to come.

  "I am not that man," Michael declared. "I am not the brute I was. I am redeemed by Lord Gideon and my friends. I am not the creature of fury that left Lover's Rock. I am armoured in virtue now."

  But, if what Kal said was true, then that would not always be true, and those he loved most dearly would suffer for it.

  The fact that he wanted very badly to hit someone until their face was bloody ruin was not doing a great deal to reassure Michael as to his own essential good nature.

  "God give me strength," Michael whispered, putting his head in his hands. "God send that it be nought but lies."

  He lay back on the bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling above him. He would have thought that Dido would have decorated it, considering how much time was doubtless spent looking at it here. He would have liked something to have taken his mind off things.

/>   "I will not harm her," he murmured. "I deny him and defy him. Let the Lord of Darkness do his worst, my will is a match for all his trickery. Empress, I beg you let it be so."

  Michael wrenched his attention away from Kal and his dire portents, and thought instead to the true purpose of his excursion into the spirit world with Silwa: to see his sister's condition and to better understand his enemy.

  "Miranda," Michael murmured. It was unfortunate that she seemed to be considering Quirian's offer, but Michael was mostly hopeful that it would not come to the point where she could accept it. With the help of Amy, His Highness and himself, Michael was certain that Gideon would defeat Quirian; Miranda would not do what he willed, because Quirian's will was shortly to become irrelevant.

  More surprising to Michael was what he had learned about their foe. It was strange to think of one's foe feeling the same passions which animated oneself: obligation, familial piety, the honour and deference due to dear comrades, but it was also comforting. It meant he faced a worthy adversary, and they were the best kind. Or so he had always held: in the arena, he would rather be matched with another skilled gladiator than fight a hundred bouts against beasts or criminals.

  Is he a better man than I? Could I last five hundred years?

  I would hope so, though I am not sure I could in honour murder an innocent maid even for the sake of avenging Gideon or Amy.

  It was not a question of whether they would want him to take such and such a course. It was a question of faith, honour, but also a question of being worthy of their friendship. A murderer, who had stained his hands with innocent blood, could hardly be expected to be considered a fit companion for the Lord Commenae or one of Turo's Knights.

  If Quirian was foolish or mistaken in anything, it was in thinking that the shades of his fallen comrades would approve of the man he had become. Let him fight, let him avenge those who had a claim upon his heart if he wished, but he could not think that the years and the sins he had committed to achieve his goal would not leave their mark upon him, and that the marks would not drive off his friends if they were as virtuous and decent as he had made them seem.

  Of course, if they had been vilely slain before their time, then a man might reckon it a small sacrifice for vengeance that the shades of those he sought to avenge would shun him in the next world. Michael might even agree. But was Quirian willing to make that sacrifice?

  Would I? I am, as Her Majesty once told me, a selfish creature. Would I have the courage to give them up or would I feel that they had obligations to me from my actions? Would I seek to hold them tight, and so crush them?

  Is there any way that I can know which of us is the better man?

  Almighty Turo, hear my prayer: grant me strength to be stronger than my enemy, in soul if not in body, for it is with my spirit that I shall overcome him if at all.

  "Ah, you are awake. I thought I heard you stirring."

  Michael looked around. Gideon stood in the open doorway, a dark green bottle in one hand and two very small clay cups - just about large enough to stick up a couple of fingers in - held in the other. A small smile played across his features.

  Michael stood up. "Gideon. I am sorry, did I wake you?"

  "Not at all," Gideon said lightly. "I heard you rustling and waking, true, but I was not asleep. I cannot sleep. Not here, not now, when we are so close. May I come in?"

  Michael smiled. "Of course."

  "Thank you." Gideon padded lightly into the room and sat down upon the wooden floor. He looked up, out of the window, to the stars that lit up the sky outside. "It feels so unnatural, being here again. As if my long exile has come to an end. Eternal Pantheia. My home. My city. I fear I will wake at any moment and discover this has always been some dream that while, beautiful at the time, makes my heart ache all the greater."

  "It is no dream, Gideon, nor a lie," Michael said. "I promise, one day you may return to this city openly, as an honest man."

  Gideon chuckled. "Gideon Commenae, an honest man. Now there's a thought."

  Michael frowned. "I do not understand."

  "For which I am very thankful," Gideon said. "But what is troubling you, Michael? What made you wake?"

  "Lady Silwa took me to spy upon Quirian," Michael said. "I know his motives now, why he aims for what he does." He was not willing to tell Gideon about Kal.

  Gideon was silent for a moment. "I see. And what do you think of him now?"

  "I will stop him, or help you stop him Gideon, have no fear of that," Michael said. "But I cannot hate him for what he desires. I...sympathise. It is no ignoble aim to fight for the memory of ones companions."

  Gideon smiled. "All my efforts I have not been able to place the Empire at the very forefront of your affections, have I?"

  "I must confess not."

  "You are the man you are Michael, no sense in being ashamed," Gideon murmured. "It will end soon. I will reconnoitre Quirian's house today, and soon I shall have the plan to bring him down."

  "In this darkness it seems odd to talk of today, yet I suppose it must be morning now," Michael replied. "We are come to the close. God and the Empress go with us."

  "Have no fear, Michael," Gideon said firmly. "I am with you, and you are with me. While that holds true I have no fear. For myself or for the Empire." He set the two small cups down in front of him, and poured a brown liquid into both from out of his dark green bottle. "Will you drink with me, Michael?"

  "Thank you, Gideon, but I do not touch it," Michael said, for strong liquor robbed the will and made stronger all the vices which a man possessed.

  "I know you do not, ordinarily," Gideon said softly. "I hoped you might make an exception for today."

  "Because the battle will soon be over?"

  "No." Gideon grinned. "Would you believe it is my birthday?"

  Michael's eyebrows rose. "Many happy returns."

  Gideon set the bottle down. "It was on my fourteenth birthday that I took my very first drink. This very drink in fact: orc yrch from Galla Gadhell, best consumed in small doses. I shared a bottle with my father."

  The room was silent, Gideon's words hanging in the air as Michael's tongue faltered in attempting to respond.

  Quite possibly the fondest thing he has ever said to me yet I know not what to say.

  Michael's smile was brighter than the moon without as he sat down cross legged on the floor. "I would be honoured to drink with you, Gideon."

  "Thank you," Gideon whispered fondly, handing him one of the cups. "To Throne and Empire."

  "To you." Michael raised his cup, and swallowed the yrch in one gulp. It burned his throat and clawed his mouth on the way down, and his eyes bulged as he gasped at the harshness of the aftertaste.

  "I know, absolutely vile stuff," Gideon said. "Soldiers say that if you aren't sure if a man is dead or not you should pour some yrch down their throat and if they yet live they will cry out at the foulness of it. Another?"

  "Yes, why not?" Michael said. "We shall see if my eyeballs will fall out this time."

  Gideon chuckled, refilling his cup.

  Michael raised his cup in toast, "To...to family."

  Gideon smiled, "To family."

  They drank together.

  "Sir, I'd like to thank you for telling me so much about my sister."

  As he sat in Lucilia's room in Aulo's hospital, Michael replied, "Filia Lucilia, you have no need to call me sir. Michael is my name, and Michael you may call me."

  "Then how come you still call me Filia?" Lucilia asked, chuckling softly.

  Michael laughed. "I suppose I did not wish to be too forward. You do not know me very well."

  "You've told me so much about Tullia that you could only know if you had known her well," Lucilia said. "She trusted you, that means I trust you as well."

  "You have a kind heart and a gentle spirit, Filia. Filia-"

  Lucilia raised one finger. "Lucilia is my name, and Lucilia you may call me."

  "That is an uncanny impression, Luci
lia."

  "Why, thank you. But I interrupted you."

  "Lucilia, what would you do if all your ailments were to disappear, by some act of grace such as a god might bestow?"

  Lucilia was silent for a long while. "I think I would be very scared."

  "Scared?"

  "Before I came here, Tullia and I didn't have a home. It was cold every night, and we were always hungry. It wasn't very nice. I don't want to go back to that, but where else could I go if I left here?"

  Michael had not considered that. He did not even think that Filia Tullia had considered it. Where would she go, if freed from ailments? The hospital would cast her out - not out of any particular malice, but because a house of healing for the sick did not have the room to permanently house orphan girls - and she would be back on the streets of the Subura, without even the magic that had allowed her sister to escape that miserable existence and - whether or not one wished to not withstand Jason's friends from the Metics Quarter - Michael did not believe that Tullia would have considered the oldest profession any more suitable for Lucilia than he did himself. He had promised to take care of her, but he had no money, no trade, no home. Even if, as he hoped and believed, Gideon could restore his reputation on the battlefield and his faithful servant shared in some scraps of his success, still he doubted that Gideon would wish to settle in retirement. Michael himself had made a bargain with the Empress, and did consider that allowing Lucilia to grow up a child of the camp would have been much more to Tullia's liking than the Subura.

  "Michael?" Lucilia murmured. "Why did you ask me that?"

  Michael hesitated, wondering what he should say to her; she said that I had honest hands. "I have a sister, Miranda by name, who possesses a miraculous gift. A gift from the gods themselves, to banish any ailment or affliction. Tullia hoped that Miranda could make you well."

  "Really?" Lucilia whispered, her voice trembling. She turned away, "It would be wonderful, to walk. If I had anywhere to go."

  Michael said, "Lucilia, if you are afraid, then I will not force good health on you against your will."

  Lucilia lowered her face and clenched her blanket tightly. "I am scared. But, just because I'm scared doesn't mean that I should spend my whole life hiding here. I think... I think that I have to be brave like Tullia was, and face it anyway."