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

by Frances Smith

  Michael took her small hands in his grasp. "You are wiser than your years, to have grasped so quick a lesson it took me many hardships to comprehend. When Miranda arrives, then you may make your final decision." He rose. "And now I must take my leave of you. I may be gone for some time, but I promise to return."

  Lucilia smiled. "Then I shall hold you to that promise."

  "I would expect no less," Michael replied. "Gods keep you." He turned away and closed the door to his little cell behind him.

  Terentia was waiting for him in the hospital corridor, arms crossed, lips pursed, brow furrowed. "Is that true? Is your sister really some kind of miracle worker?"

  Michael's chest puffed a little. "I do not make a habit of telling cruel lies to children, ma'am, especially when their sisters were very dear to me."

  "No, of course not, I'm sorry," Terentia shook her head. "I just...that poor girl, well. I can hardly believe it. I suppose I should start looking for another job."

  Michael chuckled. "I doubt Miranda possesses the energy to deal with every ailment in the city."

  "Well that's good to hear," Terentia said lightly. Then her tone darkened. "A pity she cannot be here now, though. I fear Lucilia might not be here when you return."

  Michael frowned. "What is the matter? She did not seem to be..." he groped for the right word.

  "It isn't her health I meant, in this case, it’s our money," Terentia said. "The support we receive from the church is not enough to cover all of our expenses, and the donations the faithful make are not enough to make up the shortfall. So far, Lucilia's care has been paid for by Imperial stipend, but now that Tullia is dead-"

  "With good fortune they shall not discover that for some time yet," Michael said. But he knew that something had to be done nonetheless in case the worst should come to pass. "Filia, I don't suppose that you would know any disreputable people who might move through the seedier areas of the city?"

  "Whatever are you suggesting?"

  "I have no money to give you ma'am, nor much means of getting any," Michael said. "But I do have a certain skill with my hands as it were, and there must be somewhere in a city this large and possessing so many fearful neighbourhoods where a man may make money brawling for the amusement of others."

  "A fighting pit," Terentia said, sounding doubtful to say the least. "Your plan is to go to a fighting pit?"

  "I will have you know, ma'am, that I was a prize winning gladiator before entering into personal service," Michael said. "I brought my master considerable quantities of money through my many victories."

  Terentia looked him up and down. "Maybe. Come on, I've a couple of friends who might be able to help, then I know just the place."

  "You know of it yourself?"

  Terentia flashed a bright-eyed smile at him. "I wasn't born a devotee of Aulo, you know." And with that she turned upon her heel and led the way.

  Terentia led Michael first to a place called Andronicus' Square, where tall columns enclosed the open space and a large crowd had gathered. As the two of them forced their way through the press, they saw that the crowd - which included a great many children - was gathered about two young ladies. One was plainly a fire mage, flames trailing from her hands like streamers as she weaved her arms in complex patterns, leaping and whirling as she danced the fires she herself was creating, surrounding herself with fire yet letting none of it touch her. Her flames were yellow, the look of concentration on her face intense, but when she caught sight of Terentia she gave a slight smile and her flames became streaked with blue. The crowd gasped and applauded, tossing coins into a bowl that lay nearby.

  The other young lady was juggling five throwing knives over her head, keeping them spinning, ensuring that they stayed on the move, never letting a single one settle or get anywhere near the ground. She was also managing to do this without getting a scratch on her, and just to show off she would occasionally some feat of acrobatics, leaping into the air, spinning her body round and round, and all the while keeping the knives spinning above her. Michael might not have believed it was possible had he not seen it with his own eyes.

  Suddenly the fire mage flung a trio of fireballs at the juggler. She leapt away, the flames pursuing her, then threw two of her knives to land on either side of the fire mage's feet.

  She threw a third knife.

  The fire mage caught it between two fingers.

  The crowd roared and bellowed in approval as the two girls bowed, their begging bowl resounding to the sound of clinking coins.

  Terentia clapped wildly as she led Michael out of the dispersing mass to greet the two. "That was brilliant! Even better than usual, I thought you were really trying to kill her at one point."

  "I thought about it," the fire mage said. "But then I decided- ow!" the juggler had just whacked her on the back of the head.

  "Hello, Terentia, I didn't think they ever let you out this early," the juggler said. She looked Michael up and down with her blue eyes. "Don't tell me you've left the temple to run away with this?"

  "No offence." the fire mage smirked.

  "Come on, I'm sure even he'd say he's not much to look at."

  "I have not left the temple," Terentia said. "I'm here for Lucilia, and the hospital."

  "Lucilia?" the fire mage raised one eyebrow. "So you're the Coronan who brought the bad news? It's a crying shame, Tullia was a good person. A good friend. Poor Lucilia."

  "Indeed," Michael murmured.

  "Michael, isn't it?"

  "Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella ban Ezekiel at your service," Michael said.

  The fire mage nodded. "My name's Vergillia. The monkey is my friend Xanthe. She talks but I wish she didn't."

  "Shut up!" Xanthe snapped. "And Lucilia doesn't need you to take care of her, she's got us, Tullia's real friends."

  Michael shifted his feet a little. "I seem to have offended you in some fashion, Filia."

  Xanthe scowled. "If you were there when Tullia died, how come you didn't save her? If you were such good friends why didn't you die in her place? How do we know you didn't kill Tullia and then come here to take advantage of Lucilia?"

  Michael's hand moved with the speed of a whip, striking Xanthe across the face with a sound like wooden swords clashing in the hands of children. Terentia gasped. Xanthe grunted in pain as a knife appeared in her hand. She lunged at him.

  Michael grabbed her wrist. He twisted the knife from her hand. He grabbed her throat and lifted her up by the neck. Vergillia recoiled, flames igniting at her finger tips.

  "If you ever suggest something like that again," Michael snarled into Xanthe's face. "I swear to God I will kill you." He let her drop - she landed on her feet like a cat - and turned away.

  "I know that Tullia was a better person than I am," he said, head bowed. "She never doubted her place, her purpose, her righteousness. Everything she did, Tullia did with all of her brave heart. I could try my whole life and never be as strong as she was. And I will not deny that I failed her in battle. But I will not have the memory of our comradeship sullied by such vile suggestions. I will not."

  Michael sighed. "I apologise for striking you. It was a display of my most ugly side that I should not have revealed. I am grievously out of sorts today."

  "She asked for it," Vergillia murmured. "You can't accuse someone of murdering a friend and expect to get away with it."

  "Vergillia!"

  "Just so you know though," Vergillia continued in a calm tone. "If you grab her like that again I will set your face on fire until your eyeballs melt."

  Michael turned back to face the three ladies. "I am glad we understand one another ma'am."

  Vergillia smirked. "So, you have a plan to help Lucilia?"

  "He wants to go to a fighting pit," Terentia said, her tone a little derisory. "I was hoping you could stake us. I shouldn't really use temple money to place bets."

  "But you've got some haven't you?" Vergillia asked knowingly.

  "A little," Terentia replied
with some reluctance.

  "A fighting pit, eh?" Xanthe rubbed the side of her face. "You're strong enough and fast enough, I'll grant you that. Vicious, too. I think you might do okay."

  Vergillia picked up their begging bowl. "Well let's get going then. I hope you're ready for a gruelling day, Coronan."

  "Coronim, ma'am, if you please. Only ignorant gentiles say Coronan."

  "You must be hearing it a lot in this city then."

  "More than once, ma'am."

  The three ladies took him to a rather low appearing establishment called the Fighting Cock, where Vergillia whispered into the ear of a mud-caked and immoral looking man - and if his offences were half as rank to heaven as his smell was to Michael's nose then he was a sinner indeed - who admitted them via a hidden door into the cellar of the place. The cellar was filled with rowdy men and shrieking women, who stood around a circle of sand where two men hammered at each other with their fists until one of them dropped to the ground. As someone dragged the fallen battler away, another man stepped into the ring, taking off his tunic and throwing it into the crowd.

  There was none of the nobility of the arena here, no honour nor glory. If there ever were such things in the arena, and I did not invent them in my melancholy.

  Normally Michael would have despised such a place as this. He did despise it. But Lucilia's need was great, and for his promise to Tullia he would sublimate even his pride and his disgust.

  "The rules are simple," Xanthe said. "No weapons, no killing or it's you who'll take the blame with the Vigilants. Other than that, anything goes."

  "You come here often?"

  "Sometimes," Xanthe admitted. "It's not as violent as it seems, you know, it's really about self respect and self-discipline."

  Michael recognising in his own thoughts the echo of Miranda's opinions of the arena, laughed.

  "What?"

  "Nothing," Michael said. "You stirred a memory from my past that is all."

  The man who had stepped out of the crowd to fight soon found himself flat on his back, a few faithful supporters carrying him away while the rest of the crowd jeered.

  "All right! The house champion wins again! Who else will challenge Dymas the Destroyer?"

  "I will," Michael shouted. He took off his cloak, folded it carefully, and handed into Terentia. Then he roughly tore off his tunic and passed that to her as well. He did not particularly like fighting with his hands, though he had been trained to box and wrestle both - animals fought with their teeth and claws, men should use weapons to elevate the contest - but to supply Lucilia's wants he would break a scruple.

  "Okay," the grubby little man doing the announcing clapped his hands together. "We have a challenger! Eight to one?"

  "Ten shillings on him!" Xanthe shouted.

  The three ladies hurried to place and take bets as Dymas the Destroyer sized Michael up. He was taller than Michael, well muscled, his knuckles calloused. He smirked arrogantly.

  "I'll take you down in one blow."

  Michael grinned. "So certain? In that case I will let you throw the blow without resistance. Offer up your finest."

  "What?" Terentia yelled. "Are you mad?"

  Michael ignored her, spreading his arms out wide and waving Dymas on.

  The big man hesitated, suspecting a trap, before striding forward to slam his fist into Michael's face.

  Michael's head snapped around, his cheek burning. But he did not take a single step backwards. Not one inch.

  Michael looked back at an astonished Dymas, and grinned. Then he went on the attack.

  He struck Dymas in the face, in the stomach, kicked his knee so hard it cracked and them head-butted him for good measure. That was all it took to get him on the ground, groaning softly as his head lolled to one side.

  He could hear the three young ladies cheering behind him as they collected their winnings.

  The announcer looked aghast for a moment, but swiftly rallied. "The challenger is victorious! The house will send out a new champion: Cyrus, the Demon of the East!"

  The Demon of the East emerged from the crowd swinging his fists wildly as he hurled himself upon Michael. He was a big fellow, with an oiled beard styled in a sharp point, and he threw some ferocious punches. But he had no finesse to him, no subtlety to his movements, and as soon as Michael had dodged his initial flurry of blows it was the work of a child to lay him on his back.

  More challengers came out as Michael dominated the makeshift circle, his blood beginning to sing with enthusiasm for the fighting as more fighters tried his strength: a little wrestler named Ajax whom Michael defeated by the expedient of picking him up and throwing him across the room, a true mountain of a man named Aetius the Avalanche.

  Michael raised his arms and bellowed his triumphs out. The old arena feeling was starting to return to him, the feeling you only ever got when there was a cheering crowd urging you on. Oh, but he had missed this. God forgive him but he felt just like an old drunk reaching for the bottle once again, and what a pity that not even Gideon's service could offer him an ecstasy comparable to this.

  Focus. Remember why you're really doing this. For Lucilia, for Tullia. This isn't for you.

  But it feels so wonderful.

  It was only then, as Michael stood battered and bloodied but exhilarated such as he had not felt since Lover's Rock fell, that he heard the announcer's voice ring out.

  "And finally, the last champion to step forward and defend the reputation of the house: Brodir the Beast!"

  The crowd before Michael parted like the waves as an orc with fists like anvils stepped forward to confront him. His fists were wrapped in leather strips that must have amounted to the whole hide of an ox. His face was square as a brick, his jaw firm as a block of wood. His chest was firm enough to build a house on. His head was bald except for a single crimson ponytail falling down from the very top of his head.

  Michael stared at him for a moment. He'd never seen an orc before in his life, though he could recognise one from traveller's tales and old stories. Looking at the example before him he could see where their formidable reputation came from.

  With a yell, Michael punched the orc in the face. Brodir didn't even flinch.

  Brodir's first blow, on the other hand, sent Michael skidding backwards across the sand, his vision a blur.

  The orc was on him before he could get up again, those massive fists slamming down onto Michael like hammers. Michael's stomach howled in pain, his face cried out for mercy, his shoulders, his chest his arms, every part of him that received the attentions of Brodir the Beast was rueing it shortly after.

  Michael's own blows, on the other hand, were like an unruly babe striking his mother for all the good they did.

  He could hear Terentia, Vergillia and Xanthe shouting at him, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. Their voices were as indistinct as the rest of the crowd.

  But one voice sounded crisp and clear. "Michael."

  Michael glanced over Brodir's shoulder, the pain of the orc's blows receding from his mind as if he was forgetting what it felt like to be beaten.

  Tullia stood over him, a shimmering, shining figure.

  "I never had any doubts you'd keep your word," she said. "But thank you all the same."

  Michael smiled through cracked lips. "No man deserving of the name would let down family when they needed him."

  Tullia smiled. "You should let your 'chivalry' slide sometimes; you're more likeable when you're being sincere."

  "If I was sincere to everyone, the currency would lose its value," Michael laughed. He felt a fresh strength filling him, suffusing his limbs, the images he could see became unreal and insubstantial until Tullia's spirit was the most real looking thing he could see. "Is this spirit magic?"

  Tullia nodded. "It's probably cheating. But this is for Lucilia so I can...well, I can live with it, if you know what I mean. Take him apart."

  Michael smiled savagely, punching upwards to take Brodir in the face, a blow that sen
t the orc reeling backwards. Michael leapt to his feet in a single bound and began to harry the green-skinned warrior back, laying into him with blow after blow. He drove the stunned-looking orc to his knees, and the fever in his blood cried out for him to beat Brodir as the orc had beaten him, to repay pain with pain, to carve Michael Callistus into Brodir's skin, to show him who the real beast was.

  "No, Michael," Tullia whispered. "You're better than that."

  "Only with your help," Michael whispered.

  "Nevertheless."

  Michael clenched his fist. "I will not pollute Lucilia's cause with my black acts." He knocked out Brodir with a clean punch, and turned his back upon the fallen orc.

  "I trust you have made enough money, ma'am?" he asked, retrieving his tunic and cloak from Xanthe and Vergillia.

  Terentia looked astonished. "I... yes, more than enough."

  Michael smiled. "Then give my regards to Lucilia, I must be off now. I trust the two of you will see her safe back to the hospital?"

  "No, we're going to let her carry all this money alone through a rough part of town, what do you think?" Xanthe said.

  Michael bowed. "Then farewell Filia Xanthe, Filia Vergillia. Filia Terentia, give my regards to Lucilia."

  Vergillia crossed her arms. "You're not acting are you? You're a little bit odd."

  "I am odd and an actor both at once, ma'am," Michael said. "Until we meet again." As he started for the way out, he nodded to Tullia even as her spirit began to fade from sight. "Thank you, our Tullia. I cannot do this without you."

  "I'll be here so long as that's true, and even longer," Tullia said, her voice becoming a whisper on a nonexistent breeze as her soul returned to the splendours of Heavenvault.

  Michael turned away, his cloak flapping behind him as the pain of his injuries started to return.

  He had to speak to Gideon at once.

  Amy thought it was a bit unfair that, when Gideon had gone to scout out Quirian's house, he had bidden Amy, Jason and Wyrrin to remain at the Pleasure House, lest they be seen and remarked upon, while Michael was allowed to go wither he would. Admittedly he had a plain face and was much less recognisable than a naiad knight, a fire drake or the Emperor's bastard son, but that didn't stop it from rankling with her a bit.