And so he sat in the doorway, clenching his fists and trying not to think about two troubling subjects, while various patrons coming into the house gave him looks full of suspicion. Michael cared not for their opinions; he was not the one soiling himself with sin. And many of these men and women were married no doubt, for shame.
People such as these might scorn the values of the Turonim, might disdain the honour of the Coronim people, but Michael considered an honest Turonim of Corona like his mother to be worth ten or twenty of these sophisticated, cosmopolitan reprobates who visited brothels in the dark of the night and thought more of their pleasures in this world than of the judgement that would await them in the next.
He would have given a great deal to have been able to talk to Amy, but he dared not, lest she reject him out of fear.
"I will not do it," Michael murmured. "I am that man no longer."
"Michael? What are you doing out here?"
Michael turned, fearing that it was Amy come to fetch him, but it turned out to be His Highness.
"Your Highness," Michael stood up, bowing his head. "I apologise if I have disturbed your rest."
"You didn't, I just wondered if something was the matter," Jason said.
Michael shook his head. "Nothing is amiss, Highness, I am quite content."
"You don't look it," Jason said. "What are you doing out here in the dark and the cold?"
"Sometimes the dark and could are pleasant company," Michael replied. "It matches my mood."
Jason stepped out of the doorway, closing the door behind him and cutting off the warm light that had spilled out from the house. "Is this because you're not comfortable with what's going on in there?"
"No, Your Highness, or not entirely," Michael said. "Though I would not hold it against myself if it were."
"There is nothing wrong in what they do," Jason said.
"There is much wrong in what is done to them," Michael replied.
Jason sighed with resignation, but before he could open his mouth to speak some words in defence of the oldest profession the doors to the pleasure house were flung open and His Highness had to spring out of the way as Sophoniba and Hector manhandled an overweight, middle-aged man with sagging jowls into the street and tossed him on his backside.
"And don't come back!" Sophoniba yelled, she had a black eye and bruises round her neck. "We don't want your sort around here."
The man groaned, "Who are you to tell me where I can go, you little slut?" he narrowly avoided a kick aimed at him by Hector.
"Is there a problem?" Jason asked.
The irate customer began to rant, "This ungrateful bitch-"
"Nobody was asking you," Michael's kick, unlike that of Hector, did not miss, crumpling the man's nose and putting him flat on his back in a groaning heap.
Sophoniba didn't react to Michael's violence, focussing instead on Jason. "He wanted to go further than I did. I stopped him, he got upset and tried to teach me a lesson." She smirked. "Hector and I took care of him."
"Are you all right ma'am?" Michael asked. He found that his hands were trembling.
"I'm fine. Makeup will cover this right up so no one will know." Sophoniba smiled. "Good thing he was it for the night, I'm off to bed."
Jason smiled back at her. "Goodnight."
"See you in the morning, lamb," Sophoniba called as she went back inside. Hector followed her in, closing the door behind the door behind him.
The client was starting to bestir himself again. Michael scowled at the smell of alcohol on his breath.
"Don't come back," he grumbled. "Maybe I'll come back with a knife, or a few friends. Then I'll show her. Damned whore."
"I would think better of that, if I were you," Michael's voice had the sharp ring of a sword being drawn from its scabbard. "I would not return. In fact I would go so far as to forget I knew the way here."
"Oh, you would? Well unlike you I won't let that bitch-"
He stopped, because Michael had hurled himself upon the man. Everything he had held inside his armour since meeting Kal: his anger at the Dark One, his fears over Amy and the prophecy, his self-disgust at the behaviour he had displayed in the fighting pit, all erupted in a flurry of kicks and punches that reduced the customer to a whimpering mass upon the ground. Michael rammed a knife through the palm of the man's hand, the hand which had struck Sophoniba, then cut off his index finger for good measure.
"I don't care if you bring the whole Imperial army with you," Michael snarled. "I see you around here again I'll kill you, now get out of my sight!"
The fellow fled blubbering into the night, cradling his mutilated hand.
There was silence in the street till Jason broke it. "A little harsh, weren't you?"
"You saw the bruises."
"I don't see why you should care. I didn't think you liked my friends."
"I do not approve of what they do," Michael said. "But a man to whom such insults come so readily is a hypocrite to come to such a place, and to strike a lady is abhorrent to honour and to God, there can be no yielding upon that point."
Jason sounded amused. "They don't need you to protect them."
"You say that because you are living in the same fool's paradise that they are."
"I don't understand."
Michael turned to face him. "I act the naïf because it pleases me to do so but I am not a child. There were women of that trade in Lover's Rock. Fallen women, my mother called them: fallen from grace. I remember them: aged before their time, worn and battered, the slave to the depraved desire of every sinner who would toss them a coin when he was done. Their eyes... they had eyes of living corpses, barren of hope. It is not a glamorous profession however many red curtains you hang up or however fine your house." Michael recalled Tullia confessing her fear that she or Lucilia might have been forced by circumstance to take up this work; it had terrified her who was as fearless as anyone Michael had ever met.
"This place isn't like that," Jason said. "Sophoniba and the others, people respect them, they are in control."
"I saw the respect that villain had for her quite well, Your Highness," Michael said. "They are allowed to pretend at control as a child may be indulged when they play at being a prince or a great warrior. But the indulgence always comes to an end. All it takes is one man of enough wealth and power to think he has the right to impose his will on others and this fantasy will crumble! And to think that I am oft accused of living in dreams."
"They can take care of themselves," Jason insisted.
"Were I inclined I could kill every last man and woman in that house tonight, excepting Amy and Gideon," Michael was nearly shouting now. "And men like me can be brought for far less than a night with one of your friends, I'm sure. I... I mean no insult but I cannot fathom how any mother could willingly allow her child to enter such a life. Had I a daughter so minded I would tie her up in a cellar until she came to her senses. This is no life for those who have a choice."
Jason stared at him for a moment. "You have a low opinion of your fellow men."
"I see my fellow men for what they are: barbarians but better dressed. The only thing separating a Lavissari from a Pantheian is Imperial law. You say that without rules and control then men would make a paradise, but I say that men will make nought but misery if not for some prince or god or Empress to lift lead them upwards unto better things and enforce righteousness upon them."
"Righteousness as defined by the one doing the leading," Jason said.
"By those willing to take up the burden, aye," Michael said. "As crutches support an unfit body, so do firm principles and regulation support an unfit soul, and in matters of virtue we are all of us cripples. We require the gods to sustain us and rules to carry us. Our impulses are restrained only by laws, by codes of honour and chivalry, these things alone turn us from beasts to virtuous creatures. The evidence for this is in and all around me. From what is your fantasy of benevolent anarchy derived?"
"Hope," Jason said. "A refusal t
o yield to your bleak analysis. I know you mean well, but I cannot accept it. I will not."
Michael, deflating a little, muttered, "I am sorry, Your Highness. My words were too strong. I am out of sorts tonight."
"I understand," Jason said. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Your Highness" Michael murmured as Jason went inside. Michael was left alone, staring up at the moon.
"You're right, you know."
Michael looked round to see Elissa step out of the shadows, her expression a curious mixture of fear and resolve.
"Ma'am." Michael bowed formally. "Forgive me, I did not see you."
"You're right," Elissa repeated. She looked towards home. "I hate this place. It frightens me."
Michael did not reply. He had no idea what he should say.
"Mother and Sophoniba act like I'm odd or stupid for not wanting to do what they do. Like there's something wrong with not wanting to have a dozen strangers grabbing me at me every night, licking me, beating me, crawling over me, kissing me oh gods!" She shrank back from Michael, hugging herself as if he might himself assault her.
"There is no shame in that ma'am, no matter what some say," Michael said hoarsely.
"What if she decides to force me? That's why she makes me work as the drudge, to try and break me. What if she-"
"To do such a thing would require a heart black as pitch," Michael said. "And that I do not think your mother has."
Elissa did not look reassured. "Mother talks sometimes about the old days, about how many of the great and good she visited when she was young and beautiful: lords, generals, publicani, naval captains. Some of the names: Lord Livius, Lord Flamininus, Lord Manzikes, not the one that's just died, his father. She tells it like it was so wonderful, but all I can think of is how any one of them could have done anything they liked to her, killed her or broken her and spat her out without the slightest consequence. Their money and power would protect them, and who would challenge a lord of the Empire for a harlot's sake?"
Michael nodded, the only protection Dido had possessed was a lord's honour, and a lord whose honour would bend to allow him to use a prostitute might twist it to all manner of villainies.
"Take me away from here," Elissa begged. "Let me come with you, when you leave. I know Jason, and I feel like you and Amy are good people. I know I'll be safe with you."
Michael half turned away. "I am sorry ma'am, I cannot."
"Why not, because it's dangerous?"
"Yes," Michael said. "And because I am a guest in your mother's house. I cannot repay her hospitality by stealing her daughter. My honour will not permit it."
"So I have to live in fear because of your honour?"
Michael closed his eyes and prayed that he did the right thing. "When the immediate battle is done, when I have departed from your mother's roof...I will speak to Lord Gideon and see if a place cannot be found for you in service to the Empire. An honourable position, but a safe one also. When the fighting is over, I will send for you, you have my word." By delaying until he had taken leave of Dido's hospitality Michael could reconcile both his honour and her need.
"Really?" Elissa beamed. "I knew you were a good man. You had to be, since you're Jason's friend."
"His Highness has good taste," Michael murmured. "Good night ma'am."
"'Night," Elissa hummed softly as she went inside. Michael sat down on the doorstep looking up at the stars.
"Not always a vicious thug, thank god," he murmured to himself.
He did not want to go inside, and so he continued to sit outside the door, the leaf blade of Eena across his knees, staring up at the beauty of the stars while doubt and guilt mingled in his soul to ravage his spirit.
The door opened. Michael looked up to see Amy standing over him. She had vested herself of all her heavy armour, and was wearing clothes that looked like they had been borrowed from Elissa. They were not a perfect fit - Amy was taller than Elissa, for one thing - but they were more modest than most of what she was likely to find in Dido's house. She did not have Magnus Alba with her, but she was wearing a knife at her belt, with a bone hilt carved in the shape of a dolphin.
"Amy," Michael murmured, looking away quickly.
"Make some room," Amy said, nudging him out of the way as she sat down beside him. "Now, what's the matter?"
Michael was silent for a moment. "Nothing."
"Don't lie to me," Amy snapped. "You've hardly spoken to me all day. You don't look at me. Something's wrong, and I want to know what it is."
"No, you don't," Michael said softly.
"Now I know I need to find out what's going on, because you just used a contraction," Amy said. "You only do that when you're angry or upset. So which is it?"
A thin smile crossed Michael's face. "You know me too well, our Amy."
"Don't change the subject. What's going on?"
Michael blinked. He paused. He looked down at his feet. He did anything rather than tell Amy the truth. She would shrink from him in fear. All her compassion would turn to terror and distrust. A friend would be lost, and a link to his childhood sundered beyond recall.
"Hoi!" Amy snapped. "Are you going to answer me or do I have to pull the truth out of your throat?"
Michael chuckled. "All right, our Amy, I'll tell. But please...when I do tell you...remember that I tried to keep it a secret."
"I'll bear it in mind," Amy said flatly. "How much I bear it in mind depends on what it is you're hiding."
Michael sighed. "Lady Silwa took me into the spirit realm. She took me to...to spy on Miranda I suppose, and on Quirian."
"How is she?"
"Well enough," Michael replied. "But that...that is not why I've been cold towards you. When Lady Silwa and I were leaving, we were accosted by the shade of a creature. A being who called himself Kal."
Amy's eyes widened. "The Source of All Evil and the Lord of Darkness. God protect us."
"You know him?" Michael asked.
"Well it isn't as if we've shared cod and salt together, but every naiad knows who he is," Amy said. "It was he who slew the parents of the Eldar and drove them into exile, he who created the demons - and that is why we do not summon them, no matter what Jason thinks - he who created the first shapeshifters, he who corrupted the titans and shattered the citadel of the minotaurs. He who waged war on all that was good for thousands of years before the Eldar broke his power and ended his reign of terror. I thought he was imprisoned."
"He is, by the Empire," Michael said.
Amy's eyes went wide. "Idiots! They can't possibly think that they can control that much power, that much evil."
"I think that they consider themselves the best possible guardians of it, from a set of imperfect choices," Michael replied.
"Unfortunately, they might have a point there," Amy muttered. "But what does this have to do with you avoiding me?"
Now they were come to it. Now they were come to the end. "He told me...he gave me a prophecy. He said that I... that I would kill you."
Amy stared into Michael's eyes for a long moment, then she began to laugh aloud. "That's it? He told you that and you believed him?"
"Lady Silwa said that he could see into the future," Michael said.
"Not half so well as he'd like you to think, even I know that," Amy said. "His power is his tongue. He whispers to people, lies to them, convinces them. That is how the Source of Evil spreads his creations: through persuasion, not by force. He convinces you that you will do things and the fear of it drives you so mad that you do them anyway."
"Then I might do it," Michael exclaimed. "I might...I tried to deny him. I tried to convince myself that I was better than that now. But I'm not. Just now I got so angry. He made me so angry. And the things that I do when I'm angry I...if I hurt you Amy-"
"You won't," Amy said, the certainty of her voice, as firm and unyielding as an ocean wave, contrasting sharply with Michael's wavering speech, as changeable as the wind.
"But I-"
"You won't," A
my repeated as she drew the knife from her belt. She pressed the hilt into Michael's palm.
Michael's brow furrowed. "What are you doing, Amy?"
Amy smiled at him as she guided his hand - with the knife gripped in a fist that he could not open because of the way Amy was holding it - until the bone blade was at her throat.
"Here you are," she said. "Here is my neck. A single stroke and I am dead."
Michael's eyes widened. "Amy..."
Amy held his hand there for a few moments, and then guided it downwards to a spot just above her breast. "Here is my heart. You need only drive home strong and true."
Michael shook his head. "I don't understand."
Amy's smile broadened as she took the knife from his unresisting hand. "You will not kill me. You won't even hurt me. I put my life in your hands. I give you my honour to carry into battle. I place my heart in your keeping."
She took his hands in her own. "You are my boy, and I am your girl, and I trust you. Whatever the words of demons and dark gods, whatever the decrees of kings and emperors, whatever prophecies and omens may proclaim I trust you. You are the best man I know and you are my friend and nothing will ever change that.
"Now, who do you trust more? Me, or a dark god who likes to play games with your mind?"
Michael smiled a little. "I trust you, our Amy. You...you are my other half."
"And you are the blade that shares my scabbard," Amy whispered.
"What are you two both doing out here in the cold?" Wyrrin asked as he became the latest member of their company to emerge out onto the doorstep.
"Ah, you're awake," Amy said. "We weren't expecting you until the warm weather."
"I sleep during the day because it's quieter," Wyrrin sniffed. "At night these people make so much noise. I did not know that humans had breeding dens."
"They don't," Amy said. "What's a breeding den?"
"Do naiads not have them either?"
"No," Amy said suspiciously. "What are they?"
"They are were the females who are not currently pregnant, nesting or rearing live, until they become pregnant," Wyrrin said.
Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2) Page 24