Amy's eyes were wide with disgust. "Don't they say get a say in any of this?"
"We are so few," Wyrrin said. "All must do their part for the survival of our race."
"That's disgusting!" Amy said. "And you think that you had it bad as a slave. God under the ocean! You people...the elder races have really gone to the sharks, you know."
"Unlike some, we spent our strength resisting humanity," Wyrrin said.
"Don't blame us for being wiser than you," Amy said.
"Not all of us had the oceans to run and hide in," Wyrrin said.
"You're doing as much running and hiding as I am at this moment," Amy replied.
Michael coughed. "Naiad and fire drake though you may be, can you not also be Amy and Wyrrin? Surely you must concede that to pen up your women to do nothing but breed more fire drakes is barbaric, to say the least."
Wyrrin was quiet for a moment. "My mother raised me for the first six months of my life. My father I saw only twice, but through him I inherited my caste. From my mother I had nothing but a few memories, for at six months old I was taken away and raised by the priests alongside all the other children born in the year of my birth. My mother was sent back to the breeding den. I think...I think...I think that nothing about the way we live, nothing about the way we struggle to survive, can be what Arus intended for us. And yet if we do not struggle, how can we survive?"
"Find a stronger partner to protect you," Michael murmured. "Shelter under their power, and grow beneath their shade, as the minotaurs have."
"I am a coward," Wyrrin murmured. "For I fled from a place I hated rather than fighting to change it."
"When all the power of the world is ranged against you, rising up like a mountain poised to fall upon your head, there is no shame in seeking out a world less hostile," Amy said. "You might bring down the mountain, and history remembers those who do, but no one remembers the multitudes more who were buried by it."
"Perhaps because most of them deserved to be buried, including the ones who cast the mountains down," Michael said. "Amy, Wyrrin, what would you do if you thought that history and posterity might remember you as villains, rather than as heroes?"
"That's not going to happen, is it?" Amy asked anxiously.
"Who can say?" Michael asked. "Not I, in truth. Would it be so terrible?"
"Yes!" Amy declared. "That would...what would be the point in doing anything? Would you really not mind?"
"Not so long as people had the grace to wait until I was dead and gone before they started slandering my good character and soiling my honour," Michael said.
"You were a gladiator, you chose that life of your own will," Wyrrin said. "Why, if not for fame?"
"Fame in my lifetime," Michael said. "My brother was dead, my friend was gone, my sister hated me...or at least I thought she did. I wished to be loved, and so I sought in the arena the love of the crowds, their cheers, and their applause.
"Miranda once told me that as soon as I was dead the crowd would find a new favourite to fawn upon. She was right, but what she did not understand was how little that mattered to me. So long as I am adored while living...in death I shall be in Turo's halls, and the pleasures there will make my reputation in the living world seem of little account."
"You cannot honestly mean to tell me that you do not care a whit about how your name will live on," Amy said. "Look me in the eye and say that."
Michael hesitated. "It concerns me a little."
"I knew it," Amy said, a touch of smugness in her tone. "No one who is desirous for fame does not wish for their fame to live on after them."
"Clearly you wish it very much," Wyrrin said.
"Immortality of the name is the only immortality there is for mortals such as we," Amy said. "One day we will die, one day our bones will be dust, but if God wills it then they will talk of Ser Amy Doraeus ban Tiralon, daughter of Niccolo, when the Empire itself has fallen and new kingdoms squat among its ruins. Yes, to be cheered and admired now, to have men flock to my banner, to have my deeds sung of in my hearing, to be ruler of a stout keep and wide lands, to feast knights and minstrels beneath my roof, all these things I want and, with good fortune, will have but...but I could not bear it to be remembered in five hundred years time for deeds black as pitch and foul to all good men. I would rather be forgotten, my name wiped clean from the annals of these times, as be reviled by tale-tellers and judged by scholars.
"My grandfather told me that I was not worthy of the legacy of Niccolo's line. So I will build a legacy of my own, and it will be golden and glorious and last through the ages, such as my heirs will be proud to boast of. But to build a legacy of nought but hate...I might as well have shut myself up in some dark room and never left, at least I would not be thought badly of for it.
"You talk of immortal souls, but what of immortal memory? Does that not deserve consideration? And what of you, fire drake? Where do you stand? Do you wish to be loved now, with no care for what comes after, or do you wish to build a name that will outlive you many times over, more even to attain the riches and glories of the world while you live to see it?"
Wyrrin was silent for a moment, tilting his head first this way, and then that, his sickle-toes tapping on the cobblestones.
"When a fire drake dies," he said. "No matter his caste, he is given a public funeral in the district in which he lives. No matter his caste, the priest presides and the elders all attend, along with every other resident who has no urgent duties. The priest will praise the dead, the vital work they did, the services they rendered to the city. The message is always the same: no matter our castes, we are all an equal and necessary part of Arko, we all keep the city alive, and we all deserve to be remembered for that.
"But if they truly believe that, then why are the lower castes treated so wretchedly while they live? If the work of a slave is as vital as that of a crafter, then what gives the crafter the right to beat the slave? Where are the processions for the slaves, where are the holidays to celebrate their achievements? There are none, because it is easier to mouth pieties over burning corpses than to accord equal dignity to all while they yet live.
"I will not say that I do not desire glory. When I was a slave to humans, in the arena, I consoled myself with the thought that I would be remembered as a warrior of skill and nobility, and found the consolation sweet. But I would rather be honoured now, to have a cloak draped around my neck, to have a circlet placed on my brow, to be honoured by the Masters and the people while I may still hear the cheering, than live my life in ignominy and only be accorded status when I am too dead to appreciate it.
"I would not wish to struggle my whole life for something only to be called monster and brute when I am gone, but I would prefer that to being ignored while I am alive."
Amy chuckled. "Of course, if Jason were out here he would probably tell us that we were all incredibly full of ourselves for being so concerned with our names and how many people knew how great we were."
"True enough," Michael said. "And Gideon would say that he did not care what people thought of him, now or later, so long as he could say that he had done his duty to the Empire."
"Neither of them understands what it is that drives a warrior," Amy said. "Fiannuala understood. She and I were going to win great glory together. This is why the name matters more: Fiannuala will never hear them cheering now, she'll never see them raise a statue to her, and she’ll never hear songs sung of her deeds. But we can carry her memory onward, can spread the word of her acts and her virtues, and we can ensure that she is not forgotten."
"Nor Filia Tullia either," Michael said. "She too, I think, was covetous of earthly glories. She hid it well, but a warrior spirit animated her, ill though it fit with the life of a servant."
Amy nodded. "When we have triumphed, we will make sure all know that the victory belongs to them as well." She frowned. "What made you think of that?"
"What do you mean?"
"You originally asked how we would feel about being remembered as villa
ins? What made you think of such a thing?"
"Something I learned about Quirian," Michael said. "I heard him telling Miranda everything about himself. To begin with, he was born..."
XI
Arrest
"GIDEON COMMENAE YOU'RE UNDER ARREST! SHOW YOURSELF AND SURRENDER IN THE NAME OF THE EMPEROR!"
Michael scrambled out of bed, narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face on the floor as he did so. From down below, he could hear the door into the Pleasure House being kicked open, and a mixture of strong oaths and cries of alarm mingled with crashing, thumping and the sounds of many breakages.
God under wave they have found us. Quirian's men or Imperial soldiers it will make little difference if they have come for Gideon. Fate has scowled on us today.
Michael had slept dressed, but out of his armour, and he rued it now for there was no time to put on his manicae. He grabbed his swords from where they sat, leaning against the wall, and hastily buckled on his belt before drawing Duty in his right hand, and his spatha in his left, for if there were so many foes below as there sounded to be then it would be a grim task to do his sworn duty by his good lord, and he would need all the strength the noble blade could give him.
Michael dropped to one knee, and closed his eyes as he knelt his forehead upon Duty's pommel. The ruby was cool and smooth against his skin.
Turo almighty, Lord of the Seas and Oceans, stand with my companions upon this day of trial. Defend Gideon, protect Amy, keep His Highness and Wyrrin well-hidden, and grant me strength in my arms and courage in my heart. Stand with me, now and until my last breath.
And if I should die, watch over Miranda and lead her to the path of wisdom.
Blessed be thou, O God, Kind Under the Water, who has ordained that I should be firstborn of my father's children. Blessed be thou who hast given me hands to wield the sharp blade. Blessed be thou who hast given me arms to fight against my foes. Blessed be thou who hast given me a stout and valiant heart to strive ever in defence of kin and country and faith. Blessed be thou, O God, who hast made me a man of the Coronim, and so blessed me beyond riches.
Michael stood up, his face set firm with unflinching resolve, and flung open the door and strode out onto the upstairs landing.
He found His Highness, naked, waiting for him, clutching his shepherd's crook with trembling hands, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.
"How did they find us?" His Highness hissed.
"I know not, Your Highness, but you should not be here," Michael said. "Return to your room and close the door. Hide under the bed if need be."
"But-"
"They have called only for Gideon," Michael said. "Perchance they do not know that you are here. You, Amy and Wyrrin must hide as best you can, and if discovered you must pretend that you do not know of me and Gideon."
"You?" Jason said. "They don't know you're here either. If they know who you are."
Michael gave him a level look. "Someone must give Gideon time to escape. I will delay the soldiers while he flees."
Amy emerged from her room, her mailcoat pulled over the top of her borrowed clothes, Magnus Alba held loosely in one hand. "What do we do, run or fight?"
"Get back inside," Michael said, gesturing wildly. "Stay hidden, take your armour off, make no sound and if questioned then pretend you do not know me."
Elissa dashed up the stairs, her eyes wide with fright. Her voice trembled as she spoke, "You have to go! There's dozens of them, they're everywhere!"
"Filia Elissa," Michael said. "Will you convey Amy and His Highness to their rooms, and hold them there while I deal with these ruffians below? I give you my word they will not harm you, nor trouble you for long. I shall draw their wrath and attentions down upon myself, while Gideon flees and my friends hide, when they are done with me I dare say their thirst for trouble will be well slaked."
"Oh for God's sake! Can we have a plan that doesn't involve you being stupid and self-sacrificing for once?" Amy snapped.
"In but a moment they will be upon us and then where shall we be?" Michael replied. "Someone must go, ere they find Gideon."
"Better you than me," Jason muttered.
"Quite so, Your Highness," Michael murmured. "Now, will you both go back?"
Amy looked positively mutinous, His Highness looked as though he wished to hide but feared to be thought a coward.
Michael frowned. "One against a hundred or five against so many the outcome is the same-"
"It wasn't at Davidheyr," Amy growled.
"Yet four may live, in the former case," Michael said. "Please, our Amy. My other half. Do this for me. Live."
"I could say the same to you, but I know you won't pay any notice," Amy said. "Very well. If you won't let me stand with you, then at the least go with God, sword that shares my scabbard."
Michael nodded. He watched them go back into their rooms, shepherded by Elissa. Filia Elissa herself paused in the doorway to Amy's room, her eyes seeming very large and very wide.
"Don't die, will you?" she said softly.
Michael smiled. "Not if I can help it, ma'am; but it is in God's hands, in the end. God, and the Divine Empress." Immortal Aegea, Mighty and Triumphant, be Gideon's shield and armour on this day, keep him safe from prying eyes and let his feet be swift in flight from his pursuers. Guard your First Sword, and let me feel your breath upon my neck that I might know that you are with me.
He turned, and strode resolutely towards the stairs. As he walked he could hear raised voices below, angry, confused and alarmed all at the same time.
"What's going on?" Dido squawked, failing to mask the fear in her voice. "What do you want? What do you doing in here? You're not welcome, clear off at once or-
"Or what, madam, you will call the City Guard upon us?" this voice was not one that Michael knew, but it was the voice of one born to command, the tones clipped and aristocratic, yet robbed by anger from the true nobility that Gideon or the Empress Aegea could both so effortlessly claim. "As to our business: you have been harbouring a dangerous fugitive and we are here to find him and bring him to justice. Where is Gideon Commenae?"
"I...I don't know what you're on about," Dido stammered.
"A likely story," another speaker unknown to Michael said this, his voice more common than the first and a deal more savage sounding. "Sergeant, tear this place apart until you find the bastard. Run him to the ground. Captain Troezenos, take men and search upstairs!"
"You will not find Lord Gideon upstairs, nor down below," Michael said as he appeared at the top of the staircase, where he could look down and see a company of Imperial legionaries, their shields decorated with the symbol of a blue viper on a black background, busy ransacking the Pleasure House, breaking down doors and crashing over tables in their clumsy search. In the midst of them, standing over Dido, stood two men Michael took to be their officers: one a tall, thin man with a fair face and long flaxen hair wearing armour of glittering scales, the other a squat and sour-faced fellow with red hair that was thinning a little around the edges, wearing a crimson cape almost identical to that which Michael himself wore.
Michael took a step down the stairs. "You will not find Lord Gideon, but you will find a fight, if you have the stomach for it. Or do you only do battle with unarmed whores?"
Before Michael could take another step, a dozen archers had knocked arrows and drawn back their bowstrings, all aiming at him.
"One more step and it won't be a fight so much as an execution," the short man in the red cape said. "Syphax, do you think you could put on through his eye?"
One of his soldiers nodded slowly. "I could put one through his left ball if you want me to, sir."
"It's big enough you could hardly miss," the sergeant muttered.
"That'll do, sergeant," the shorter of the two officers snapped. "I don't know who you are and I don't care. Put down your swords and tell me where Gideon Commenae is."
Michael said, "I know not."
"And yet you carry his blade, so he
is clearly known to you and close by," the tall, fair officer with flaxen hair declared. "That is Duty, if my nightmares have not deceived my memory, the same blade with which he did the deed. How did you come by it? You know Gideon Commenae well, or I miss my guess."
Michael smiled. "I know him well, and by his hand received this sword, 'tis true. Would I be willing to die for him if I knew him not? But as for where he is now, I know only that he is beyond your power. Go seek him in the Abyss for all I care, you are as likely to find him there as anywhere else."
"You would be well advised to tell me the truth, as best you know," the tall officer declared. "For I will have the truth from you, whether it is accompanied by unpleasantness or no."
Michael's smiled faded. "I am a gladiator and a Coronim Firstborn and a servant of the Empress. I am not easily cowed by threats."
"And I am the Lord Commenae," the fair-haired officer snapped. "And I will not be balked in my search for justice by gladiators or flesh mongers. Put down your swords and tell me all you know or I will have it beaten out of you!"
Michael met his gaze without flinching. "My lord may do as he pleases."
"Yes," the Lord Commenae agreed. "I may. And so, since threats to your own person do not move you, perhaps I should turn my attentions elsewhere. Major Skleros!"
"Yes, m'lord?" the squat, red-headed officer asked.
"Get every woman in this building out of here; line them up in the street, and at my command start slitting their throats."
"Sir?" Major Skleros asked, seeming suddenly uncertain.
"Damn you, major, you've got your orders," the Lord Commenae murmured.
"How could so monstrous a man spring from such high and noble heritage?" Michael asked. "Savages of Mavenor would shrink from such command."
"You would prefer that I avoid bloodshed?" the Lord Commenae demanded. "Then tell me the truth. Where is Gideon Commenae?"
"I am exactly where you thought to find me. As presumptuous as it is of me to say so, I feel obliged to point out that if your father could see you now, Alexius, I think he would be thoroughly ashamed of your disgraceful conduct," Gideon Commenae drawled as he stepped out of the shadows, slipping through the prostitutes the legionaries had herded out of their rooms and touching Dido lightly on the shoulder. He walked past her, unarmed, and strode towards Alexius. "You have grown into a handsome young man, but it is a pity your soul appears to have become rather darker than your hair."
Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2) Page 25