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

by Frances Smith

  "And yet by dying he has escaped all consequence with Michael," Jason muttered.

  "He's dead, is that not consequence enough?" Amy asked.

  "I don't think Gideon himself sees it that way," Jason replied.

  The sound of beating wings interrupted their conversation as Octavia returned.

  "It's done," she said. "I got him there, Julian's looking after him. Now, follow me, and we'll get you safe as well."

  "The sooner the better," Amy said.

  The warehouse was large, dark and a little cold. In other times it might have been a pleasant chill, a little respite from the heat of Eternal Pantheia, but now, as he sat against the wall, it chilled Michael to his bones.

  Or perhaps that was just his grief that was freezing him.

  He felt as though he could barely move, barely speak. Barely think. He remembered little of what had transpired since Gideon had opened his veins. He barely remembered Amy's arrival, he had some recollection of how they had ended up free of the palace cells. He did not recall at all how they had come to his place. All he could remember with certainty was Gideon's face, noble in repose, the softness of his voice as he spoke his last.

  Gideon was dead.

  The thought reverberated through his mind like the echoing of a great bronze bell until he thought his mind would crack from it.

  Gideon was dead.

  The floor was hard beneath Michael, rough and uncomfortable. He sat with his chin resting on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs like a child. He felt naked, bereft as he was of swords and armour, and even more so since he now possessed no weapons with which either to avenge Gideon or fulfil the last request he had made to his good lord and captain.

  Gideon laid it on me to save the Empire and I promised that I would do so. But how can I do it without his help?

  Gideon had had such hopes of Michael, had died placing his faith in Michael's skill and valour, but on what he foundations had he built such hope? Gideon had been a true hero, a great lord and champion of his people, anointed by the divine hand of the Empress herself, possessed of a hero's weapons and a hero's soul. Yet he had failed to stand against Quirian's malice in the end. What had Michael, to set against all those things which Gideon had, which had not been enough?

  Why did you give your life for my advancement? What am I, a little Coronim of low morals and foolish manners who does not know his place, that my condition is worth your sacrifice?

  I have His Highness and our Amy, at least. If they will consent to be my crutches then their friendship may suffice to keep me on two feet.

  The three of them had the vast, cavernous expanse of the warehouse to themselves. Filia Octavia had departed to bring word of their location to Miranda, while his sister's creatures had scurried off somewhere; he knew not where and cared not either. He knew little of them but that one had insulted Gideon, and for that alone Michael did not care to set eyes on him ever again.

  Gideon himself they had laid in a barrel of rum, the better to... the better to... the better to preserve him, until they were free to lay him properly to rest.

  "Michael!" Amy snapped. "Hey, Michael, can you hear me?"

  Michael blinked. Apparently he was still failing to notice things going on around him. "I apologise, our Amy, did you say something?"

  "I said you need to get a grip!" Amy shouted. "We can't afford to have you moping around at a time like this. We can't...I can't afford to lose you like I did in Aureliana."

  "I do not wish to die," Michael whispered.

  "Then prove it!" Amy yelled. "Get up, keep moving, do something."

  "Leave him be, he's grieving," Jason called from the other side of the warehouse. "You certainly grieved enough when you thought he was dead."

  "And you chastised me for it," Amy said sharply. Her tone softened. "Look, Michael, I know what he meant to you. I know how you loved him, how he loved you. And I would love for you to be able to mourn in your own good time, but that's a luxury that we don't have. You're captain now, with Gideon gone. You need to act like it; because you made a promise to that man and you aren't going to keep it moping in here."

  "I know it well enough," Michael said sharply. "I want to go on. I want to save the Empire, I want to become First Sword, I want to do everything he asked of me. But how can I go forward, without him by my side, to guide me, to instruct me? How do I judge my course, without his wisdom to advise me? How do I fight for the Empire without his steel to temper my soul? How can I go on without him?"

  Amy looked at him for a moment. "What would he tell you to do, if he could see you like this?"

  Michael's brow furrowed. "He would...like as not he would tell me to do my duty."

  Amy smiled. "Aye, I expect he would. Tullia would say the same I do not doubt. Fiannuala would urge us on to win greater glory than has ever been won before, without fear or hesitation. And Gideon would tell you to do your duty no matter how hard it is, wouldn't he?"

  Michael nodded.

  "Then hadn't you better do just that?" Amy asked. "Honour him with swords, not tears. Honour all our friends with swords and deeds and valour in their names. Honour them with victory. We've come so far, are you really going dishonour the sacrifices that have got us here by falling now?"

  Michael shook his head. "Never. I thank you for recalling me to myself, Gideon would have been ashamed at my conduct."

  "Actually, I think he would have been touched," Jason said. "If his heart was not so icy cold as to be beyond all feeling."

  "Your Highness, please," Michael murmured. He took a deep breath as he climbed to his feet. "Thank you, our Amy. Can I take your encouragement as word that you will help me in this endeavour I have been tasked with?"

  Amy grinned. "I don't have anything better to do, do I?"

  "And you, Your Highness?"

  "Oh, I'll do my part, don't worry," Jacob drawled. "All rather academic at the moment though."

  "Psh," Amy scoffed. "We aren't prisoners. We don't have to wait for Miranda to turn up and give us our marching orders. We could leave right now if we wanted to."

  "And where would we go?" Jason asked.

  "If we were armed, we might launch an attack on Quirian's house, while Miranda is away," Michael said.

  "Except for the fact that we are not armed," Jason replied.

  "Speak for yourself," Amy said.

  Michael turned his face towards the cask of rum in which Gideon had been interred, temporarily. It felt insulting, to treat him so, but there was no help for it for the moment. "At some point we must give Gideon a proper funeral, as befitting a man of high birth and equally high principles."

  "Well...yes, at some point," Jason said. "I'm not convinced it should be our first priority though."

  Michael sighed. "If common decency and affection for a fallen comrade are not sufficient to move you, Your Highness, then if I must I will appeal to pragmatism: I have fought Quirian once before and he soundly defeated me, and slew Fiannuala and Tullia into the bargain though they were as fearless, swift and as strong of arm as they were bold of heart. His speed is compared with mine a hurricane to the babbling of a sluggish brook. His strength is compared with Amy's an elephant to an ant. His knowledge of the arcane is compared with yours the Eldest One to an elf. As we are, though we had all our weapons with us, we cannot best him. Only spirit magic, the strength of the Divine Aegea flowing through my arms, have I a hope of matching him blow for blow in battle that ennobles men. And that I do not have, as yet. Gideon is dead but I am not First Sword. It may be that Gideon was mistaken and I am not worthy in the Empress' eyes, in which case all is lost. If I am worthy, then it may be that I cannot become First Sword until I have interred my predecessor, as a son must observe the funeral rites of his father before he can come into his inheritance."

  Jason smirked. "A more apt comparison than you realise."

  Michael frowned. "I do not understand."

  Jason looked at Amy. Amy said, "When you were out of it, after defeating the V
oice, Gideon made a new will. He had us witness it. I'm not sure what force of law it has, but, for what it's worth...he didn't want it spoken of. He swore us not to tell you while he lived. I suppose its right that you know now."

  "Do you have it?" Michael asked.

  "Gideon said he was going to lodge it with the Maidens of Aegea, here in the city, once we arrived," His Highness said. "Fortunately it wasn't a hard will to memorise, there was only a single clause: 'I, Lord Gideon Commenae, by Aegea's Grace Anointed First Sword of the Empire, do of my own free will and in the presence of these witnesses hereby adopt Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella ban Ezekiel as my legal son and sole heir.' Congratulations."

  Michael stood still as a sentinel on the bank of the Iskalon. His greatest movement was to blink. He could scarce believe what he had heard. Adopted...legal son? By a pen stroke Gideon had become his father? He had a father now?

  "Michael?" Amy said gently. "Are you all right?"

  Michael swayed backwards into the wall. "I never knew he cared for me so much."

  Jason rolled his eyes, "That settles it, you really are an idiot."

  "Hush your mouth," Amy said as she placed one hand on Michael's shoulder. "Are you all right? Really?"

  "I... I don't..." a small smile crossed Michael's face. "I loved him as a father for some time, and now to discover that he loved me as a son. I only wish we could have been so honest with each other while he lived."

  "He asked to explain to you that you won't actually profit much from this," Jason said. "There is no land, no money; he didn't have anything but his swords and the clothes on his back to be honest. All you'll get is an extra name to add to your growing collection: Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella Commenae ban Ezekiel. Try saying that five times very fast."

  Michael smiled. "And yet, to me, to have been left the name, to be left his trust, to be left his love, these are gifts of greater value than mountains of gold and gems. I am glad, in a way, that our bond was not in the end reduced to mere base bargaining between horse traders at a market."

  "There was also a letter which he wrote at the time. That, unlike the will, I still have in my possession," Jason said, producing a thin, yellow sheet of vellum from the folds of his shabby blue coat. He held it out towards Michael. "Are you able to read it yourself or would you prefer that I read it to you?"

  "If Your Highness does not object," Michael said quietly. "Else I shall never unlock the meaning." He could read a little, his mother having paid rather more than she could afford to send him to a hedge school in Tola Bay every other Turoday from when he was eight until she died; but anything more than a couple of sentences taxed him sorely, and he found it a struggle to keep track of the letters.

  "You still might not, this writing style is near as verbose as your speech," Jason said. His Highness cleared his throat. "My dearest Michael, as I write this, your condition is grave. But, if you are reading this or, as seems likely, having it read to you, then you survived, Empress be praised, and it is I who have fallen in the Empire's service.

  "Do not grieve for me. Your skill with words surpassed my expectations of a fighting slave, the depth of your emotions has moved me on many an occasion, yet truth be told your chief skill has always been with swords. It is that skill which first drew me to you, and it is that skill which the Empire will require of you most of all in the days ahead.

  "I am being very selfish. It is unfair of me to place the burdens of this nation upon your shoulders, and yet I do so. In part because there is no one else I trust to bear this load, and in part because I have faith that your shoulders, your strong back, are equal to supporting the weight of the Empire's hopes and Aegea's dreams.

  "I have no power to say, now, whether you have chosen to take up this burden or not. It is my hope that the man who rose from the dead to come our aid recently would not deny me my last request. However, I have no power to compel you to follow my path nor any right to demand it of you. You have no particular cause to love the Empire more than any other of the multitude of citizens who dwell within it. If you should choose, having rescued Miranda from Quirian's clutches, to turn your back upon Aegea and Empire both and seek to live in peace with those you love I could not find it in myself to blame you. All I can do is plead.

  "You have saved me, Michael. Your kindness and compassion, your nobility and generosity of spirit, have redeemed a man grown cold in pride and loneliness and melted a heart caked in many years of bitter ice. I beg of you to save the Empire in the same way. Your romanticism, your antique values, your courtly manners and heroic ideals, these are qualities the Empire has desperate need of. Too long have we forgotten Aegea's dream, forgot lofty ambitions and noble ideals, and contented ourselves to sink to the level of our enemies and detractors, mocking such concepts as honour, generosity or nobility of spirit as hopelessly out of fashion. Even I was content to sully my hands with innocent blood and salve my conscience with the name of duty, forgetting that in so doing I also sullied Aegea's vision of an Empire that held itself higher than all other nations, a shining beacon of justice and fairness in a world all too lacking in such. It is high time that someone reminded this country that it is not enough to win wars, that we must be worthy of our triumphs by holding ourselves to a standard higher than our enemies, that warring down the proud is meaningless unless we also lift up the humble. It is my belief, my hope, that you are that man.

  "If you do choose to take up this task, I have precious little advice to offer you. I, as you may well have learned by now, failed in my quest and have left a terrible mess for you to clean up after me. Yet I will presume to offer you two pieces of counsel: first, beware of pride. Your humility is sometimes excessive, yet overall is one of your more charming qualities. Do not let the presumption of your desert blind you to your faults or the truth of your reputation, I do not say be ruled by the people and their will, but you cannot serve the Empress as she deserves if you are despised and hated by all living men. Most of all do not let your self-conceit drive away those who would support you: Jacob, Ameliora, those others whom I hope you will gather to your banner in due course. A First Sword must be a leader as well as a warrior, and a leader cannot lead if all those who might follow are disgusted by his narcissism.

  "Second, and the reverse of the first, do not sell yourself too short. You are a man of many admirable qualities Michael, and do not forget it. You are the best man I know, or ever have known. Braver, wiser, nobler, kinder than I think you grasp. Stronger than you seem to comprehend. You have a warrior's heart and a fighter's instinct. I regret that you will never be able to see yourself through my eyes, then you might appreciate while I so easily repose my trust in you. You are the man whom fate has fashioned for these times, Michael, never doubt that.

  "I hope you will forgive the presumption of my adopting you and that you do not disapprove. To have you as a son would do any father honour, and my only regret in this matter is that I did not come to know you sooner.

  "You will do very well.

  "Your devoted father, now and forever,

  "Gideon Commenae."

  Michael looked down at the ground, blinking rapidly. As moisture began to form in his eyes he turned away, not wanting either of them to see. His breast heaved with emotion as he struggled to control himself.

  Oh God, why could we not have been more honest with one another while he lived?

  Amy's grip upon his shoulder was tight, but also comforting. However much she might rebuke him for his behaviour, he knew that she would stand by him when he needed her. He reached up and took her armoured gauntlet in his own.

  "What will you do?" Jason asked.

  Michael turned back to face His Highness, a slight smile playing around his face. "I can hardly refuse a man who has just praised me to the skies, can I? Besides, Gideon was correct, as in so many other things, when he said I was a better fighter than anything else. That being so I may as well fight for the Empire; the cause is worthy enough. And I owe him that. He saved
me as much, more, than I saved him. I will make his dreams come true."

  Amy nodded. "I'll help you, if you'll have me."

  Jason hesitated. "I am less partial to Gideon's ambitions, as you know. Nor am I without my own desires. But I will help you as I can, when I can. Certainly I'll not abandon you before this fight is done."

  Michael bowed his head. "That is all I can ask of Your Highness."

  "So what now?" Amy asked.

  "As I have told His Highness, I believe that we must deliver Gideon to the next world before I can follow in his footsteps as First Sword," Michael said. "After that... with Miranda allied with Quirian I fear there are no easy choices before us."

  "Do you think that she is fully in cahoots with him, or that he is...being as economical with the true as Gideon sometimes was?" Jason asked delicately.

  Michael's lip twisted briefly as he considered how to answer that without sputtering with wrath at the insult to Gideon's honour. "From what I have overheard of Miranda's conversations with Quirian, I know that he has told her a great deal, including his design upon the Empire's downfall. He has not told her how bloody he intends the fall to be, and I do not believe that he has yet convinced her of the necessity of any fall at all. Nor can their bond be said by any means to be so strong as that which Gideon and I established with each other."

  Jason gave a smile that was half smirk. "Of course not."

  "I remain convinced that Quirian's death affords our greatest opportunity," Michael said. "I do not believe Miranda will carry on his cause without him. Rather, free from his influence, she will be recalled to reason and herself."

  "You hope," Jason murmured.

  "Indeed, your Highness, I have hope," Michael replied. "I have faith in my sister."

  "Faith based on what?" he asked.

  "I know not how to describe it, Highness, save to say that it is a thing I feel even if I cannot name it."

  "So you ask me to have to faith in you having faith in her?" Jason said.

  Michael smiled. "This world would be a dull and tawdry place indeed, Your Highness, if we admitted only of what we could see with our own eyes, touch with our own fingers. I cannot point to you on what I base my faith, I cannot show it you, I cannot hold it in my hand, but like the gods themselves the reality of the thing is not the least diminished by being unseen.