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

by Frances Smith

  Michael closed his eyes, and pressed his lips gently against the ice cold iron. Power, Aegea's power, which she gifted to her champions to help her guard her country, flowed into him like water into an empty vessel.

  "This is your destiny, my faithful children, to rule all peoples by command and impose the custom of peace upon them. To lift up the humble and war down the proud, to defend the weak and punish the over mighty, and be just, as I know you can be just, and impose that justice upon the world. Now, Michael, raise your head and look upon us."

  Michael did as she commanded him, and looked up into Aegea's face, the face of a mother proud but stern, as she poured the oils upon his forehead.

  "Then by these oils I anoint you as First Sword of the Divine Empire, our hand and sword, eye and mouth, our chief servant and our champion upon the battlefield, and command you to go forth and keep the Empire safe against all darkness." Aegea's tone became less formal. "I trust you with what is most precious to me, do not betray the faith I place in you."

  "I never will, Your Majesty," Michael whispered.

  Aegea nodded. "As First Sword I will grant you four boons, if you should ask them of me, it is only fitting since you have given me your life that I should give you something in return. One boon for the life that will never be your own, one for the peace that you will never know, one for the blood that you shall shed in my service, and one…one that is the thanks of a grateful realm and sovereign, for the faithful service that you have pledged to them. Gideon took three of his at once, but you need not do the same."

  Michael asked, "If it please Your Majesty, what did my father ask for?"

  "He asked for keen sight, that he might see everything, even into the hearts of men and know them better than he knew himself. He asked for swiftness of foot, that no enemy could catch him. He asked that his swords be blessed, that they should never break nor dull but always be sharp enough to strike down the enemies of the Empire. And then, many years later, he asked me to save your life when you were dying."

  Michael frowned. "He never used his final gift?"

  "He never felt the need of it," Aegea said. "Gideon's decisions were his to make, not yours to question. Come, will you take your boons of me now or later?"

  "I will wait, if it please your majesty,” Michael said. “I do not know when my need, and the need of the Empire will prove the greatest.”

  Aegea nodded. “Very well. When you change your mind, come to me, and I will do all that is within my power.”

  The wolf and the unicorn advanced from behind the Empress, the wolf sniffing him thoughtfully even as the unicorn nuzzled his neck with her nose.

  "The war wolves and the winged unicorns which followed me to war are all dead now," Aegea said. "They were dying out before the last First Sword, Judah Commenae, perished. When Thetis betrayed me their decline was accelerated. Yet their spirits remain, and it may be that they may be reborn, that the First Sword may have companions by his side as they did of old."

  Michael frowned. "If it may be so, then why was Gideon not so accompanied?"

  "Neither wolf nor unicorn would have him," Aegea said. "It could be that they saw his weaknesses better than I. Let us see what they say of you."

  The wolf growled, and the unicorn snorted and whinnied.

  Aegea smiled. "Panthus finds you wild and savage, much as you deny it, and yet at the same time intensely loyal to those who run with you, very wolflike all in all. Yet at the same time Arcadia finds you noble, honourable and generous but with a touch of priggery, with the best and worst qualities of my old Coronim servants. You are all those things and yet neither may be said to be dominant in you. You are neither fully what you were born nor fully what you have striven to make yourself since. You are wolf and unicorn both and each alike."

  "Then which will have me?"

  Aegea's smile widened with delight. "Why, both of course."

  And so, in a blaze of light, Michael Callistus walked out of the spirit realm and felt the smell of the breeze upon his cheeks as he returned to Gideon's graveside bearing a wolf cub in his arms, the pup nipping and sucking on his fingers, and trailed by a winged unicorn filly, both looking barely older than new born.

  "What in God's name?" Amy murmured.

  "My gifts from the Empress," Michael replied. "I have become First Sword, as Gideon was. Now I will do his work."

  "That isn't possible," Jason said. "The winged unicorns and the war wolves died out centuries ago."

  "Yet now they are returned, it seems," Romana gasped, tears in her tears. "Oh, Michael. Heavens bless you, Michael Callistus, for you have brought the Empire back its soul."

  XVII

  The Feast of Thetis

  Miranda sat heavily on her bed and sighed as she leaned backward. Octavia sat behind her, and served as Miranda's chair and pillow both as Miranda let herself lean against her, her lover's tawny wings folding gently around her like a blanket.

  Miranda sighed again, looking around her luxuriant new room. Her room in the palace. Even thinking it sounded wrong. From the marble floors to the swan-feather pillows to the way that nearly all the furniture was gilt-edged to the fact that she had a mirror for the first time in her life, a mirror that was as big as her upper body. In all her life she had never dreamed of living in a place like this, still less living there with the Empress of All Pelarius only a few moments walk away.

  It would have been perfect, had she not felt such a disquiet at the thought of her stubborn, meddlesome older brother.

  "He isn't going to leave, is he?"

  Octavia turned her head so that she could see Miranda out of one eye. "I don't think so."

  Miranda snorted. "Why can he never see sense?"

  "I don't know," Octavia murmured. "But...what we saw, with the wolf and unicorn...someone powerful is on his side."

  "And gods can err as easily as men," Miranda replied. "Turo's forgiveness, why can't he do the right thing this once?"

  "He thinks he is, doesn't he?"

  "That's what he's always thought," Miranda said. "It does not make him right. He is a fool. He cannot live the way he wishes to."

  "Can't?"

  "He should not, even if he can," Miranda said.

  Octavia hesitated for a moment. Then, when she spoke, her voice was tremulous but firm. "Back ... in the village where I grew up, there were people who'd tell me that I shouldn't be with you. That what we are is wrong, that what I am is wrong. My mother told me that I'd never be happy, and that I didn't deserve to be content. Were they all right?"

  "That's completely different," Miranda snorted.

  "Maybe... but maybe it isn't so different after all," Octavia said.

  "You really think so?" Miranda asked. "You shouldn't make excuses for them."

  "I'm not," Octavia said. "There was a boy, who lived in the same village as me, he was...strange. He never looked anyone in the eye, he talked to himself, he didn't like people touching him. People said that he'd been cursed by the Eldest One, but I never believed that. Some people are just born differently from others." She hesitated. "I know I don't know either of your brothers very well, but, maybe they can't help it."

  "That doesn't mean they need to be lauded for their problems," Miranda murmured. "You heard what Amy said: a hero out of the old stories. It's ridiculous."

  "I don't know," Octavia replied. "Coming back from the dead sounds pretty amazing."

  Miranda began to chuckle. "How did you come to be so kind?"

  "I know what unkindness does," Octavia said. "I don't ever want to do that to anyone else."

  "How did I deserve you?"

  "By being wonderful," Octavia said, kissing the back of Miranda's neck. "Don't worry. Everything will come good in the end."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  "Because I know you," Octavia said. "I know you'll never let anything stop you."

  Miranda smiled. "He'll come around. After a few days he'll realise that the Empire isn't going to fall and neither is the s
ky. And then he'll go, and everything will be perfect." She frowned. "That didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

  "Do you really want him gone?"

  "That depends on what he's going to do if he stays," Miranda said. "If he is going to try and find his way in the city then I would gladly help him. I'd even get him a commission in one of guard cohorts or the legions if that's what he wants. But if he's going to try and seek out Lord Quirian for some kind of ridiculous duel then yes, I want him gone. That doesn't make you a bad person, does it?"

  "No," Octavia murmured. "It makes you a kind person, since you're trying to keep anyone from getting hurt."

  Miranda closed her eyes. "What happened to the boy?"

  "Who?"

  "The boy from Tarquinia, the one you knew," Miranda said. "The boy who was strange?"

  Octavia's voice became sad. "He died. Some other boys, they..."

  "I see," Miranda said. "I won't let that happen, to Michael or Felix."

  "Are you sure you can keep them safe?”

  "Yes," Miranda said. "As you said, I won't let anything stop me."

  "Oh, Miranda, you look so beautiful," Portia cooed as she slipped around the door into their room. "And you, Octavia; oh, you make such a lovely pair."

  Miranda smiled. "Thank you, Portia. Although, considering you picked out the dresses and the jewellery, you're essentially complimenting your own taste."

  "What does that matter, as long as my taste is good?" Portia asked.

  "It matters not at all, because you're taste is excellent," Miranda replied.

  Miranda was wearing white, trimmed with gold around the hem, at the sleeves and up the arm, where even the buttons that fastened up the sleeves were made of gold. Gold, too, the thread around the supposed waistline of the dress, which was actually just beneath her breasts, making them a little more pronounced than she was used to. The neckline was also a little lower than she would normally have worn, but as she examined herself in the mirror Miranda found that she rather liked it, after all it wasn't as if she was revealing anything. The gown was quite form fitting above the hips, following the curve of her back and her waist, before loosening considerably around the legs. Certainly there was enough room to move around within the dress that Miranda had no worries either about exposing her bad leg or about tripping over the hem of her own dress, although she was a little concerned about tearing it with her walking cane.

  Nor was Portia's contribution purely limited to the gown, for she had given Miranda some of her jewellery - where once Miranda would have seen that as a sign of someone having too much, now she saw it purely as a sign of Portia's generous spirit - and Miranda had chosen to wear it all on the first occasion she had to wear any of it. A golden necklace, looking strands of spun gold woven together into a cord, hung about her neck, the metal cold against her skin and hard, in stark contrast to the softness of her hair. A golden head chain hung down her forehead from where it nestled in her hair, while her wrists were covered by a pair of shining bracelets poking out from beneath her sleeves. A pair of sapphire earrings hung suspended from Miranda's ears, with her hair kept well out of the way so as not to obscure them. Miranda's hair was arranged in no less than three braids wrapping around and behind her forehead, then a small, barely noticeable bun rising gently behind the crown, and there was still enough silver-white hair for it to fall in waves down to her waist. It was almost as long as Romana's hair, Miranda realised, and wondered idly when was the last time she had had it cut. She realised that she could not remember, and also realised that that fact did not greatly trouble her.

  Octavia's dress was racier, not least because it had a slit down the front that exposed her legs, bare but for the silver sandals around her feet, and backless and shoulderless too, allowing her wings to spread freely, without confinement. The fabric was silver, the same shade as Miranda's hair, although with a golden sash around the waist and a half-translucent golden peplum that matched Octavia's eyes and hair. The dress was held up around the neck, precluding a necklace, but a bracelet of white sapphires dangled from around her right wrist, while two more hung from her ears, peaking out from beneath her golden hair.

  But if Miranda and Octavia were, as Portia had named them, a lovely pair, then Portia herself was simply stunning. The dark pink bodice of her dress hugged her figure so precisely that she must have been sewn into it, for she could never have gotten it on by normal means. The skirt flowed gracefully around her, admitting of no fold, crease or imperfection in the shape. The silk of the neckline was nearly transparent, revealing Portia's pale and lovely shoulders. Around the Empress' throat was clasped a string of ocean-blue sapphires, of descending size the further around her neck they went, and each one set in a circle of tiny diamonds. She wore a pearl upon each ear, peaking out from under her loose, golden hair, and a string of diamonds hung loosely about her wrist. Her beauty was only complimented by the glow of happiness that surrounded her, as it had done ever since Miranda had given her the wonderful news.

  A smiling Portia took Miranda's arm, and then Octavia's, and with herself in the middle she led her out of the room and through the marble and alabaster corridors of the palace.

  "This feast that we're all going to," Miranda said. "Do you know what it's in honour of?"

  "I think it's religious," Portia said. "Yes, in fact, I'm almost certain it's a Novarian festival. I'm afraid I couldn't tell you more than that. Perhaps Demodocus will know."

  "Perhaps," Miranda murmured. Although I'm not sure I'd want to bother him by asking.

  As they walked towards the banqueting hall, Miranda could not help but notice that there were a lot more guards present than usual: men bearing the shields of the Palace Guard, the Foot Guards, the Devoted. All the units that she had borrowed men from to give Michael a decent funeral for the man who had become his father. And others too, units whose insignia she did not recognise, though she felt certain that Princess Romana could have identified them all if she had been present. They stood at every corner, lined every corridor, and patrolled every hallway. Their armour clattered as they jogged up and down, their spear tips scraping the ceiling. Their expressions were grim, and most of them failed to acknowledge the three of them. When they did, their expressions were mostly cold, or at best indifferent.

  The gems and jewels set into the walls seemed to have lost their lustre, the steles of victories long ago seemed more sinister, the dead foemen more emphasised than normal. What little light there was flickered upon the spearpoints of the guards and on the cuirasses of their mail.

  "Why so many guards?" Miranda asked. "Is this because of Amy?"

  Portia shrugged. "I don't know. I doubt Demodocus will either. He tends to leave things like that to Antiochus." She turned her smile upon some of the guards, but failed to notice that they seemed indifferent to it.

  The three of them moved like smiling ghosts through these dark corridors, passing through halls where only soldiers dwelt, until they came to the great hall where, thankfully, a livelier, even festive atmosphere prevailed. Here the room was brightly lit, a dozen braziers glowing invitingly, torches upon the walls, lamps glowing from the ceiling. There were still a great many guards, more than Miranda was used to, standing upon the walls - mostly men of the Household Foot, if Miranda's experience gave her any room to judge, but thankfully they were far outnumbered by the rest of the room's occupants.

  It was a grand assemblage, but a lopsided one. It was quite simple for Miranda to spot not only who was there, but also who was not: the Lord Commenae and the Lady Manzikes were not in attendance, and nor were the Lords Rutulus, Livius and Salinator, who supported Romana. There were a few patricians, but far outnumbered by the wealthy equestrians. There were some Guards officers, but hardly any men of the regular army. All, that she recognised, were supporters of Prince Antiochus: Lord Maro and his son were at the centre of things, holding court amongst their fellow patricians. Gellius of Helenia, the foreign princeling from one of the Empire's northern clients,
looked to propositioning some equestrian's daughter. Prince Antiochus had Messalina Verra on his arm, dressed in a gown of fiery red, and was surrounded by his closest allies: ugly Dio Verra, sharp-featured Valens Hadrianus, handsome Hippolytus Kyrios. Aula of Arginusa, the prince's brat of a cupbearer, kept him well supplied with wine. None of Romana's men, or of the Lord Commenae's party, were present. Either they had not been invited, or they had decided to stay away to make a point.

  Actually, Miranda did spot one of Romana's friends among this glittering assembly: Vespasia Flaminia, the only one of Romana's ladies who had not come from an old patrician family, but only from an equestrian one. She looked uncomfortable, sandwiched between two people Miranda guessed were her parents. Miranda remembered what Harmonia had said, about them finding new patronage. Clearly they had decided that it was better to follow the lead of their fellow equestrians in supporting Prince Antiochus. She doubted they would get much, come as late as they were.

  If they were wise, they would have joined me in supporting the Emperor. There is plenty of room in that faction.

  Still, regardless of how many notable people were not there it remained a packed crowd and a wealthy and influential one, for all that it was politically exclusive. Miranda was reminded of the first party she had attended in this city, a similarly well-attended gathering of notables. She had been nothing then. She was far from nothing now.

  "Demodocus!" Portia cried, as the Emperor approached them, looking a little uncomfortable in his purple toga, though all discomfort vanished as he embraced his wife and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  "Darling, you look more beautiful than ever," he said. "Commander, Filia Octavia, what a delight it is to have you here upon this Feast of Thetis. Please, have some wine, the meal will begin soon."

  Miranda bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

  Demodocus took Portia's arm, and led her away into the midst of the gathering. Prince Antiochus, who was dressed in a tunic that seemed designed to look like a military uniform without actually being one, caught sight of Miranda across the crowded room. His eyes were cold, and the smirk on his face did not reach that far, but he raised a goblet of wine to her before he looked away. Messalina Verra waved, and Miranda could not help but think that there was something mocking in it.