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

by Frances Smith

  "We need to split up," Julian said. "I'll find Major Skleros, let him know what's going on."

  "Major Skleros?" Ascanius said. "Fire is raining from the sky, golems are out on the streets and you think the grand old Seventh is going to fix this?"

  "I think we could do a lot worse than get some armed men on the streets protecting the people," Julian said. "While I do that, you should try and find Miranda's brother, he saw this coming; maybe he has a plan."

  "If that blustering idiot has a plan to get from one side of the road to the other I'd be amazed," Ascanius said.

  "Do you have a better idea?" Julian demanded.

  Ascanius spat on the ground. "No, damn you, I don't. You realise Quirian will kill us for this if he catches us?"

  "Then we'd better not get caught, hadn't we?" Julian replied.

  Ascanius nodded, and offered his hand. "Gods go with you."

  "You too," Julian said, taking the hand in a firm grip. "And when this is over, we'll go to Dervalut and become kings, just like you said."

  Ascanius smirked. "No, I'll be the king, you'll be my lackey."

  "Of course I will," Julian sighed.

  Princess Romana - princess by right, if not by title at present – stared out of the window, watching the fire fall from the sky, watching Miranda Callistus deal out destruction upon the city below, watching Eternal Pantheia wither in the flames like a corpse upon the funeral pyre. Divine Empress, look down this night upon your unfaithful children and take pity on them. Defend them, I beg, in spite of all of their transgressions. She watched for as long as she could, watched helplessly while her heart ached and her hands itched, until at last she could watch no more. Empress defend your nation. She looked away, down into the pale face of Vespasia Flaminia. "Are you afraid, Vespasia?"

  "Yes," Vespasia murmured.

  Romana nodded. "You would have to be a fool to not be afraid in such a circumstance. You are owed thanks. Many thanks. Your loyalty does you great credit."

  "You are deserving of your loyalty, highness," Vespasia said.

  "Your parents, did they-"

  Vespasia nodded. "Father is helping your guards on the barricade, mother is helping tend to the wounded men."

  "Good," Romana said. "If we survive this night they shall certainly be owed a reward." An office in one of the wealthier provinces, perhaps, and the promise of a proconsulship should things go well.

  She heard the boots squeaking on the floor before Captain Thrakes appeared in the doorway. A squat, burly fellow with a face that looked as though it had been flattened on an anvil, a broken nose and arms that were too long for his height, Captain Thrakes looked more like a bargeman or a back alley wrestler than an officer of the Imperial Household. That was one of the things Romana liked about him: she would accept a man willing to die for her, but she would rather have one able to kill in her defence, she would probably be safer that way.

  "Your Highness," he said, half bowing from the waist.

  "Your report, captain," Romana said quietly, half-turning in his direction.

  "As you suspected, ma'am, they've withdrawn from this whole wing," Thrakes said. "They have sentries watching us from the head of the east corridor, but we can't see any other sign of them."

  "They do not fear us, nor do they particularly care if we live or die," Romana muttered. "So they send their forces out into the city while reducing the amount of palace they have to guard. The sentries, were they palace guards or Quirian's men?"

  "Quirian's, by the looks of it," Thrakes replied. "I sent Memmio out to scout, ma'am, he says it looks like the palace guard are mostly dead. He saw no survivors."

  "Then we can assume Antiochus is dead too, betrayed by his own ally," Romana said. "It appears Michael was correct, Quirian aims at far more than putting my brother on the throne. Certainly Antiochus would not command this assault upon Eternal Pantheia." She gestured to the window, from which she could see the fire raining down from the skies. "Was Memmio hurt?" She was glad that he had returned alive; she liked Memmio, he had a lovely singing voice.

  "No, ma'am, they did not try to catch him."

  "Then give him my thanks and see that he gets an extra beer ration for his trouble," Romana said. She turned away from Captain Thrakes. The enemy was ignoring her. How that made her hands itch. She longed to strike at them, to show that she was not to be taken lightly. But the sad truth was that they could ignore her. She had escaped with just over two hundred men, her household troops and some from the Guards cohorts who were loyal to her, but nearly half of them were wounded. They had barricaded the entrance to her apartments, but Filia Miranda's golems could have smashed it down with ease. The only reason she was still alive was because the time spent reducing her position would have given the Lord Commenae and his allies time to respond, and it was the Lord Commenae who was Quirian's more dangerous opponent at this time. As for her own allies: Rutulus, Livius, Salinator, Lacus, they were old houses, wealthy and noble, and all with strong connections to the army... but not, unfortunately, to any of the seven legions presently quartered in or around Eternal Pantheia; they would not abandon her, but they might have their hands full trying to survive.

  "Yes, ma'am," Thrakes said. He paused. "Highness, we could attempt to break out while the enemy is-"

  "We would have to abandon the wounded and there is still no guarantee we would not find the way out held against us," Romana said. "We will hold here and await relief."

  "If the city should fall-"

  "The city will not fall," Romana declared firmly. "Do you recall, captain, why this city is called Eternal Pantheia? Because when our ancestors came here they were rootless exiles, refugees fleeing from a home that had been laid waste by invaders from across the sea. So they came to this land, they won this territory, they raised this city and they named it Eternal Pantheia as a statement of intent: this city would not fall, this home would not be taken from them. This is the city of Panthus and Aegea and I will not be driven from it by an Aurelian jackanapes and his Coronim puppet." Romana's voice softened. "Thank the men for their service and tell them I have every confidence in them."

  Thrakes bowed. "As you will, ma'am."

  "And tell them," Romana added. "Tell them that I owe them my life. Had you not come to my aid I would be dead."

  "What was the alternative, highness? To abandon you? What guards would we be to do such a thing?"

  "You are a valiant man, captain. You are all faithful, valiant men. Empress protect you all."

  "And you, Your Highness."

  He exited. Romana closed her eyes for a moment before turning back to the window. With Antiochus dead - for all his faults, she prayed to the Empress Aegea for his soul and that of Demodocus and poor Portia - she would be Princess Imperial once the battle was won. The weight of restoring the Empire would fall upon her, as she had always known that it would.

  Romana looked for her star in the night sky, but could not see it; the dark clouds had smothered the night sky and shrouded all the stars. That was a pity; the certainty of its presence would have been a great comfort to her in this perilous hour. She had so many things she wished to do, that she had to do. Empress grant that she be given time to do them.

  Such plans were for the future, however. For now, all she could do was watch helplessly while Eternal Pantheia, heart of Empire and mistress of the world, withered beneath the fires of heaven.

  Standing at the window, watching the flames and the lightning, Romana laid her head upon the clear glass. Only when she was certain that no one could see her face did she allow the mask of control to slip and all her anguish and her misery to show upon her visage, O her people! What torment was being laid upon the children of Aegea this day!

  A single tear began to slide down her cheek. She brushed it aside, the evidence would be plain to see and she could not afford tears. She was a princess of the Empire, the heir to the Purple Throne by all accounts; she could not afford to demonstrate weakness to the world. After all, her weak
nesses were now the weaknesses of the Empire itself, and if the Empire's enemies sensed weakness they would devour it. Already they sniffed at the doors, if they learned of this battle they would be emboldened. So she must be strong, strong for all the people of the Empire and all her enemies who would see her strength and think better of trying it with arms. She must put aside Romana and become the embodiment of the Empire's greatness, its indomitable will and irresistible destiny.

  So heavy was the task of being the Empire made flesh.

  "Is it true, your highness?" Vespasia asked tremulously. "Will the city really be saved?"

  Romana drew herself up proudly, but did not turn away from the window and the devastation beyond. "Destiny weaves in preparation for all things. The Divine Empress, in her charity and wisdom, has ordained a new First Sword to champion her and her nation in this hour. We must pray that he is not too late."

  A fireball descended from the rumbling clouds to land directly upon a tavern, crashing through the roof with a clatter and crash. There was a pause, then there was an almighty explosion as all the beer, wine and ale in the place went up at once, flinging debris across the road with such force the soldiers ducked behind their shields to gain some small protection from it.

  "Blood and piss!" Legionary Lucius Demeter spat. "Look at that! They've only gone and destroyed the best bloody pub in the city! Savages!"

  "You took me there once, the beer was watered down and over-priced," Legionary Silius Kargorius muttered, settling his helmet - which had been jarred loose - back upon his head so that it covered his matted blond hair.

  "Silence in the ranks!" Major Narses Skleros snarled. "If you bastards have got nothing better to do than gossip like a pair of fishwives I'll find some work for you, got it?"

  "We're helping with the bucket chain, sir," Lucius said.

  "Well do it in bloody silence then," Narses spat. He turned away from the legionaries and rounded on the engineers struggling to set up a battery of ballistae and scorpiones in front of the gateway out of the Imperial City. "And as for you! Stop dawdling and get those fucking engines ready to fire, on the double!"

  The commanding lieutenant, a whey-faced youth with pimples on his forehead and cheeks as smooth as a pair of tits, jumped three feet in the air before dashing off a salute. "Y-yes, sir. Right away."

  Narses snorted as he turned away from the hapless engineer. Picking on acme-ridden young subalterns was beneath him, but he couldn't stop himself. His hands itched, and there was no way he could scratch them.

  Narses Skleros had lived his life man and boy beneath the colours and the lupus. He had risen from the ranks to the officers’ mess, and he had won the highest decorations the Imperial Army could award. He was a soldier to the bone, and a damn good one too and modesty be damned. He knew how to fight his enemies and how to beat them, be they Lavissari, Mavenorians, orcs or Qartashi or any other bugger who might come sniffing around the frontiers. But this...how did you fight this? What use was a battle line when the sky was on fire? What use was an army when the gods were against you?

  "Empress' Grace protect us," Narses muttered, spitting on his hand and touching the hilt of his sword for luck. He wanted to be confronted by something he could...well, confront right back and show who was the tougher and the more ornery bastard by a country mile. He wanted an enemy he could hit with his sword.

  Unfortunately, not only was no such victim forthcoming, he had a bad feeling if one did appear it was likely to be ten feet tall, made of stone, and not in the least bit intimidated by the wolf-howl of the legions.

  All around him, the soldiers of the First Vexillation of the Seventh Legion Commena Eudora Valeria Victrix worked like bees under the direction of their officers. Some of them tried to put out the fires engulfing the street. Some of them shepherded the fleeing civilians out through the gate and into the relative safety of the New City. Some of them were going into the burning buildings to get people out if they could, though the Seventh had already lost a few good men that way and would probably lose more before the night was through. Still, Narses couldn't order them to stop. For what were soldiers for, but dying for those who did not wear the uniform?

  Even as the dark thought struck him, Narses saw a wooden wall burst open as Optio Jugurtha staggered through it, coughing ash and soot out of his mouth, cradling a young woman in his arms. Priscus wasn't far behind him, a child in each arm clinging on to him like he was there dad.

  The men cheered, and Narses didn't stop them. They needed anything that felt like a victory on a night like this.

  "I think that's the last of them, sir," Captain Theseus called. "Last...last we can get out, anyway. Permission to take men into the next street?"

  Any reply Narses could have given was interrupted by the sound of someone else calling his name.

  "Sir!" Sergeant Abraham came tearing down the street from his position with the piquet. "Major Skleros, sir!"

  "Report, sergeant," Narses barked.

  "Golems, sir, advancing straight for us."

  It had to get worse, didn't it? "Numbers?"

  "A dozen at first, sir. Might be more behind."

  Narses touched the hilt of his sword again. Empress grant us strength.

  "Right," he bellowed, in a voice that could probably be heard halfway across the city. "Vexillation, form up! Line by companies, five ranks; archers to the rear, artillery to the front! Move it you spavined bastards, on the double!"

  As the men began to move into position, pushing the artillery forward as they formed their battle line with practiced ease, Narses strode up and down the still-assembling line, still speaking in his loudest battlefield voice. "All right, you sorry scum, listen up! There's fighting coming our way, in the form of a dozen golems heading straight for us. I reckon they want through that gate. I reckon they want out. But I also reckon that as worthless as you are you can still take anything any walking statues can dish out and pay it back with interest, and if any man of this unit proves me wrong I'll stripe their backs raw when the battle is done, understand?

  "You are scum! You are filth! You are no damn good to nobody no how except for the Empress and Major Skleros. You're also the best damn infantry the world has ever seen and if you let me down I swear you'll regret it, got it? Who are we?"

  "Seventh Legion!" the men chorused.

  "What are we?" Narses yelled.

  "Valiant and victorious!"

  Narses drew his sword and took his place at the head of the vexillation, the hot air blowing into his face as he waited for the golems to show themselves.

  "For throne and Empire!" he yelled, praying to the Empress that the fangs of the Seventh were sharp enough to bite into stone.

  "What in God's name?" Amy murmured.

  From their hilltop vantage point, they could see a mass of dark and angry clouds boiling out over Eternal Pantheia, blocking out the sun and shrouding the shining walls in darkness. Thunder rolled, but it was not only lightning that leapt from out of the dark, but fire too in great globules, each the size of a man, and rocks large enough to shatter a person's head on impact, and burning ice. But no rain. Not a drop of water from the storm descended. Only death descended from these clouds. Life had no place amongst them.

  Jason's hands trembled as he murmured. "No god, just Miranda." He rounded on Michael, his purple eyes blazing with fury. "I warned you about this!"

  "Your Highness-"

  "No!" His Highness barked. "I tried to tell you about this on the road through Deucalia, and I tried to tell again after Aureliana and then once more in the city, but you never wanted to listen, did you? None of you wanted to see sense. Well, by heaven, you'll listen now! Who do you think is causing this? Who, if not your precious bloody sister?"

  Michael said nothing. There was nothing that he could say.

  "If they die," Jason said, his voice crisper and sharper than Michael could recall hearing it before. "If Dido or Sophoniba or Elissa so much as get hurt because you couldn't do what was necessary-"


  "Then you may take my life in retribution, Your Highness, as is the custom wherever honour and civility prevail," Michael said. "But, if you wish to save their lives, and the lives of the good folk of the city, then for the moment our energies would be better directed elsewhere than at each other."

  For a moment, His Highness trembled with anger, and Michael thought that he would strike at him. But he slumped, arms hanging loosely by his sides as he muttered. "Yes, you're right, damn you. I wish I could hate you for being such an idiot, but I can't. Is this how you felt with Gideon?"

  "In a manner of speaking," Michael murmured. "Are we all prepared?"

  "I don't think you can ever be prepared for something like this," Amy said as she put her helmet on. "But if you meant: are we prepared to fight and maybe die, then the answer is yes."

  "Then let us go, to whatever fate has been appointed for us," Michael said. "The Empress guide our hands and make our arms strong. And God keep us all."

  Optio Jugurtha Salernius bellowed with rage as he swung his axe against the golem's hamstring.

  Or where the hamstring would have been anyway.

  The double-headed axe collided with the block of stone that was its leg, biting an inch or so into the rock with a clang.

  Jugurtha's eyes widened as the golem shuffled around so that it was facing him, those gemstone eyes looking down at him like a lord staring down at a precocious gamekeeper.

  He backed away. Jugurtha was the biggest man in the Third Company, built like a buffalo and broad as barn door, but even he could barely scratch these bloody things. No wonder it took a direct hit from a ballista to bring one down. No wonder that, out of the corner of his eye, he could just about see another of the monsters ripping through Fifth Company like a lion through a herd of gazelles.

  No wonder that they were losing this fight.

  Jugurtha took another step back, matched by a step forwards from the golem as it raised one stone fist.

  Silius cursed up a storm as he leapt on the golem's back; his helmet was gone, his shield was gone, his armour was a mess, his face was looking even worse than usual but Jugurtha had never been so glad to see the little sod as when he wrapped his arm around the golem's head - covering its eyes.