Michael sighed. "I am glad to see that you are all treating this with the gravity that it deserves."
Amy's smile widened. "If you only took grave people with you you'd be storming the palace by yourself." She glanced at Vergillia. "Or maybe with the fire mage here, or are you just gloomy?"
Vergillia looked at her out of the side of her eyes. "I prefer to think of myself as stoic."
"I see." Amy said. "Come on, Michael, you should know by now that not everyone holds things like this in the same regard that you do."
"Yes, I know, unfortunately," Michael admitted. "But I did think that on this occasion you might all make an effort."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you," Jason said. "What was the second thing you wished to impress on us?"
"Your Highness?"
"You had one or two rules you wished to make absolutely clear."
"Ah, yes," Michael said, clearing his throat. "On absolutely no account is any harm to come to Miranda Callistus."
Vergillia frowned. "Isn't she the one responsible for all of this?"
"She is," Michael replied. "But she is also my sister, and for that reason I swear to God that I will kill any man who lays a hostile hand upon her."
Ascanius leaned down to whisper to Julian. "Is it me, or is he glaring at us especially hard?"
"I do believe he is," Julian murmured.
"Are you implying something?" Ascanius asked.
"Let us say that you have given me little cause to consider either of you to be gentlemen."
"Well, we're not," Julian said. "But that doesn't mean we'd murder a young woman whom we happen to like. Not even one who has...lost her head a little, shall we say?"
"Does everyone understand?" Michael demanded.
"Save Princess Romana and don't kill Miranda, as if we would," Amy said. "We'd have to be pretty stupid not to remember that."
"Very well," Michael declared grandly. "Let us, like a company of heroes of old, descend into this underworld of fetid sorts and from thence crawl into the light to the rescue of a princess, the redemption of a lost soul and a salvation of a great Empire." Put like that, it sounded like the best bits from the climaxes of all the old stories thrown into one. The only thing missing was a war going on outside; not, Michael thought as another fireball landed close by, that they were too far off from that either.
Ascanius stared at him for a moment, before he coughed. "Yes, well, let's get on with it if we're going to do this damn fool thing."
"For honour, for glory, for the greatness of the Empire... and for all those whose hopes lie heavy on our shoulders," Michael said. "May the Divine Empress and all your gods watch over you."
"I have some hope that I persuade Quirian to surrender peacefully," Silwa said. "If that is the case, I hope that none of you will strike off his head out of hand.
Michael's mouth twisted uncomfortably. "My lady, I do not wish you to think me ungrateful, but...I cannot allow Quirian to live. He has proven himself over five hundred years an inveterate enemy of the Empire, not only that but a cunning and capable foe as well. While such enemies are to be respected, I cannot in all good conscience and constant to my duty as First Sword allow such a foeman to roam at large to stir up war against Aegea's realm."
Silwa regarded him evenly. "So, Miranda cannot earn death no matter her offences, but Quirian cannot earn life no matter his repentance, do I have it right?"
"I do not say it is logically sound, ma'am," Michael said. "Indeed I will go so far as to state that it may not even be morally right according to the schools of the philosophers. But the Empress has not charged me to be logical, nor to live according to the dictates of stoicism or the like, but to serve the Empire as a champion, according to mine own lights."
Silwa stared at him, her gaze piercing.
"Do you honestly think that Quirian will surrender?" Amy asked. “If he won’t then there isn’t much point discussing this.”
"Amy," Michael murmured reproachfully. "You address a god."
"Not our god."
"Yet a god nonetheless, and set above us," Michael said. "A civil tone remains in order."
Amy harrumphed. "Very well."
"I suppose you are right on that account, Amy," Silwa said. "There is little chance he will surrender to the Empire's justice. Nor, in truth, do I wish to see Miranda perish. I would simply rather not see Quirian slain out of hand, without chance of repentance for his folly. He was a good man once, by some measures he remains so."
"And he may yet win all, if fate and the gods decree it so, for it is clear that the powers of heaven have not exempted the children of the Empire from death this day," Michael said. "But, if the fates mean for me to triumph then I shall kill him as doubtless he shall seek to slay me once we enter the palace. Any member of the Lost who throws down their arms shall have their case considered once the battle is done, but Quirian, I fear..." Michael tailed off briefly, chuckling darkly at the truth that his words had revealed in spite of himself. He confessed, "Quirian I fear, and I believe the Empire ought to fear him too. And for that fear's sake I am resolved to see him dead or be myself laid low by him. We are all of us good men, Lady Silwa, or at least most of us are. Yet since our causes, noble seeming to each man, cannot all be attained without causing suffering to others, so we must fight for our cause and our duty and, if need be, strike down those whose cause is in conflict with our own."
"Too true, Michael, too true," Silwa said. "You must do as you think best, as must I. And I suppose that, even if I cannot save his life, then since I was responsible for Quirian's rise I owe it to him to be present at his defeat. Am I to be banished from your company as not reliable?"
Michael bowed. "I would never be so bold, ma'am, you are right welcome if you wish to be. And now, since I have wasted enough time in prating on, it is time that we were off."
Michael took the lead, descending down the dark and murky hole in the sewer, as the stench of it rose up to great him, cloying in his nostrils, filling his throat. He started coughing, the sound contrasting with the ringing sound his boots made upon the metal ladder. He leapt the last few steps, landing in the thick, cloying, disgustingly brown mixture at the bottom with less of a splash than a slurp, for the concoction was too thick to be so easily displaced, like porridge that had been allowed to cool and acquired the consistency of mortar. Drawing his swords - Duty was a light in darkness, while Piety was nearly invisible in the murk - he took a few paces forward so that there would be room for the next person down.
That turned out to be His Highness, scampering agilely down the ladder - he did not jump the last few steps - before wincing as the waste went up to his knees.
"It hasn't got any cleaner since we were last here, has it?" he asked, before drawing his wand and whispering some spell to cause the tip of it to glow with yellow light like a torch.
"It could be worse," Amy said as she climbed heavily and labouriously down to join them. "You could be hearing voices at the same time as smelling this, your ears and nostrils clogged up at the same time." The sword on her back glowed brightly, and glowed brighter still once she drew it and held it out before her in her hands.
The others followed. All of them expressed some disgust at the state of the sewer, some more loudly than others. Ascanius and Julian seemed able to bear it best, and Wyrrin the least, in fact the wandering warrior of Arko looked distinctly ill.
"Wyrrin? Is something wrong?" Michael asked.
"I fear that I have a keener nose than any of you men," Wyrrin confessed. "In this place it feels like a curse."
"You may go back, if you wish."
"Never," Wyrrin snapped. "I have vowed to aid you, and that is exactly what I shall do. Till the road ends."
"You're all very excitable, aren't you?" Vergillia asked, her voice calm and controlled. She looked at Ascanius, coming down after her. "Except for you. And why isn't the smell bothering you, either?"
"You spend a few years in the legions like I have, love, and you get u
sed to holding your nose," Ascanius said.
Michael moved off, heading west in what he felt fairly certain was the direction of the palace. Unfortunately he could not have gone more than thirty feet before the tunnel forked in two different directions, one heading north-west and the other south-west. Michael stopped, looking from one to the other. The truth was, although he could have remembered the route Amy had taken to get them out of the palace, he had no idea of where they were now or where to go to reach the secret door. He had rather hoped for some sign from the Empress to show him the way.
On Amy's shoulder, Char whistled mournfully.
Michael sniffed the air. Perhaps the right path would smell less foul to him.
Unfortunately his sense of smell was never anything to boast of and he could smell nothing at all but the same pestilential stench everywhere.
He was about to ask Lady Silwa for help when he spotted something moving in the sludge, swimming towards him along a winding, slithering path.
Michael raised his swords and retreated back a step; he could hear Amy muttering something behind him as she raised her sword. Then the head of a serpent, almost as large as Michael's own head, emerged from out of the sewage in front of him. The serpent was blue, its scales mottled with black blotches, with a mouth full of fangs and a fin on top of its head. Judging as best he could from the wake in the waste, Michael guessed it to be some twenty feet long. It stared at him, making no sound, just gazing at him with two eyes of an astonishingly familiar green.
Fire sprang into Vergillia's hand. Jason began muttering some spell.
"Wait!" Michael commanded. "Nobody do anything."
"Seriously?" Amy asked. "You want us to wait until it bites your head off?"
"I don't think it will," Michael said softly. Because the serpent was blue, with dark patches, and a blue serpent was the symbol of House Commenae. And those eyes, those green eyes, surely it was no coincidence that when he was faced with a dilemma a serpent with his father's eyes should appear to help him choose.
The serpent nodded, hissing slightly. Then it ducked back into the sewage, though Michael could still see it gliding on the surface, and began to turn and head north-west.
"We are meant to follow it," Michael declared.
"How can you be so sure?" Jason asked.
"Because it was sent by Gideon, I am certain of it," Michael said.
"Do you honestly believe that?" Ascanius said.
"I do," Michael said, beginning to follow the serpent. Gideon had never believed in omens divined from birds or beasts, but Michael did believe, Michael knew that the higher powers stretched forth their hands to influence the world by such means. If it had been a green serpent, or a red, he would not have been so sure, but blue, a serpent in Commenae colours? It had to mean something. And if it meant nothing, why did it not attack?
"It makes as much sense as the sacred chickens, I suppose," Julian said.
"Don't knock those chickens, Julian," Ascanius replied. "In all my years under the colours I never knew them to be wrong."
"That might actually be a kind of river serpent," Amy said as she waded after Michael. "Lesser cousins to the great sea serpents we use in war. They're supposed to be very intelligent, but we thought they had died out after the Breaking of the World."
"I suppose you didn't envisage them making their home in faeces," Jason said dryly.
Michael glanced back to see that everyone was following. He was astonished to see that Lady Silwa, bringing up the rear, seemed to be repelling the sewage from around her, so that not a single drop of it besmirched her skin.
Silwa smiled. "There ought to be some advantages to my position, don't you agree Michael?"
Michael bowed his head. "Indeed I do, m'lady."
The serpent kept to a slow pace, allowing the party to keep up as it led them through winding ways through the dark, dank, astonishingly smelly tunnels until it brought them to a familiar stretch that Michael recognised as being only a few feet away from the door. The serpent raised its head, looked back at Michael and hissed at him.
Michael bowed his head. "You have our thanks."
The serpent blinked, tilted its head curiously, then swam away, diving deep and swimming swift so that Michael's eyes could not track it. Not that he needed to, not any more. He could see the steps now, and led the way to them, climbing up the steps to the patch of tunnel wall which, now that he knew what he was looking for, looked subtly different from the rest of the sewer.
Michael sheathed Piety for a moment, and with the shining edge of Duty cut his hand and placed the blooded palm upon the door.
"My name is Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella Commenae," Michael declared. "By the grace of Aegea, anointed First Sword of the Divine Empire. In the name of the Empress, I command thee open."
There was a moment's pause, and then secret door into the palace slid ponderously open, grinding along the ground as the light from the lower environs spilled out into the sewer.
Michael drew Piety again. "In the circumstances, I think getting stains on the carpet is inevitable."
And so, with Amy close behind and the others following after, Michael led the way into the palace.
No sooner had he crossed the threshold than a half-dozen icicles sharp as spears leapt out at him.
"Get down!" Amy shouted as she pushed Michael to the floor. As the icicles flew towards her she raised one hand on impulse and the icicles...stopped, hanging in the air as if suspended by strings from the ceiling.
Did I do that? Amy thought. But I've never been able to use water magic before.
You were not bonded with me before, Magnus Alba said, sounding ever so slightly smug about it. I have helped you unlock the birthright within you.
Behind her helmet, Amy grinned. She'd always wanted to be able to use water magic, even if it didn't have a lot of uses for a warrior. Just having it was something to boast about, especially among humans who could never inherit it.
She would have to see exactly what she could do with it later. Now, though, the question of who had used magic on them in the first place was more troubling.
Humans can't have water magic, only naiads and undine can. So then who...?
The answer to her question soon strode into view, advancing down the dimly lit corridor towards her. He was big and powerfully built, but there was not much else to say about him because he was covered in armour. A full face iron helm, which kept even her opponent's eyes hidden, concealed his face. Multiple layers of bronze, iron and leather engulfed his body, leaving only the tops of his arms bare to show that he had the muscle to carry it all. He wore what looked like a gourd of water across his back, and in his hands he held a giant blade, a thick and ugly slab of metal with none of the elegance or artistry possessed by Magnus Alba. A brutish weapon, unsophisticated, but still deadly as a hungry orca she had no doubt. All the same, deadly or not the sight of it irked her. The sword, the overabundance of armour, it was like some crude parody or cheap imitation of naiad tradition, a mockery of everything she aspired to. She bared her teeth, for all that he could not see it, and held her sword before her in a low guard, waiting for her opponent to make the first move.
"You're like me, aren't you?" her enemy said, his voice guttural and harsh. "They said that there was something different about one of you, but I never believed that you would be like me."
"Don't flatter yourself, I doubt we're anything alike," Amy replied.
"You wouldn't have been able to stop my attack if we weren't the same," the man said. "Your sword, your armour, it reminds me of my mother. I suppose you were raised by them. I suppose they liked you, gave you that sword as a gift."
"You'd be surprised," Amy muttered darkly. "What about you? Didn't your parents give you anything?"
"My mother hated me," the man said, his tone venomous. "I was nothing to her but a reminder of how far she'd fallen. She killed herself rather than take care of me. And my father… he had a score of children by his slaves and
none of them better than slaves themselves. Do you think he would have sold me to my Lord Father otherwise?"
Michael picked himself up off the floor. "Our Amy? What's going on?"
"I think he's half naiad, like me," Amy said. "In fact, I think...naiad mother, human father; dear God, are you Lady Rosalina's son?" That tragedy had spread so far across the ocean they had even heard of it in Kraken Tower: how Rosalina, daughter of Adamo, like Amy herself a descendant of Turo and heir to the great and ancient castle Coralspire, had gone to Arko to fight alongside their fire drake allies and been captured by the humans. Her father had offered her weight in pearls for his daughter's return, but none of the barbarian tribes to whom envoys had gone out had known - or been willing to admit to knowing - anything about it. She, along with her greatsword Dragonsbane and her suit of splendid armour, were presumed lost beyond recall.
The man laughed bitterly. "No one ever called her 'Lady' that I ever heard. Bitch, slut, whore, slattern, slave, all of those things but never Lady. But yes, her name was Rosalina for all the good it did me."
"She is dead then," Amy murmured. Ser Viola, who had told tales of how she had overthrown Rosalina in the jousting during a tourney in Ocean's Heart, but been bested by her in turn during the melee, had yet held out hope for her return. "What of her sword and armour? What has become of Dragonsbane?" That was no naiad sword that Rosalina's son carried, still less one of the ancient blades from the Elder Days. It was too ugly and too crude for that.
The man laughed again, and this time his laughter had an edge to it harder and more cruel by far. "Why does that not surprise me? A woman is dead; her son by wickedness stands before you, and all you care about is some damned sword! I don't know, and I don't care! My father may have it still, or someone might have killed him and taken the prize, or he might have sold it for more slaves to mistreat. I don't care. I want no part in any of that."
"Yet you still dress up like a troubadour's parody of a knight," Amy snapped. "Why, unless you secretly wish you were one?"
"Come a little closer and you'll see how sharp my costume sword really is!"
Spirit of the Sword: Faith and Virtue (The First Sword Chronicles Book 2) Page 49