Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1)

by Frances Smith

  "As you say my lord," Michael said.

  Amy struck the rampart with her fist. "What do we do, there's the real question."

  We cannot leave, that's certain. Not now. It would be cowardice and desertion both. In a strange way, Michael found himself grateful to the Crimson Rose. They had taken his choice away from him, and done so in a way that took Lord Gideon's and Amy's choices away as well. There would be no splitting up now, not until the battle was done.

  Gideon folded his arms across his chest. "Michael, thoughts?"

  Michael started in surprise. "Me, my lord?"

  "Yes, I want to know if you have any notions as to our course of action," Gideon said mildly.

  Why does he ask me? Michael considered the possibility that Gideon wanted him to make a fool of himself, but dismissed it: Lord Gideon was not that kind of man. Still, what did he hope Michael would see that he did not see himself?

  "I want to know if you can think for yourself, Michael," Gideon said.

  "How do you do that my lord?"

  Gideon chuckled. "We all have our secrets Michael. But you were saying?"

  Michael leaned on the earthen wall, trying to think of something that would not sound absurd. It had to be something that could be done by the three of them: he Amy had some hold over the remaining troops, but their lives were not his to risk on some foolhardy plan sprung form his mind. But the three of them could not lift this siege or defeat so mighty a host by themselves.

  "Michael! Michael!" Wyrrin rushed up the steps, his claws tapping on the wood, to stand beside them on the rampart. "Is this it? Is there to be another great battle?"

  Amy straightened. "Whichever city you're from you're a long way from home, aren't you?"

  Wyrrin drew back, as if affronted. "And who are you, daughter of Turo?"

  "I could ask you the same thing, son of Arus," Amy murmured.

  "Wyrrin of Arko."

  "Amitiel Ameliora, daughter of Niccolo."

  "Niccolo?" Wyrrin said. "It is strange to see such as you fighting alongside men."

  "I could say the same," Amy replied. "You know Michael?"

  "A little," Wyrrin said. "We fought together at Lover's Rock."

  Amy nodded. She held out one hand. "Then it seems I owe you thanks, for helping to protect my people."

  Wyrrin bobbed his head up and down. "I only did what was natural."

  "You're of the warrior caste then?" Amy said. "That is right, isn't it? I've never been to Arko, or met any fire drakes, but you're the ones with the castes, aren't you?"

  "We are," Wyrrin muttered. "But I have none. I was not content to do as my caste dictated, and so I fled Arko and ended up here. And now I wish to fight alongside you, Michael, against the Crimson Rose."

  "Why?" Amy asked. "This isn't your fight."

  "Perhaps not, but it is sure to be a glorious one," Wyrrin said.

  Amy chuckled. "I don't suppose I can argue with that."

  "Lord Gideon," Michael said. "Shall we admit Wyrrin of Arko into our company?"

  Gideon said. "I see no reason why not. One more sword to throw against the enemy should not go amiss. But what use shall we put him to, Michael, that is the question?"

  Michael looked at the Crimson Rose spread out before him. The four of them could not break the siege, not without assistance. And in the meantime the people were terrified...

  And then he had it. "I have a notion to inspire the people my lord, raise their spirits a little. Hopefully it will make the rebels feel some fear too. And it will provide a distraction to enable us to send for aid."

  "Excellent," Gideon said. "Let's hear it."

  Michael straightened up. "We need to wait until dark..."

  Once Michael had outlined his plan, and Gideon, Amy and Wyrrin had consented to it (the former more willingly than the latter two), they descended the wall to find the people of Davidheyr, and all those who had fled into the city, waiting at the bottom of the steps. They were apprehensive, Michael could see the fear in their eyes. Yet they made no complaint, no great wailing. The admirable qualities for which they had always been renowned where to be found amongst the Coronim still: they feared to die, but they would not make a spectacle of themselves before death took them.

  "Will Turo deliver us, ser?" an old man asked. "Will he send his naiad armies to our aid?"

  Amy looked uncertain. She hesitated under the gaze of the crowd, her tongue silent and her silence damning.

  "With your permission, ser, might I say a few words," Michael murmured.

  Amy looked at him, something between surprise and relief in her eyes. "Go ahead."

  Michael mounted the first few steps leading up the rampart, so that people could see him better in spite of his small stature. When he spoke, his voice carried into the streets.

  "God has given you hands to fight and hearts to gird up with courage," Michael declared. "What more would you have him of him than that? What greater means of deliverance would you have than your own valour, that same unconquerable valour which was ever the salvation of the Coronim in the days of our noble ancestors?

  "Our history tells us that when David and Jonathon worked as slaves of the elves, some men lived among the oppressors freely, wearing their clothes and speaking their language. Those men talked of freeing all mankind, but while they talked more and more men were put in chains alongside the fathers of Corona. David and Jonathon did not wait for those other men to finish their talking. No, they broke their chains, slaughtered the elves and won their freedom.

  "When Turo in his anger barred the seas to men, Simon sought out a way to assuage his fury, and won the heart of His daughter, Miranda. When Gabriel fell, Simon lived on and reclaimed his throne from his dishonest servants. When our temple was threatened, we fought for it!" Michael heard Gideon coughing behind him; it was the Empire who had threatened the temple, but he would make his apologies later after he had recalled these people to somewhat of their ancient virtue. A gladiator's task was to uplift the people and convince them to be better than they were, and if that was sometimes a task accomplished with words rather than deeds then Michael would speak the words that needed to be said.

  "Ask not salvation from the hands of Turo. Pray to God for strength, yes, pray for courage, pray for life; but give Him thanks as well for what He has made of you: that you are the Coronim, descended of heroes, blessed with virtue and valour in equal measure. Turo has given us the strength to save ourselves, and that is the truest salvation which He could provide."

  The four of them began to push through the crowd, and as they did so Michael could hear the people muttering to one another and, he flattered himself, they were doing so in support of his words.

  "I begin to see why the Crimson Rose would like you on their side," Gideon said once they reached a quiet, secluded spot. His tone was rich with amusement. "You are a good speaker when you become impassioned."

  Michael's eyebrows rose. "You think the Crimson Rose wants me for my oratory my lord?"

  "I spoke in jest, Michael, though poorly I admit," Gideon said.

  "Apologies, my lord, and thrice more for referring to the Revolt of the Covenant."

  Gideon nodded. "Different times, Michael, a different Empire. Not necessarily a worse one, mind, but certainly different. Ironically, I think you would have fitted in better there."

  Before Michael could ask why, Amy broke in to say, "Thank you, for speaking up. I wouldn't have been able to answer them."

  "I take it there isn't any army of naiads coming?" Michael said.

  "According to our laws, to even set foot upon the land is death," Amy said. "No one will follow me here."

  "But you came," Michael said, his tone curious, his brow furrowing.

  "And I cannot go back," Amy said, casually. "If I do they'll chain me to a rock and let the sharks devour me. I will die under the sun and either be remembered as a hero to men long after any naiad who even knew me has forgotten, or my name will fade from memory on land and under sea."
>
  "Amy," Michael whispered. "You...did you do this, for me?" the thought made him feel so guilty it was all he could not to vomit. Already he could feel his stomach cramping.

  Amy laughed as she ran one armoured hand through her red hair. "Same old Michael, you always have to take the blame for everything, don't you? Don't worry, you didn't steal me away from a paradise. I would rather be here, with you, than anywhere in the ocean realm. There is friendship and the prospect of great glory here, two things which have been sorely lacking from my life in years past."

  "I...oh," Michael said. "I'm glad. I...I don't know if I could have borne being responsible for you being put under a death sentence, our Amy."

  Amy smirked. "It's sweet of you, but we're not children any more. You don't need to pretend it was you who broke the window. Well, since there's nothing much doing until nightfall I'm going to get some rest; I won't get any tonight after all." She walked away into the streets, her cape swaying slowly as it followed behind her.

  Gideon said, "She is right about that at least, you should try and get some rest." Michael noticed he said nothing about sleeping himself.

  "I will find sleep difficult," Wyrrin said. "For my claws yearn for action. But, since I have a long journey ahead of me tonight, I will attempt it."

  Michael understood Wyrrin's reluctance, for he did not feel much like sleeping himself. Not with the enemy in sight, it was all he could not to leap from the walls and attack them right now. The Crimson Rose, tearing families apart, blighting lives; there had to be an end to it.

  Hoping that it would calm him down, Michael wandered through the Davidheyr streets looking at the monuments of Old Corona, and the city's ancient history from its foundation by Prince David. He picked his way through the crowds to reach Gabriel's Arch and Jonathon's Arch, celebrating the triumphs and the sacrifices of Corona's greatest captains. He saw the old statue to Prince David, the city's founder, and the more recent statue that the Empire had erected to Flavius Commenae, an ancestor of Lord Gideon's, who had conquered Corona for the Empire. Michael noted that while David and Ameliora's statues depicted them on foot, Lord Commenae was envisaged mounted upon a splendid winged unicorn, and was a deal taller than anyone else on account of it. It was also worked in bronze, when everything else in Davidheyr was built of stone - the Coronim of old having been master stonemasons, as evinced by the Firstborn guarding the river. He visited the arena, thought it was closed, as was the Great Temple to Turo raised by Simon after his marriage. It was an impressive monument, towering over every building even the palace, but the fact that it was full of squatters rather than worshippers made it seem a little forlorn to him.

  He visited the Temple of the Knights of the Covenant, naiad warriors despatched by Turo after the wedding of Simon and Miranda to help defend Corona. They had been errant warriors, journeying forth from Davidheyr to fight monsters and battle wickedness wherever it lurked, but they had been guards as well: in Miranda's memory they had carried the honour of Corona's princesses, and some knights had remained in Davidheyr at all times. When he had been defeated by Ameliora for the leadership of the Firstborn Prince Jonathon had chosen to serve with the knights instead, becoming the only man of the Coronim to do so. The Knights had been wiped out in the Danai-Shardayan invasion, and with the line of Simon also annihilated in that battle Turo had not restored the order. Their temple, when Michael reached it, was looking a little run down: the grey stonework was chipped and cracked all along the walls, and stained with soot and dirt in just as many places. The doors of beaten bronze were dented, the frieze which had once adorned the door so worn away Michael couldn't even recognise it. He could just make out the frieze carved out of stone upon the archway: a depiction of the wedding of Simon and Miranda, and underneath that an inscription in Old Coronan which Michael would not have been able to read had it been carved yesterday. Even they were so worn down that Michael guessed in another generation they too would be unrecognisable. He supposed that the fortress temple had once been an imposing sight, but with the walls so damaged and a hole in the roof now it just looked melancholy. What was once a testament to Corona's greatness was now nothing more than a sign that that greatness had passed.

  Finally, Michael's feet led him to the barracks of the Firstborn, where the eldest sons of Corona had trained in arms for generations. The walls had crumbled in several places, and there were holes that would only get larger if left unattended. Nor was it unoccupied, and from the smoke stains on the rotting wood beams Michael got the sense that people had been squatting here long before the recent troubles had uprooted so many honest citizens from their homes. One could still see glimpses of how solid the walls would have been when it teemed with warriors, but the truth, the experience, was gone beyond recall.

  Michael sighed. He had wanted to see the monuments, thinking - hoping - that the legacy of Corona's glory would inspire him to great deeds, to virtue and valour, to a decision on the forked road before him. Instead, all it did was remind him of how far Corona had fallen. Like the barracks, what had once been a great nation was now crumbled to ruin and a mighty people had fallen so low as to squat for shelter in the shattered seat of their now vanquished pride.

  Yet it could be rebuilt. The foundations were strong, some parts of the walls still stood. It could be rebuilt, and without using flesh for bricks or blood for mortar. In fact, Michael resolved that once the battle with Quirian was won he would ask Lord Gideon to use influence to have the monuments restored, and other things besides perhaps, as a testament to the Empire's respect for Corona's past.

  Assuming Lord Gideon still regarded him fondly enough to do him a kindness. Assuming Michael did not abandon him. God, what was he to do?

  The dragons of the sun had pulled that golden orb down almost to the horizon. It would soon be time for Raphael to raise the moon, and Michael went looking for Gideon through the streets and the square. Everywhere he went people gave him an affable nod, or called out some encouragement, but none of them had seen Lord Gideon or Amy, or even Wyrrin. At last, Michael's feet brought him to the orphaned children led by Judah, looking frightened by the sudden arrival of the Crimson Rose outside the walls.

  "Any of you seen my lord, or the fire drake or the naiad knight?" he asked.

  "No," Ruth answered quietly. "Do you think the rebels will attack tonight?"

  "I doubt it," Michael said. "They've no need to rush, or they will not think they have, and they have no engines to breach the walls. They will rest, after their march, and not try the defence until tomorrow at the earliest."

  "But when they do come," Ruth replied. "When they come, will they take the city?"

  "Of course they will," Judah murmured. "No one can stop them."

  "Lord Gideon will stop them," Michael said.

  "He's just one man!" Judah shouted. "My father took a wood axe to hold them off while I ran, and they killed him and burned our home because he was only one man, too! There's nothing any of us can do, there are too many of them!"

  Naboth moaned, and seemed to be trying to burrow into his sister's side he was holding her so close.

  "Ameliora was only one woman," Michael said loudly, gesturing to the statue of the princess behind him. "An old woman, weary with age, yet she held this city against all the power of Deucalia, Turma and Antigenea. When the Crimson Rose come, if they come, then do what you can. Fight with all your strength, fight for everything that you hold dear. Almighty Turo will provide the rest."

  Judah nodded firmly, a look in his eye that was not confidence but rather grim resolve. "I'll die before I see them hurt."

  "Good man," Michael said, turning away. He looked at the statue of the princess. She was clad head to toe in armour similar to Amy's, and wielding a Naiad greatsword, both of which she had inherited from her mother. With her helmet on, it was impossible to tell if the statue was intended to be the young Ameliora who had contested with Jonathon for the right to lead the Firstborn and crushed the ambitions of the Deucalians, or th
e aged Ameliora who had risen to the moment one last time against the Turmeians. He hoped it was the latter, the final stand at Davidheyr had always been his favourite of the Ameliora stories.

  "Michael," Gideon called out as he crossed the square, passing through the crowd without either appearing to notice or inconvenience them. Amy followed behind him, having to make rather more effort not to tread on the people underfoot.

  "I trust you slept well," Gideon said as he reached Michael.

  "Well enough, my lord."

  "I still don't see why I have to wait here," Amy groused as she joined them.

  "For the same reason legionaries do not undertake night attacks in their segmenta," Gideon said. "You cannot move either quietly enough nor swiftly enough in all that armour. Besides, we need you to hold the door for us."

  "Not very glorious is it?" Amy said. "I'm stuck holding the door open for you while you too get to raid the enemy camp. Couldn't you have come up with a plan that included me?"

  "Sorry, Amy," Michael said.

  "I don't see why I have to be the one to go for help either," Wyrrin grumbled as he appeared at Michael's shoulder.

  "Someone must," Michael said.

  "But why me?"

  "Because you are accounted swift of foot," Gideon said. "And speed is required to find the Thirty Fifth and fetch them back here."

  "I will find them," Wyrrin said, his tone suddenly turning sombre. "I stake my flames upon it."

  "Let's go, if we're going," Amy said. "You three haven't got all night."

  "Ready?" Gideon asked.

  "Ready my lord," Michael replied.

  They made their way past slumbering people, through weary crowds, until they reached the gate to Davidheyr. Two urbani stood guard upon it, while more men walked the wooden parapet above. The soldiers came to attention as Amy approached.

  "Ser knight," the sergeant bowed hastily. "You honour us with your presence."

  Amy said, "I need you to open this gate for me a fraction, and keep it open until I tell you otherwise."