Michael scowled. If they had been able to rely on a firm wall of brave men, things would have been different, but the garrison was few and far between and the people...in spite of his words he had little desire to risk the common citizenry in battle against the murderers of the Rose.
If there must be a battle, and I would rather decide the issue while I am yet present then leave with matters undecided, then our only hope is to keep the fight to the gateway, where a few good men may hold the passage as Ameliora did of old.
Fortunately, the rebels seemed to have no ladders; but then they seemed to have no rams either. Did they mean to starve Davidheyr out? If so, they stood a good chance of succeeding.
That would be typical of those who claim to fight for Old Corona: to adopt the most dishonourable means imaginable.
Michael heard someone climbing up the steps, and to his surprise it turned out to be Amy, stomping towards him in all her armour. She leaned heavily upon the earth rampart beside him.
"Armies are a glorious sight, aren't they?" Amy said. "Not quite so much when they're not your army, though."
"I thought you were meditating, our Amy," Michael said plaintively.
"I got bored," Amy said. "What are you doing up here?"
"Trying to glare the rebels to death," Michael said.
Amy chuckled. "Any luck?"
"About as much as you've had with water magic," Michael replied.
Amy gave him a playful punch on the arm. "Hey, watch it!"
"Sorry, Amy."
Amy's brow furrowed as she looked out across the plain at the camp of the Crimson Rose. "You know, with a score of knights and a couple of hundred naiads at arms I could sweep this whole rabble away like a wave washing away writing in the sand. Maybe some caedans, too. Always nice to have a caedan watching your back, Ser Viola always said."
"Caedans?" Michael asked.
"Shark people, blue skin, very good swordsmen," Amy said. "Almost every castle, be it ever so small, has one as a weaponsmaster. Great Houses keep bands of them on retainer, the rest get hired as mercenaries. They fight like your Lord Gideon: not much armour but very fast. Not like us naiads. Anyway, with a dozen of them to go along with the rest, victory would be assured."
"If we had a dozen such as Lord Gideon then I would not fear any enemy in the entire Empire," Michael replied. "Fates be cursed we have but one."
"We've got one of you as well," Amy said.
"True enough, equal to one-tenth of a Lord Gideon, perhaps," Michael muttered.
Amy shook her head. "I'm not going there with you again."
"Going where?"
"You know exactly where, stop it," Amy said. She turned away from the enemy and leaned her back upon the wall of hard, brown earth. "The truth is, if the Rose had a half-dozen ladders they could take this city and we couldn't stop them."
"Then we should praise God they have none," Michael said.
"Is that it?" Amy said. "We praise God, and sneak away when Gideon gives the word?"
"I don't like it any more than you do, our Amy," Michael said quietly. "But what else can we do?"
Amy thought for a moment, before her eyes sparked mischievously and a smirk crossed her lips. "I might have an idea."
She led the way towards the provincial treasury. Amy's stride was confident, her pace certain, her head high. Michael, following meekly in her wake, could only smile at the power and purpose that was exuded from her. She might not have possessed the title in truth, but as he watched Amy there was no doubt that she had exactly the bearing of a knight in the service of God.
The Imperial Revenue and Customs maintained its own force of troops, to protect the tax collectors, hunt smugglers and escort the revenues from the provinces to Eternal Pantheia. The Revenue men in Davidheyr had barricaded the area around the treasury, fortifying the streets in case the walls fell and turning the area into a citadel all its own. As Amy approached, Michael in her shadow, several of the troops readied their bows and took aim at her.
"Not one step closer!" someone yelled. "That's close enough!"
Amy stopped, putting her hands on her hips. "Who am I speaking too?"
A man in mail, with an iron helm covering his beefy head and a cloak of daffodil yellow hanging down his back, poked his head over the barricade. "Sergeant Levi Tharsandor ban Tiralon, Fifty Second Revenue Demi-Company."
"A Coronim, then?"
"Of course."
Amy nodded. "I am Ameliora, daughter of Niccolo. In the name of God I ask you for your aid."
Sergeant Levi hesitated. "The Quaestor's last orders were to hold this position until the crisis had passed."
"Are you not a Turonim, Sergeant Levi ban Tiralon, of the Fifty Second Demi-Company? Are your men not Turonim?"
"We all make our nods to God when we must, at least," Levi replied nervously. "Some do more than that."
Amy raised her voice. "Do you believe that I am sent by Turo himself, to be his emissary in this land?"
Michael could see more and more people coming to this particular barricade, even some officers, all staring at Amy, all listening to her words. Turo had not been seen in Corona for centuries, the Knights of the Covenant had been dead for near as long, but there remained a power in the name of Turo, a power in the idea of a naiad knight sent up from the ocean's depths to inspire men to virtue and to valour.
There remained a power in the covenant that Amy was invoking, and already he could see it working it's magic on these sons of Corona.
"I do," Levi said quietly, his voice assuming a childlike quality. "I believe that Almighty Turo has sent you to deliver us."
"And so I shall," Amy declared confidently. "But I cannot do it alone. Are you a man of Davidheyr?"
"I am," Levi replied.
"Then do you not grieve to see the people of this city suffer in pain and fear, while you sit idle? Do you not wish to place yourself between them and harm? Would you not rather defend women and children then cold coppers?"
"The Quaestor's orders-"
"Render unto the prince that which is his by right," Amy said, citing the infallible authority of temple doctrine. "Gold, wealth, all earthly glory. But render unto God Almighty those things which belong to him: duty, obedience, faithful service, for they are the coin of your immortal soul. Is there a Turonim here so craven he would rather hide behind the people of this city rather than stand in front of them? Is there a Coronim so base that he would rather die like a rat than fight like a man? I ask, in God's name, for any brave enough to use their sword for more than show to take them up and follow me to the city walls, where great deeds and great peril await you. Or you may stay here, and when you stand before God you may explain to him why you chose to listen to the screaming from behind a barricade."
For a moment, nobody spoke. Yet Michael could feel the tension building behind the barricade, feel the shame of the sons of Corona taking root within their souls, feeling Amy's appeal tug at their pride.
There was a movement from the barricade. Sergeant Levi Tharsandor had leapt over the barricade and strode forward, shield hanging loosely at his side. He knelt at Amy's feet.
"I am the servant of the Empire, but before that I am a servant of God. Command me, Ser Knight, and I shall obey."
More soldiers followed, first in a trickle and then in a flood, come to pledge their faith anew to Turo and to the Covenant.
Michael smiled. "You're doing well for yourself, aren't you, our Amy? Your own little company."
"It's God's company," Amy said. "I'm just saying what he would want me to say. Come on, we should get back. Follow me, all of you, and I shall lead you to a station of more honour, where glory will be yours and Turo himself will bear witness to your deeds of valour!"
And so Amy led fifty-seven soldiers of the Revenue to man the walls of Davidheyr.
The sun had set, and Raphael had raised the moon which shone its silvery glow down upon Davidheyr. Lower to the horizon the shattered shell of the Night's Mirror reflected a l
ittle of the moon's light, while the Lamp of Day blinked red in the southern sky. Michael didn't like that. The elder sun was ever present in the sky, but it was never a good omen for it to be so bright. It portended battle and death.
Michael was making sure that everyone had been fed when Gideon reappeared, seeming to spring up from the earth behind Michael, making him jump for a moment. "My lord. You came upon me as a summer squall."
"Glad to hear I still have the ability," Gideon said, a smile playing across his sallow face. "Now follow me, we have much to do this night."
Michael followed him through the refugee mass into a grey stone courtyard at the back of an inn stable. It was mostly empty, save for a water barrel in one corner, and it was doubtless due to the emptiness that Gideon had brought him here.
Gideon took a small parcel out of his pocket, and unwrapped it to reveal a few sticks of black bark speckled with white spots.
"What are you going to do with that, my lord?" Michael asked.
Gideon looked down at the three strips of bark in his hand, staring at them for a moment, and Michael thought that his hand trembled. Then, with an effort of will, Gideon looked up. "I am not going to do anything with them Michael; you, on the other hand, are going to eat one."
"Um, eat it, my lord?" Michael did not think that they looked especially appetising.
"This is soulbark, Michael, it unlocks a... a gateway of sorts. If you are the man I think you are, the effects will be most beneficial to you and to the Empire. If I am mistaken about you then, unfortunately, you will be exposed to things which may well kill you. I want you to eat this, Michael, so I can find out what happens to you when you do."
"I was not aware that I was such a poor servant you would resort to poisoning me, my lord," Michael said, trying to pass his nervousness off with the bad joke.
"Believe me, Michael, I wouldn't be giving you this if I did not believe you capable of mastering it. I just need to be sure," Gideon said. "Michael, do you trust me?"
"Absolutely, my lord."
"Then what is the difficulty?"
Michael threw back his shoulders. Gideon was right, this was a man who had done more for him in a short time than anyone else since his mother had died. The man who taken him beneath his wing and stuck with him when many others would not have had the patience. He could not believe that this good man would ever mean him harm. Whatever this soulbark did to him was for his own good, and the good of the Empire.
Michael took one of the sticks, and held it in his hand a moment, nerving himself to take it. He would have been lying if he said that he was not a little unnerved. But Lord Gideon said that this was necessary, and Gideon was always right. He had to trust; he had no other choice.
Turo protect me. Michael snapped the stick of bark in half, and stuffed both halves quickly into his mouth before he could reconsider. It tasted a little dirty, hard and crusty with a bitter aftertaste, but he had no way to knowing if this was peculiar to soulbark or whether eating tree bark always tasted that way.
And then, barely moments after he swallowed the foul mush his chewing had made of it, the effects began.
At first it was like Michael had been robbed of all control over his body: his legs collapsed beneath his weight and he fell to the ground. He half felt the impact as his face hit the cobbles, but it didn't hurt half as much as it should have done. It didn't even ache. He felt lightheaded, and he could hear voices echoing in his ears, and his vision was clouding over and darkening.
"He is too full of rage," a woman said, her voice cold and commanding. "His fury is too great, he cannot learn virtue."
"Duty will be a balm to his soul, in time," that was Gideon, speaking in a calm, measured voice. "As for fury; were you not angry yourself, Majesty, once upon a time?"
"You are very bold, to address me thus."
"Do you not value me for my boldness?"
The woman snorted. "He does not love the Empire. He does not love me."
"He will come to know you, with my help, and knowing how can he not come to love you as I do?" Gideon said. "I believe he is the one. This time I am sure."
"You were sure before. And you have been wrong before. What makes you so certain now?"
"I have faith in him. As I ask that you have faith in me."
There was a pause before the woman answered. "Very well. I will watch him. But I am surprised at this, he is really nothing like you."
"I know," Gideon said. "That's what I like about him."
"I am a monster, my lord, but with God's help I ape the fashions of a man."
"You were so brave it made me brave as well," Amy said.
"You aren't an ancient hero, I'm not your damned princess and you need to grow up and start to live in the real world," Miranda shouted at him.
"I can't do this without you," Gideon said
"I am stronger than anyone behind me, and fleeter too of foot. But the fact that all I can do is stand here and offer my body as a breastwork for them is cause for sorrow not for joy."
And then he was back.
"Michael." Gideon knelt over Michael's prone form. "Are you all right? Can you hear me?"
And Michael found that he could hear him, in fact he could hear more clearly than he ever had before. And, as his vision returned to the real world, he found that he was all right. He felt a little detached from himself, but he felt strong too, stronger than ever, and quicker too.
Michael vaulted to his feet in a single bound without even needing to push up on his hands. "What have you done to me my lord?"
Gideon smiled, a quiet smile that spoke of absolute satisfaction. "I have done nothing, Michael, you have done everything. If you were to ask me what has happened to you then I would say: precisely what I hoped and expected would occur."
"I do not understand my lord."
"Soulbark's unique property is that it partially frees the soul from the bonds of mortal flesh and allows the user to stand with their soul half in the spirit realm and half in the mortal plane. While you were out of it the powers of the spirit plane judged your soul and character. Had you failed to meet the criterion as most do you would have been vouchsafed a vision of the spirit realm in all its terror and hostility. Or it might have killed you. Fortunately however you passed, as I thought you would, and have now reaped the benefits of access to spirit magic. You will find that you are stronger, faster, and more agile than would normally be the case. That is because you are a selfless man, Michael, a sacrificing man, a man willing to give all for the sake of a cause. You are in, short exactly the kind of man in whom the potential for spirit magic exists."
Michael felt his face begin to burn. "You make me seem such a paragon I do not recognise myself."
Gideon replied, "I did not say you were a good man, I said you had selfless motives and pure intent; few things are more dangerous in the wrong hands. As it happens, I think that you are a man of potential for goodness, but potential it remains, for now. The improvement of your physical abilities is the essence of the most basic spirit magic: you are striking with the strength of your soul, not of your body, and, as the soul is greater than the body, so is your spiritual strength far greater than your physical prowess. That is what we will work on tonight, I want to help you master the enhanced abilities."
Michael nodded, drawing his swords - they seemed duller than normal, grey and lifeless - and settled into a sparring stance. "I am armed and well prepared, my lord."
Gideon drew Duty and Piety: Duty glowed as though the blade had stolen the light from out of the moon, the gold hilt aflame and the ruby in the pommel shining like a third sun; Piety was liquid night, and the sapphire set into it was the ocean in a gem.
Gideon must have understood what Michael saw, for he smiled out of the corner of his mouth. "My swords are my soul, Michael, a part of me, the means by which I defend this country most precious to my heart. They are, quite simply, the best part of myself, and you perceive them as such."
"This is all very stran
ge to me, my lord," Michael said. "Swords with souls, and mine own spirit judged by otherworldly powers. It is a great deal for a poor freedman to comprehend."
Gideon chuckled. "I am sure that you will rise to the occasion with your customary vigour. If it helps, remember that you are wandering in the footsteps of Gabriel, who was himself a potent Spirit Warrior. Now, begin."
Every time they had sparred before this Michael had thought - had known - that Gideon was holding back, giving less than his best in order not to overwhelm Michael in the first few seconds. But now... now everything was different. Michael found that he could read Gideon's movements and counter them with appalling ease. He pressed his attacks, forcing Gideon back in the face of his onslaught, and he dared to think that he was actually making Gideon work this time.
But, though sweat was standing out on Gideon's brow, he showed no dismay or distaste. On the contrary he looked positively giddy with joy. "Excellent Michael, excellent! I knew you had this in you."
"It is not really me, my lord," Michael said as he kept up the pressure. "I am merely the agent of the soulbark you administered."
"Soulbark is a key, Michael, nothing more. It only opened the door to what was already in you," Gideon replied. "In time, you will have no need of it to unlock your potential, but be able to strive on equal terms with gods and monsters."
"All very well, my lord, but it seems a bit unfair," Michael said. "I could never beat you like this under normal circumstances."
Gideon stiffened. "Fairness, Michael, is a childish obsession; and like the most beloved toy the time comes when one must put it away as one progresses to manhood. Fair play will not save your sister's life nor defend the Empire from its enemies. My brother was very fond of his honour, and it weakened him, made him less valuable as a servant of the Empire, eventually got him killed. Only the excessively vain care for their honour above all else, Michael, it is symptomatic of an inability to put the needs of others ahead of oneself. I know you are not such a man, so I'll hear no more on the matter from you."
Spirit of the Sword: Pride and Fury (The First Sword Chronicles Book 1) Page 29
