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

by Frances Smith

  Gwawr stepped nervously out of the crowds amongst which she had been trying to hide to stand by the side of Fiannuala, who had been dragged forward by Cati. Gwawr looked down at her feet, while Fiannuala faced her father proudly, her eyes matching with his own.

  "In the past, I have allowed myself to be blind to your wildness and misdeeds," Gerallt said wearily, while Cati smirked triumphant. "I know well how the wounds of your mother's passing refuse to heal, for many times I have woken in the night to feel my own heart bleeding. But now your actions go too far for me to ignore."

  "Is mercy a crime?" Fiannuala said. "Michael had been poisoned, he would have died without aid. Gideon was badly hurt too. They needed help and there was no one else to give it."

  "They might have lived had you left well enough alone," Cati said.

  "I was talking to the king, not you," Fiannuala snapped. "You aren't the queen of Eena yet, however you like to act."

  Cati gave a wordless snarl before she said, "I support our father because I am a dutiful daughter and I care for him and if you -"

  "If you cared about our father you wouldn't be so eager to snatch the crown off his head," Fiannuala yelled.

  "While I live and wear this crown I expect you both to act like sisters," Gerallt said, his voice containing a rumble of anger.

  Cati bowed. "I'm sorry, father."

  Fiannuala pouted and looked away.

  "Please, father," Gwawr said, her voice trembling. "Please, don't kill them. It wasn't their idea to come here, it was ours, mine and Fia's. They shouldn't be punished for our mistake."

  Cati did not reply, but bent down to whisper in her father's ear.

  The king listened, hesitated, then nodded his head wearily. "We are within our rights to take your lives. But instead, we shall spare them. We shall care for your wounded. We shall even allow you to pass through our forests on our way to the ruins of Aureliana. But first you must do us a service, comparable to what we offer you."

  "First I wish to see Gideon," Michael said.

  "You will see him after you agreed to my proposal," Cati replied.

  "I will see him first," Michael barked. "And when I have seen with mine own eyes that you are indeed caring for him then I will hear you out. And then I will consult with my lord again before I give you my answer."

  Cati's eyes narrowed. "Who are you to-"

  "I am Michael Sebastian Callistus Dolabella ban Ezekiel," Michael shouted. "I am the Last Firstborn of Old Corona. I am the servant of Gideon Commenae. More than any of that I am the man from whom you wish a service. Filia Tullia believes this favour you are so keen to extract our word upon is something desperate and dangerous; I am minded to agree. Therefore I will see my good lord before I leave, and hear his opinion on what you ask. You will forgive me if I do not depart for battle uncertain of his condition, trusting to the honour of those who have shown themselves without nobility."

  "How dare you-"

  "You could have brought us to my lord at once, shown him to me under your ministrations and then, in a courteous vein, asked us to repay your kindnesses," Michael snarled. "Instead you chose to threaten my companions with death and then demand awed gratitude for your mercy. Shame upon the royal line of Eena!"

  Cati glared at him for a moment, then looked away. "Very well," she muttered. "Bring forth the injured human!"

  Four dryads bore Gideon forth upon a bier garlanded with flowers, placing him down in the centre of the grass courtyard. He was covered with a blanket, but he nearly threw it off as he tossed and turned this way and that, his mouth opening and closing as he muttered something Michael could not hear.

  Michael rushed to his side, Jason not far behind him, and knelt by the bedside of his good lord.

  "Gideon," Michael whispered. "Gideon, can you hear me?"

  Gideon moaned, "...Bardas..."

  Bardas. That was his brother's name, the one murdered by Quirian. He must have a fever. "No, Gideon. No, I am Michael. Bardas...your brother...it is Michael, Gideon. Do you know me?"

  "Bardas," Gideon whispered feverishly. "Bardas, you fool!"

  "Your brother is not here," Jason said loudly. "Bardas Commenae is ten years dead. Dead at your hand, if the tales be true."

  "Your Highness," Michael hissed.

  "If it is not the truth, then it will not hurt him," Jason replied with a shrug.

  "Bardas, you have stood in my way too often, for too long," Gideon ranted, seeing gods alone knew what before his eyes as he twisted and turned in his fever dream. "Not this time, I will not suffer it; do you hear me, I will not."

  Michael frowned. "Gideon, please come back to us. I need you, your wisdom, your strength. Please fight, you must awaken."

  "Don't you take that patronising tone with me, I am the First Sword of the Empire by Aegea's grace and I will not be talked down to like some damned provincial tribune," Gideon snarled.

  "All my life you have stood in my way, mocking me, humiliating me, denying me my due. I was in the right in Oretar, my strategy was proven correct, the war was won due to my efforts; but you clung to your precious honour and you ground me into the dirt so that you could stand spotless atop my shoulders! You don't have one iota of the strength or courage needed to keep this country safe, so long as you hold to your damned honour you will never be able to do the things that I do!

  "So you know about Quirian then, how very clever of you."

  Michael frowned. Gideon's brother discovered the truth? Is that why Quirian had him killed?

  Gideon let out a great scream of anger, pain and misery combined, and thrashed wildly where he lay for a moment, before subsiding into stillness and subdued moaning.

  "Our sorcerers and herbalists are doing everything they can for him," Cati said. "Do you still wish to consult with him in this condition?"

  Michael stood up. "Do not be glib with me in this matter." Yet she was right, and Michael felt the weight that Gideon might have borne for him descending on his shoulders. "Say what you will, unless there any objections to hearing the princess' proposal?"

  Amy shook her head, as did Tullia. Jason shrugged once more.

  Michael nodded. "Say on, Princess."

  "I was not born to this crown or throne," Gerallt said, his voice barely higher than a whisper. "I wed the queen, and we lived together for many years, until her sister, Meinir, jealous and ambitious for the throne, murdered my wife and sought to rule the forest realm."

  "Meinir was defeated, and driven into the east of the forest, where she remains with her followers," Cati explained. "We wish you to storm her hold and kill her. Make an end to the tormentor of my soul, and we will spare your lives, tend to your lord, and give you leave to pass through Eena to Aureliana."

  "My daughter Fiannuala will accompany you to observe your faithfulness and atone for her actions," Gerallt said. "If you prove false, she will kill you all."

  "Was this your plan all along," Fiannuala demanded. "To have someone to deal with Meinir?"

  "I couldn't possibly say," Cati said.

  "Dala's breath," Fiannuala said. "You really are a piece of work, aren't you?"

  "Fiannuala!" Gerallt said. "Men of the Empire, do you accept these terms?"

  Michael turned his back upon the king and the princess, walking back towards where Tullia and Amy waited.

  "What does everyone think?" Michael asked.

  "I don't see that we have much choice," Jason said. "Not unless you want to abandon Gideon." He smiled to show he spoke in jest, but Michael bristled a little nonetheless.

  "There is something they are not telling us," Tullia said. "It must be harder than it seems or they would have done it themselves."

  "Not necessarily," Amy said. "They don't look a very warlike folk, do they? They can't have had a war since the Empire came. Any one of us probably knows more of fighting than the whole forest, so it doesn't shock me they can't even punish a murderer."

  "If she is a murderer," Jason said. "They have no reason to be truthful with us." />
  "Whether she is or not, I don't see it really matters," Amy replied. "Like you said, we don't have a lot of choice. So let's pretend she is a murderer even if she isn't, swallow our qualms and get on with it. Hopefully she'll give us a good fight."

  "I would rather not stain my honour if it can be avoided," Michael said. He looked at Wyrrin. "Filius Wyrrin, what say you?"

  "I think it is a noble duty they are offering us, to avenge their queen," Wyrrin said. "I do not think that they would lie to us."

  "Because you are both of the elder races?" Tullia asked.

  Wyrrin nodded. "There is a bond there, even if they do not acknowledge it."

  "So, what do we do, Michael?" Jason asked.

  Michael's eyebrows rose. "You ask me?"

  "Gideon left you in command," Jason said.

  Amy grinned. "You've had the fun, now comes the hard part."

  "Hmph," Michael said. "I must confess that I feel ill used in this matter. Am I the only one to think so?"

  Amy's armour plates grated on one another as she shrugged her shoulders, "If there is a monster or villain out there, then hunting it down is a quest of a kind that suits a knight. Certainly you wouldn't ask the peasants to do it themselves. Ser Viola was asked to hunt down more than one beastie while I was with her: a megalodon, kraken, even a leviathan once."

  "Be that as it may," Michael said. "A patron's obligation to her clients is quite different from a reliance upon outsiders to solve one's problems. Their princess certainly seems full of her strength and martial prowess, why has she not hunted down this peril herself?"

  "Just because it is not the Imperial way does not make it without value," Jason said pointedly. "Making use of experienced warriors makes sense from a different perspective. Besides, it seems likely the king did not wish to risk his daughter's life unnecessarily, especially after losing his wife. Honestly, the motives of the dryads do not offend me. I would simply know if we intend to oblige them."

  Michael closed his eyes. God grant me wisdom to do the right thing.

  He looked at each of his friends in turn. "It is as Amy says: if we wish to reach Aureliana, with Gideon healed, we must do as they ask. They have presented us with an honourable situation. Beyond that, we shall not look."

  "Is turning a blind eye honourable now?" Jason asked, amusement in his tone.

  "If it were not, Your Highness, how could one-eyed men have honour?" Michael replied. He turned to face the dryad king. "Your Majesty, we accept your terms. Though I beg leave to delay our departure for a day, that we may rest."

  "It shall be so," Gerallt said. "You shall depart at dawn tomorrow, and I charge you to return before the evening of the third day following, or we will hunt you down and slay you."

  "I suppose the first question," Michael said. "Is does anybody believe their injuries will render them unfit to fight tomorrow?"

  They were all sat together in a tight huddle in the middle of a cluster of trees a little way from the royal courtyard. Giant oak trees, hundreds of years old at the very least, towered into the sky above them, sheltering them from the sunlight with their leaves and casting mottled shadows across their faces. The leaves rustled in the light breeze, and butterflies in colours so bright they seemed to be shining blue and red flew overhead. Birds chirruped, and animals called out to one another.

  Jason, now reunited with his sorcerous channels, scratched idly at his forehead. "I should be all right. Tullia?"

  "I have trained to endure far worse, Your Highness," Tullia said coolly. "I am more concerned with you, Michael."

  "I barely feel a throbbing pain, I am content and capable," Michael said. "I will not watch while you go off to battle without me. And, if we are all ready to go forth, we may discuss our strategy for tomorrow."

  "That will be difficult without knowing the strengths and abilities of our dryad companion," Tullia remarked.

  "True enough," Michael said. "Though I cannot say I know much about her."

  "Then I suggest you find out," Tullia said mildly.

  Michael smiled. "You chide me well, Filia, I shall go to at once to seek her out." He stood up. Fiannuala was not with them, but he did not think she was very far away.

  Michael found her about forty yards off, practicing spear forms under the shade of a weeping willow tree. Michael had never had any great opinion of the spear as a thrusting weapon - good enough to be thrown as part of a charge yes, but not a thing to place one's trust in when the metal met. It was too long, too unwieldy, too easily bypassed. And yet, watching the dryad princess move with a grace and fluid motion that Michael associated only with the sword, he found himself giving ground, grudgingly, on that opinion. She wove the weapon in and out, using the shaft as much as the point, and never overextending the spear beyond its reach. And she was fast, not as fast as him perhaps but not far off. She deserved the plaudits she had heaped upon herself.

  Fiannuala saw him, her motions coming to a halt. "What is it?"

  "It was suggested to me that I should find out what you're capable of, ma'am," Michael said.

  Fiannuala's golden eyes flashed in anticipation. She smiled like a viper. And then she went for him.

  Michael drew Duty just in time to parry her first thrust, the shining blade knocking her ashen shaft aside. She spun on her toe, swinging round to bring the spearbutt flying towards his head. Michael raised his arm and let it slam into his manica with a thwack and a jarring sensation. Fiannuala turned again, thrust again, and Michael parried with Duty again before drawing his spatha with his free hand to cut at her bare midriff. She leapt back.

  She lunged. He dodged. She started swinging the spearshaft like a quarterstaff and he had to block it with his manicae, feeling the impacts travel down his arms making them shake. For someone so wiry she was surprisingly strong as well as fast.

  Nobody in the arena or on the battlefield had ever made him work this hard without some aid that was not normal: the Voice's spirit magic, or the abominations that his followers had become through eating hearts. But the princess had none of those gifts, she was simply that good.

  Michael counterattacked, Duty biting into the shaft of her spear. It was her turn to fall back for a change. Woodchips flew everywhere as she used the shaft to block. She tried to evade, but Michael kept up with her. She thrust at his eyes and momentarily had him back on the defensive, but he pressed her hard as he could and put her on the back foot once more. Finally, he backed her up against a tree and with nowhere to move she cast her spear down at his feet.

  "Not bad," she said, taking deep breaths as sweat streamed down her.

  Michael was breathing pretty heavily himself. He bent double over his knees. "You were rather good yourself your highness."

  "Rather good? I was superb."

  "Superb?" Michael said. "What would you have called yourself if you had bested me?"

  Fiannuala looked down at him archly. "I would have called myself the greatest warrior in the world."

  Michael grinned. "Thank you kindly your highness, but I fear I am not that worthy of regard."

  "Don't you find all that your highness stuff is a bit of a mouthful," Fiannuala said. "For me and for your other prince who isn't really a prince, I found his story a bit confusing."

  "You are not alone in that," Michael said. He straightened up, "But in answer to your highness' question, it does not matter how much of a mouthful it is. The proper forms must be observed. I am, after all, a gentleman of chivalry and honour."

  Fiannuala smirked. Then her expression became sombre. "I feel like I should apologise for my sister, Cati. She had no right to treat you the way she did. She has no right to treat anyone the way she does."

  Michael waved it away. "No harm was done. It is of no matter."

  "It does matter," Fiannuala shouted. "Ever since our mother died she has pranced about the forest, playing at being queen, playing at being mother, sometimes I think she's going to start playing at being father's wife. It's disgusting."

  S
omething rustled in the bushes behind Michael, and he half turned towards it before thinking better of it to focus on the dryad girl before him. As an elder brother, it pained his heart to see strife and hatred where there ought to have been perfect love and mutual devotion. He said, "If I may, your highness, were things different when the queen lived?"

  Fiannuala nodded. "Before mother died, Cati was kind. I used to annoy her so much, and she was so patient. That thing you saw, flicking me on the forehead, she would do that if I was really getting on her nerves, but she would only do it one time in a hundred, if that. She would always spend time with Gwawr if Gwawr wanted it. And now look at her, whispering in father's ear, using you, using me! From the moment she set eyes on you she knew what she wanted, and she twisted everybody around her fingers to get it. She's not the queen, she's not mother and she has no right acting like either of those things."

  Michael said, "Your mother the queen, she was an active ruler?"

  Fiannuala nodded. "Of course, but she listened to father's advice."

  "And now your father rules and your sister advises him?" Michael said.

  Fiannuala glared a little, but nodded.

  Michael stood next to her, leaning against the same tree and feeling the knots driving into his back. "I am not a prince. My mother was not a queen. But I was eleven years old when she bled to death in my arms and I was left with a younger brother and sister to take care of."

  "Your father?"

  "We never had one," Michael said shortly. "Now, I was never kind. But I think that I was kinder than I became. My sister, the middle one in the family, used to complain that I was trying to act like her father. And I was, but only because someone had to. It was not easy, but I think that trying to be a queen as well as a mother, trying to replace the head and prop of state, must be even harder."

  "It is," Fiannuala said. "Even both of us together we can't replace her. And Gwawr-"

  "Is still a child," Michael said. "She has not had to face the cold as you and Cati have."

  Fiannuala nodded. "Cati tries to push her, but that doesn't work, it only makes Gwawr more nervous. She needs to be encouraged, not snapped at and insulted."