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

by Frances Smith

  "My lord Gideon," Michael murmured.

  Still in silence, Gideon advanced upon him, his stick tapping upon the stone. Significantly taller than Michael, taller than most men, Lord Gideon cast a shadow over Michael as he approached, until he was close enough to loom over him like a god judging souls; or like a father, judging his son.

  Michael bowed his head. "My lord, I know that I have failed you most appallingly-"

  He was cut off as Gideon grasped his hand and pulled him into a wrenching tight embrace. Gideon's wiry arms were locked tight as iron bands about Michael, binding the two men together. Michael could smell the slightest trace of sweat which hung on Gideon. He could feel Gideon's soft brown hair upon his cheek.

  "My lord?"

  "Well done, my boy," Gideon said. "Damn well done."

  Michael might have been willing to remain locked in their embrace until the sun set, but he could not in all honesty let Lord Gideon's madness pass unremarked, "My lord I do not understand. I failed and deserted you; I fled to death's embrace-"

  "Then you returned," Gideon said, pulling out of the embrace - he had been leaning upon Michael, but now he rested once more upon his staff - and looking him in the eye. "And returned stronger, what is more. You are here and you are restored, physically and spiritually. That is what matters, that is all that matters. What came before, what was said and done in grief's madness... all passed, all forgotten."

  Am I so swiftly and so easily absolved? "My lord, you bless me beyond words with saying so. Your kindness is surpassed only by your courage."

  "Hush, before I begin to count you a base flatterer." Gideon smiled. "And as I have told you: Gideon, and your lord no longer. Now, especially, I will brook no argument. Sit, sit. I feel as flighty as a maiden at her first ball and cannot rest till you have told me all there is to tell. Sit down."

  Gideon sat down upon one bed, while Michael sat down opposite him.

  Gideon leaned in, green eyes alight with eagerness. "Tell me everything."

  Michael swallowed against the dryness of his mouth. "I died, and when my eyes opened I was at the field of Eudora."

  "Eudora," Gideon murmured, savouring the word. "Of course, of course. Oh, this is wonderful, Michael. She summoned you, the Empress?"

  Michael nodded. "Aegea, the Divine Empress brought me to that place. She had me summoned by some herald and then afterwards appeared to me in person."

  Gideon beamed fair to outshine the sun itself. "I knew it, I knew it! The aura about you when you fought, it was too great for one man's spirit magic. How did you find the Empress? She was beautiful, yes?"

  Michael realised that this was the first time he had ever heard Gideon describe a woman as beautiful, or indeed by any term touching her looks which implied any emotional resonance greater than appreciation as for a work of art. He had begun to think that Gideon was one of those who were delighted neither by women nor men either. Or perhaps he truly was such, if the only woman who could wring passion from him was no longer woman but a god.

  "In truth, Gideon, I found her majestic, commanding, royal to such degree she fair defines the majesty of royalty; I even found her motherly, in a stern, demanding manner. But I cannot say in truth I found her beautiful, nor would I look to. For as a mouse cannot appreciate the beauty of a woman how can a humble freedman such as I appreciate the beauty of one both Prince and God?"

  Gideon chuckled. "I do not agree with all of that, but leave it be for now. You spoke to her, what did she say?"

  "She rebuked me justly for my many faults, and detailed out for me the vices of my character," Michael said. "Then charged me to be forearmed against them in the future, and stand my virtues on their guard against subversion. That being done, and I no more so blind as once I was, she sent me forth again to defend you all and do better this time."

  "And so you shall Michael, so you shall." Gideon laughed. "Michael, I do declare though by your death you nearly cracked my heart, your living again has set such fire of hope within it as has not been these ten years past."

  "And yet I cracked it first, Gideon," Michael said. "And for that I am truly sorry. I treated everyone appallingly, but you maybe most of all who offered me such riches and rewards as I could not have dreamt of, only to see them spat upon."

  "I said that that was passed, and I meant it," Gideon said sternly. "You are alive, and for that miracle I am so glad that had you watered on my father's ashes in the hours before your death I would forgive it now. And you did nothing so insulting. I am... I am glad to have you back."

  He clasped Michael by the hand. "Great things lie in wait; I am convinced of that now."

  "I believe it if you say it is true, Gideon, but now I must ask if you have seen Amy," Michael said.

  "I think she is one of the outbuildings outside the tower," Gideon said. "I warn you though: I do not think she will be as forgiving as I."

  "I thank you kindly for the warning," Michael replied.

  Michael continued on, down to the lower levels where the tower broadened out a little, with what looked like a kitchen, a guard room and an ancient armoury now empty of weapons or armour. Stepping out of the tower, Michael could see the crumbling remains of the wall or rampart that had protected it, now little more than a ring of earth set slightly higher than its surroundings. Grass had near enough reclaimed it, and where once might have been a paved stone circle was engulfed by the inexorable land.

  Will this be the eventual fate of the Empire's towers and fortresses? Michael wondered. To be worn down by earth and sky until the very name of the Divine Empire has passed from memory and the provenance of our ruins none can say? The land of Corona is many centuries fallen, but the greatness and glory of its golden age survives in the tales passed to Corona's children; a worthy inheritance no matter what the Crimson Rose may say. But will the day come when not even the memory of that grandeur endures, when no tales are told of Corona or the Empire, and all we strove for with such might and held so dear is as a drop of water in the ocean?

  Not while I may prevent it.

  Michael circled to the tower, and found Wyrrin of Arko standing outside, practicing his swordplay. Wyrrin was a fire drake, one of the reptilian children of Arus the fire god, lean and gangly with his green scaled-skin flecked with stripes of red and blue running from his snout to the tale that rose up behind him to provide balance. His hands had three claws each, and his feet had each two toes and a single claw which was curved like a sickle blade. He was entirely naked serve for a dirty loin cloth, something which Michael would have found unacceptable in a man, but his twin black swords looked of very fine quality. Curiously, considering he had been in the thick of the fighting as much as anyone, he had not a single scar upon his entire body.

  Wyrrin stopped when he saw Michael, sheathing his swords and bobbing his head.

  "It is good to see you alive," Wyrrin said.

  Michael nodded. "Likewise. You seem to have recovered well."

  "Fire drakes heal faster than men, I think. Or naiads," Wyrrin replied.

  "I see," Michael said softly. "I am a little surprised that you are still here. You have no reason to risk your life."

  "Nor have I anywhere else to go," Wyrrin said. "I am... I wish to be a warrior. There is fighting here, why should I not stay?"

  "Because it is not your fight," Michael said.

  "I was not allowed to participate in my own fight," Wyrrin hissed. "Then I was put in chains and made to fight, whether I wished to or not. But now there are neither chains to bind me, nor council to reject me. Here I may choose to fight or flee, and I choose to fight, by your side. Do you object?"

  "No," Michael said. "I simply did not wish to lead you to an unnecessary death."

  "As you did the dryad princess?" Wyrrin asked.

  Michael nodded. "Aye."

  "If that is my fate then it is as the gods dispose," Wyrrin said. "I am prepared for such."

  Michael hesitated for moment. "Then I will leave you to your training."


  He circled the outside of the tower - it may have been a little down at heel, a bit in need of repair, but it's foundations were strong and solid, just like the Empire - and found a couple of tumbledown sheds of crumbling stone. He supposed that when this place was manned they had been storage sheds or something similar. He decided that the one that still had a door and most of a roof was more likely, and so knocked upon the portal.

  "Amy? Are you in there?" Michael got no response, and so he pushed open the door gingerly and peaked inside.

  Amy was standing in the centre of the shed, a bucket of water before her and one behind. The infant salamander, Char, was curled up beside her, eyes closed, asleep. Amy's eyes were also closed, but rather than the restful look of sleep she had the knitted brow of concentration.

  "What are you doing, our Amy?"

  Char woke up and began to chitter excitedly. Amy took a deep breath and opened her mismatched eyes - one blue, one green, both possessing the beauty and colour of the ocean in them - to glare at him. "You've got a nerve."

  Michael reached up and scratched the back of his head with one hand. "Um... yes, I-"

  "You know what really makes my blood boil?" Amy demanded, climbing to her feet. She was not wearing her bulky armour, but Michael knew that it was not from her armour but her naiad blood that her immense strength came. "You know what makes me want to hit you so hard? You did it on purpose! Felix was right there and we could have talked him around but you had to goad him, didn't you? Because you wanted him to kill you, and don't you dare deny it."

  "I know," Michael said. "I wanted to die and I wanted him to do it. It was stupid of me."

  "Truly, coming back from the dead has done wonders for your perceptive abilities," Amy said.

  "But I thought I was doing the right thing at the time."

  "The right thing? Who for, you? Not us certainly, not me," Amy said. "Not Felix either, unless you've kept your strangest ideas hidden even from me. You didn't think about anyone but yourself. Did you ever care about me at all or did you make it all up so that I'd trail after you like some kind of dog?"

  "Don't say that, Amy," Michael said. "I meant everything I ever said."

  "Then how could you just leave me like that?" Amy demanded. "Do you have any idea how upset I was?"

  "Some, yes," Michael said. "That's why I came to apologise."

  "Well I don't accept your bloody apology," Amy shouted. "I cried a new ocean for you, you ungrateful beast. You think you can just break my heart by dying, then make a fool out of me by coming back, and then make me tear my hair out with worry by almost dying a second time and then just make it all better with an apology?

  "That's the problem with you, that's always been the problem with you: you don't understand anyone else's feelings, you never take them seriously. You act like no one else can feel as deep as you do, well you're wrong. You're callous and cruel and selfish and arrogant and smug and sometimes you're absolutely bloody infuriating!" She lunged forward, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck. "And you... and you're brave, and kind and generous and loyal and thoughtful and sometimes I think you're the best man I've ever met." She buried her head in his chest and began to sob, her short red hair rustling as her head shifted first in one direction, then another. "Why do you have to be both, eh? Answer me that. If you were just an arse then I could hate you, or at least not care about you. If you were just a hero then I could love you. But why do you have to be both like this?"

  "I don't know," Michael said. "Everything you said about me is true Amy, I'll not deny it any longer. But I'm going to do better from now on, I promise."

  "Liar," Amy said. "You mean it now, but eventually you'll get one of your ebb-tide moods and then you'll be grim and thoughtless and miserable again."

  "Probably," Michael muttered with a trace of chagrin at her perspicacity. "But I'll try not to be so insufferable about it."

  Amy raised her head, her eyes still so filled with water they more resembled lakes of blue and green. "Can you believe that he's back?"

  Michael had no need to ask who he was. He nodded as a touch of melancholy entered his mood. "If I was dreaming, he would not be counted with our opposition."

  Amy let go of him. "That's true enough I suppose. The question is what do we do about it?"

  "Save him," Michael said firmly. "From Quirian and from himself if need be. We won't lose him again; that's another promise."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Amy replied. "But I think Gideon may need convincing on that score. But I suppose we can leave that fight until he picks it." She hesitated, then smiled a little. "Thanks for coming back. I wasn't sure you'd want to."

  "Turo's Halls doesn't have you in it, for all its fabled pleasures," Michael said. "I won't leave again so long as I have people worth living for. Oh, that reminds me, Fiannuala asked me to tell you something."

  "Fiannuala?" Amy said. "Um, Michael..."

  "It was her, her spirit or her ghost, whatever you want to call it, she helped me," Michael said. "I'll explain later, but the point is she asked me to tell you that you were doing just brilliantly all by yourself, and keep it up for both of them."

  Amy’s face flushed ever so slightly. "She said that, really? Well, I suppose I'll just have to do it then, won't I? Can't disappoint a dead princess."

  "What does it mean?" Michael asked.

  "Nothing, just something private is all," Amy replied.

  Michael decided to leave it there.

  Dinner that night was taken in the tower's cosy kitchen. Metella had snared a brace of rabbits, though Michael's attempts to help her with the preparation had foundered upon his complete lack of experience in cooking meat - all his knowledge was of fish and vegetables. Metella was a patient tutor though, and showed him to skin and dress the meat, and how best to serve it so that it would divide up amongst six people. She was not so knowledgeable as him on flavourings and sauces, but they were not especially well stocked in that area anyway.

  The kitchen was a little cramped with six of them inside, but not overly so as they settled down to eat.

  Are you all right, our Amy?" Michael asked as he noticed her frowning.

  "I'm fine," Amy said. "I suppose it will just take me a while to get used to eating meat. It tastes strange on my tongue."

  "You remembered the taste of cakes quickly enough," Jason remarked.

  "Bite your tongue," Amy said. She grinned. "Anyway, I always liked cakes. We never really had meat growing up, just fish. Besides, you can't deny that some of the things that humans eat are strange."

  "Such as?" Jason said.

  "Mice," Amy said. "Or squid, what's more. Under the sea, where the squid actually are, you'd be hard pressed to find a starving merman who'd eat one, but up here you call them a delicacy."

  "Personally I call them a very acquired taste," Gideon murmured. "Mice on the other hand are rather delectable when served as a canapé. They do not fill the belly of course, they are almost as devoid of meat as squirrels are."

  "I myself find it strange that anyone who eats fish should be so picky on the subject of meat,” Wyrrin said.

  "What's so strange about eating fish?" Amy said.

  "Everything," Wyrrin said, as though the answer should have been obvious. "Meat is the food ordained by the gods for their chosen, fish are Turo's eccentricity."

  "Gleefully eating something that has soft fur you can run your hands through is the eccentricity," Amy replied.

  "My master has taught me that you don't know what you can and cannot do to survive until you are forced to do it. Then, according to him, your inhibitions melt away," Metella said softly.

  "Probably he's right," Amy said with a shrug of her shoulders. "Will this master of yours be joining us?"

  "I doubt it."

  "Who is he?" Jason asked.

  "Your Highness, Amy, please," Michael said quickly. "Filia Metella is our host. She is under no obligation to answer our questions."

  "Perhaps you will answer one then," Jason
said. "When is it that the two of you met before?"

  Michael smiled. "In a dream, of sorts."

  Jason opened his mouth to say more but was forestalled by Gideon. "That will do for now, Jason. You deserved Michael's reproof so don't be a sour goose about it. In any case, with no disrespect intended Filia, we have more important matters to discuss than our good host. Our plans for the future, for example."

  Metella stood up. "I should leave you to talk."

  "That might be for the best," Michael said, as he too rose to his feet. "Thank you for a lovely meal, Filia." He bowed his head.

  When she had left, and Michael sat down again, Jason said, "So, now that Michael is back in the land of the living, where do we go from here?"

  To Eternal Pantheia," Gideon declared. "We could not keep Cupas' sword out of Quirian's hands, therefore we must take it from him, and kill Quirian in the process."

  "If we can," Jason said.

  "Do not be so quick to doubt," Gideon said. "We will be better placed to confront Quirian next time, now that Michael has proven that he has the ability to use spirit magic without the intermediary of soulbark, and mastered the higher level of the art."

  "Higher level?" Amy asked.

  "The basic form of spirit magic, the kind you have witnessed with the Voice of Corona, utilises only the soul of the warrior in question," Gideon explained. "At the higher level, the souls of the dead are drawn into service on behalf of the living, massively increasing the power of the spirit warrior. You saw them, didn't you Michael?"

  Michael nodded. "Filia Tullia and Princess Fiannuala came to my aid; but I have no idea how I did it or how to do it again."

  "No matter, Michael, I shall help you find out," Gideon declared. "What was done once can be done again if one is willing to try. I will help you master this power, and when that is done you will be able to defeat Quirian with ease."

  "If you think it can be done, Gideon, I will attempt to do it," Michael said.

  "Excellent," Gideon's face alighted with his smile. "We will work upon it on our journey toward the capital."